The legend dated from the time of Elizabeth, and was closely connected with the rise of the family into the pre-eminent splendour which it had enjoyed ever since. The Queen, in one of her regal journeys through her realm (during which she slept in so incredible a number of beds), visited the affiliated8 Cinque Port of Rye, and, after taking dinner with the mayor, was riding down one of the steep, cobbled ways when her horse stumbled and came down on its knees.
She would certainly have had a cruel fall if a young man had not sprung forward from the crowd and caught her before her Grace’s head was dashed against the stones. He set her on her feet, swiftly releasing the virgin9’s bosom10 from his rough embrace, and, kneeling, kissed the hem11 of her skirt.{8}
The Queen bade him rise, and, as she looked at him, made some Elizabethan ejaculation of appreciative12 amazement—a “zounds,” or a “gadzooks,” or something.
There stood Colin Stanier in the full blossom of his twenty summers, ruddy as David and blue-eyed as the sea. His cap had fallen off, and he must needs toss back his head to free his face from the tumble of his yellow hair. His athletic13 effort to save her Grace had given him a moment’s quickened breath, and his parted lips showed the double circle of his white teeth.
But, most of all, did his eyes capture the fancy of his Sovereign; they looked at her, so she thought, with the due appreciation14 of her majesty15, but in their humility16 there was mingled17 something both gay and bold, and she loved that any man, young or old, high or humble18, should look at her thus.
She spoke19 a word of thanks, and bade him wait on her next day at the Manor20 of Brede, where she was to lie that night. Then, motioning her courtiers aside with a testy21 gesture, she asked him a question or two while a fresh horse was being caparisoned and brought for her, and allowed none other but Colin to help her to mount....
It was thought to be significant that at supper that night the virgin sighed, and made her famous remark to my Lord of Essex that she wished sometimes that she was a milk-maid.
Colin Stanier’s father was a man of some small substance, owning a little juicy land that was fine grazing for cattle, and the boy worked on the farm. He had some strange, magical power over the beasts; a savage22 dog would slaver and fawn23 on him, a vicious horse sheathed24 its violence at his touch, and, in especial at this season of lambing-time, he wrought25 wonders of midwifery on the ewes and of nursing on the lambs. This authoritative26 deftness27 sprang from no kindly28 love of animals; cleverness and contempt, with a dash of pity, was all he worked with, and this evening, after the Queen had passed on, it was reluctantly enough that he went down to the low-lying{9} fields where his father’s sheep were in pregnancy29. The old man himself, as Colin ascertained30, had taken the excuse of her Grace’s visit to get more than usually intoxicated31, and the boy guessed that he himself would be alone half the night with his lantern and his ministries32 among the ewes.
So, indeed, it proved, and the moon had sunk an hour after midnight, when he entered the shed in the lambing-field to take his bite of supper and get a few hours’ sleep. He crunched33 his crusty bread and bacon in his strong teeth, he had a draught34 of beer, and, wrapping himself in his cloak, lay down. He believed (on the evidence of his memoirs) that he then went to sleep.
Up to this point the story is likely enough; a pedant35 might unsniffingly accept it. But then there occurred (or is said to have occurred) the event which forms the basis of the Stanier legend, and it will certainly be rejected, in spite of a certain scrap36 of parchment still extant and of the three centuries of sequel, by all sensible and twentieth-century minds.
For, according to the legend, Colin woke and found himself no longer alone in the shed; there was standing37 by him a finely-dressed fellow who smiled on him. It was still as dark as the pit outside—no faintest ray of approaching dawn yet streaked38 the eastern sky, yet for all that Colin could see his inexplicable39 visitor quite plainly.
The stranger briefly40 introduced himself as his Satanic majesty, and, according to his usual pleasant custom, offered the boy all that he could wish for in life—health and beauty (and, indeed, these were his already) and wealth, honour, and affluence41, which at present were sadly lacking—on the sole condition that at his death his soul was to belong to his benefactor42. The bargain—this was the unusual feature in the Stanier legend—was to hold good for all his direct descendants who, unless they definitely renounced44 the contract on their own behalf, would be partakers in these benefits and debtors45 in the other small matter.{10}
For his part, Colin had no sort of hesitation46 in accepting so tempting47 an offer, and Satan thereupon produced for his perusal48 (he was able to read) a slip of parchment on which the conditions were firmly and plainly stated. A scratch with his knife on the forearm supplied the ink for the signature, and Satan provided him with a pen. He was bidden to keep the document as a guarantee of the good faith of his bargainer; the red cloak flashed for a moment in front of his eyes, dazzling him, and he staggered and fell back on the heap of straw from which he had just risen.
