In London he heard that Mathews, the scoundrel who had been pursuing Miss Linley in the most disreputable fashion, was in town also, and that, previous to leaving Bath, he had inserted in the Chronicle a defamatory advertisement regarding him (Sheridan); and on this information coming to his ears he put his pistols into his pocket and went in search of Mathews at the lodgings5 of the latter.
Miss Sheridan tells us about the pistols in the course of her lucid6 narrative7, and states on her own responsibility that when he came upon Mathews the latter was dreadfully frightened at the sight of one of the pistols protruding9 from Sheridan's pocket. Mr. Fraser Rae, the competent biographer of Sheridan, smiles at the lady's statement. “The sight of the pistols would have alarmed Sheridan's sisters,” he says, “but it is in accordance with probability that he (Mathews) expected a hostile meeting to follow as a matter of course. He must have been prepared for it, and he would have been strangely ignorant of the world in which he lived if he had deemed it unusual.”
0301
But Mr. Fraser Rae was not so strangely ignorant of the world in which Sheridan and Mathews lived as to fancy that there was nothing unusual in a gentleman's going to ask another gentleman whom he believed to have affronted10 him, for an explanation, with a pair of pistols in his pocket. In the circumstances a duel11 would have been nothing unusual; but surely Mr. Fraser Rae could not have fancied that Sheridan set out with the pistols in his pocket in order to fight a duel with Mathews in the man's lodgings, without preliminaries and without seconds. If Mathews caught sight of the butt12 of a pistol sticking out of Sheridan's pocket he had every reason to be as frightened as Miss Sheridan declared he was, for he must have believed that his visitor had come to murder him.
At any rate, frightened or not frightened, pistols or no pistols, Mathews, on being interrogated13 by Sheridan as to the advertisement in the Bath Chronicle, assured him that he had been grossly misinformed as to the character of the advertisement. It was, he affirmed, nothing more than an inquiry14 after Sheridan, which the family of the latter had sanctioned. He then, according to Miss Sheridan, expressed the greatest friendship for his visitor, and said that he would be made extremely unhappy if any difference should arise between them.
So young Mr. Sheridan, balked15 of his murderous intentions, returned with unsullied pistols to his hotel, and set out for Bath with Miss Linley and her father.
But if he fancied that Mathews had passed out of his life he was quickly undeceived. Before he had time to take his seat at the family table he had got a copy of the newspaper containing the advertisement, of the tenor16 of which Mathews had told him in London he had been misinformed; and now his sisters made him fully8 aware of the action taken by the same man on learning of the flight of Sheridan and Elizabeth Linley. The result was that he now perceived what every one should have known long before—namely, that Mathews was a scoundrel, who should never have been allowed to obtain the footing to which he had been admitted in the Sheridan and Linley families.
It appears that the moment Mathews heard that Miss Linley had been carried beyond his reach, he rushed to the Sheridans' house, and there found the girls and their elder brother, who had been wisely communicated with by the landlord, and had left his retirement17 in the farmhouse18 in the country to take charge of the sisters in the absence of their brother Richard. Mathews behaved like a madman—no unusual r?le for him—heaping reproaches upon the absent member of the family, and demanding to be told of his whereabouts. He seems to have been encouraged by Charles Sheridan, who had unwisely said something in disparagement19 of his brother. Mathews had the effrontery20 to avow21 his passion for Elizabeth Linley, and in the bitterest terms to accuse Richard Sheridan of having acted basely in taking her beyond his reach.
Then he hastened to Richard Sheridan's friend and confidant, a young man named Brereton, and to him he sent messages of friendship and, possibly, condolence to Mr. Linley, though his object in paying this visit was undoubtedly23 not to endeavour to exculpate24 himself as regards Mr. Linley, but to find out where the fugitives25 were to be found. He may have had visions of pursuing them, of fighting a duel with Richard Sheridan, and if he succeeded in killing26 him, of getting the girl at last into his power.
