Of course Dr. Johnson was ready to lend himself to any plan that might be devised to increase the circumference5 of his circle of admirers, and besides, this Mr. Fulk Greville was a descendant of the friend of Sir Philip Sidney, and had large possessions, as well as a magnificent country seat, and altogether he would make a most desirable listener; so he agreed to come to the party to be inspected by the Greville family. Burney, however, wishing, as every responsible proprietor6 of a menagerie should wish, to be on the safe side and exhibit his bear under the eye and the controlling influence of his favourite keeper, invited Mr. and Mrs. Thrale to the party.
These were to be the “principals” in the comedy of this entertainment; and for the subordinates he selected his married daughter and her husband—both admirable musicians—Mr. Davenant, Mr. Seward, and a certain Italian musician, a vocalist as well as a performer on the violin and that new instrument which was at first called the fortepiano, then the pianoforte, and later on simply the piano. This person's name was Gabrielli Piozzi.
Such were the harmonious9 elements which Dr. Burney proposed to bring together for the gratification of Mr. Fulk Greville and his wife. Mr. Greville was an amateur of some little capacity, and he had certainly at one time been greatly interested in music. He had paid ￡300 to Burney's master, the celebrated Dr. Arne, who composed in the masque of “Alfred” the rousing anthem10 known as “Rule Britannia,” for the cancelling of Burney's indentures11 as an apprentice12 to the “art of musick,” and had taken the young man into his own house in a capacity which may best be described as that of entertaining secretary. Dr. Burney may therefore have thought in his wisdom that, should Johnson be in one of his bearish13 moods and feel disinclined to exhibit his parts of speech to Mr. Greville, the latter would be certain of entertainment from the musicians. This showed forethought and a good working knowledge of Dr. Johnson. But in spite of the second string to the musician's bow the party was a fiasco—that is, from the standpoint of a social entertainment; it included one incident, however, which made it the most notable of the many of the Burney parties of which a record remains14.
And what records there are available to any one interested in the entertainments given by Dr. Burney and his charming family at that modest house of theirs, just round the corner from Sir Joshua Reynolds' larger establishment in Leicester Fields! Hundreds of people who contributed to make the second half of the eighteenth century the most notable of any period so far as literature and the arts were concerned, since the spacious15 days of Elizabeth, were accustomed to meet together informally at this house, and to have their visits recorded for all ages to muse16 upon. To that house came Garrick, not to exhibit his brilliance17 as a talker before a crowd of admirers, but to entertain the children of the household with the buffooning that never flagged, and that never fell short of genius in any exhibition. He was the delight of the schoolroom. Edmund Burke and his brother, both fond of conversation when oratory18 was not available, were frequently here; Reynolds came with many of his sitters, and found fresh faces for his canvas among his fellow-guests; and with him came his maiden19 sister, feeling herself more at home with the simple Burney circle than she ever did with the company who assembled almost daily under her brother's roof. Nollekens, the sculptor20; Colman, the dramatist and theatre manager, who was obliged to run away from London to escape the gibes21 which were flung at him from every quarter when Goldsmith's She Stoops to Conquer, which he had done his best to make a failure, became the greatest success of the year; Cumberland, the embittered22 rival of Goldsmith, who was the person who gave the solitary23 hiss24 during the first performance of the same play, causing the timid author to say to the manager on entering the playhouse, “What is that, sir—pray, what is that? Is it a hiss?” To which Colman replied, “Psha! sir, what signifies a squib when we have been sitting on a barrel of gunpowder25 all night?”
These were among the notabilities; and the “curiosities” were quite as numerous. The earliest of Arctic voyagers, Sir Constantine Phipps, who later became Lord Mulgrave, put in an appearance at more than one of the parties; and so did Omai, the “gentle savage” of the poet Cowper, who was brought by Captain Cook from the South Seas in the ship on which young Burney was an officer. The sisters, who, of course, idolised the sailor, sat open-mouthed with wonder to hear their brother chatting away to Omai in his native language. Upon another occasion came Bruce, the Abyssinian traveller, who told the story of how steaks were cut from the live ox when needed by the inhabitants of one region. He was immensely tall, as were some of his stories; but though extremely dignified26, he did not object to a practical joke. Another person of great stature27 who visited the Burneys was the notorious Count Orloff, the favourite of the Empress Catherine of Russia; and from the letters of one of the young people of the household one has no difficulty in perceiving with what interest he was regarded by the girls, especially since the report reached them that he had personally strangled his imperial master at the instigation of his imperial mistress.
These are but, a few names out of the many on the Burneys' visiting list. Of course, as regards musical artists, the house was the rendezvous28 of the greatest in London. While the opera-house in the Haymarket was open there was a constant flow of brilliant vocalists to these shores, and the young people had many opportunities of becoming acquainted with the ignorance, the capriciousness, the affectations, and the abilities which were to be found associated with the lyric29 stage in the eighteenth century, as they are in the twentieth. Among the prime donne who sang for the Burneys were the Agujari—a marvellous performer, who got fifty pounds for every song she sang at the Pantheon—and her great but uncertain rival, Gabrielli. The former, according to Mozart, who may possibly be allowed to be something of a judge, had a vocal7 range which was certainly never equalled by any singer before or after his time. She won all hearts and a great deal of money during her visit to London, and she left with the reputation of being the most marvellous and most rapacious30 of Italians. Gabrielli seems to have tried to make up by capriciousness what she lacked in expression. Her voice was, so far as can be gathered from contemporary accounts, small and thin. But by judiciously31 disappointing the public she became the most widely talked of vocalist in the country. Then among the men were the simple and gracious Pacchierotti—who undoubtedly32 became attached to Fanny Burney—Rauzzini, and Piozzi.
0049
The Burneys' house was for years the centre of the highest intellectual entertainment to be found in London, and the tact33 of the head of the household, and the simple, natural manners of his daughters, usually succeeded in preventing the intrusion of a single inharmonious note, in spite of the fact that a Welsh harpist named Jones had once been among the visitors.
But upon the occasion of this “command” party, when Greville was to meet Johnson, and the latter had dressed himself with that extreme care which we suspect meant that he tied up his hose, and put on a wig34 the front of which had not yet been burnt away by coming in contact with his lighted candle, Burney's tact overreached itself. Mr. Greville may have felt that the Thrales had no business to be of the party, or Johnson may have gained the impression that Burney's old patron was anxious to play the same part, in an honorary sort of way, in regard to himself. At any rate, he refused to be drawn35 out to exhibit his conversational36 powers to a supercilious37 visitor; and after a brief space of time he turned his back upon every one and his face to the fire, and there he sat, greatly to the discomfiture38, no doubt, of his host. In a very short time a gloom settled down upon the whole party. Mr. Thrale, stiff and reserved, was not the man to pull things together. He sat mute on his chair, making no advance toward Mr. Greville, and Mr. Greville had probably his chin in the air, having come to the conclusion that Dr. Johnson's powers as a conversationalist had been greatly overrated by rumour39.
It was when all hope of sociability40 had vanished that Dr. Burney, who, when a church organist, may have had occasion to cover up the shortcomings of the clergyman by a timely voluntary, begged Signor Piozzi to oblige the company with a song. But Piozzi was a forlorn hope. He was the last man in the world to save the situation. Had he been a vocalist of the calibre of Pacchierotti he could have made no headway against the funereal41 gloom that had settled down upon the party.