The darkness was thick and impenetrable round him, but at the moment a distant flash of lightning blinked in through the open door, showing him that the shed was empty again. Outside, save for the drowsy49 answer of the thunder, all was quiet, but in his hand certainly was a slip of parchment.
The same, so runs the legend, is reproduced in the magnificent Holbein of the young man which hangs now above the mantelpiece in the hall of Stanier. Colin Stanier, first Earl of Yardley, looking hardly older than he did on this momentous50 night, stands there in Garter robes with this little document in his hand. The original parchment, so the loquacious51 housekeeper52 points out to the visitors who to-day go over the house on the afternoons when it is open to the public, is let into the frame of the same portrait.
Certainly there is such a piece of parchment there, just below the title of the picture, but the ink has so faded that it is impossible to decipher more than a word or two of it. The word “diabolus” must be more conjectured53 than seen, and the ingenious profess55 to decipher the words “quodcunque divitiarum, pulchritud” ... so that it would seem that Colin the shepherd-boy, if he signed it, must have perused56 and understood Latin.
This in itself is so excessively improbable that the whole business may be discredited57 from first to last. But there is no doubt whatever that Colin Stanier did some time{11} sign a Latin document (for his name in ink, now brown, is perfectly58 legible) which has perished in the corroding59 years, whether he understood it or not, and there seems no doubt about the date in the bottom left-hand corner....
The constructive60 reader will by this time have got ready his interpretation61 about the whole cock-and-bull story, and a very sensible one it is. The legend is surely what mythologists call ?tiological. There was—he can see it—an old strip of parchment signed by Colin Stanier, and this, in view of the incredible prosperity of the family, coupled with the almost incredible history of their dark deeds, would be quite sufficient to give rise to the legend. In medi?val times, apparently62, such Satanic bargains were, if not common, at any rate not unknown, and the legend was, no doubt, invented in order to account for these phenomena63, instead of being responsible for them.
Of legendary64 significance, too, must be the story of Philip Stanier, third Earl, who is said to have renounced his part in the bargain, and thereupon fell from one misfortune into another, was branded with an incurable65 and disfiguring disease, and met his death on the dagger66 of an injured woman. Ronald Stanier, a nephew of the above, was another such recusant; he married a shrew, lost a fortune in the South Sea bubble, and had a singularly inglorious career.
But such instances as these (in all the long history there are no more of them, until credence67 in the legend faded altogether), even if we could rely on their authenticity68, would only seem to prove that those who renounced the devil and all his works necessarily met with misfortune in this life, which is happily not the case, and thus they tend to disprove rather than confirm the whole affair.
Finally, when we come to more modern times, and examine the records of the Stanier family from, let us say, the advent69 of the Hanoverian dynasty, though their splendour and distinction is ever a crescent, not a waning70 moon, there can be no reason to assign a diabolical71 origin to such{12} prosperity. There were black sheep among them, of course, but when will you not find, in records so public as theirs, dark shadows thrown by the searchlight of history? Bargains with the powers of hell, in any case, belong to the romantic dusk of the Middle Ages, and cannot find any serious place in modern chronicles.
But to quit these quagmires72 of superstition for the warranted and scarcely less fascinating solidity of fact, Colin Stanier next day obediently craved73 audience with the Queen at the Manor of Brede. By a stroke of intuition which does much to account for his prosperous fortune, he did not make himself endimanché, but, with his shepherd’s crook74 in his hand and a new-born lamb in his bosom, he presented himself at the house where the Queen lodged75. He would have been contemptuously turned back with buffets76 by the halberdiers and yeomen who guarded the entrance, but the mention of his name sufficed to admit him with a reluctant alacrity78.
He wore but the breeches and jerkin in which he pursued his work among the beasts, his shapely legs were bare from knee to ankle, and as he entered the porch, he kicked off the shoes in which he had walked from Rye. His crook he insisted on retaining, and the lamb which, obedient to the spell that he exercised over young living things, lay quiet in his arms.
Some fussy79 Controller of the Queen’s household would have ejected him and chanced the consequences, but, said Colin very quietly, “It is by her Majesty’s orders that I present myself, and whether you buffet77 me or not, prithee tell the Queen’s Grace that I am here.”