But Mr. Brereton not only did not reveal the whereabouts of his friend—he knew that Sheridan meant to go to Lille, for he wrote to him there—but he also refused to give his interrogator27 any sympathy for having failed to accomplish the destruction of the girl. Brereton, indeed, seems to have convinced him that the best thing he could do was to leave Bath as quickly as possible. Mathews had probably by this time discovered, as Brereton certainly had, that the feeling against him in Bath was profound. There can be little doubt that in the course of the day Charles Sheridan became aware of this fact also; he had only a few months before confessed himself to be deeply in love with Elizabeth Linley, and when he heard that his brother had run away with her he could not but have been somewhat incensed28 against him, for Richard had not taken him into his confidence. By the time his brother returned, however, any ill-feeling that Charles may have felt had disappeared, and as Charles always showed himself to be a cool and calculating gentleman—one who always kept an eye on the jumping cat—it is not going too far to assume that his change of tone in respect of his rather impetuous brother was due to his perception of the trend of public opinion on the subject of the elopement.
Brereton had persuaded Mathews that there was nothing left for him but to quit Bath; but before taking this step the latter had inserted in the Bath Chronicle the advertisement of which Richard had heard, but which he had not read when in London, thus leaving himself in no position to contradict Mathews' assertion as to its amicable29 wording.
But now the newspaper was put into his hands by Charles, and he had an opportunity of pronouncing an opinion on this point. It was dated Wednesday, April the 8th, 1772, and it ran as follows:
“Mr. Richard S———— having attempted in a letter left behind him for that purpose, to account for his scandalous method of running away from this place by insinuations derogating from my character and that of a young lady, innocent as far as relates to me, or my knowledge, since which he has neither taken any notice of letters or even informed his own family of the place where he has hid himself; I cannot longer think he deserves the treatment of a gentleman, and in this public method, to post him as a L———, and a treacherous30 S————.
“And as I am convinced there have been many malevolent31 incendiaries concerned in the propagation of this infamous32 lie, if any of them, unprotected by age, infirmities, or profession, they are to acknowledge the part they have acted, and affirm to what they have said of me, they may depend on receiving the proper reward of their villainy, in the most public manner. The world will be candid33 enough to judge properly (I make no doubt) of any private abuse on this subject for the future, as nobody can defend himself from an accusation34 he is ignorant of Thomas Mathews.” Such a piece of maundering imbecility as this had probably never before appeared in a newspaper. It must have been read in Bath with roars of laughter. But we do not hear that any of the ready writers of the time and the town yielded to the temptation of commenting upon the “malevolent incendiarism” of the composition. A man of the world, had it been written about himself, would possibly have thought that its illiteracy35 spoke36 for itself, and so would have refrained from making any move in regard to it or its author. But one can imagine what effect reading it would have upon a boy of Sheridan's spirit. For a youth of twenty to find himself posted as a Liar37 and a Scoundrel, to say nothing of a “malevolent incendiary,” and remain indifferent would be impossible. Sheridan did not take long to make up his mind what he should do in the circumstances.
The dramatic touch which his sister introduces in writing of Richard's perusal38 of the paragraph is intensely true to nature. He simply put a word or two to Charles relative to what Mathews had told him in London about his, Sheridan's, family sanctioning the insertion of the advertisement. Charles had no difficulty in vindicating39 his integrity on this point. Richard knew perfectly40 well that it is one thing to say that a man has acted too hastily, but quite another to suggest that that man is “a L——— and a S————.”
So apparently41 the matter ended, and Richard continued chatting with his sisters, giving no sign of what was in his mind. The girls went to their beds, suspecting nothing. The next morning their two brothers were missing!
Of course the girls were dreadfully alarmed. Some people in the house told them that they had heard high words being exchanged between the brothers after the girls had retired42, and shortly afterwards the two former had gone out together. The sister, in her narrative, mentions that she received a hint or two of a duel between Richard and Charles, but she at once put these suggestions aside. The poor girls must have been nearly distracted. Certainly the house of Sheridan was passing through a period of great excitement. The estimable head of the family was himself expecting a crisis in his affairs as manager of the theatre in Dublin—Mr. Thomas Sheridan was never far removed from a crisis—and in his absence his young people were doing pretty much as they pleased. He had no power of controlling them; all that he had to do with them was to pay their bills. Neither of the sons was earning anything, and while one of them was living as a man of fashion, the other had thought it well to cut himself off from his sisters, taking lodgings at a farm some way out of Bath It is the girls of the house for whom one feels most. Alicia, the elder, was seventeen, Elizabeth was but twelve. They must have been distracted. So would their father have been if he had had a chance of learning all that was going on at Bath.