Piozzi had a sweet and highly trained voice, though some years earlier he had lost its best notes, and he sang with exquisite expression; but when playing his own accompaniment, with his back turned to his audience, he was prone42 to exaggerate the sentiment of the music until sentiment became lost in an exuberance43 of sentimentality.
This style of singing is not that to which any one would resort in order to dissipate a sudden social gloom. As the singer went on the gloom deepened.
It was just at this moment that one of those ironic44 little imps45 that lurk46 in wainscot nooks looking out for an opportunity to influence an unconscious human being to an act which the little demon47, seeing the end of a scene of which mortals only see the beginning, regards with sardonic48 glee, whispered something in the ear of Mrs. Thrale, and in an instant, in obedience49 to its prompting, she had left her chair and stolen behind the singer at the piano. Raising her hands and turning up her eyes in imitation of Piozzi, she indulged in a piece of mimicry50 which must have shocked every one in the room except the singer, who had his back to her, and Dr. Johnson, who, besides being too short-sighted to be able to see her, was gazing into the grate.
No doubt the flippant little lady felt that a touch of farcical fun was the very thing needed to make the party go with a snap; but such flagrant bad taste as was involved in the transaction was more than Dr. Burney could stand. Keeping his temper marvellously well in hand, considering his provocation51, he went gently behind the gesticulating woman and put a stop to her fooling. Shaking his head, he whispered in a “half joke whole earnest” way:
“Because, madam, you have no ear yourself for music, will you destroy the attention of all who, in that one point, are otherwise gifted?”
Or words to that effect, it might be safe to add, for the phrases as recorded in the diary of one of his daughters are a trifle too academic for even Dr. Burney to have whispered on the spur of the moment. But he certainly reproved the lady, and she took his remonstrance52 in good part, and showed herself to be admirably appreciative53 of the exact pose to assume in order to save the situation. She went demurely54 to her chair and sat there stiffly, and with the affectation of a schoolgirl who has been admonished55 for a fault and commanded to take a seat in silence and apart from the rest of the class. It must be apparent to every one that this was the precise attitude for her to strike in the circumstances, and that she was able to perceive this in a rather embarrassing moment shows that Mrs. Thrale was quite as clever as her friends made her out to be.
But regarding the incident itself, surely the phrase, “the irony56 of fate,” was invented to describe it. A better illustration of the sport of circumstance could not be devised, for in the course of time the lively little lady, who had gone as far as any one could go in making a mock of another, had fallen as deep in love with the man whom she mocked as ever Juliet did with her Romeo. She found that she could not live without him, and, sacrificing friends, position, and fortune, she threw herself into his arms, and lived happy ever after.
The conclusion of the first scene in this saturnine57 comedy which was being enacted58 in the drawing-room in that house in St. Martin's Street, was in perfect keeping with the mise-en-scène constructed by Fate, taking the r?le of Puck. It is admirably described in the diary of Charlotte Burney. She wrote that Mr. Greville—whom she nicknamed “Mr. Gruel59”—assumed “his most supercilious air of distant superiority” and “planted himself immovable as a noble statue upon the hearth60, as if a stranger to the whole set.”
By this time Dr. Johnson must have had enough of the fire at which he had been sitting, and we at once see how utterly61 hopeless were the social relations at this miserable62 party when we hear that the men “were so kind and considerate as to divert themselves by making a fire-screen to the whole room.” But Dr. Johnson, having thoroughly63 warmed himself, was now in a position to administer a rebuke64 to the less fortunate ones, and, when nobody would have imagined that he had known the gentlemen were in the room, he said that “if he was not ashamed he would keep the fire from the ladies too.”
“This reproof65 (for a reproof it certainly was, although given in a very comical, dry way) was productive,” Charlotte adds, “of a scene as good as a comedy, for Mr. Suard tumbled on to a sopha directly, Mr. Thrale on to a chair, Mr. Davenant sneaked66 off the premises67, seemingly in as great a fright and as much confounded as if he had done any bad action, and Mr. Gruel being left solus, was obliged to stalk off.”
A more perfect description of the “curtain” to the first act of this, “as good as a comedy,” could not be imagined. In every scene of this memorable68 evening the mocking figure of an impish Fate can be discerned. There was the tactful and urbane69 Dr. Burney anxious to gratify his old patron by presenting to him the great Dr. Johnson, and at the same time to show on what excellent terms he himself was with the family of the wealthy brewer70, Mr. Thrale. Incidentally he has caused Johnson to put himself to the inconvenience of a clean shirt and a respectable wig; and, like a thoughtful general, lest any of his plans should fall short of fulfilment, he has invited an interesting vocalist to cover up the retreat and make failure almost impossible!
Dr. Burney could do wonders by the aid of his tact and urbanity, but he is no match for Fate playing the part of Puck. Within an hour Johnson has disappointed him and become grumpy—the old bear has found the buns to be stale; Mr. Greville, the patron, is in a patronising mood, and becomes stiff and aloof71 because Johnson, secure with his pension, resents it; Mrs. Thrale, anxious to do her best for Burney, and at the same time to show Mrs. Greville and her fine daughter how thoroughly at home she is in the house and how delicate is her sense of humour, strikes an appallingly72 false note, and only saves herself by a touch of cleverness from appearing wholly ridiculous. This is pretty well for the opening scenes, but the closing catastrophe73 is not long delayed. The men huddle74 themselves together in stony75 silence; and they are reproved for impoliteness by—whom? Dr. Johnson, the man who has studied boorishness76 and advanced it to a place among the arts—the man who calls those who differ from him dolts77 and fools and rascals—the man whose manners at the dinner table are those of the sty and trough—the man who walks about the streets ungartered and unclean—this is the man who has the effrontery78 to rebuke for their rudeness such gentlemen as Mr. Fulk Greville, Mr. Seward, and Mr. Thrale! Puck can go no further. Down comes the curtain when one gentleman collapses79 upon a “sopha,” another into a chair, a third sneaks80 off like a culprit, and the fourth stalks off with an air of offended dignity!
It might be thought that the imp8 of mischief81 who had assumed the control of this evening's entertainment would be satisfied at the result of his pranks82 so far. Nothing of the sort. He was only satisfied when he had made a match between the insignificant84 figure who was playing the musical accompaniment to his pranks and the lady who thought that his presence in the room was only justifiable85 on the ground that he made an excellent butt86 for her mockery!
And the funniest part of the whole comedy is to be found in the fact that the pair lived happy ever after!
