The amendment4 carried by the Opposition5 in the House of Lords on the evening of the 7th of May, that the enfranchising6 clauses of the Reform Bill should be considered before entering into the question of disfranchisement, was the immediate7 cause of this startling event. The Lords had previously8 consented to the second reading of the Bill with the view of preventing that large increase of their numbers with which they had been long menaced; rather, indeed, by mysterious rumours9 than by any official declaration; but, nevertheless, in a manner which had carried conviction to no inconsiderable portion of the Opposition that the threat was not without foundation.
During the progress of the Bill through the Lower House, the journals which were looked upon as the organs of the ministry10 had announced with unhesitating confidence, that Lord Grey was armed with what was then called a ‘carte blanche’ to create any number of peers necessary to insure its success. But public journalists who were under the control of the ministry, and whose statements were never contradicted, were not the sole authorities for this prevailing11 belief. Members of the House of Commons, who were strong supporters of the cabinet, though not connected with it by any official tie, had unequivocally stated in their places that the Sovereign had not resisted the advice of his counsellors to create peers, if such creation were required to carry into effect what was then styled ‘the great national measure.’ In more than one instance, ministers had been warned, that if they did not exercise that power with prompt energy, they might deserve impeachment12. And these intimations and announcements had been made in the presence of leading members of the Government, and had received from them, at least, the sanction of their silence.
It did not subsequently appear that the Reform ministers had been invested with any such power; but a conviction of the reverse, fostered by these circumstances, had successfully acted upon the nervous temperament13, or the statesman-like prudence14, of a certain section of the peers, who consequently hesitated in their course; were known as being no longer inclined to pursue their policy of the preceding session; had thus obtained a title at that moment in everybody’s mouth, the title of ‘THE WAVERERS.’
Notwithstanding, therefore, the opposition of the Duke of Wellington and of Lord Lyndhurst, the Waverers carried the second reading of the Reform Bill; and then, scared at the consequences of their own headstrong timidity, they went in a fright to the Duke and his able adviser15 to extricate16 them from the inevitable17 result of their own conduct. The ultimate device of these distracted counsels, where daring and poltroonery18, principle and expediency19, public spirit and private intrigue20, each threw an ingredient into the turbulent spell, was the celebrated21 and successful amendment to which we have referred.
But the Whig ministers, who, whatever may have been their faults, were at least men of intellect and courage, were not to be beaten by ‘the Waverers.’ They might have made terms with an audacious foe22; they trampled23 on a hesitating opponent. Lord Grey hastened to the palace.
Before the result of this appeal to the Sovereign was known, for its effects were not immediate, on the second morning after the vote in the House of Lords, Mr. Rigby had made that visit to Eton which had summoned very unexpectedly the youthful Coningsby to London. He was the orphan24 child of the youngest of the two sons of the Marquess of Monmouth. It was a family famous for its hatreds25. The eldest26 son hated his father; and, it was said, in spite had married a lady to whom that father was attached, and with whom Lord Monmouth then meditated27 a second alliance. This eldest son lived at Naples, and had several children, but maintained no connection either with his parent or his native country. On the other hand, Lord Monmouth hated his younger son, who had married, against his consent, a woman to whom that son was devoted28. A system of domestic persecution29, sustained by the hand of a master, had eventually broken up the health of its victim, who died of a fever in a foreign country, where he had sought some refuge from his creditors30.
His widow returned to England with her child; and, not having a relation, and scarcely an acquaintance in the world, made an appeal to her husband’s father, the wealthiest noble in England and a man who was often prodigal31, and occasionally generous. After some time, and more trouble, after urgent and repeated, and what would have seemed heart-rending, solicitations, the attorney of Lord Monmouth called upon the widow of his client’s son, and informed her of his Lordship’s decision. Provided she gave up her child, and permanently32 resided in one of the remotest counties, he was authorised to make her, in four quarterly payments, the yearly allowance of three hundred pounds, that being the income that Lord Monmouth, who was the shrewdest accountant in the country, had calculated a lone33 woman might very decently exist upon in a small market town in the county of Westmoreland.