But, of course, when young gentlemen of spirit are falling in love with beauteous maidens43, and retiring to cure themselves by mingling44 with pastoral scenes reminiscent of the gentle melancholy45 of Mr. Alexander Pope's shepherds and shepherdesses (done in Dresden), every one of whom murmurs46 mournfully and melodiously47 of a rejected suit—when young gentlemen are running away with afflicted48 damsels and returning to fight their enemies, they cannot be expected to think of the incidental expenses of the business, which are to be defrayed by their father, any more than of the distraction49 which takes possession of their sisters.
The two young gentlemen were missing, and had left for their sisters no explanation of their absence—no hint as to the direction of their flight. And there were other people in the house talking about the high words that had been exchanged between the brothers at midnight. It is not surprising that the poor girls should be distressed50 and distracted.
Considering that Miss Linley was the first cause of the excitement in the midst of which the family had been living for some weeks, it was only natural that the elder of the girls should send for her with a view to have some light thrown on this new development of the heroic incident in which Miss Linley had assisted. But Miss Linley, on being applied51 to, affirmed that she knew nothing of the disappearance52 of the brothers, that she had heard of nothing that should cause them to leave Bath at a moment's notice. She was, unfortunately, a young woman of imagination. In a crisis such a one is either very helpful, or very helpless. Poor Miss Linley was the latter. She had just come through a great crisis in her own life, and she had not emerged from it without suffering. It was too much to ask her to face another in the family of her friends. She went off in a fainting fit on hearing the news of the disappearance of the young men, and her father left her in the hands of a medical man, and turned his attention to the condition of Miss Sheridan, who was unable to walk back to her home, and had to be put into a chair, Mr. Linley walking beside her with her young sister. It is more than possible that Mr. Linley was beginning to feel that he had had quite enough of the Sheridan family to last him for the remainder of his life.
For two days nothing whatever was heard of the missing brothers. We have no means of knowing if Miss Sheridan communicated to their father in Dublin the mysterious story she had to tell; the chances are that she was advised by Mr. Linley to refrain from doing so until she might have something definite to tell him. Mr. Linley never had any particular regard for the elder Sheridan, and he had no wish to have him summoned from his theatre at Dublin to make his remarks about the dangerous attractiveness of Elizabeth Linley, and the culpable53 carelessness of her father in allowing her to be carried off to France by a young man without a penny except what he got from his own father.
At any rate, Tom Sheridan did not leave his theatre or his pupils in elocution, and there was no need for him to do so, for on Tuesday evening—they had been missing on the Sunday morning—Dick and his brother returned. They were both greatly fatigued54, and said that they had not been in bed since they had left Bath. This meant that Dick had actually not slept in Bath since he had originally left the city in the company of Miss Linley. Between the Friday and the Tuesday he had posted from London to Bath with the Linleys, and had forthwith returned to London with his brother and then back once more to Bath without a pause. He, at least, had very good reason for feeling fatigued.
His first act was to hand his sister an apology which had been made to him by Mathews. This document is worthy55 of being reprinted. It ran thus:
“Being convinced that the expressions I made use of to Mr. Sheridan's disadvantage, were the effects of passion and misrepresentation, I intreat what I have said to that gentleman's disadvantage, and particularly beg his pardon for my advertisement in the Bath Chronicle. Th. Mathews.”
He handed this document to his sister, and then it may be supposed that he went to bed. He had certainly good need of a sleep.
Such is the drift of the story up to this point, as told by Mrs. Lefanu (Elizabeth Sheridan), and it differs in some particulars from that told by her brother Charles in a letter to their uncle, and, in a lesser56 degree, from the account given of the whole transaction by Richard Sheridan himself, who was surely in the best position to know exactly what happened upon the occasion of his first visit to Mathews in London, as well as upon the occasion of his second, made so hurriedly in the company of his brother.
His second visit was, as might have been expected, the more exciting. It included the fighting of a duel with Mathews. The humours of duelling have been frequently dealt with in prose and comedy, and, assuredly the most amusing of all is to be found in Richard Brinsley Sheridan's The Rivals. One must confess, however, that the serious account given by the same writer of his hostile meeting with Mathews, on his return from Bath, suggests a much more ludicrous series of situations than are to be found in his play.