There was something surprising in the dignity of the boy; and in the sweet-toned, clear-cut speech, so unlike the utterance80 of the mumbling81 rustic82, and the Controller, bidding him wait where he was, shuffled83 upstairs, and came back with extraordinary expedition.
“The Queen’s Grace awaits you, Mr.——”
“Stanier,” said Colin.{13}
“Mr. Stanier. But your crook, your lamb——”
“Let us do her Majesty’s bidding,” said Colin.
He was ushered84 into the long hall of Brede Manor, and the Controller, having thrown the door open, slipped away with an alertness that suggested that his presence was desirable there no more, and left the boy, barefooted, clasping his lamb, with a rush-strewn floor to traverse. There was a table down the centre of it, littered with papers, and hemmed85 in with chairs that suggested that their occupants had hurriedly vacated them. At the end was seated a small, bent86 figure, conspicuous87 for her ruff and her red hair, and her rope of pearls, and her eyes bright and sharp as a bird’s.
Colin, sadly pricked88 on the soles of his feet by the rushes, advanced across that immeasurable distance, looking downwards89 on his lamb. When he had traversed the half of it, he raised his eyes for a moment, and saw that the Queen, still quite motionless, was steadily90 regarding him. Again he bent his eyes on his lamb, and when he had come close to that formidable figure, he fell on his knees.
“A lamb, madam,” he said, “which is the first-fruits of the spring. My crook, which I lay at your Grace’s feet, and myself, who am not worthy91 to lie there.”
Again Colin raised his eyes, and the wretch92 put into them all the gaiety and boldness which he gave to the wenches on the farm. Then he dropped them again, and with his whole stake on the table, waited, gambler as he was, for the arbitrament.
“Look at me, Colin Stanier,” said the Queen.
Colin looked. There was the tiny wrinkled face, the high eyebrows93, the thin-lipped mouth disclosing the discoloured teeth.
“Madam!” he said.
“Well, what next?” said Elizabeth impatiently.
“My body and soul, madam,” said Colin, and once more he put into his eyes and his eager mouth that semblance94 of desire which had made Mistress Moffat, the{14} wife of the mayor, box his ears with a blow that was more of a caress95.
The Queen felt precisely96 the same as Mistress Moffat, and drew her hand down over his smooth chin. “And it is your wish to be my shepherd-boy, Colin?” she asked. “You desire to be my page?”
“I am sick with desire,” said Colin.
She bent towards him, and neither saint nor devil could have inspired Colin better at that moment. He kissed her (after all, he had been offered the greeting) fairly and squarely on her withered98 cheek, and then, without pause, kissed the hem of her embroidered99 gown. He had done right, just absolutely right.
“You bold dog!” said the Queen. “Stand up.”
Colin stood up, with his arms close by his side, as if at attention in all his shapeliness and beauty, and the Queen clapped her hands.
The side door opened disclosing halberdiers, and through the door by which Colin had entered came the Controller.
“Colin Stanier is my page,” she said, “and of my household. Summon my lords again; we have not finished with our Spanish business. The lamb—I will eat that lamb, and none other, at the feast of Easter.”
Within the week Colin was established in attendance on the Queen, and the daring felicity which had marked his first dealings with her never failed nor faltered100. His radiant youth, the gaiety of his boyish spirits, the unfailing tact101 of his flattery, his roguish innocence102, the fine innate103 breeding of the yeoman-stock, which is the best blood in England, wove a spell that seemed to defy the usual fickleness104 of her favouritism. Certainly he had wisdom as far beyond his years as it was beyond his upbringing, and wisdom coming like pure water from the curves of that beautiful young mouth, made him frankly106 irresistible107 to the fiery108 and shrewd old woman.{15}
From being her page he was speedily advanced to the post of confidential109 secretary, and queer it was to see the boy seated by her side at some state council while she rated and stormed at her lords for giving her some diplomatic advice which her flame-like spirit deemed spiritless. Then, in mid-tirade, she would stop, tweak her secretary by his rosy110 ear, and say, “Eh, Colin, am I not in the right of it?”
Very often she was not, and then Colin would so deftly111 insinuate112 further considerations, prefacing them by, “As your Grace and Majesty so wisely has told us” (when her Grace and Majesty had told them precisely the opposite) that Elizabeth would begin to imagine that she had thought of these prudent113 things herself.