Desperate necessity, the sense of her own forlornness, the utter impossibility to struggle with an omnipotent34 foe, who, her husband had taught her, was above all scruples35, prejudices, and fears, and who, though he respected law, despised opinion, made the victim yield. But her sufferings were not long; the separation from her child, the bleak36 clime, the strange faces around her, sharp memory, and the dull routine of an unimpassioned life, all combined to wear out a constitution originally frail37, and since shattered by many sorrows. Mrs. Coningsby died the same day that her father-in-law was made a Marquess. He deserved his honours. The four votes he had inherited in the House of Commons had been increased, by his intense volition38 and unsparing means, to ten; and the very day he was raised to his Marquisate, he commenced sapping fresh corporations, and was working for the strawberry leaf. His honours were proclaimed in the London Gazette, and her decease was not even noticed in the County Chronicle; but the altars of Nemesis39 are beneath every outraged40 roof, and the death of this unhappy lady, apparently41 without an earthly friend or an earthly hope, desolate42 and deserted43, and dying in obscure poverty, was not forgotten.
Coningsby was not more than nine years of age when he lost his last parent; and he had then been separated from her for nearly three years. But he remembered the sweetness of his nursery days. His mother, too, had written to him frequently since he quitted her, and her fond expressions had cherished the tenderness of his heart. He wept bitterly when his schoolmaster broke to him the news of his mother’s death. True it was they had been long parted, and their prospect44 of again meeting was vague and dim; but his mother seemed to him his only link to human society. It was something to have a mother, even if he never saw her. Other boys went to see their mothers! he, at least, could talk of his. Now he was alone. His grandfather was to him only a name. Lord Monmouth resided almost constantly abroad, and during his rare visits to England had found no time or inclination45 to see the orphan, with whom he felt no sympathy. Even the death of the boy’s mother, and the consequent arrangements, were notified to his master by a stranger. The letter which brought the sad intelligence was from Mr. Rigby. It was the first time that name had been known to Coningsby.
Mr. Rigby was member for one of Lord Monmouth’s boroughs46. He was the manager of Lord Monmouth’s parliamentary influence, and the auditor47 of his vast estates. He was more; he was Lord Monmouth’s companion when in England, his correspondent when abroad; hardly his counsellor, for Lord Monmouth never required advice; but Mr. Rigby could instruct him in matters of detail, which Mr. Rigby made amusing. Rigby was not a professional man; indeed, his origin, education, early pursuits, and studies, were equally obscure; but he had contrived48 in good time to squeeze himself into parliament, by means which no one could ever comprehend, and then set up to be a perfect man of business. The world took him at his word, for he was bold, acute, and voluble; with no thought, but a good deal of desultory49 information; and though destitute50 of all imagination and noble sentiment, was blessed with a vigorous, mendacious51 fancy, fruitful in small expedients52, and never happier than when devising shifts for great men’s scrapes.
They say that all of us have one chance in this life, and so it was with Rigby. After a struggle of many years, after a long series of the usual alternatives of small successes and small failures, after a few cleverish speeches and a good many cleverish pamphlets, with a considerable reputation, indeed, for pasquinades, most of which he never wrote, and articles in reviews to which it was whispered he had contributed, Rigby, who had already intrigued53 himself into a subordinate office, met with Lord Monmouth.
He was just the animal that Lord Monmouth wanted, for Lord Monmouth always looked upon human nature with the callous54 eye of a jockey. He surveyed Rigby; and he determined55 to buy him. He bought him; with his clear head, his indefatigable56 industry, his audacious tongue, and his ready and unscrupulous pen; with all his dates, all his lampoons57; all his private memoirs58, and all his political intrigues59. It was a good purchase. Rigby became a great personage, and Lord Monmouth’s man.
