In the evening of the day that Coningsby met Sidonia, Lady Monmouth made a little visit to the charming Duchess de G——t who was ‘at home’ every other night in her pretty hotel, with its embroidered5 white satin draperies, its fine old cabinets, and ancestral portraits of famous name, brave marshals and bright princesses of the olden time, on its walls. These receptions without form, yet full of elegance6, are what English ‘at homes’ were before the Continental7 war, though now, by a curious perversion8 of terms, the easy domestic title distinguishes in England a formally-prepared and elaborately-collected assembly, in which everything and every person are careful to be as little ‘homely’ as possible. In France, on the contrary, ‘tis on these occasions, and in this manner, that society carries on that degree and kind of intercourse9 which in England we attempt awkwardly to maintain by the medium of that unpopular species of visitation styled a morning call; which all complain that they have either to make or to endure.
Nowhere was this species of reception more happily conducted than at the Duchess de G——t’s. The rooms, though small, decorated with taste, brightly illumined; a handsome and gracious hostess, the Duke the very pearl of gentlemen, and sons and daughters worthy10 of such parents. Every moment some one came in, and some one went away. In your way from a dinner to a ball, you stopped to exchange agreeable on dits. It seemed that every woman was pretty, every man a wit. Sure you were to find yourself surrounded by celebrities11, and men were welcomed there, if they were clever, before they were famous, which showed it was a house that regarded intellect, and did not seek merely to gratify its vanity by being surrounded by the distinguished12.
Enveloped13 in a rich Indian shawl, and leaning back on a sofa, Lady Monmouth was engaged in conversation with the courtly and classic Count M——é, when, on casually14 turning her head, she observed entering the saloon, Sidonia. She just caught his form bowing to the Duchess, and instantly turned her head and replunged into her conversation with increased interest. Lady Monmouth was a person who had the power of seeing all about her, everything and everybody, without appearing to look. She was conscious that Sidonia was approaching her neighbourhood. Her heart beat in tumult15; she dreaded16 to catch the eye of that very individual whom she was so anxious to meet. He was advancing towards the sofa. Instinctively17, Lady Monmouth turned from the Count, and began speaking earnestly to her other neighbour, a young daughter of the house, innocent and beautiful, not yet quite fledged, trying her wings in society under the maternal18 eye. She was surprised by the extreme interest which her grand neighbour suddenly took in all her pursuits, her studies, her daily walks in the Bois de Boulogne. Sidonia, as the Marchioness had anticipated, had now reached the sofa. But no, it was to the Count, and not to Lady Monmouth that he was advancing; and they were immediately engaged in conversation. After some little time, when she had become accustomed to his voice, and found her own heart throbbing19 with less violence, Lucretia turned again, as if by accident, to the Count, and met the glance of Sidonia. She meant to have received him with haughtiness20, but her self-command deserted21 her; and slightly rising from the sofa, she welcomed him with a countenance22 of extreme pallor and with some awkwardness.
His manner was such as might have assisted her, even had she been more troubled. It was marked by a degree of respectful friendliness23. He expressed without reserve his pleasure at meeting her again; inquired much how she had passed her time since they last parted; asked more than once after the Marquess. The Count moved away; Sidonia took his seat. His ease and homage24 combined greatly relieved her. She expressed to him how kind her Lord would consider his society, for the Marquess had suffered in health since Sidonia last saw him. His periodical gout had left him, which made him ill and nervous. The Marquess received his friends at dinner every day. Sidonia, particularly amiable25, offered himself as a guest for the following one.
‘And do you go to the great ball to-morrow?’ inquired Lucretia, delighted with all that had occurred.
‘I always go to their balls,’ said Sidonia, ‘I have promised.’
There was a momentary26 pause; Lucretia happier than she had been for a long time, her face a little flushed, and truly in a secret tumult of sweet thoughts, remembered she had been long there, and offering her hand to Sidonia, bade him adieu until to-morrow, while he, as was his custom, soon repaired to the refined circle of the Countess de C-s-l-ne, a lady whose manners he always mentioned as his fair ideal, and whose house was his favourite haunt.
Before to-morrow comes, a word or two respecting two other characters of this history connected with the family of Lord Monmouth. And first of Flora27. La Petite was neither very well nor very happy. Her hereditary28 disease developed itself; gradually, but in a manner alarming to those who loved her. She was very delicate, and suffered so much from the weakness of her chest, that she was obliged to relinquish29 singing. This was really the only tie between her and the Marchioness, who, without being a petty tyrant30, treated her often with unfeeling haughtiness. She was, therefore, now rarely seen in the chambers31 of the great. In her own apartments she found, indeed, some distraction32 in music, for which she had a natural predisposition, but this was a pursuit that only fed the morbid33 passion of her tender soul. Alone, listening only to sweet sounds, or indulging in soft dreams that never could be realised, her existence glided34 away like a vision, and she seemed to become every day more fair and fragile. Alas35! hers was the sad and mystic destiny to love one whom she never met, and by whom, if she met him, she would scarcely, perhaps, be recognised. Yet in that passion, fanciful, almost ideal, her life was absorbed; nor for her did the world contain an existence, a thought, a sensation, beyond those that sprang from the image of the noble youth who had sympathised with her in her sorrows, and had softened36 the hard fortunes of dependence37 by his generous sensibility. Happy that, with many mortifications, it was still her lot to live under the roof of one who bore his name, and in whose veins38 flowed the same blood! She felt indeed for the Marquess, whom she so rarely saw, and from whom she had never received much notice, prompted, it would seem, by her fantastic passion, a degree of reverence39, almost of affection, which seemed occasionally, even to herself, as something inexplicable40 and without reason.