The Court in general followed the example of their royal mistress, and had not Colin’s nature, below its gaiety and laughter, been made of some very stern stuff, he must surely have degenerated114 into a spoilt, vain child, before ever he came to his full manhood. Men and women alike were victims of that sunny charm; to be with him made the heart sing, and none could grudge115 that a boy on whom God had showered every grace of mind and body, should find the mere116 tawdry decorations of riches and honour his natural heritage.
Then, too, there was this to consider: the Queen’s fickle105 and violent temper might topple down one whom she had visited but yesterday with her highest favours, and none but Colin could induce her to restore the light she had withdrawn117. If you wanted a boon118 granted, or even a vengeance119 taken, there was no such sure road to its accomplishment120 as to secure Colin’s advocacy, no path that led so straight to failure as to set the boy against you. For such services it was but reasonable that some token of gratitude121 should be conferred on him by the suppliant122, some graceful123 acknowledgment which, in our harsh modern way, we should now term “commission,” and Colin’s commissions, thus honestly earned, soon amounted to a very pretty figure. Whether he augmented124 them or not{16} by less laudable methods, by threats or what we call by that ugly word “blackmail,” is a different matter, and need not be gone into.
Yet, surrounded as he was by all that might have been expected to turn a boy’s head, Colin remained singularly well-balanced, and whatever tales might be told about his virtue125, the most censorious could find no fault with his prudence126. The Queen created him at the age of twenty-five Knight127 of the Garter and Earl of Yardley, a title which his descendants hold to this day, and presented him with the Manor of Yardley in Buckinghamshire, and the monastic lands of Tillingham on the hills above the Romney Marsh128. He incorporated the fine dwelling129-house of the evicted130 abbot into the great and glorious mansion132 of Stanier, the monks’ quarters he demolished133 altogether, and the abbey church became the parish church of Tillingham for worship, and the chapel134 and burying-place of the Staniers for pride.
But, though the Queen told him once and again that it was time her Colin took a wife, he protested that while her light was shed on him not Venus herself could kindle135 desire in his heart. This was the only instance in which he disobeyed Gloriana’s wishes, but Gloriana willingly pardoned his obduracy136, and rewarded it with substantial benefits.
On her death, which occurred when he was thirty, he made a very suitable match with the heiress of Sir John Reeves, who brought him, in addition to a magnificent dowry, the considerable acreage which to-day is part of the London estate of the Staniers. He retired137 from court-life, and divided the year between Stanier and London, busy with the embellishment of his houses, into which he poured those treasures of art which now glorify138 them.
He was, too, as the glades139 and terraces of Stanier testify, a gardener on a notable scale, and his passion in this direction led him to evict131 his father from the farm where Colin’s own boyhood was passed, which lay on the level land below the hill, in order to make there the long,{17} ornamental140 water which is one of the most agreeable features of the place.
His father by this time was an old man of uncouth141 and intemperate142 habits, and it could not perhaps be expected that the young earl should cherish his declining years with any very personal tenderness. But he established him in a decent dwelling, gave him an adequate maintenance with a permission to draw on the brewery143 for unlimited144 beer, and made only the one stipulation146 that his father should never attempt to gain access to him. The old man put so liberal an interpretation on his beer-rights, that he did not enjoy them very long.
This taint147 of hardness in Colin’s character was no new feature. He had left the home of his boyhood without regret or any subsequent affection of remembrance: he had made his pleasurable life at Court a profitable affair, whereas others had spent their salaries and fortunes in maintaining their suitable magnificence, and, like the great Marlborough a few generations later, he had allowed infatuated women to pay pretty handsomely for the privilege of adoring him, and the inhumanities, such as his eviction148 of his father, with which his married life was garlanded, was no more than the reasonable development of earlier tendencies. Always a great stickler149 for the majesty of the law, he caused certain sheep-stealers on the edge of his property to be hanged for their misdeeds, and why should not the lord of Tillingham have bought their little properties from their widows at a more than reasonable price?
Though his own infidelities were notorious, the settlements of his marriage were secure enough, and when he had already begotten150 two sons of the hapless daughter of Sir John Reeves, he invoked151 the aid of the law to enable him to put her away and renew his vow153 of love and honour to the heiress of my Lord Middlesex. She proved to be a barren crone, and perhaps had no opportunity of proving her fruitfulness, but she was so infatuated with him that by the settlements she gave him unconditionally154 the{18} Broughton property which so conveniently adjoined his own.