The extraordinary influence which Boswell has had upon almost every student of the life of the latter half of the eighteenth century is shown in a marked way by the general acceptance of his view—which it is scarcely necessary to say was Johnson's view—of the second marriage of Mrs. Thrale. We are treating Boswell much more fairly than he treated Mrs. Thrale when we acknowledge at once that his opinion was shared by a considerable number of the lady's friends, including Dr. Burney and his family. They were all shocked when they heard that the widow of the Southwark brewer had married the Italian musician, Signor Gabrielli Piozzi. Even in the present day, when one might reasonably expect that, the miserable pettiness of Boswell's character having been made apparent, his judgment88 on most points would be received with a smile, he is taken very seriously by a good many people. It has long ago been made plain that Boswell was quite unscrupulous in his treatment of every one that crossed his path or made an attempt to interfere90 with the aim of his life, which was to become the biographer of Johnson. The instances of his petty malevolence91 which have come to light within recent years are innumerable. They show that the opinion which his contemporaries formed of him was absolutely correct. We know that he was regarded as a cur who was ever at Johnson's heels, and took the insults of the great man with a fawning92 complacency that was pathetically canine93. He was daily called a cur. “Oh, no,” said Goldsmith, “he is not a cur, only a burr; Tom Davies flung him at Johnson one day as a joke, and he stuck to him ever since”—a cur, and an ape and a spy and a Branghton—the last by Dr. Johnson himself in the presence of a large company, that included the creator of the contemptible94 Mr. Branghton. (The incident was not, however, recorded by Mr. Boswell himself.) But as the extraordinary interest in his Life of Johnson began to be acknowledged, the force of contemporary opinion gradually dwindled95 away, until Boswell's verdicts and Boswell's inferences found general acceptance; and even now Goldsmith is regarded as an Irish omadhaum, because Boswell did his best to make him out to be one, and Mrs. Thrale is thought to have forfeited96 her claims to respect because she married Signor Piozzi.
People forget the origin of Boswell's malevolence in both cases. He detested97 Goldsmith because Goldsmith was a great writer, who was capable of writing a great biography of Johnson, with whom he had been on the most intimate terms long before Tom Davies flung his burr at Johnson; he hated Baretti and recorded—at the sacrifice of Johnson's reputation for humanity—Johnson's cynical98 belittling99 of him, because he feared that Baretti would write the biography; he was spiteful in regard to Mrs. Thrale because she actually did write something biographical about Johnson.
The impudence100 of such a man as Boswell writing about “honest Dr. Goldsmith” is only surpassed by his allusions101 to the second marriage of Mrs. Thrale. He was a fellow-guest with Johnson at the Thrales' house in 1775, and he records something of a conversation which he says occurred on the subject of a woman's marrying some one greatly beneath her socially. “When I recapitulate103 the debate,” he says, “and recollect104 what has since happened, I cannot but be struck in a manner that delicacy105 forbids me to express! While I contended that she ought to be treated with inflexible106 steadiness of displeasure, Mrs. Thrale was all for mildness and forgiveness and, according to the vulgar phrase, making the best of a bad bargain.” This was published after the second marriage. What would be thought of a modern biographer who should borrow a little of Boswell's “delicacy,” and refer to a similar incident in the same style?
In his own inimitable small way Boswell was for ever sneering108 at Mrs. Thrale. Sometimes he did it with that scrupulous89 delicacy of which an example has just been given; but he called her a liar109 more than once with considerable indelicacy, and his readers will without much trouble come to the conclusion that his indelicacy was preferable to his delicacy—it certainly came more natural to him. He was small and mean in all his ways, and never smaller or meaner than in his references to Mrs. Thrale's second marriage.
But, it must be repeated, he did not stand alone in regarding her union with Piozzi as a mésalliance. Dr. Burney was shocked at the thought that any respectable woman would so far forget herself as to marry a musician, and his daughter Fanny wept remorseful110 tears when she reflected that she had once been the friend of a lady who did not shrink from marrying a foreigner and a Roman Catholic—more of the irony of Fate, for Fanny Burney was herself guilty of the same indiscretion later on: she made a happy marriage with a Roman Catholic foreigner, who lived on her pension and her earnings111. Dr. Johnson was brutal112 when the conviction was forced upon him that he would no longer have an opportunity of insulting a lady who had treated him with incredible kindness, or the guests whom he met at her table. Upon one of the last occasions of his dining at Mrs. Thrale's house at Streatham, a gentleman present—an inoffensive Quaker—ventured to make a remark respecting the accuracy with which the red-hot cannon-balls were fired at the Siege of Gibraltar. Johnson listened for some time, and then with a cold sneer107 said, “I would advise you, sir, never to relate this story again. You really can scarce imagine how very poor a figure you make in the telling of it.” Later on he took credit to himself for not quarrelling with his victim when the latter chose to talk to his brother rather than to the man who had insulted him. Yes, it can quite easily be understood that Johnson should look on the marriage as a sad mésalliance, and possibly it is fair to assume from the letter which he wrote to the lady that he felt hurt when he heard that it was to take place.
Mrs. Thrale wrote to tell him that she meant to marry Piozzi, and received the following reply:
“Madam,—If I interpret your letter right, you are ignominiously113 married; if it is yet undone115, let us once more talk together. If you have abandoned your children and your religion, God forgive your wickedness; if you have forfeited your fame and your country, may your folly116 do no further mischief!”
Possibly the lady may have gathered from the hint or two conveyed to her, with Boswellian delicacy, in this letter, that Johnson was displeased117 with her. At any rate, she replied, declining to continue the correspondence.
In her letter she summed up the situation exactly as a reasonable person, acquainted with all the facts, and knowing something of the first husband, would do.
“The birth of my second husband is not meaner than that of my first,” she wrote; “his sentiments are not meaner; his profession is not meaner; and his superiority in what he professes118 acknowledged by all mankind. It is want of fortune, then, that is ignominious114; the character of the man I have chosen has no other claim to such an epithet119. The religion to which he has always been a zealous120 adherent121, will, I hope, teach him to forgive insults he has not deserved; mine will, I hope, enable [me] to bear them at once with dignity and patience. To hear that I have forfeited my fame is indeed the greatest insult I ever yet received. My fame is as unsullied as snow, or I should think it unworthy of him who must henceforth protect it.”
This brought the surly burly mass of offended dignity to his proper level; but still he would not offer the lady who had been his benefactress for twenty years an apology for his brutality123. He had the presumption124 to offer his advice instead—advice and the story (highly appropriate from his point of view) of Mary Queen of Scots and the Archbishop of St. Andrews. He advised her to remain in England—he would not relinquish126 his room in her house and his place at her table without a struggle—as her rank would be higher in England than in Italy, and her fortune would be under her own eye. The latter suggestion was a delicate insult to Piozzi.
Mrs. Piozzi, as she then became, showed that she esteemed127 this piece of presumption, under the guise128 of advice, at its true value. Immediately after her marriage she went abroad with her husband, though eventually she settled with him in England.
Now, most modern readers will, we think, when they have become acquainted with the whole story of Mrs. Thrale's life, arrive at the conclusion that it was her first marriage that was the mésalliance, not her second.
0065
Henry Thrale was a man of humble130 origin—a fact that revealed itself almost daily in his life—and he was incapable132 of loving any one except himself. He certainly never made a pretence133 of devotion to his wife, and it is equally certain that, although she did more for him than any other woman would have done, she never loved him. It might be going too far, considering the diversity of temperament134 existing among womankind, to assert that he was incapable of being loved by any woman; but beyond a doubt he was not a lovable man. He was a stiff, dignified, morose135, uncongenial man, and he was a Member of Parliament into the bargain. What could a pretty, lively, brilliant girl of good family see in such a man as Thrale to make her love him? She never did love him—at times she must have detested him. But she married him, and it was a lucky day for him that she did so. Twice she saved him from bankruptcy136, and three times she induced his constituents137, who thoroughly hated him, to return him to Parliament as their representative. He never did anything in Parliament, and he did little out of it that was worth remembering. It is customary to make large allowances for a man of business who finds that his wealth and a charming wife serve as a passport into what is called society, though latterly such men do not stand in need of such a favour being shown to them. But if a man betrays his ignorance of certain social usages—not necessarily refinements138—his friends excuse him on the ground that he is a first-rate business man. Thrale, however, was unworthy of such a title. He inherited a great scientific business, but he showed himself so incapable of appreciating the methods by which it had been built up, that he brought himself within a week or two of absolute ruin by listening to a clumsy adventurer who advocated the adoption139 of a system of adulteration of his beer that even a hundred and fifty years ago would have brought him within sight of a criminal prosecution140.