As for her fond step-father, M. Villebecque, the world fared very differently with him. His lively and enterprising genius, his ready and multiform talents, and his temper which defied disturbance41, had made their way. He had become the very right hand of Lord Monmouth; his only counsellor, his only confidant; his secret agent; the minister of his will. And well did Villebecque deserve this trust, and ably did he maintain himself in the difficult position which he achieved. There was nothing which Villebecque did not know, nothing which he could not do, especially at Paris. He was master of his subject; in all things the secret of success, and without which, however they may from accident dazzle the world, the statesman, the orator42, the author, all alike feel the damning consciousness of being charlatans43.
Coningsby had made a visit to M. Villebecque and Flora the day after his arrival. It was a recollection and a courtesy that evidently greatly gratified them. Villebecque talked very much and amusingly; and Flora, whom Coningsby frequently addressed, very little, though she listened with great earnestness. Coningsby told her that he thought, from all he heard, she was too much alone, and counselled her to gaiety. But nature, that had made her mild, had denied her that constitutional liveliness of being which is the graceful44 property of French women. She was a lily of the valley, that loved seclusion45 and the tranquillity46 of virgin47 glades48. Almost every day, as he passed their entresol, Coningsby would look into Villebecque’s apartments for a moment, to ask after Flora.
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1
agitated
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| adj.被鼓动的，不安的 | |
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conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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ethics
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| n.伦理学；伦理观，道德标准 | |
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embroidered
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| adj．绣花的 | |
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elegance
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| n.优雅；优美，雅致；精致，巧妙 | |
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continental
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| adj.大陆的，大陆性的，欧洲大陆的 | |
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8
perversion
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| n.曲解；堕落；反常 | |
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9
intercourse
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| n.性交；交流，交往，交际 | |
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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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celebrities
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| n.（尤指娱乐界的）名人( celebrity的名词复数 )；名流；名声；名誉 | |
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12
distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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enveloped
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| v.包围，笼罩，包住( envelop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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casually
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| adv.漠不关心地，无动于衷地，不负责任地 | |
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tumult
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| n.喧哗；激动，混乱；吵闹 | |
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dreaded
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| adj.令人畏惧的；害怕的v.害怕，恐惧，担心( dread的过去式和过去分词) | |
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17
instinctively
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| adv.本能地 | |
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maternal
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| adj.母亲的，母亲般的，母系的，母方的 | |
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throbbing
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| a. 跳动的,悸动的 | |
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haughtiness
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| n.傲慢；傲气 | |
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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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countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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friendliness
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| n.友谊，亲切，亲密 | |
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homage
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| n.尊敬，敬意，崇敬 | |
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amiable
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| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
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momentary
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| adj.片刻的，瞬息的；短暂的 | |
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flora
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| n.(某一地区的)植物群 | |
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hereditary
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| adj.遗传的，遗传性的，可继承的，世袭的 | |
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relinquish
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| v.放弃，撤回，让与，放手 | |
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tyrant
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| n.暴君，专制的君主，残暴的人 | |
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chambers
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| n.房间( chamber的名词复数 )；（议会的）议院；卧室；会议厅 | |
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32
distraction
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| n.精神涣散，精神不集中，消遣，娱乐 | |
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morbid
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| adj.病的；致病的；病态的；可怕的 | |
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glided
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| v.滑动( glide的过去式和过去分词 )；掠过；（鸟或飞机 ） 滑翔 | |
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alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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softened
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| （使）变软( soften的过去式和过去分词 )； 缓解打击； 缓和； 安慰 | |
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37
dependence
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| n.依靠，依赖；信任，信赖；隶属 | |
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veins
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| n.纹理；矿脉( vein的名词复数 )；静脉；叶脉；纹理 | |
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39
reverence
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| n.敬畏，尊敬，尊严；Reverence:对某些基督教神职人员的尊称；v.尊敬，敬畏，崇敬 | |
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40
inexplicable
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| adj.无法解释的，难理解的 | |
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41
disturbance
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| n.动乱，骚动；打扰，干扰；(身心)失调 | |
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42
orator
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| n.演说者，演讲者，雄辩家 | |
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43
charlatans
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| n.冒充内行者，骗子( charlatan的名词复数 ) | |
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44
graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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45
seclusion
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| n.隐遁，隔离 | |
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46
tranquillity
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| n. 平静, 安静 | |
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47
virgin
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| n.处女，未婚女子；adj.未经使用的；未经开发的 | |
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48
glades
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| n.林中空地( glade的名词复数 ) | |
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