To go back again for a moment to that obscure matter of the Stanier legend, it appears that on the day on which each of his sons came of age, their father made them acquainted with the agreement he had made on behalf of himself and the heirs of his body, and shewed them the signed parchment. They had, so he pointed155 out to them, the free choice of dissociating themselves from that bargain, and of taking the chance of material prosperity here and of salvation156 hereafter; he enjoined157 on them also the duty of transmitting the legend to their children in the manner and at the time that it had been made known to themselves.
Neither Ronald, the elder, nor his brother Philip felt the least qualm about the future, but they both had a very considerable appreciation of the present, and on each occasion the parchment was restored to its strong box with no loss of validity as regards the next generation. Ronald soon afterwards made one of those prudent marriages for which for generations the Staniers have been famous; Philip, on the other hand, who presently made for himself at the Court a position hardly less brilliant than his father’s had been, found celibacy158, with its accompanying consolations159, good enough for him.
This is too polite an age to speak of his infamies161 and his amazing debauches, but his father was never tired of hearing about them, and used to hang on the boy’s tales when he got leave of absence from the Court to spend a week at home. Ronald was but a prude in comparison with the other two, protesting at Philip’s more atrocious experiences. His notion, so he drunkenly tried to explain himself (for his grandfather’s pleasures made strong appeal to him) was that there were things that no gentleman would do, whatever backing he had, and with a curious superstitious162 timidity he similarly refused to play{19} dice163 on the Communion table in the old monastic chapel....
For full forty years after the death of the Queen, Colin, Knight of the Garter and first Earl of Yardley, revelled164 at the banquet of life. All that material prosperity could offer was his; his princely purchases, his extravagances, his sumptuous6 hospitalities were powerless to check the ever-swelling roll of his revenues; he enjoyed a perfect bodily health, and up to the day of his death his force was unabated, his eye undimmed, and the gold in his hair untouched by a single thread of silver.
As the years went on, his attachment165 to this stately house of Stanier grew to a passion, and however little credence we may give to the legend, it is certain that his descendants inherit from Colin Stanier that devotion to the place where they were born. No Stanier, so it is said, is ever completely happy away from the great house that crowns the hill above the Romney Marsh; it is to them a shrine166, a Mecca, a golden Jerusalem, the home of their hearts, and all the fairest of foreign lands, the most sunny seas, the most sumptuous palaces are but wildernesses167 or hovels in comparison with their home. To such an extent was this true of Colin, first Earl, that for the last ten years of his life he scarcely left the place for a night.
But though his bodily health remained ever serene168 and youthful, and youth’s excesses, continued into old age, left him unwrinkled of skin and vigorous in desire, there grew on him during the last year of his life a malady169 neither of body nor of mind, but of the very spirit and essence of his being. The compact that he believed himself to have made had been fully170 and honestly observed by the other high contracting party, and as the time drew near that his own share in the bargain must be exacted from him, his spirit, we must suppose, conscious that the imprint171 of the divine was so shortly to be surcharged with the stamp and superscription of hell, was filled with some{20} remorseful172 terror, that in itself was a foretaste of damnation.
He ate, he drank, he slept, he rioted, he brought to Stanier yet more treasures of exquisite173 art—Italian pictures, bronzes of Greek workmanship, Spanish lace, torn, perhaps, from the edges of altar-cloths, intaglios, Persian Pottery174, and Ming porcelain175 from China. His passion for beauty, which had all his life been a torch to him, did not fail him, nor yet the wit and rapier-play of tongue, nor yet the scandalous chronicles of Philip. But in the midst of beauty or debauchery, there would come to his mind with such withering176 of the spirit as befel Belshazzar when the writing was traced on the wall, the knowledge of his approaching doom177.
As if to attempt to turn it aside or soften178 the inexorable fate, he gave himself to deeds of belated pity and charitableness. He endowed an almshouse in Rye; he erected179 a fine tomb over his father’s grave; he attended daily service in the church which he had desecrated180 with his dice-throwings. And all the time his spirit told him that it was too late, he had made his bed and must lie on it: for he turned to the God whom he had renounced neither in love nor in sincerity181, nor in fear of Him, but in terror of his true master.
