The young Lord Stanley had as many advisers as any young nobleman with a large immediate10 allowance and prospects11 of a splendid inheritance may hope to secure. There was his fiancée's mother, now the Duchess of Argyll, who was never disposed to frown down an undertaking12 that would place a member of one of her families in the forefront of the battle of the beauties for the most desirable parti of the year.
0155
The Duchess had both taste and imagination, so that people called her an Irishwoman, although she was born in England. Then there was Mr. George Selwyn, who said witty14 things occasionally and never missed a hanging. He was fully15 qualified16 to prompt a wealthy companion as to the best means to become notorious for a day. There was also young Mr. Conway, the gentleman who originated the diverting spectacle when Mrs. Baddeley and Mrs. Abington were escorted to the Pantheon. Any one of these, to say nothing of Lady Betty herself, who had some love for display, might have been inclined to trust an English June so far as to believe an al fresco17 entertainment on a splendid scale quite possible.
On the whole, however, one is inclined to believe that it was Colonel Burgoyne who was responsible for the whole scheme at The Oaks. In addition to having become Lord Stanley's uncle by running away with his father's sister, he was a budding dramatist, and as such must have perceived his opportunity for exploiting himself at the expense of some one else—the dream of every budding dramatist. There is every likelihood that it was this highly accomplished18 and successful “gentleman-adventurer” who brought Lord Stanley up to the point of embarking19 upon his design for an entertainment such as had never been seen in England before—an entertainment that should include the production of a masque devised by Colonel Burgoyne and entitled The Maid of The Oaks. The fête came off, and it was pronounced the most brilliant success of the year 1774.
Lord Stanley was a very interesting young man; that is to say, he was a young man in whom no inconsiderable number of persons—mainly of the opposite sex—were greatly interested. Of this fact he seems to have been fully aware. A good many people—mainly of the opposite sex—felt very strongly on the subject of his marrying: it was quite time that he married, they said. His grandfather, the Earl of Derby, was eighty-four years of age, and it would be absurd to believe that he could live much longer. Lord Stanley being his heir, it was agreed that it was the young man's duty not to procrastinate20 in the matter of marriage. It is always understood that a patriarchal nobleman sings “Nunc dimittis” when he holds in his arms the second in direct succession to the title, and this happy consummation could, in the case of the aged21 Lord Derby, only be realised by the marriage of Lord Stanley.
He was small in stature22, and extremely plain of countenance23; still this did not prevent his name from being coupled with that of several notable—but not too notable—young women of his acquaintance. But as it was well known that he was greatly interested in the stage, it was thought that, perhaps, he might not be so complaisant24 as his best friends hoped to find him in regard to marrying. An ardent25 interest in the progress of the drama, especially in its lighter26 forms, has been known to turn a young man's attention from marriage, when it does not do what is far worse—turn his attention to it with too great zest27. Before long, however, it became apparent that his lordship recognised in what direction his duty lay. There was a young lady connected with the Ducal House of Bedford—a niece of that old Duchess who played so conspicuous28 a part in the social and political history of the middle of the eighteenth century—and to her Lord Stanley became devoted29. But just when every one assumed that the matter was settled, no one thinking it possible that the young lady would be mad enough to refuse such a parti, the news came that she had done so; and before people had done discussing how very eccentric were the Bedford connections, the announcement was made that Lord Stanley was to marry Lady Betty Hamilton, the beautiful daughter of a beautiful mother, the Duchess of Argyll.
There is in existence a letter written by the Duchess to Sir William Hamilton, in which she hints that Lord Stanley was an old suitor for the hand of her daughter. “Lady Betty might have taken the name of Stanley long ago if she had chose it,” she wrote, adding: “A very sincere attachment30 on his side has at last produced the same on hers.” This being so, it would perhaps be unsafe to assume that Lord Stanley proposed to Lady Betty out of pique31 at having been rejected by the other lady, though one might be disposed to take this view of the engagement.
The alternative view is that Lady Betty had been advised by her accomplished mother that if she played her cards well there was no reason why she should not so attract Lord Stanley as to lead him to be a suitor for her hand, and that the girl at last came to see that the idea was worth her consideration. Her portrait, painted by Sir Joshua Reynolds in the year of her marriage, shows her to have been a graceful32, girlish young creature; but her beauty could never have been comparable with that of her mother at the same age, or with that of her aunt, Lady Coventry, whom it is certain she closely resembled in character. Her mother, in her letter to Sir William Hamilton, apologises in a way for her liveliness, assuring him that such a disposition33 was not incompatible34 with serious thought upon occasions; and this gives us a hint that the reputation for vivacity35 which she always enjoyed was closely akin13 to that which made the life of Lady Coventry so very serious.