His literary wife, by her clever management, aided by the money of her mother and of sundry141 of her own, not her husband's, friends, succeeded in staving off the threatened disaster. But the pig-headed man did not accept the lesson which one might imagine he would have learned. Seeing the success that crowned other enterprises of the same character as his own, he endeavoured to emulate142 this success, not by the legitimate143 way of increasing his customers, but by the idiotic144 plan of over-production. He had an idea that in the multiplying of the article which he had to sell he was increasing his business. Once again he was helped from the verge145 of ruin by his literary wife.
He must have been a dreadful trial to her, and to a far-seeing manager whom he had—a man named Perkins. Of course it was inevitable147 that the force of character possessed148 by this Mr. Perkins must eventually prevail against the dignified incompetence149 of the proprietor. The inevitable happened, and the name of Perkins has for more than a hundred years been bracketed with Barclay as a going concern, while the name of Thrale has vanished for ever from “the Borough150.”
It was this Mr. Perkins who, when the brewery151 was within five minutes of absolute disaster, displayed the tactics of a great general in the face of an implacable enemy, and saved the property. As a reward for his services his master authorised the presentation to him of the sum of a hundred pounds. His master's wife, however, being a more generous assessor of the value of the man's ability, ventured to present double the sum, together with a silver tea-service for Mrs. Perkins; but she did so in fear and trembling, failing to summon up sufficient courage to acquaint her husband with her extravagance until further concealment153 was impossible. She was so overjoyed at his sanctioning the increase that she at once wrote to her friends acquainting them with this evidence of his generosity154.
This episode was certainly the most stirring in the history of Thrale's brewery. The Gordon rioters had been terrorising London for several days, burning houses in every direction, as well as Newgate and another prison, and looting street after street. They had already overthrown155 one brewery, and they found the incident so fascinating that they marched across the bridge to the Southwark concern, raising the cry that Thrale was a Papist. The Thrales were at this time sojourning at Bath, and were in an agony of suspense156 regarding their property. They had left Dr. Johnson comfortably ensconced at their Streatham house in order that they might learn in dignified language how things were going on.
This is Johnson's thrilling account of the incident:
“What has happened to your house you all know. The harm is only a few butts157 of beer, and I think you may be sure that the danger is over. Pray tell Mr. Thrale that I live here, and have no fruit, and if he does not interpose am not likely to have much; but I think he might as well give me a little as give all to the gardener.”
There was a double catastrophe threatening, it would appear: the burning of the brewery and the shortage in the supply of Dr. Johnson's peaches.
This is how Mrs. Thrale describes the situation:
“Nothing but the astonishing presence of mind shewed by Perkins in amusing the mob, with meat and drink and huzzas, till Sir Philip Jennings Clerke could get the troops, and pack up the counting-house, bills, bonds etc. and carry them, which he did, to Chelsea College for safety, could have saved us from actual undoing158. The villains159 had broke in, and our brew-house would have blazed in ten minutes, when a property of ￡150,000 would have been utterly lost, and its once flourishing possessors quite undone.”
It seems almost incredible that Johnson, living at Streatham as the guardian160 of Mr. Thrale's interests, should require the lady to write to him, begging him to thank Perkins for his heroism161. But so it was.
“Perkins has behaved like an Emperor,” she wrote, “and it is my earnest wish and desire—command, if you please to call it so—that you will go over to the brew-house and express your sense of his good behaviour.”
Mrs. Thrale was unreasonable162. How could Johnson be expected to take any action when he was deprived of his peaches?
It will strike a good many modern readers of the account of this and other transactions that if it was Perkins who saved the brewery for Mr. Thrale, it was Mrs. Thrale who saved Perkins for the brewery. Possibly it was her prompt gift of the silver plate to Mrs. Perkins that induced this splendid manager to pocket the insult of the beggarly two hundred guineas given to him by Mrs. Thrale—though this was double the amount authorised by the “master.” Thrale never sufficiently163 valued the services of Perkins. If he had had any gratitude164 in his composition he would never have made Johnson one of his executors. What a trial it must have been to the competent man of business to see Johnson lumbering165 about the place with a pen behind his ear and an ink-pot suspended from a button of his coat, getting in the way of everybody, and yet feeling himself quite equal to any business emergency that might crop up. He felt himself equal to anything—even to improve upon the auctioneer's style in appraising166 the value of the whole concern. “Beyond the dreams of avarice” remains as the sole classic phrase born beneath the shadow of a brew-house.
In the matter of the premium167 to Perkins, Thrale should have felt that he had a treasure in his wife, to say nothing of all that she had done for him upon another occasion, involving a terrible sacrifice. A quarrel had broken out among the clerks at the brewery, which even the generalship of Perkins was unable to mollify. Had Mrs. Thrale been an ordinary woman she would not have jeopardised her own life and the life of her child—her thirteenth—in her husband's interests. As it was, however, she felt that the duty was imposed on her to settle the difficulties in the counting-house, and she did so; but only after many sleepless168 nights and the sacrifice of her child. “The men were reconciled,” she wrote, “and my danger accelerated their reconcilement.”
If Henry Thrale was deficient169 in the best characteristics of a business man, his qualifications to shine socially can scarcely be regarded as abundant. There were stories of his having been a gay dog in his youth, but assuredly he and gaiety had long been strangers when he married his wife, and upon no occasion afterwards could he be so described even by the most indulgent of his friends; so that one rather inclines to the belief that the dull dog must have been a dull puppy. We know what his eldest170 daughter was, and we are convinced that the nature of that priggish, dignified, and eminently171 disagreeable young lady was inherited from her father. In Miss Thrale as a girl one feels that one is looking at Henry Thrale as a boy. The only story that survives of those mythical173 gay days with which he was accredited174 is that relating to the arrival of the Gunnings to take London by storm. It was said that he and Murphy thought to make these exquisite creatures the laughing-stock of the town by introducing them to a vulgar hanger-on of Murphy, in the character of a wealthy man of title and distinction. Possibly the two young men were put up to play this disgraceful prank83 upon the Gunnings by some jealous female associate; but however this may be, it not only failed most ignominiously, it recoiled175 upon the jesters themselves, for Mrs. Gunning, herself the sister of a nobleman, and destined176 to become the mother-in-law of two dukes and the grandmother of two more—the parent of a peeress in her own right, and an uncommonly177 shrewd Irishwoman into the bargain—“smoaked,” as the slang of the period had it, the trick, and her footman bundled the trio into the street.