In Sheridan's account he mentions that while still in France he received “several abusive threats” from Mathews, and these had such an effect upon him that he wrote to Mathews, swearing that he would not close his eyes in sleep in England till he had treated Mathews as he deserved. In order to carry out this vow22 he had actually sat up all night at Canterbury, where his party halted on their way from Dover to London. He called upon Mathews on arriving in London, at the latter's lodging4 in Crutched57 Friars; this was at midnight, and the key of the door being mislaid, he had to wait two hours before he was admitted. He found Mathews in bed, but he induced him to rise and dress, though, in spite of his compliance58 as regards his raiment, he complained bitterly of the cold. There does not seem to have been any great suffering on Sheridan's part through a lack of heat. Then, as his sister's narrative put it, the man declared that his visitor had been grossly misinformed in regard to the libel in the Chronicle; and so he left for Bath, as has already been stated.
And now comes the account given by Sheridan of the return visit, and, told in his own laconic59 style, it suggests such comic situations as border on farce60.
“Mr. S.,” he wrote, “staid but three hours in Bath. He returned to London. He sent to Mr. M. from Hyde Parck. He came with Captain Knight61 his second. He objected frequently to the ground. They adjourned62 to the Hercules Pillars. They returned to Hyde Parck. Mr. M. objected to the observation of an officer. They returned to Hercules Pillars. They adjourned to the Bedford Coffee house by agreement. Mr. M. was gone to the Castel Tavern63. Mr. S. followed with Mr. E. Mr. M. made many declarations in favour of Mr. S. They engaged. Mr. M. was disarmed64, Captain Knight ran in. Mr. M. begged his life and afterwards denied the advantage. Mr. S. was provoked by the (really well-meant) interposition of Captain Knight and the illusion of Mr. M. He insisted since Mr. M. denied the advantage, that he should give up his sword. Mr. M. denied, but sooner than return to his ground he gave it up. It was broke, and Mr. M. offered another. He was then called on to retract66 his abuse and beg Mr. S.'s pardon. With much altercation67 and much ill grace he complied.”
The remainder of this remarkably68 succinct69 composition is devoted70 to the subsequent misrepresentations of the transaction by Mathews, and by the writer's appeal to the seconds to say if his version of the encounter was not correct.
But whatever Mathews' account may have been it could scarcely be more ludicrous than Sheridan's. The marching and countermarching of the four gentlemen—it appears that brother Charles, although accompanying Richard to London, thought it more prudent71 to remain under cover during the actual engagement; he waited at Brereton's lodgings—the excuses made by Mathews in order to get away without fighting, and then at the last moment, the carrying out (by agreement) of a manouvre which landed Mathews in one tavern and the rest of the party in another—the set-to of the principals immediately after the “declarations” of one of them in favour of the other, and the final catastrophe72 could hardly be surpassed by the actions of a pair of burlesque73 duellists in what is technically74 known as a “knockabout” entertainment.
And after all this scrupulousness75 of detail one is left in doubt as to the exact locale of the encounter. Did it take place in the coffee-room of the Castell Inn, or did the eager combatants retrace76 their steps to the “parck”? The document written by Sheridan, though dealing77 very fully with the forced marches of the army in the field, throws no light upon this question of the scene of the battle. In respect of the signing of the treaty of peace, and the payment of the indemnity78, it is, however, moderately lucid. Sheridan must have told his sister that Mathews signed the apology immediately after the encounter; she states this in her narrative. But Mathews did not merely sign the apology, he wrote every word of it, as one may see by referring to the facsimile, thoughtfully given in Mr. Fraser Rae's Life of Sheridan, and it would be impossible to say that the caligraphy of the apology shows the least sign of that perturbation from which one must believe the writer was suffering at the moment. Its characteristic is neatness. It is in the fine old-fashioned Italian hand. Even an expert, who sees possibilities—when paid for it—in handwriting which would never occur to less imaginative observers, would scarcely venture to say that this neat little document was written by a man with another's sword at his throat.