This was the young lady in whose honour the first English fête champêtre was organised. To be more exact, or to get more into touch with the view of the Derby family, perhaps one should say that the fête was set on foot in consideration of the honour the young lady was doing herself in becoming a member of the great house of Stanley. Different people look at a question of honour from different standpoints. Probably Colonel Burgoyne, although a member of the Derby family by marriage, left honour out of the question altogether, and only thought of his masque being produced at his nephew's expense.
And produced the masque was, and on a scale as expensive as the most ambitious author could desire. It was described, with comments, by all the great letter-writers of the time. Walpole has his leer and his sneer36 at its expense (literally). It was to cost no less than ￡5000, he said, and he ventured to suppose that in order to account for this enormous outlay37 Lord Stanley had bought up all the orange trees near London—no particular extravagance one would fancy—and that the hay-cocks would be of straw-coloured riband. George Selwyn thought it far from diverting. The Dowager Lady Gower affirmed that “all the world was there,” only she makes an exception of her relations the Bedfords—she called them “the Bloomsbury lot”—and said that the Duchess would not let any of them go because Her Grace thought that Lord Stanley should have taken his recent rejection38 by Her Grace's niece more to heart. Lady Betty's stepfather, the Duke of Argyll, said that the whole day was so long and fatiguing39 that only Lady Betty could have stood it all.
But did Lady Betty stand it all? It was rumoured41 in the best-informed circles that she had broken off the match the next day; and when one becomes acquainted with the programme of the day's doings one cannot but acknowledge that the rumour40 was plausible42. She probably made an attempt in this direction; but on her fiancé's promising43 never to repeat the offence, withdrew her resolution.
The famous brothers Adam, whose genius was equally ready to build an Adelphi or to design a fanlight, had been commissioned to plan an entertainment on the most approved French models and to carry it out on the noblest scale, taking care, of course, that the central idea should be the masque of The Maid of The Oaks, and these large-minded artists accepted the order without demur44. The pseudo-classical feeling entered, largely through the influence of the Adams, into every form of art at this period, though the famous brothers cannot be accused of originating the movement. Sir Joshua Reynolds painted his most charming ladies in the costume of Greeks, and Angelica Kauffmann depicted45 many of her early English episodes with the personages clad in togas which seemed greatly beyond their control. But for that matter every battle piece up to the date of Benjamin West's “Death of Wolfe” showed the combatants in classical armour46; and Dr. Johnson was more than usually loud in his protests against the suggestion that a sculptor47 should put his statues of modern men into modern clothing.
But the Adams were wise enough to refrain from issuing any order as to the costume to be worn by the shepherds and shepherdesses who were to roam the mead48 at The Oaks, Epsom, upon the occasion of this fête champêtre; and they were also wise enough to distrust the constancy of an English June. The result was (1) a charming medley49 of costume, though the pseudo-pastoral peasants, farmers, gardeners, and shepherds were in the majority, and (2) the most interesting part of the entertainments took place indoors, the octagonal hall lending itself nobly—when improved by Messrs. Adam—to the show. The “transparencies” which constituted so important a part of the ordinary birthday celebrations of the time, took the form of painted windows, and, later, of a device showing two of the conventional torches of Hymen in full blaze, supporting a shield with the Oak of the Hamiltons' crest51 and the usual “gules.”
This design occupied the place of the “set piece” which winds up a modern display of fireworks and sets the band playing “God save the King.” It could not have been brought on until the morning sunlight was flooding the landscape outside; for supper was not served until half-past eleven, and the company had to witness the representation of an intolerably long masque—the second of the day—after supper, with a procession of Druids, fauns, cupids, and nymphs, all in suitable, but it is to be hoped not traditional, costume.
The entertainment began quite early in the afternoon, when there was a long procession of shepherds and shepherdesses through the lanes to where a pastoral play was produced and syllabub drunk under the trees. But this was only an hors d'ouvre; it was not Colonel Burgoyne's masterpiece. This was not produced in the open air. Only when further refreshments52 had been served and evening was closing in did the guests, who had been sauntering through the sylvan53 scenes, repair to the great hall, which they found superbly decorated and, in fact, remodelled54, for colonnades55 after the type of those in the pictures of Claude had been built around the great ballroom56, the shafts57 being festooned with roses, and the drapery of crimson58 satin with heavy gold fringes. There were not enough windows to make excuses for so much drapery, but this was no insuperable obstacle to the artful designers; they so disposed of the material as to make it appear that it was the legitimate59 hanging for six windows.