The story may be true; but as both the Gunning girls were married in 1752, and Thrale did not meet Hester Lynch Salusbury till 1763, it was an old story then, and it was not remembered against him except by the Duchess of Hamilton. If it represents the standard of his adolescent wildness, we cannot but think that his youth was less meteoric178 than his wife believed it to be. At any rate, we do not know much about his early life, but we do know a great deal about his latter years, and it is impossible to believe that his nature underwent a radical179 change within a year or two of his marriage.
He became the host of a large number of the most notable people of that brilliant period at which he lived, and we perceive from the copious180 accounts that survive of the Streatham gatherings181 that he was greatly respected by all his visitors. He never said anything that was worth recording182, and he never did anything memorable beyond stopping Johnson when the latter was becoming more than usually offensive to his fellow-guests. He had no ear for music any more than Johnson had, and it does not appear that he cared any more for painting, although he became a splendid patron of Sir Joshua Reynolds, whom he commissioned to paint several portraits of his distinguished183 friends for the decoration of the library at Streatham. To his munificence184 in this respect the world owes its finest portraits of Goldsmith, Burke, Garrick, the painter himself, and Mrs. Thrale.
The debt which we feel we owe to Thrale on this account is, however, somewhat discounted when we learn that this enthusiastic patron of art never paid the painter for his work. He left the pictures and the obligation to pay for them as a legacy186 to his widow—and to pay for them at more than the current rate for each into the bargain. Sir Joshua Reynolds was as good a man of business as Thrale was an indifferent one. At the time of his painting the portraits his price for a three-quarter-length picture was ￡35, but in the course of a year or two he felt it necessary to charge ￡50 for the same size, and this was the price which the unfortunate widow had to pay for her husband's pose as the munificent187 patron of the Arts.
Men of the stamp of Thrale usually have no vices152.
They are highly respected. If they had a vice125 or two they would be beloved. He had a solitary failing, but it did not win for him the affection of any one: it was gluttony. For years of his life he gave himself up to the coarsest form of indulgence. He was not a gourmet188: he did not aim at the refinements of the table or at those daintinesses of cuisine189 which in the days of intemperate190 eaters and drinkers proved so fatally fascinating to men of many virtues191; no, his was the vice of the trough. He ate for the sake of eating, unmindful of the nature of the dish so long as it was plentiful192 enough to keep him employed for an hour or two.
The dinner-table of the famous Streatham Park must have been a spectacle for some of the philosophers who sat round it. We know what was the food that Johnson's soul loved, and we know how he was accustomed to partake of it. He rioted in pork, and in veal131 baked with raisins193, and when he sat down to some such dainty he fed like a wild animal. He used his fingers as though they were claws, tearing the flesh from the bone in his teeth, and swallowing it not wholly without sound. It is not surprising to learn that his exertions194 caused the veins195 in his forehead to swell87 and the beads196 of perspiration197 to drop from his scholarly brow, nor can any one who has survived this account of his muscular feat198 at the dinner-table reasonably be amazed to hear that when so engaged, he devoted199 himself to the work before him to the exclusion200 of every other interest in life. He was oblivious201 of anything that was going on around him. He was deaf to any remark made by a neighbour, and for himself articulation202 was suspended. Doubtless the feeble folk on whom he had been trampling203 in the drawing-room felt that his peculiarities205 of feeding, though revolting to the squeamish, were not without a bright side. They had a chance of making a remark at such intervals206 without being gored—“gored,” it will be remembered, was the word employed by Boswell in playful allusion102 to the effect of his argumentative powers.
Thanks to the careful habits of some of the guests at this famous house we know what fare was placed before the Gargantuan207 geniuses at one of these dinners. Here is the carte du jour, “sufficient for twelve,” as the cookery book says:
“First course, soups at head and foot, removed by fish and a saddle of mutton; second course, a fowl208 they call galena at head and a capon larger than some of our Irish turkeys at foot; third course, four different sorts of ices, pine-apple, grape, raspberry and a fourth; in each remove there were fourteen dishes.” The world is indebted to an Irish clergyman for these details. It will be seen that they did not include much that could be sneered209 at as bordering on the kickshaw. All was good solid English fare—just the sort to make the veins in a gormandiser's forehead to swell and to induce the lethargy from which Thrale suffered. He usually fell asleep after dinner; one day he failed to awake, and he has not awakened210 since.
Of course Johnson, being invariably in delicate health, was compelled to put himself on an invalid211's diet when at home. He gives us a sample of a diner maigre at Bolt Court. Feeling extremely ill, he wrote to Mrs. Thrale that he could only take for dinner “skate, pudding, goose, and green asparagus, and could have eaten more but was prudent212.” He adds, “Pray for me, dear Madam,”—by no means an unnecessary injunction, some people will think, when they become aware of the details of the meal of an invalid within a year or two of seventy.
It was after one of the Streatham dinners that Mrs. Thrale ventured to say a word or two in favour of Garrick's talent for light gay poetry, and as a specimen213 repeated his song in Florizel and Perdita, and dwelt with peculiar204 pleasure on this line:
I'd smile with the simple and dine with the poor.
This is Boswell's account of the matter, and he adds that Johnson cried, “Nay, my dear lady, this will never do. Poor David! Smile with the simple! What folly is that? And who would feed with the poor that can help it? No, no; let me smile with the wise and feed with the rich!”
Quite so; beyond a doubt Johnson spoke214 from the bottom of his heart—nay, from a deeper depth still.
Boswell was amazed to find that Garrick's “sensibility” as a writer was irritated when he related the story to him, and in Mrs. Thrale's copy of Johnson she made a note—“How odd to go and tell the man!”
It was not at all odd that Boswell, being a professional tale-bearer and mischief-maker, should tell the man; but it is odd that Garrick should be irritated, the fact being that the sally was directed against a line which he did not write. What Garrick did write was something very different. The verse, which was misquoted, runs thus:
That giant Ambition we never can dread146;
Our roofs are too low for so lofty a head;
Content and sweet Cheerfulness open our door,
They smile with the simple and feed with the poor.
Such a muddle215 as was made of the whole thing can only be attributed to the solidity of the Streatham fare.
It was inevitable that Thrale could not continue over-eating himself with impunity216. He was warned more than once by his doctors that he was killing217 himself, and yet when he had his first attack every one was shocked. He recovered temporarily, and all his friends implored218 him to cultivate moderation at the dinner-table. A touch of humour is to be found among the details of the sordid219 story, in his wife's begging Johnson—Johnson of the swollen220 forehead and the tokens of his submission221 to the primeval curse in the eating of his bread—to try to reason the unhappy man out of his dreadful vice. After wiping from the front of his coat the remains of the eighth peach which he had eaten before breakfast, or the dregs of his nineteenth cup of tea from his waistcoat, Johnson may have felt equal to the duty. He certainly remonstrated222 with Thrale. It was all to no purpose, however; he had a second attack of apoplexy in the spring of 1780, and we hear that he was copiously223 “blooded.” He recovered and went to Bath to recruit. It was during this visit to Bath that the brewery was attacked by the Gordon rioters. On returning to London he failed to induce his constituents to remain faithful to him, and he continued eating voraciously224 for another year. He began a week of gorging225 on April 1st, 1781. His wife implored him to be more moderate, and Johnson said very wisely, “Sir, after the denunciation of your physicians this morning, such eating is little better than suicide.” It was all to no purpose. He survived the gorge226 of Sunday and Monday, but that of Tuesday was too much for him. He was found by his daughter on the floor in a fit of apoplexy, and died the next morning.