This is another element in the mystery of the duel, and it cannot be said that when we read the letter which the elder of the brothers wrote to his uncle, giving his account of the whole business, we feel ourselves in a clearer atmosphere. It really seems a pity that Mr. Browning did not make another Ring and the Book series of studies out of this amazing duel. Charles Sheridan told his uncle that an apology was given to Richard by Mathews as a result of Richard's first visit to him in London, but when Richard read the advertisement in the Chronicle, which was the original casus belli, he considered this apology so inadequate79 that he set off for London to demand another. Charles also mentions, what neither his brother nor his sister had stated, that he himself, on reaching London on the Sunday evening, went to Mathews to endeavour to get a suitable apology—according to Richard's narrative Charles had good grounds for sending a challenge to Mathews on his own account—but “after two hours' altercation” he found that he had made no impression upon the man, so that his brother had no alternative but to call him out.
But however the accounts of the lesser details of this affair of honour may differ, there can be no question that public opinion in Bath was all in favour of young Mr. Sheridan. It was acknowledged on every hand that he had acted from the first—that is, from the moment he assumed the duties of the protector of Miss Linley—with admirable courage, and with a full sense of what honour demanded of him. In short he came back from London, after so many sleepless80 nights, covered with glory. He was a tall, handsome fellow of twenty, with brilliant eyes; he had run away with the most beautiful girl in the world to save her from the clutches of a scoundrel; he had had four nights without sleep, and then he had fought a duel with the scoundrel and had obtained from him an apology for insertion in the newspapers. Few young gentlemen starting life wholly without means attain81 to so proud a position of achievement before they reach their majority.
But of course all these feats82 of errantry and arms run up a bill. Young Mr. Sheridan's posting account must have been by itself pretty formidable, and, knowing that his father had never looked on him with the favour which he gave to his brother, Richard may now and again have felt a trifle uneasy at the prospect83 of meeting Mr. Sheridan. If his sister's memory is to be trusted, however, this meeting took place within a week or two of his duel, and no bones were broken. Mr. Sheridan had a few chiding84 words to say respecting the debts which his son had incurred85, but these he paid, after obtaining from the boy the usual promise made under similar conditions before a like tribunal. The prodigal86 invariably acts up to his character for prodigality87 in the matter of promises of reform.
Richard Sheridan, being something of a wit, though we do not get many examples of his faculty88 in the accounts extant of his early life, and assuredly not a single example in any of his letters that came into the hands of his biographers, may have sworn to his father never to run away with a girl who might be anxious to enter upon a conventual life. At any rate, his father did not show any great displeasure when he was made aware of the boy's conduct, though it is worth noting that Mr. Sheridan took exception to the general conviction that his son's act had been prompted by the most chivalrous aspirations89.
Mathews, however, had not yet been shaken off. He was back in Bath almost as soon as the Sheridans, and “malevolent incendiarism” was in the air. No slander90 was too base for him to use against Richard Sheridan, no insinuation too vile91. But the popularity of the object of his calumny92 was now too firmly established in Bath to be shaken by the vaporous malevolence93 of his enemy. Mathews, finding himself thoroughly94 discredited95 in every quarter, did the only sensible thing recorded in his squalid history—he ran away to his home in Wales.
He was here unfortunate enough to meet with a man named Barnard, or Barnett, who acted upon him pretty much as Sir Lucius O'Trigger did upon Squire96 Acres, explaining to him that it was quite impossible that the affair between him and Sheridan should remain as it was. It was absolutely necessary, he said, that another duel should take place. All the “incendiarism” in Mathews' nature was aroused by the fiery97 words of this man, and the precious pair hurried to Bath, where a challenge was sent to Sheridan through the hands of his eldest98 sister, under the guise99 of an invitation to some festivity.
Sheridan was foolish enough to accept the challenge apparently without consulting with any one competent to advise him. According to his father the challenge had been preceded by several letters of the most scurrilous100 abuse. His wiser brother, who had just received an appointment as Secretary to the British Legation in Sweden, had gone to London with their father to make preparations for his departure for Stockholm, and immediately on hearing of the duel he wrote to Richard a typical elder brother's letter. It is dated July 3rd, 1772, so that, as the duel had only taken place the previous day, it cannot be said that he lost much time in expressing his deep sense of his brother's foolishness in meeting so great a scoundrel for the second time. “All your friends have condemned101 you,” he wrote. “You risked everything, where you had nothing to gain, to give your antagonist102 the thing he wished, a chance for recovering his reputation; he wanted to get rid of the contemptible103 opinion he was held in, and you were good-natured enough to let him do it at your expense. It is not a time to scold, but all your friends were of opinion you could, with the greatest propriety104, have refused to meet him.”