For the procession through the colonnades the young host changed his costume and his fiancée changed hers. He had appeared as Rubens and she as Rubens' wife, from the well-known picture. But now she was dressed as Iphigenia. They led the first minuet before supper, and it was thought that they looked very fine. No one who has seen the two pictures of the scene, for which Zucchi was commissioned, can question this judgment60. Lady Betty's portrait in one of these panels makes her even more beautiful than she appears on Sir Joshua's canvas.
With a display of fireworks of a detonating and discomposing type—the explosion, it was said, affected61 the nerves of nearly all the guests—and the illumination of the “transparency” already alluded62 to, this memorable63 fête came to no premature64 conclusion. Every one was bored to death by so much festivity coming all at once. The idea of twelve hours of masques and minuets is enough to make one's blood run cold. Its realisation may have had this effect upon the heroine of the day, hence the rumour that she found she had had enough of the Derby family to last her for the rest of her life without marrying the young heir. Unfortunately, however, if this was the case, she failed to justify65 the accuracy of the report; and she was married to Lord Stanley on the 23rd of the same month.
The union of Maria Gunning with the Earl of Coventry was a miserable66 one, but this of her niece and Lord Stanley was infinitely67 worse. Lady Betty soon found out that she had made a mistake in marrying a man so incapable68 of appreciating her charm of manner as was Lord Stanley. The likelihood is that if she had married any other man she would have made the same discovery. The vivacity for which her mother apologised to Sir William Hamilton was, after her marriage, much more apparent than the thoughtfulness which the Duchess assured her correspondent was one of her daughter's traits. She showed herself to be appallingly69 vivacious70 upon more than one occasion. Just at that time there was a vivacious “set” in Lady Betty's world, and every member of it seemed striving for leadership. Few of the ladies knew exactly where the border line lay between vivacity and indiscretion. If Lady Betty was one of the better informed on this delicate question of delimitation, all that can be said is that she overstepped the line upon several occasions. It is not to be thought that her lightness ever bordered into actual vice50, but it rarely fell short of being indiscreet.
She was always being talked about—always having curious escapades, none of them quite compromising, but all calculated to make the judicious73 grieve. But it is one thing to be subjected to the censure74 of the judicious and quite another to come before a judicial75 authority, and it is pretty certain that if Lady Derby—her husband succeeded to the title two years after his marriage—had incriminated herself, she would have been forced to defend a divorce suit.
It is, however, likewise certain that for some time she kept hovering76 like a butterfly about the portals of the Court, and a good deal of the bloom was blown off her wings by the breath of rumour. She had accepted the devotion of the Duke of Dorset, and, considering the number of eyes that were upon her and the devotion of His Grace, this was a very dangerous thing to do. They were constantly seen together and at all hours. This was in the second year of her marriage, but even in the first her desire to achieve notoriety by some means made itself apparent. But her escapade that was most talked about was really not worthy77 of the gossip of a Gower. She was at a ball at the house of Mrs. Onslow in St. James's Square, and her chair not arriving in good time to take her back to Grosvenor Square, it was suggested by Lord Lindsay and Mr. Storer that they should borrow Mrs. Onslow's chair and carry her between them to her home. She agreed to this gallant78 proposal, and off they set together. The young men bore her to her very door in spite of the fact that they had met her own chair soon after they had left Mrs. Onslow's porch.
There was surely not much of an escapade in this transaction. The truth was probably that the chair did not arrive owing to the condition of the bearers, and when the young gentlemen met it they refused to jeopardise the safety of the lady by transferring her from Mrs. Onslow's chair to her own.
Rumour, however, was only too anxious to put the worst construction upon every act of the merry Countess, and it was doubtless because of this, and of her own knowledge of her daughter's thoughtlessness, that the Duchess of Argyll appeared upon the scene and endeavoured by her presence and advice to avert79 the catastrophe80 that seemed imminent81. The Duchess insisted on accompanying her to every entertainment, and succeeded in keeping a watchful82 eye on her, though the Duke, who was at Inveraray, and was doubtless tired of hearing of the vivacity of his stepdaughter, wrote rather peremptorily83 for Her Grace to return to Scotland. She did not obey the summons, the fact being that she was devoted to this daughter of hers, who must have daily reminded her of her own sister Maria, to whom she had been so deeply attached. *
* It was said that she had refused the offer of the Duke of
Bridgewater, because of his suggestion that she should break
off all intercourse84 with Lady Coventry.