Mr. Rigby, who liked to be doing a great many things at the same time, and to astonish the Tadpoles61 and Tapers63 with his energetic versatility64, determined to superintend the education of Coningsby. It was a relation which identified him with the noble house of his pupil, or, properly speaking, his charge: for Mr. Rigby affected65 rather the graceful66 dignity of the governor than the duties of a tutor. The boy was recalled from his homely67, rural school, where he had been well grounded by a hard-working curate, and affectionately tended by the curate’s unsophisticated wife. He was sent to a fashionable school preparatory to Eton, where he found about two hundred youths of noble families and connections, lodged68 in a magnificent villa69, that had once been the retreat of a minister, superintended by a sycophantic70 Doctor of Divinity, already well beneficed, and not despairing of a bishopric by favouring the children of the great nobles. The doctor’s lady, clothed in cashmeres, sometimes inquired after their health, and occasionally received a report as to their linen71.
Mr. Rigby had a classical retreat, not distant from this establishment, which he esteemed72 a Tusculum. There, surrounded by his busts73 and books, he wrote his lampoons and articles; massacred a she liberal (it was thought that no one could lash74 a woman like Rigby), cut up a rising genius whose politics were different from his own, or scarified some unhappy wretch75 who had brought his claims before parliament, proving, by garbled76 extracts from official correspondence that no one could refer to, that the malcontent77 instead of being a victim, was, on the contrary, a defaulter. Tadpole60 and Taper62 would back Rigby for a ‘slashing reply’ against the field. Here, too, at the end of a busy week, he found it occasionally convenient to entertain a clever friend or two of equivocal reputation, with whom he had become acquainted in former days of equal brotherhood78. No one was more faithful to his early friends than Mr. Rigby, particularly if they could write a squib.
It was in this refined retirement79 that Mr. Rigby found time enough, snatched from the toils80 of official life and parliamentary struggles, to compose a letter on the study of History, addressed to Coningsby. The style was as much like that of Lord Bolingbroke as if it had been written by the authors of the ‘Rejected Addresses,’ and it began, ‘My dear young friend.’ This polished composition, so full of good feeling and comprehensive views, and all in the best taste, was not published. It was only privately81 printed, and a few thousand copies were distributed among select personages as an especial favour and mark of high consideration. Each copy given away seemed to Rigby like a certificate of character; a property which, like all men of dubious82 repute, he thoroughly83 appreciated. Rigby intrigued very much that the headmaster of Eton should adopt his discourse84 as a class-book. For this purpose he dined with the Doctor, told him several anecdotes85 of the King, which intimated personal influence at Windsor; but the headmaster was inflexible86, and so Mr. Rigby was obliged to be content with having his Letter on History canonized as a classic in the Preparatory Seminary, where the individual to whom it was addressed was a scholar.
This change in the life of Coningsby contributed to his happiness. The various characters which a large school exhibited interested a young mind whose active energies were beginning to stir. His previous acquirements made his studies light; and he was fond of sports, in which he was qualified87 to excel. He did not particularly like Mr. Rigby. There was something jarring and grating in that gentleman’s voice and modes, from which the chords of the young heart shrank. He was not tender, though perhaps he wished to be; scarcely kind: but he was good-natured, at least to children. However, this connection was, on the whole, an agreeable one for Coningsby. He seemed suddenly to have friends: he never passed his holydays again at school. Mr. Rigby was so clever that he contrived always to quarter Coningsby on the father of one of his school-fellows, for Mr. Rigby knew all his school-fellows and all their fathers. Mr. Rigby also called to see him, not unfrequently would give him a dinner at the Star and Garter, or even have him up to town for a week to Whitehall. Compared with his former forlorn existence, these were happy days, when he was placed under the gallery as a member’s son, or went to the play with the butler!
When Coningsby had attained88 his twelfth year, an order was received from Lord Monmouth, who was at Rome, that he should go at once to Eton. This was the first great epoch89 of his life. There never was a youth who entered into that wonderful little world with more eager zest90 than Coningsby. Nor was it marvellous.