Without going into the question as to whether this sort of letter was the ideal one for one brother to write to another who was lying on his bed with several wounds in his throat, it is impossible to question the soundness of the opinion expressed by Charles Sheridan in respect of Richard's acceptance of Mathews' challenge. The challenge was, however, accepted, and the duel took place on King's Down, at three o'clock in the morning. Mathews' friend was Barnett, and Sheridan's a young gentleman named Paumier, who, it was said, was quite unacquainted with the rules of the game, and had never even seen a duel being fought. The accounts which survive of this second meeting of Sheridan and Mathews make it apparent that, if the first was a scene of comedy, this one was a tragic105 burlesque. It is said that Sheridan, on the signal being given, at once rushed in on his antagonist, endeavouring to disarm65 him as he had done upon the former occasion of their meeting, but, tripping over something, he literally106, and not figuratively, fell upon the other, knocking him down with such violence that he was not only disarmed, but his sword was broken as well. Sheridan's own sword was also broken, so that one might fancy that the meeting would have terminated here. It did nothing of the sort. The encounter was only beginning, and anything more savagely107 burlesque than the sequel could not be imagined.
The combatants must have rolled over, after the manner of the negro duellists on the variety stage, and when they had settled themselves each made a grab for the most serviceable fragment of his sword. Mathews being the heavier man contrived108 to keep uppermost in the scuffle, and, what gave him a decided109 advantage over his opponent, he managed to get his fingers on the hilt of his broken weapon. An appeal at this stage was made by the lad who was acting110 as Sheridan's second to put a stop to the fight; but the second ruffian, or the ruffian's second—either description applies to Barnett—declared that as both the antagonists111 were on the ground one could not be said to have any advantage over the other. This delicate question being settled, Mathews held the jagged, saw-like end—point it had none—of the broken sword at the other's throat and told him to beg for his life. Sheridan replied that he should refuse to beg his life from such a scoundrel, and forthwith the scoundrel began jabbing at his throat and face with the fragment of his weapon, a method of attack which was not robbed of its butchery by the appeal that it makes to a reader's sense of its comical aspect.
It is doubtful, however, if the comic side of the transaction appealed very forcibly to the unfortunate boy who was being lacerated to death. He just managed to put aside a thrust or two before the end of the blade penetrated112 the flesh of his throat and pinned him to the ground. With a chuckle113 and, according to Tom Sheridan's account, an oath, Mathews got upon his feet, and, entering the coach which was waiting for him, drove away from the scene of his butchery. Sheridan was thereupon raised from the ground, and driven in his chaise with his second to the White Hart Inn. Two surgeons were immediately in attendance, and it was found that his wounds, though numerous, were not such as placed his life in jeopardy114. They were, however, sufficiently115 serious to prevent his removal to his home that day.
It does not appear that young Paumier told the sisters of the occurrence; but an account of the duel having appeared in the Bath Chronicle the same afternoon, every one in the town must have been talking of it, though Mrs. Lefanu says neither she nor her sister heard a word of the matter until the next day. Then they hastened to the White Hart, and prevailed upon the surgeons to allow them to take their brother home. In a surprisingly short time he had quite recovered. Indeed, although there was a report that Sheridan's life was despaired of, there was no excuse for any one taking so gloomy a view of his hurts, for the exact truth was known to Charles Sheridan and his father in London early on the day following that of the fight.
The pathetic part of the story of this ludicrous encounter is to be found in the story of the reception of the news by Elizabeth Linley. Her father had read in some of the papers that Sheridan was at the point of death, but, like the worldly-wise man that Mr. Linley was, he kept the news from his daughter. They were at Oxford116 together, and she was announced to sing at a concert, and he knew that had she learned all that the newspapers published, she might possibly not be able to do herself—and her father—justice. But, as one of the audience told his sister afterwards, the fact that every one who had come to hear Miss Linley sing was aware of the serious condition (as the papers alleged) of young Sheridan, and of her attachment117 to him, a feeling of sympathy for the lovely young creature added immeasurably to the interest of her performance.
At the conclusion of the concert her father set out with her for Bath; and it was not until they had almost reached their home that their chaise was met by a clergyman named Pauton, and he summoned all his tact118 to enable him to prepare Elizabeth Linley for the news which he was entrusted119 to communicate to her. It is said that under the stress of her emotion the girl declared that Richard Sheridan was her husband, and that her place was by his side.