Seeing, however, that she could not continue to look after this lively young matron, and being well aware of the fact that Lord Derby would never consent to live with her again, the Duchess could do no more than condone85 the separation which was inevitable86. The deed was drawn87 up in 1779, five years after Lady Betty had been so inauspiciously bored by the fête champêtre.
0171
In the meantime there was a good deal of talk about the Earl of Derby himself. A young nobleman who takes a lively, or even a grave, interest in the personnel of the theatre is occasionally made the subject of vulgar gossip. Lord Derby had a reputation as an amateur actor, and he seemed to think that it would be increased by association with professional actresses. It is doubtful if he was justified88 in his views on this delicate question. At any rate, rightly or wrongly, on his estrangement89 from his wife, but two years before the final separation, he showed a greater devotion than ever to dramatic performances and dramatic performers. His uncle by marriage, now General Burgoyne, had written a play that turned out an extraordinary success. This was The Heiress, and it had received extravagant90 praise in many influential91 quarters. It was while it was still being talked of in society that a company of distinguished amateurs undertook to produce it at Richmond House, in Whitehall Place. In order that the representation might be as perfect as possible, the Duchess of Richmond engaged the actress who had taken the chief part in the original production, to superintend the rehearsals92 of her amateurs. Miss Farren was a young person of considerable beauty, and more even than an actress's share of discretion71. She was in George Colman's company at the Haymarket, and was rapidly taking the place of Mrs. Abington in the affections of playgoers. She was the daughter of a surgeon in a small way—he may have been one of the barber surgeons of the eighteenth century. Marrying an actress (also in a small way), he adopted the stage as a profession, and became a strolling actor-manager, whenever he got the chance, and died before his drinking habits had quite demoralised his family.
Mrs. Farren was a wise woman—wise enough to know that she was a bad actress, but that there were possibilities in her two daughters. It was after only a brief season of probation93 that Colman engaged one of the girls to do small parts, promoting her in an emergency to be a “principal.” Miss Farren proved herself capable of making the most of her opportunity, and the result was that within a year she was taking Mrs. Abington's parts in the best comedies.
Her mother was sensible enough to perceive that there was room in the best society for an actress of ability as well as respectability—up to that time the two qualities had seldom been found associated—and Mrs. Farren was right. No whisper had ever been heard against the young lady, and a judicious introduction or two brought her into many drawing-rooms of those leaders of society who were also respectable, and this was of advantage to her not only socially, but professionally. Horace Walpole was able to write of her: “In distinction of manner and refinement94 she excelled Mrs. Abington, who could never go beyond Lady Teazle, which is a second-rate character.” Again, in a letter to Lady Ossory, he ascribed the ability of Miss Farren to the fact that she was accustomed to mingle95 with the best society.
This theory of Walpole's has been frequently controverted96 since his day, and now no one will venture to assert that there is really anything in it, although it sounds plausible enough. Miss Farren had, however, ample opportunity of studying “the real thing” and of profiting by her study. She found herself on the most intimate footing with duchesses—not of the baser sort like her of Ancaster, or of the eccentric sort like her of Bedford, but of the most exalted97. The Duchess of Richmond and the Duchess of Leinster were among her friends, and thus it was that her appearance at the rehearsals of The Heiress of Whitehall Place was not wholly professional. Upon this occasion she met Lord Derby and also Charles James Fox, the latter having accepted the rather onerous98 duties of stage manager. Before any of the performers were letter perfect in their dialogue, Miss Farren had captured the hearts of both these men. Having some of the qualities necessary to success as a statesman, including caution and an instinct as to the right moment to retire from a contest that must end in some one being made a fool of, Mr. Fox soon withdrew from a position of rivalry99 with Lord Derby. It was rumoured by the malicious100, who had at heart the maintenance of the good name of Miss Farren, that Mr. Fox had been dismissed by the lady with great indignation on his making a proposition to her that did not quite meet her views in regard to the ceremony of marriage. Miss Farren they asserted to be a paragon101 of virtue102, and so she undoubtedly103 was. Her virtue was of the most ostentatious type. She would never admit a gentleman to an audience unless some witness of her virtue was present. She accepted the devotion of Lord Derby, but gave him to understand quite plainly that so long as his wife was alive she could only agree to be his fiancée. Truly a very dragon of virtue was Miss Farren!