Such was the man whose memory was outraged227 by the marriage of his widow with Piozzi, an Italian musician, whose ability was so highly appreciated that his earnings, even when he had lost his voice, amounted to ￡1200 a year, a sum equal to close upon ￡2500 of our money. And yet Johnson had the effrontery to suggest in that letter of his to Mrs. Thrale, which we have quoted, that she would do well to live in England, so that her money might be under her own eye!
The truth is that Mrs. Thrale was in embarrassed circumstances when she married Signor Piozzi. Her worthy122 husband left her an annuity228 of ￡2000, which was to be reduced by ￡800 in the event of her marrying again; and also ￡500 for her immediate129 expenses. Johnson wrote to her, making her acquainted with this fact, in order, it would seem, to allay229 any unworthy suspicion which she might entertain as to the extent of her husband's generosity. But his last will and testament230 cannot have wholly dispersed231 the doubt into which her experience of Mr. Thrale may have led her. For a man who had been making from ￡16,000 to ￡20,000 a year to leave his wife only ￡2000 a year, with a possibility of its being reduced to ￡1200, would not strike any one as being generous to a point of recklessness. When, however, it is remembered that Thrale's wife plucked him and his business from the verge of bankruptcy more than once, that she bore him fourteen children, and that she lived with him for eighteen years, all question as to the generosity of his bequest232 to her vanishes. But when, in addition, it is remembered that the lady's fortune at her marriage to Thrale amounted to ￡10,000, all of which he pocketed, and that later on she brought him another ￡500 a year, that it was her mother's money, added to the sum which she herself collected personally, which saved the brewery from collapse—once again at the sacrifice of her infant—all question even of common fairness disappears, and the meanness of the man stands revealed.
0083
It was through the exertions and by the business capacity of his widow that the brewery was sold for ￡135,000. She was the only one of the trustees who knew anything definite about the value of the property, and had she not been on the spot, that astute233 Mr. Perkins could have so worked the concern that he might have been able to buy it in a year or two for the value of the building materials. And yet when she became involved in a lawsuit234 that involved the paying of ￡7000, she had difficulty in persuading her daughters' trustees to advance her the money, although the security of the mortgage which she offered for the accommodation would have satisfied any bankers. A wretch235 named Crutchley, who was one of this precious band of incompetents236, on the completion of the deed bade her thank her daughters for keeping her out of gaol237. It is not recorded that the lady replied, though she certainly might have done so, and with truth on her side, that if her daughters had kept her out of a gaol she had kept her daughters out of a workhouse. She would have done much better to have gone to her friends the Barclays, whose bank had a hundred and fifty years ago as high a reputation for probity238 combined with liberality as the same concern enjoys to-day.
Enough of the business side of Mrs. Thrale's second marriage has been revealed to make it plain that Piozzi was not influenced by any mercenary motives239 in the transaction. On the contrary, it was he who came to her assistance when she was in an extremity240, and by the prompt loan of ￡1000 extricated241 her from her embarrassment242, and left the next day for Italy, without having any hope of marrying her.
Johnson's verdict on Piozzi, communicated to Miss Seward, was that he was an ugly dog, without particular skill in his profession. Unfortunately for this musical enthusiast185 and devotee to beauty, Miss Seward met Piozzi on his return from Italy with his wife. (His excellent control of her money had resulted in every penny of the mortgage being paid, and of the lodgment of ￡1500 to their credit in the bank). And Miss Seward, writing from Lichfield—more of the irony of Fate—in 1787, affirmed that the great Lichfield man “did not tell me the truth when he asserted that Piozzi was an ugly dog, without particular skill in his profession. M. Piozzi is a handsome man in middle life, with gentle, pleasing, unaffected manners, and with very eminent172 skill in his profession. Though he has not a powerful or fine-toned voice, he sings with transcending243 grace and expression. I was charmed with his perfect expression on his instrument. Surely the finest sensibilities must vibrate through his frame, since they breathe so sweetly through his song.” From this verdict no person who was acquainted with Signor Piozzi differed. Mrs. Thrale's marriage with Piozzi was as fortunate for her as her first marriage was for Thrale.
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1
celebrated
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| adj.有名的，声誉卓著的 | |
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observatory
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| n.天文台，气象台，瞭望台，观测台 | |
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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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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circumference
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| n.圆周，周长，圆周线 | |
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proprietor
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| n.所有人；业主；经营者 | |
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vocal
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| adj.直言不讳的；嗓音的；n.[pl.]声乐节目 | |
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imp
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| n.顽童 | |
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harmonious
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| adj.和睦的，调和的，和谐的，协调的 | |
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anthem
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| n.圣歌，赞美诗，颂歌 | |
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indentures
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| vt.以契约束缚（indenture的第三人称单数形式） | |
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apprentice
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| n.学徒，徒弟 | |
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bearish
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| adj.(行情)看跌的，卖空的 | |
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remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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spacious
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| adj.广阔的，宽敞的 | |
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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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brilliance
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| n.光辉，辉煌，壮丽，（卓越的）才华，才智 | |
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oratory
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| n.演讲术；词藻华丽的言辞 | |
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maiden
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| n.少女，处女；adj.未婚的，纯洁的，无经验的 | |
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sculptor
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| n.雕刻家，雕刻家 | |
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gibes
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| vi.嘲笑，嘲弄（gibe的第三人称单数形式） | |
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embittered
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| v.使怨恨，激怒( embitter的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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hiss
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| v.发出嘶嘶声；发嘘声表示不满 | |
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gunpowder
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| n.火药 | |
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dignified
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| a.可敬的，高贵的 | |
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stature
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| n.（高度）水平，（高度）境界，身高，身材 | |
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rendezvous
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| n.约会，约会地点，汇合点；vi.汇合，集合；vt.使汇合，使在汇合地点相遇 | |
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lyric
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| n.抒情诗，歌词；adj.抒情的 | |
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rapacious
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| adj.贪婪的，强夺的 | |
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judiciously
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| adv.明断地，明智而审慎地 | |
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undoubtedly
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| adv.确实地，无疑地 | |
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tact
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| n.机敏，圆滑，得体 | |
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wig
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| n.假发 | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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conversational
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| adj.对话的，会话的 | |
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supercilious
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| adj.目中无人的，高傲的；adv.高傲地；n.高傲 | |
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discomfiture
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| n.崩溃；大败；挫败；困惑 | |
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rumour
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| n.谣言，谣传，传闻 | |
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sociability
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| n.好交际，社交性，善于交际 | |
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funereal
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| adj.悲哀的；送葬的 | |
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prone
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| adj.(to)易于…的，很可能…的；俯卧的 | |
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exuberance
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| n.丰富；繁荣 | |
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ironic
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| adj.讽刺的，有讽刺意味的，出乎意料的 | |
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45
imps
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| n.（故事中的）小恶魔( imp的名词复数 )；小魔鬼；小淘气；顽童 | |
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lurk
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| n.潜伏，潜行；v.潜藏，潜伏，埋伏 | |
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demon
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| n.魔鬼，恶魔 | |
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sardonic
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| adj.嘲笑的，冷笑的，讥讽的 | |
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obedience
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| n.服从，顺从 | |
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50
mimicry
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| n.（生物）拟态，模仿 | |
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51
provocation
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| n.激怒，刺激，挑拨，挑衅的事物，激怒的原因 | |
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remonstrance
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| n抗议，抱怨 | |
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53
appreciative
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| adj.有鉴赏力的，有眼力的；感激的 | |
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demurely
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| adv.装成端庄地，认真地 | |
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55
admonished
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| v.劝告( admonish的过去式和过去分词 )；训诫；（温和地）责备；轻责 | |
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irony
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| n.反语，冷嘲；具有讽刺意味的事，嘲弄 | |
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saturnine
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| adj.忧郁的，沉默寡言的，阴沉的，感染铅毒的 | |
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enacted
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| 制定（法律），通过（法案）( enact的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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gruel
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| n.稀饭，粥 | |
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60
hearth
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| n.壁炉炉床，壁炉地面 | |
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61
utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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62