That delicious plain, studded with every creation of graceful culture; hamlet and hall and grange; garden and grove91 and park; that castle-palace, grey with glorious ages; those antique spires92, hoar with faith and wisdom, the chapel93 and the college; that river winding94 through the shady meads; the sunny glade95 and the solemn avenue; the room in the Dame’s house where we first order our own breakfast and first feel we are free; the stirring multitude, the energetic groups, the individual mind that leads, conquers, controls; the emulation96 and the affection; the noble strife97 and the tender sentiment; the daring exploit and the dashing scrape; the passion that pervades98 our life, and breathes in everything, from the aspiring99 study to the inspiring sport: oh! what hereafter can spur the brain and touch the heart like this; can give us a world so deeply and variously interesting; a life so full of quick and bright excitement, passed in a scene so fair?
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1
agitation
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| n.搅动；搅拌；鼓动，煽动 | |
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intensity
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| n.强烈，剧烈；强度；烈度 | |
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virulence
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| n.毒力，毒性；病毒性；致病力 | |
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amendment
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| n.改正，修正，改善，修正案 | |
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opposition
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| n.反对，敌对 | |
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enfranchising
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| v.给予选举权( enfranchise的现在分词 )；（从奴隶制中）解放 | |
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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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previously
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| adv.以前，先前（地） | |
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rumours
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| n.传闻( rumour的名词复数 )；风闻；谣言；谣传 | |
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ministry
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| n.(政府的)部；牧师 | |
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prevailing
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| adj.盛行的；占优势的；主要的 | |
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impeachment
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| n.弹劾；控告；怀疑 | |
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temperament
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| n.气质，性格，性情 | |
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prudence
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| n.谨慎，精明，节俭 | |
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adviser
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| n.劝告者，顾问 | |
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extricate
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| v.拯救，救出；解脱 | |
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inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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poltroonery
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| n.怯懦，胆小 | |
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expediency
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| n.适宜；方便；合算；利己 | |
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intrigue
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| vt.激起兴趣，迷住；vi.耍阴谋；n.阴谋，密谋 | |
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celebrated
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| adj.有名的，声誉卓著的 | |
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foe
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| n.敌人，仇敌 | |
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trampled
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| 踩( trample的过去式和过去分词 )； 践踏； 无视； 侵犯 | |
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orphan
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| n.孤儿；adj.无父母的 | |
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hatreds
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| n.仇恨，憎恶( hatred的名词复数 )；厌恶的事 | |
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eldest
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| adj.最年长的，最年老的 | |
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meditated
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| 深思，沉思，冥想( meditate的过去式和过去分词 )； 内心策划，考虑 | |
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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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persecution
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| n. 迫害,烦扰 | |
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creditors
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| n.债权人，债主( creditor的名词复数 ) | |
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prodigal
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| adj.浪费的，挥霍的，放荡的 | |
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permanently
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| adv.永恒地，永久地，固定不变地 | |
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lone
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| adj.孤寂的，单独的；唯一的 | |
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omnipotent
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| adj.全能的，万能的 | |
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scruples
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| n.良心上的不安( scruple的名词复数 )；顾虑，顾忌v.感到于心不安，有顾忌( scruple的第三人称单数 ) | |
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bleak
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| adj.(天气)阴冷的；凄凉的；暗淡的 | |
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frail
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| adj.身体虚弱的；易损坏的 | |
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volition
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| n.意志；决意 | |
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nemesis
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| n.给以报应者，复仇者，难以对付的敌手 | |
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outraged
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| a.震惊的，义愤填膺的 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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desolate
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| adj.荒凉的，荒芜的；孤独的，凄凉的；v.使荒芜，使孤寂 | |
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deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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inclination
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| n.倾斜；点头；弯腰；斜坡；倾度；倾向；爱好 | |
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boroughs
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| （尤指大伦敦的）行政区( borough的名词复数 )； 议会中有代表的市镇 | |
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auditor
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| n.审计员，旁听着 | |
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contrived