The Earl, previous to his meeting the actress, had been a dutiful if not a very devoted husband. But as soon as he fell in love with this paragon of virtue he became careless, and made no attempt to restrain his wife in her thoughtless behaviour. He allowed her to go her own way, and he went his way. His way led him almost every evening to the green room at the Haymarket and Drury Lane, where Miss Farren was to be found. The estrangement between himself and his wife that resulted in the final separation was the result not of his infatuation for the actress, but of her virtuous104 acceptance of him as her moral lover. She took care never to compromise herself with him or any one else, but she did not mind taking the man away from his wife and home in order that she might be accredited105 with occupying an absolutely unique position in the annals of the English stage.
If Miss Farren had been a little less virtuous and a little more human she would run a better chance of obtaining the sympathy of such people as are capable of differentiating106 between a woman's virtue and the virtues107 of womankind. She seemed to think that the sole duty of a woman is to be discreet72 in regard to herself—to give no one a chance of pointings finger of scorn at her; and it really seemed as if this was also the creed108 of the noble people with whom she associated. Every one seemed to be so paralysed by her propriety109 as to be incapable of perceiving how contemptible110 a part she was playing. An honest woman, with the instincts of goodness and with some sense of her duty, would, the moment a married man offers her his devotion, send him pretty quickly about his business. The most elementary sense of duty must suggest the adoption111 of such a course of treatment in regard to an illicit112 admirer. But Miss Farren had no such sense. She met the philandering113 of her lover with smiles and a virtuous handshake. She accepted his offer of an adoring friendship for the present with a reversion of the position of Countess of Derby on the death of the existing holder114 of the title and its appurtenances; and people held her up, and continue to hold her up, as an example of all that is virtuous and amiable115 in life!
She was also commended for her patience, as Lord Derby was for his constancy. They had both great need of these qualities, for the unhappy barrier to their union showed no signs of getting out of their way, either by death or divorce. She became strangely discreet, taking, in fact, a leaf out of Miss Farren's book of deportment, and never giving her husband a chance of freeing himself from the tie that bound him nominally116 to her. It must have been very gratifying to the actress to perceive how effective was the example she set to the Countess in regard to the adherence117 to the path of rectitude.
What was the exact impression produced upon Lord Derby by all this decorum it would be difficult to say. He may have been pleased to discover that he was married to a lady to whom his honour was more precious than he had any reason or any right to believe it to be. But assuredly a less placid118 gentleman would have found himself wishing now and again that—well, that matters had arranged themselves differently.
The years went by without bringing about a more satisfactory modus vivendi than was in existence when Lord Derby originally offered his heart and hand (the latter when it should become vacant) to the actress. Lady Derby was in wretched health, but still showed no more inclination119 to die than does a chronic120 invalid121. Miss Farren continued to drive her splendid chariot, with its coachmen on the hammer-cloth and its footmen clinging on to the straps122 behind, down to the stage-door of the theatre, and to fill the house every night that she played. Her popularity seemed to grow with years, and she appeared in a wide range of characters, making her audiences accept as correct her reading of every part, though the best critics—Walpole was about the worst—of her art had a good deal to say that was not quite favourable123 to her style. Only once, however, did she make a flagrant error on the stage, and this was when she was misguided enough to put on men's garments in representing the part of Tracy Lovell in Colman's play, The Suicide.
By this unhappy exhibition which she made of herself she disillusioned124 those of her admirers who fancied that she was a model of grace from the sole of her feet to the crown of her head. She never repeated this performance. Had she done so in Lord Derby's presence, his constancy would have been put to a severer test than any to which he had been previously125 subjected. The best judges of what constitutes grace in a woman were unanimous in their advice to the lady never to forsake126 the friendly habiliments which she was accustomed to wear, and never to allow her emulation127 of the perpetually chaste128 goddess to lead her to adopt even for an hour the convenient garb129 in which she went a-hunting.