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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63
thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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64
rebuke
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| v.指责，非难，斥责 [反]praise | |
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reproof
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| n.斥责，责备 | |
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66
sneaked
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| v.潜行( sneak的过去式和过去分词 )；偷偷溜走；（儿童向成人）打小报告；告状 | |
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premises
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| n.建筑物，房屋 | |
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memorable
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| adj.值得回忆的，难忘的，特别的，显著的 | |
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urbane
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| adj.温文尔雅的，懂礼的 | |
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70
brewer
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| n. 啤酒制造者 | |
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71
aloof
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| adj.远离的；冷淡的，漠不关心的 | |
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72
appallingly
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| 毛骨悚然地 | |
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73
catastrophe
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| n.大灾难，大祸 | |
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74
huddle
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| vi.挤作一团；蜷缩；vt.聚集；n.挤在一起的人 | |
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75
stony
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| adj.石头的，多石头的，冷酷的，无情的 | |
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76
boorishness
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77
dolts
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| n.笨蛋，傻瓜( dolt的名词复数 ) | |
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78
effrontery
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| n.厚颜无耻 | |
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79
collapses
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| 折叠( collapse的第三人称单数 )； 倒塌； 崩溃； （尤指工作劳累后）坐下 | |
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80
sneaks
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| abbr.sneakers (tennis shoes) 胶底运动鞋（网球鞋）v.潜行( sneak的第三人称单数 )；偷偷溜走；（儿童向成人）打小报告；告状 | |
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81
mischief
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| n.损害，伤害，危害；恶作剧，捣蛋，胡闹 | |
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82
pranks
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| n.玩笑，恶作剧( prank的名词复数 ) | |
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83
prank
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| n.开玩笑，恶作剧；v.装饰；打扮；炫耀自己 | |
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84
insignificant
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| adj.无关紧要的，可忽略的，无意义的 | |
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85
justifiable
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| adj.有理由的，无可非议的 | |
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86
butt
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| n.笑柄；烟蒂；枪托；臀部；v.用头撞或顶 | |
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87
swell
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| vi.膨胀，肿胀；增长，增强 | |
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88
judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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89
scrupulous
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| adj.审慎的，小心翼翼的，完全的，纯粹的 | |
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90
interfere
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| v.(in)干涉，干预；(with)妨碍，打扰 | |
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91
malevolence
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| n.恶意，狠毒 | |
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92
fawning
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| adj.乞怜的，奉承的v.（尤指狗等）跳过来往人身上蹭以示亲热( fawn的现在分词 )；巴结；讨好 | |
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93
canine
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| adj.犬的，犬科的 | |
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94
contemptible
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| adj.可鄙的，可轻视的，卑劣的 | |
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95
dwindled
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| v.逐渐变少或变小( dwindle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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96
forfeited
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| （因违反协议、犯规、受罚等）丧失，失去( forfeit的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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97
detested
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| v.憎恶，嫌恶，痛恨( detest的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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98
cynical
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| adj.(对人性或动机)怀疑的，不信世道向善的 | |
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99
belittling
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| 使显得微小，轻视，贬低( belittle的现在分词 ) | |
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100
impudence
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| n.厚颜无耻；冒失；无礼 | |
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101
allusions
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| 暗指，间接提到( allusion的名词复数 ) | |
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102
allusion
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| n.暗示，间接提示 | |
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103
recapitulate
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| v.节述要旨，择要说明 | |
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104
recollect
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| v.回忆，想起，记起，忆起，记得 | |
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105
delicacy
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| n.精致，细微，微妙，精良；美味，佳肴 | |
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106
inflexible
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| adj.不可改变的，不受影响的，不屈服的 | |
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107
sneer
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| v.轻蔑；嘲笑；n.嘲笑，讥讽的言语 | |
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108
sneering
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| 嘲笑的，轻蔑的 | |
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109
liar
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| n.说谎的人 | |
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110
remorseful
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| adj.悔恨的 | |
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111
earnings
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| n.工资收人；利润，利益，所得 | |
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112
brutal
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| adj.残忍的，野蛮的，不讲理的 | |
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113
ignominiously
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| adv.耻辱地，屈辱地，丢脸地 | |
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114
ignominious
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| adj.可鄙的，不光彩的，耻辱的 | |
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115
undone
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| a.未做完的，未完成的 | |
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116
folly
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| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
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117
displeased
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| a.不快的 | |
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118
professes
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| 声称( profess的第三人称单数 )； 宣称； 公开表明； 信奉 | |
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119
epithet
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| n.（用于褒贬人物等的）表述形容词，修饰语 | |
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120
zealous
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| adj.狂热的，热心的 | |
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121
adherent
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| n.信徒，追随者，拥护者 | |
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122
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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123
brutality
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| n.野蛮的行为，残忍，野蛮 | |
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124
presumption
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| n.推测，可能性，冒昧，放肆，[法律]推定 | |
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125
vice
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| n.坏事；恶习；[pl.]台钳，老虎钳；adj.副的 | |
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126
relinquish
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| v.放弃，撤回，让与，放手 | |
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127
esteemed
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| adj.受人尊敬的v.尊敬( esteem的过去式和过去分词 )；敬重；认为；以为 | |
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128
guise
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| n.外表，伪装的姿态 | |
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129
immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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130
humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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131
veal
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| n.小牛肉 | |
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132
incapable
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|
| adj.无能力的，不能做某事的 | |
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133
pretence
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| n.假装，作假；借口，口实；虚伪；虚饰 | |
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134
temperament
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| n.气质，性格，性情 | |
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135
morose
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| adj.脾气坏的，不高兴的 | |
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136
bankruptcy
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| n.破产；无偿付能力 | |
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137
constituents
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| n.选民( constituent的名词复数 )；成分；构成部分；要素 | |
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138
refinements
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| n.（生活）风雅；精炼( refinement的名词复数 )；改良品；细微的改良；优雅或高贵的动作 | |
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139
adoption
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| n.采用，采纳，通过；收养 | |
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140
prosecution
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| n.起诉，告发，检举，执行，经营 | |
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141
sundry
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| adj.各式各样的，种种的 | |
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142
emulate
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| v.努力赶上或超越，与…竞争；效仿 | |
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143
legitimate
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| adj.合法的，合理的，合乎逻辑的；v.使合法 | |
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144
idiotic
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| adj.白痴的 | |
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145
verge
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| n.边，边缘；v.接近，濒临 | |
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146
dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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147
inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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148
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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149
incompetence
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| n.不胜任，不称职 | |
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150
borough
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| n.享有自治权的市镇；(英)自治市镇 | |
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151
brewery
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| n.啤酒厂 | |
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152
vices
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| 缺陷( vice的名词复数 )； 恶习； 不道德行为； 台钳 | |
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153
concealment
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| n.隐藏, 掩盖，隐瞒 | |