Whatever truth there may be in this story it is certain that if she believed at that moment that Sheridan was her husband, she gave no sign of continuing in that belief, for though her numerous letters to him show that she was devoted to him, there is no suggestion in any of them that she believed herself to be his wife. On the contrary, there are many passages which prove that no idea of the sort was entertained by her.
The exertions120 of the heads of the two families were for long directed against the union of the lovers. Mr. Linley felt more forcibly than ever that he had had quite enough of the Sheridans, and Tom Sheridan doubtless wished never to hear again the name of Linley. The one made his daughter promise on her knees to give up Richard Sheridan, and Mr. Sheridan compelled his son to forswear any association with Elizabeth Linley. Jove must have been convulsed with laughter. Richard Brinsley Sheridan and Elizabeth Ann Linley were married on the 13th of April, 1773.
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chivalrous
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| adj.武士精神的；对女人彬彬有礼的 | |
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adviser
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| n.劝告者，顾问 | |
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negotiations
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| 协商( negotiation的名词复数 )； 谈判； 完成（难事）； 通过 | |
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lodging
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| n.寄宿，住所；(大学生的)校外宿舍 | |
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lodgings
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| n. 出租的房舍, 寄宿舍 | |
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lucid
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| adj.明白易懂的，清晰的，头脑清楚的 | |
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narrative
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| n.叙述，故事；adj.叙事的，故事体的 | |
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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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protruding
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| v.（使某物）伸出，（使某物）突出( protrude的现在分词 )；凸 | |
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affronted
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| adj.被侮辱的，被冒犯的v.勇敢地面对( affront的过去式和过去分词 )；相遇 | |
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duel
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| n./v.决斗；(双方的)斗争 | |
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butt
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| n.笑柄；烟蒂；枪托；臀部；v.用头撞或顶 | |
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interrogated
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| v.询问( interrogate的过去式和过去分词 )；审问；（在计算机或其他机器上）查询 | |
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inquiry
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| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
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balked
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| v.畏缩不前，犹豫( balk的过去式和过去分词 )；（指马）不肯跑 | |
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tenor
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| n.男高音（歌手），次中音（乐器），要旨，大意 | |
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retirement
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| n.退休，退职 | |
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farmhouse
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| n.农场住宅（尤指主要住房） | |
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disparagement
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| n.轻视，轻蔑 | |
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effrontery
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| n.厚颜无耻 | |
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avow
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| v.承认，公开宣称 | |
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vow
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| n.誓(言)，誓约；v.起誓，立誓 | |
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undoubtedly
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| adv.确实地，无疑地 | |
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exculpate
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| v.开脱，使无罪 | |
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fugitives
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| n.亡命者，逃命者( fugitive的名词复数 ) | |
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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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interrogator
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| n.讯问者；审问者；质问者；询问器 | |
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incensed
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| 盛怒的 | |
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amicable
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| adj.和平的，友好的；友善的 | |
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treacherous
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| adj.不可靠的，有暗藏的危险的；adj.背叛的，背信弃义的 | |
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malevolent
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| adj.有恶意的，恶毒的 | |
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infamous
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| adj.声名狼藉的，臭名昭著的，邪恶的 | |
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candid
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| adj.公正的，正直的；坦率的 | |
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accusation
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| n.控告，指责，谴责 | |
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illiteracy
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| n.文盲 | |
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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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liar
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| n.说谎的人 | |
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perusal
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| n.细读，熟读；目测 | |
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vindicating
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| v.澄清（某人/某事物）受到的责难或嫌疑( vindicate的现在分词 )；表明或证明（所争辩的事物）属实、正当、有效等；维护 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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maidens
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| 处女( maiden的名词复数 )； 少女； 未婚女子； （板球运动）未得分的一轮投球 | |
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mingling
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| adj.混合的 | |
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melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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murmurs
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| n.低沉、连续而不清的声音( murmur的名词复数 )；低语声；怨言；嘀咕 | |
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melodiously
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afflicted
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| 使受痛苦，折磨( afflict的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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distraction
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| n.精神涣散，精神不集中，消遣，娱乐 | |
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distressed
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| 痛苦的 | |
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applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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disappearance
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| n.消失，消散，失踪 | |
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culpable
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| adj.有罪的，该受谴责的 | |
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fatigued
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| adj. 疲乏的 | |
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worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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lesser
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| adj.次要的，较小的；adv.较小地，较少地 | |
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crutched
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| 用拐杖支持的，有丁字形柄的，有支柱的 | |
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compliance
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| n.顺从；服从；附和；屈从 | |