And while his fiancée was moving from triumph to triumph, putting every other actress in the shade, the Earl of Derby was putting on flesh. But as his flesh became more visible so did his faith. He was a model of fidelity130. His name was never associated with the name of any other lady—not even that of his wife—during his long years of probation, and twenty years form a rather protracted131 period for a man to wait in order to marry an actress. It was not to be wondered if the spectacle of the devoted young peer waiting for the beautiful girl in the green room, which was allowed to the habitués of that fascinating apartment during the earlier years of this strange attachment, produced quite a different effect upon people from that which was the result of witnessing a somewhat obese132, elderly gentleman panting along by the side of a chaste lady of forty. Nor was it remarkable133 that, on seeing one day by the side of Miss Farren, a gallant young man whose walk and bearing suggested to elderly spectators a rejuvenated134 Lord Stanley, they should rub their eyes and ask what miracle was this that time and true love had wrought135.
The only miracle that time had wrought was to make the son of the Earl of Derby twenty-one years of age and rather interested in the personnel of green rooms. He had been introduced to Miss Farren by his father; but to his honour be it said, he made no attempt to take his father's place in regard to the lady, except as her escort to her house in Green Street. The gossip that suggested such a possibility was just what one might expect to find in one of Walpole's letters.
At last the shameful136, if virtuous, devotion of twenty years was rewarded by the announcement of the death of the wretched Countess whose desertion dated from the day her husband met the actress. Miss Farren, with that extraordinary bad taste which characterised every period of her intimacy137 with Lord Derby, took an ostentatious farewell of the stage, and proved by the faltering138 of her voice, her emotion, and her final outburst in tears, that time had not diminished from the arts of her art. Of course, there was a scene of intense emotion in the theatre, which was increased when King led her forward and Wroughton spoke139 a rhymed and stagey farewell in her presence. Four of its lines were these:
But ah! this night adieu the joyous140 mien141,
When Mirth's lov'd fav'rite quits the mimic142 scene,
Startled Thalia would th'assent refuse,
But Truth and Virtue sued and won the Muse143.
Truth and Virtue—these were the patrons of the compact by which Miss Farren waited for twenty years for the death of the wife of the man whom she had promised to marry—when she could.
The scene in the green room when the actress came off the stage was an unqualified success. Tears flowed freely, making channels as they meandered144 down the paint; sobs145 came from the actresses who hoped to get a chance of doing some of her parts now that she had left the stage; and Miss Farren herself showed that she knew what were the elements of a proper climax146, by fainting with a shriek147, in the midst of which she made an exit supported by all the actors who were not already supporting some of the hysterical148 ladies in the background. They all deserved to have their salaries raised. The whole scene was a triumph—of art.
The exact chronology of the crisis is worth noting. Lady Derby died on March 4th, and was buried on April 2nd. On April 8th Miss Farren took her farewell of the stage, and on May 1st she was married to the Earl of Derby. A satisfactory explanation of the indecent delay in the celebration of the marriage was forthcoming: his lordship had been suffering from an attack of gout.
But if no one ventured to cast an aspersion149 upon his character or to accuse him of shilly-shallying in regard to the postponement150 of his nuptials151 until his wife had been nearly a whole month in her grave, there was a good deal of funny gossip set loose when, after a honeymoon152 of two days, the Earl and the Countess returned to London. This also was satisfactorily explained: the Countess was devoted to her mother!
The marriage proved a very happy one, and thirty-two years passed before the Countess died. Her husband survived her by five years. He died in 1834, fifty-seven years after his first meeting with the actress, and forty-seven since he instituted “The Derby” race meeting, winning the first cup by his horse Sir Peter Teazle.