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154
generosity
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| n.大度，慷慨，慷慨的行为 | |
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155
overthrown
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| adj. 打翻的，推倒的，倾覆的 动词overthrow的过去分词 | |
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156
suspense
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| n.（对可能发生的事）紧张感，担心，挂虑 | |
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157
butts
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| 笑柄( butt的名词复数 )； （武器或工具的）粗大的一端； 屁股； 烟蒂 | |
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158
undoing
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| n.毁灭的原因，祸根；破坏，毁灭 | |
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159
villains
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| n.恶棍( villain的名词复数 )；罪犯；（小说、戏剧等中的）反面人物；淘气鬼 | |
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160
guardian
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| n.监护人；守卫者，保护者 | |
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161
heroism
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| n.大无畏精神，英勇 | |
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162
unreasonable
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| adj.不讲道理的，不合情理的，过度的 | |
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163
sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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164
gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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165
lumbering
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| n.采伐林木 | |
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166
appraising
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| v.估价( appraise的现在分词 )；估计；估量；评价 | |
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167
premium
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| n.加付款；赠品；adj.高级的；售价高的 | |
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168
sleepless
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| adj.不睡眠的，睡不著的，不休息的 | |
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169
deficient
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| adj.不足的，不充份的，有缺陷的 | |
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170
eldest
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| adj.最年长的，最年老的 | |
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171
eminently
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| adv.突出地；显著地；不寻常地 | |
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172
eminent
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| adj.显赫的，杰出的，有名的，优良的 | |
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173
mythical
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| adj.神话的；虚构的；想像的 | |
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174
accredited
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|
| adj.可接受的；可信任的；公认的；质量合格的v.相信( accredit的过去式和过去分词 )；委托；委任；把…归结于 | |
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175
recoiled
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| v.畏缩( recoil的过去式和过去分词 )；退缩；报应；返回 | |
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176
destined
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| adj.命中注定的；(for)以…为目的地的 | |
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177
uncommonly
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| adv. 稀罕(极，非常) | |
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178
meteoric
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| adj.流星的，转瞬即逝的，突然的 | |
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179
radical
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| n.激进份子，原子团，根号；adj.根本的，激进的，彻底的 | |
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180
copious
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| adj.丰富的，大量的 | |
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181
gatherings
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| 聚集( gathering的名词复数 )； 收集； 采集； 搜集 | |
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182
recording
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| n.录音，记录 | |
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183
distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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184
munificence
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| n.宽宏大量，慷慨给与 | |
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185
enthusiast
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| n.热心人，热衷者 | |
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186
legacy
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| n.遗产，遗赠；先人(或过去)留下的东西 | |
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187
munificent
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| adj.慷慨的，大方的 | |
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188
gourmet
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| n.食物品尝家；adj.出于美食家之手的 | |
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189
cuisine
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| n.烹调，烹饪法 | |
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190
intemperate
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| adj.无节制的，放纵的 | |
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191
virtues
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| 美德( virtue的名词复数 )； 德行； 优点； 长处 | |
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192
plentiful
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| adj.富裕的，丰富的 | |
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193
raisins
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| n.葡萄干( raisin的名词复数 ) | |
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194
exertions
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| n.努力( exertion的名词复数 )；费力；（能力、权力等的）运用；行使 | |
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195
veins
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| n.纹理；矿脉( vein的名词复数 )；静脉；叶脉；纹理 | |
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196
beads
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| n.（空心）小珠子( bead的名词复数 )；水珠；珠子项链 | |
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197
perspiration
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| n.汗水；出汗 | |
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198
feat
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| n.功绩；武艺，技艺；adj.灵巧的，漂亮的，合适的 | |
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199
devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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200
exclusion
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| n.拒绝，排除，排斥，远足，远途旅行 | |
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201
oblivious
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|
| adj.易忘的，遗忘的，忘却的，健忘的 | |
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202
articulation
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| n.（清楚的）发音；清晰度，咬合 | |
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203
trampling
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| 踩( trample的现在分词 )； 践踏； 无视； 侵犯 | |
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204
peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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peculiarities
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| n. 特质, 特性, 怪癖, 古怪 | |
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206
intervals
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| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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gargantuan
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| adj.巨大的，庞大的 | |
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fowl
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| n.家禽，鸡，禽肉 | |
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sneered
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| 讥笑，冷笑( sneer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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awakened
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| v.（使）醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
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invalid
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| n.病人，伤残人；adj.有病的，伤残的；无效的 | |
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prudent
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| adj.谨慎的，有远见的，精打细算的 | |
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specimen
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| n.样本，标本 | |
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spoke
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| 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 | |
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muddle
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| n.困惑，混浊状态；vt.使混乱，使糊涂，使惊呆；vi.胡乱应付，混乱 | |
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impunity
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| n.(惩罚、损失、伤害等的)免除 | |
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killing
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| n.巨额利润；突然赚大钱，发大财 | |
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implored
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| 恳求或乞求（某人）( implore的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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sordid
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| adj.肮脏的，不干净的，卑鄙的，暗淡的 | |
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swollen
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| adj.肿大的，水涨的；v.使变大，肿胀 | |
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submission
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| n.服从，投降；温顺，谦虚；提出 | |
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remonstrated
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| v.抗议( remonstrate的过去式和过去分词 )；告诫 | |
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copiously
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| adv.丰富地，充裕地 | |
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voraciously
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| adv.贪婪地 | |
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gorging
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| v.（用食物把自己）塞饱，填饱( gorge的现在分词 )；作呕 | |
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226
gorge
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| n.咽喉，胃，暴食，山峡；v.塞饱，狼吞虎咽地吃 | |
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outraged
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| a.震惊的，义愤填膺的 | |
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annuity
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| n.年金；养老金 | |
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allay
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| v.消除，减轻(恐惧、怀疑等) | |
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testament
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| n.遗嘱；证明 | |
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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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bequest
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| n.遗赠；遗产，遗物 | |
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astute
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| adj.机敏的，精明的 | |
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lawsuit
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| n.诉讼，控诉 | |
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wretch
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| n.可怜的人，不幸的人；卑鄙的人 | |
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incompetents
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| n.无能力的，不称职的，不胜任的( incompetent的名词复数 ) | |
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gaol
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| n.(jail)监狱；(不加冠词)监禁；vt.使…坐牢 | |
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probity
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| n.刚直；廉洁，正直 | |
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motives
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| n.动机，目的( motive的名词复数 ) | |
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extremity
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| n.末端，尽头；尽力；终极；极度 | |
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241
extricated
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| v.使摆脱困难，脱身( extricate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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embarrassment
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| n.尴尬；使人为难的人(事物)；障碍；窘迫 | |
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transcending
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| 超出或超越（经验、信念、描写能力等）的范围( transcend的现在分词 )； 优于或胜过… | |
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