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| adj.不自然的，做作的；虚构的 | |
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desultory
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| adj.散漫的，无方法的 | |
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destitute
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| adj.缺乏的；穷困的 | |
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mendacious
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| adj.不真的，撒谎的 | |
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expedients
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| n.应急有效的，权宜之计的( expedient的名词复数 ) | |
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intrigued
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| adj.好奇的，被迷住了的v.搞阴谋诡计(intrigue的过去式)；激起…的兴趣或好奇心；“intrigue”的过去式和过去分词 | |
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callous
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| adj.无情的，冷淡的，硬结的，起老茧的 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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indefatigable
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| adj.不知疲倦的，不屈不挠的 | |
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lampoons
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| n.讽刺文章或言辞( lampoon的名词复数 )v.冷嘲热讽，奚落( lampoon的第三人称单数 ) | |
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memoirs
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| n.回忆录；回忆录传( mem,自oir的名词复数) | |
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intrigues
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| n.密谋策划( intrigue的名词复数 )；神秘气氛；引人入胜的复杂情节v.搞阴谋诡计( intrigue的第三人称单数 )；激起…的好奇心 | |
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tadpole
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| n.[动]蝌蚪 | |
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tadpoles
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| n.蝌蚪( tadpole的名词复数 ) | |
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taper
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| n.小蜡烛，尖细，渐弱；adj.尖细的；v.逐渐变小 | |
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tapers
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| （长形物体的）逐渐变窄( taper的名词复数 )； 微弱的光； 极细的蜡烛 | |
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versatility
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| n.多才多艺，多样性，多功能 | |
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affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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homely
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| adj.家常的，简朴的；不漂亮的 | |
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lodged
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| v.存放( lodge的过去式和过去分词 )；暂住；埋入；（权利、权威等）归属 | |
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villa
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| n.别墅，城郊小屋 | |
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sycophantic
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| adj.阿谀奉承的 | |
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linen
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| n.亚麻布，亚麻线，亚麻制品；adj.亚麻布制的，亚麻的 | |
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esteemed
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| adj.受人尊敬的v.尊敬( esteem的过去式和过去分词 )；敬重；认为；以为 | |
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busts
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| 半身雕塑像( bust的名词复数 )； 妇女的胸部； 胸围； 突击搜捕 | |
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lash
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| v.系牢；鞭打；猛烈抨击；n.鞭打；眼睫毛 | |
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wretch
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| n.可怜的人，不幸的人；卑鄙的人 | |
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garbled
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| adj.（指信息）混乱的，引起误解的v.对（事实）歪曲，对（文章等）断章取义，窜改( garble的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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malcontent
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| n.不满者，不平者；adj.抱不平的，不满的 | |
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brotherhood
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| n.兄弟般的关系，手中情谊 | |
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retirement
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| n.退休，退职 | |
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toils
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| 网 | |
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privately
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| adv.以私人的身份，悄悄地，私下地 | |
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dubious
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| adj.怀疑的，无把握的；有问题的，靠不住的 | |
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thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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84
discourse
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| n.论文，演说；谈话；话语；vi.讲述，著述 | |
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anecdotes
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| n.掌故，趣闻，轶事( anecdote的名词复数 ) | |
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inflexible
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| adj.不可改变的，不受影响的，不屈服的 | |
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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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attained
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| （通常经过努力）实现( attain的过去式和过去分词 )； 达到； 获得； 达到（某年龄、水平、状况） | |
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epoch
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| n.(新)时代；历元 | |
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zest
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| n.乐趣；滋味，风味；兴趣 | |
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grove
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| n.林子，小树林，园林 | |
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spires
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| n.（教堂的） 塔尖，尖顶( spire的名词复数 ) | |
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chapel
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| n.小教堂，殡仪馆 | |
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winding
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| n.绕，缠，绕组，线圈 | |
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glade
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| n.林间空地，一片表面有草的沼泽低地 | |
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emulation
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| n.竞争；仿效 | |
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strife
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| n.争吵，冲突，倾轧，竞争 | |
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pervades
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| v.遍及，弥漫( pervade的第三人称单数 ) | |
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aspiring
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| adj.有志气的；有抱负的；高耸的v.渴望；追求 | |
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