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distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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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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diligent
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| adj.勤勉的，勤奋的 | |
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trifling
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| adj.微不足道的；没什么价值的 | |
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rapture
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| n.狂喜；全神贯注；着迷；v.使狂喜 | |
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demesne
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| n.领域，私有土地 | |
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advisers
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| 顾问，劝告者( adviser的名词复数 )； （指导大学新生学科问题等的）指导教授 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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niggardly
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| adj.吝啬的，很少的 | |
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immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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prospects
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| n.希望，前途(恒为复数) | |
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undertaking
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| n.保证，许诺，事业 | |
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akin
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| adj.同族的，类似的 | |
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witty
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| adj.机智的，风趣的 | |
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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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qualified
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| adj.合格的，有资格的，胜任的，有限制的 | |
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fresco
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accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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embarking
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| 乘船( embark的现在分词 )； 装载； 从事 | |
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procrastinate
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| v.耽搁，拖延 | |
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21
aged
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| adj.年老的，陈年的 | |
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22
stature
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| n.（高度）水平，（高度）境界，身高，身材 | |
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23
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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24
complaisant
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| adj.顺从的，讨好的 | |
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25
ardent
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，强烈的，烈性的 | |
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26
lighter
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| n.打火机，点火器；驳船；v.用驳船运送；light的比较级 | |
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27
zest
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| n.乐趣；滋味，风味；兴趣 | |
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28
conspicuous
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| adj.明眼的，惹人注目的；炫耀的，摆阔气的 | |
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29
devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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30
attachment
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| n.附属物，附件；依恋；依附 | |
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31
pique
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| v.伤害…的自尊心，使生气 n.不满，生气 | |
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32
graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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33
disposition
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| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
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34
incompatible
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| adj.不相容的，不协调的，不相配的 | |
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35
vivacity
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| n.快活，活泼，精神充沛 | |
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36
sneer
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| v.轻蔑；嘲笑；n.嘲笑，讥讽的言语 | |
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37
outlay
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| n.费用，经费，支出；v.花费 | |
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38
rejection
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| n.拒绝，被拒，抛弃，被弃 | |
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39
fatiguing
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| a.使人劳累的 | |
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40
rumour
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| n.谣言，谣传，传闻 | |
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41
rumoured
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| adj.谣传的；传说的；风 | |
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42
plausible
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| adj.似真实的，似乎有理的，似乎可信的 | |
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43
promising
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| adj.有希望的，有前途的 | |
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44
demur
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| v．表示异议，反对 | |
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45
depicted
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| 描绘，描画( depict的过去式和过去分词 )； 描述 | |
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46
armour
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| （=armor）n.盔甲；装甲部队 | |
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47
sculptor
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| n.雕刻家，雕刻家 | |
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48
mead
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| n.蜂蜜酒 | |
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49
medley
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| n.混合 | |
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50
vice
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| n.坏事；恶习；[pl.]台钳，老虎钳；adj.副的 | |
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51
crest
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| n.顶点；饰章；羽冠；vt.达到顶点；vi.形成浪尖 | |
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52
refreshments
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| n.点心,便餐;(会议后的)简单茶点招 待 | |
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53
sylvan
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| adj.森林的 | |
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54
remodelled
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| v.改变…的结构[形状]( remodel的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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55
colonnades
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| n.石柱廊( colonnade的名词复数 ) | |
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56
ballroom
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| n.舞厅 | |
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57
shafts
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| n.轴( shaft的名词复数 )；（箭、高尔夫球棒等的）杆；通风井；一阵（疼痛、害怕等） | |
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58
crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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59
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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60
judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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61
affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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62
alluded
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| 提及，暗指( allude的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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63
memorable
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| adj.值得回忆的，难忘的，特别的，显著的 | |
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64
premature
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| adj.比预期时间早的；不成熟的，仓促的 | |
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65
justify
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| vt.证明…正当(或有理)，为…辩护 | |
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66
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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67
infinitely
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| adv.无限地，无穷地 | |
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68
incapable
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| adj.无能力的，不能做某事的 | |
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69
appallingly
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| 毛骨悚然地 | |
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70
vivacious
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| adj.活泼的，快活的 | |
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71
discretion
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| n.谨慎；随意处理 | |
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72
discreet
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| adj.(言行)谨慎的；慎重的；有判断力的 | |
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73
judicious
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| adj.明智的，明断的，能作出明智决定的 | |
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74
censure
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| v./n.责备；非难；责难 | |
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75
judicial
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| adj.司法的，法庭的，审判的，明断的，公正的 | |
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76
hovering
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| 鸟( hover的现在分词 )； 靠近（某事物）； （人）徘徊； 犹豫 | |
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77
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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78
gallant
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| adj.英勇的，豪侠的；(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