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laconic
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| adj.简洁的；精练的 | |
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farce
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| n.闹剧，笑剧，滑稽戏；胡闹 | |
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knight
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| n.骑士，武士；爵士 | |
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adjourned
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| （使）休会， （使）休庭( adjourn的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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tavern
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| n.小旅馆，客栈；小酒店 | |
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disarmed
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| v.裁军( disarm的过去式和过去分词 )；使息怒 | |
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disarm
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| v.解除武装，回复平常的编制，缓和 | |
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retract
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| vt.缩回，撤回收回，取消 | |
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altercation
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| n.争吵，争论 | |
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68
remarkably
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| ad.不同寻常地，相当地 | |
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succinct
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| adj.简明的，简洁的 | |
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devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...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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catastrophe
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| n.大灾难，大祸 | |
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burlesque
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| v.嘲弄，戏仿；n.嘲弄，取笑，滑稽模仿 | |
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technically
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| adv.专门地，技术上地 | |
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scrupulousness
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| n.一丝不苟；小心翼翼 | |
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76
retrace
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| v.折回；追溯，探源 | |
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77
dealing
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| n.经商方法，待人态度 | |
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78
indemnity
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| n.赔偿，赔款，补偿金 | |
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inadequate
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| adj.(for,to)不充足的，不适当的 | |
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sleepless
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| adj.不睡眠的，睡不著的，不休息的 | |
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81
attain
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| vt.达到，获得，完成 | |
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82
feats
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| 功绩，伟业，技艺( feat的名词复数 ) | |
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83
prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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84
chiding
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| v.责骂，责备( chide的现在分词 ) | |
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incurred
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| [医]招致的，遭受的； incur的过去式 | |
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86
prodigal
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| adj.浪费的，挥霍的，放荡的 | |
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prodigality
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| n.浪费，挥霍 | |
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88
faculty
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| n.才能；学院，系；(学院或系的)全体教学人员 | |
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aspirations
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| 强烈的愿望( aspiration的名词复数 )； 志向； 发送气音； 发 h 音 | |
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slander
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| n./v.诽谤，污蔑 | |
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vile
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| adj.卑鄙的，可耻的，邪恶的；坏透的 | |
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calumny
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| n.诽谤，污蔑，中伤 | |
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malevolence
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| n.恶意，狠毒 | |
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thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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discredited
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| 不足信的，不名誉的 | |
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squire
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| n.护卫, 侍从, 乡绅 | |
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fiery
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| adj.燃烧着的，火红的；暴躁的；激烈的 | |
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eldest
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| adj.最年长的，最年老的 | |
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99
guise
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| n.外表，伪装的姿态 | |
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100
scurrilous
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| adj.下流的，恶意诽谤的 | |
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101
condemned
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| adj. 被责难的, 被宣告有罪的 动词condemn的过去式和过去分词 | |
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102
antagonist
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| n.敌人，对抗者，对手 | |
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103
contemptible
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| adj.可鄙的，可轻视的，卑劣的 | |
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104
propriety
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| n.正当行为；正当；适当 | |
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tragic
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| adj.悲剧的，悲剧性的，悲惨的 | |
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106
literally
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| adv.照字面意义，逐字地；确实 | |
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107
savagely
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| adv. 野蛮地，残酷地 | |
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108
contrived
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| adj.不自然的，做作的；虚构的 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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acting
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| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
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111
antagonists
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| 对立[对抗] 者，对手，敌手( antagonist的名词复数 )； 对抗肌； 对抗药 | |
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penetrated
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| adj. 击穿的，鞭辟入里的 动词penetrate的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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113
chuckle
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| vi.／n.轻声笑，咯咯笑 | |
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114
jeopardy
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| n.危险；危难 | |
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115
sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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116
Oxford
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| n.牛津（英国城市） | |
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117
attachment
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| n.附属物，附件；依恋；依附 | |
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118
tact
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| n.机敏，圆滑，得体 | |
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119
entrusted
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| v.委托，托付( entrust的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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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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