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79
avert
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| v.防止，避免；转移(目光、注意力等) | |
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80
catastrophe
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| n.大灾难，大祸 | |
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81
imminent
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| adj.即将发生的，临近的，逼近的 | |
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82
watchful
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| adj.注意的，警惕的 | |
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83
peremptorily
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| adv.紧急地，不容分说地，专横地 | |
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84
intercourse
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| n.性交；交流，交往，交际 | |
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85
condone
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| v.宽恕；原谅 | |
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86
inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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87
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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88
justified
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| a.正当的，有理的 | |
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89
estrangement
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| n.疏远，失和，不和 | |
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90
extravagant
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| adj.奢侈的；过分的；(言行等)放肆的 | |
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91
influential
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| adj.有影响的，有权势的 | |
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92
rehearsals
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| n.练习( rehearsal的名词复数 )；排练；复述；重复 | |
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93
probation
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| n.缓刑(期)，(以观后效的)察看；试用(期) | |
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94
refinement
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| n.文雅；高尚；精美；精制；精炼 | |
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95
mingle
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| vt.使混合，使相混；vi.混合起来；相交往 | |
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96
controverted
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| v.争论，反驳，否定( controvert的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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97
exalted
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| adj.(地位等)高的，崇高的；尊贵的，高尚的 | |
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98
onerous
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| adj.繁重的 | |
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99
rivalry
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| n.竞争，竞赛，对抗 | |
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100
malicious
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| adj.有恶意的，心怀恶意的 | |
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101
paragon
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| n.模范，典型 | |
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102
virtue
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| n.德行，美德；贞操；优点；功效，效力 | |
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103
undoubtedly
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| adv.确实地，无疑地 | |
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104
virtuous
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| adj.有品德的，善良的，贞洁的，有效力的 | |
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105
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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106
differentiating
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| [计] 微分的 | |
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107
virtues
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| 美德( virtue的名词复数 )； 德行； 优点； 长处 | |
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108
creed
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| n.信条；信念，纲领 | |
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109
propriety
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| n.正当行为；正当；适当 | |
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110
contemptible
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| adj.可鄙的，可轻视的，卑劣的 | |
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111
adoption
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| n.采用，采纳，通过；收养 | |
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112
illicit
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| adj.非法的，禁止的，不正当的 | |
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113
philandering
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| v.调戏，玩弄女性( philander的现在分词 ) | |
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114
holder
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| n.持有者，占有者；(台，架等)支持物 | |
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115
amiable
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| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
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116
nominally
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| 在名义上，表面地； 应名儿 | |
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117
adherence
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| n.信奉，依附，坚持，固着 | |
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118
placid
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| adj.安静的，平和的 | |
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119
inclination
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| n.倾斜；点头；弯腰；斜坡；倾度；倾向；爱好 | |
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120
chronic
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| adj.(疾病)长期未愈的，慢性的；极坏的 | |
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121
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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122
straps
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| n.带子( strap的名词复数 )；挎带；肩带；背带v.用皮带捆扎( strap的第三人称单数 )；用皮带抽打；包扎；给…打绷带 | |
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123
favourable
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| adj.赞成的，称赞的，有利的，良好的，顺利的 | |
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124
disillusioned
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| a.不再抱幻想的，大失所望的，幻想破灭的 | |
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125
previously
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| adv.以前，先前（地） | |
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126
forsake
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| vt.遗弃，抛弃；舍弃，放弃 | |
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127
emulation
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| n.竞争；仿效 | |
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128
chaste
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| adj.贞洁的；有道德的；善良的；简朴的 | |
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129
garb
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| n.服装，装束 | |
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130
fidelity
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| n.忠诚，忠实；精确 | |
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131
protracted
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| adj.拖延的；延长的v.拖延“protract”的过去式和过去分词 | |
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132
obese
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| adj.过度肥胖的，肥大的 | |
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133
remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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134
rejuvenated
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| 更生的 | |
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135
wrought
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| v.引起；以…原料制作；运转；adj.制造的 | |
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136
shameful
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| adj.可耻的，不道德的 | |
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137
intimacy
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| n.熟悉，亲密，密切关系，亲昵的言行 | |
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138
faltering
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| 犹豫的，支吾的，蹒跚的 | |
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139
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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140
joyous
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| adj.充满快乐的；令人高兴的 | |
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141
mien
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| n.风采；态度 | |
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142
mimic
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| v.模仿，戏弄；n.模仿他人言行的人 | |
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143
muse
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| n.缪斯（希腊神话中的女神），创作灵感 | |
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144
meandered
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| （指溪流、河流等）蜿蜒而流( meander的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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145
sobs
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| 啜泣（声），呜咽（声）( sob的名词复数 ) | |
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146
climax
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| n.顶点；高潮；v.(使)达到顶点 | |
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147
shriek
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| v./n.尖叫，叫喊 | |
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148
hysterical
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| adj.情绪异常激动的，歇斯底里般的 | |
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149
aspersion
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| n.诽谤，中伤 | |
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150
postponement
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| n.推迟 | |
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151
nuptials
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| n.婚礼；婚礼( nuptial的名词复数 ) | |
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152
honeymoon
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| n.蜜月（假期）；vi.度蜜月 | |
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