But when he tried to pray his mind could invoke152 no holy images, but was decked with pageants182 of debauchery, and if he formed his lips to pious183 words there dropped from them a stream of obscenities and blasphemy184. At any moment the terror would lay its hand on his spirit, affecting neither body nor mind, but addressing itself solely185 to the immortal186 and deathless part of him. It was in vain that he attempted to assure himself, too, that in the ordering of the world neither God nor devil has a share, for even the atheism187 in which he had lived deserted188 him as the hour of his death drew near.
The day of his seventieth birthday arrived: the house was full of guests, and in honour of the occasion there was a feast for the tenants189 of the estate in the great hall,{21} while his own friends, making a company of some fifty, sat at the high table on the dais. All day distant thunder had muttered obscurely among the hills, and by the time that the lights were lit in the hall, and the drinking deep, a heavy pall190 had overspread the sky.
Lord Yardley was in fine spirits that night. For years he had had a presentiment191 that he would do no more than reach the exact span appointed for the life of men, and would die on his seventieth birthday, and here was the day as good as over, and if that presentiment proved to be unfulfilled he felt that he would face with a stouter192 scepticism the other terror. He had just risen from his place to reply to the toast of the evening, and stood, tall and comely193, the figure of a man still in the prime of life, facing his friends and dependents. Then, even while he opened his lips to speak, the smile was struck from his face, and instead of speech there issued from his mouth one wild cry of terror.
“No, no!” he screamed, and with his arm pushed out in front of him as if to defend himself against some invisible presence, he fell forward across the table.
At that moment the hall leaped into blinding light, and an appalling194 riot of thunder answered. Some said that he had been struck and, indeed, on his forehead there was a small black mark as of burning, but those nearest felt no shock, and were confident that the stroke which had fallen on him preceded the flash and the thunder: he had crashed forward after that cry and that gesture of terror, before even the lightning descended195.... And Ronald reigned196 in his stead.
By the patent of nobility granted to Colin Stanier by Elizabeth, the estates and title descended not through heirs male only, but through the female line. If an Earl of Yardley died leaving only female issue, the girl became Countess of Yardley in her own right, to the exclusion197 of sons begotten by her father’s or grandfather’s younger{22} brother. It was perhaps characteristic of the Queen to frame the charter thus—she had done so of her own invention and devising—for thus she gratified her own sense of the capability198 of her sex, and also felt some phantom199 of posthumous200 delight in securing, as far as she could, that the honours that she had showered on her favourite should descend43 in direct line. But for many generations her foresight201 and precaution seemed needless, since each holder202 of the title bore sons only, and the line was straight as a larch203, from father to son. By some strange arbitrament of fate it so happened that younger sons (following the unchaste example of Philip) died in legal celibacy, or, if they married, were childless, or became so in that generation or the next. Thus the family is unique in having to this day no collateral204 branches, and in this the fancifully disposed may be prone205 to see a certain diabolical observance of the original bond. No dowries for daughters had to be provided, and such portions as were made for younger sons soon rolled back again into the sea of family affluence.
The purchase of land formed the main outlet206 for the flood of ever-increasing revenue, and as surely as Lord Yardley entered upon his new acreages, mineral wealth would be discovered on the freshly-acquired property (as was the case in the Cornish farms, where the Stanier lode207 of tin was found), or if when, at a later date, as in a mere freak, he purchased barren fields fit only for grazing, by the sea, it was not long before the Prince Regent found that the Sussex coast enjoyed a bracing208 and salubrious air, and lo! all the grazing-lands of Lord Stanier became building sites. Whatever they touched turned to gold, and that to no an?mic hands incapable209 of enjoying the lusts210 and splendours of life. Honours fell on them thick as autumn leaves: each holder of the title in turn has won the Garter, and never has the Garter been bestowed211 on them without solid merit to carry it. Three have been Prime Ministers, further three ambassadors to foreign countries on difficult and delicate businesses; in{23} the Napoleonic wars there was a great general.... But all these records are public property.
Less known, perhaps, is the fact that no Lord Yardley has ever yet died in his bed or received the religious consolation160 that would fit him to go forth213 undismayed on his last dark, solitary214 journey, and though each in turn (with the sad exception of Philip, third Earl, and his nephew, the recusant Ronald) has lived to the comfortable age of seventy, swift death, sometimes with violence, has been the manner of his exit. Colin, fourth Earl, committed suicide under circumstances which made it creditable that he should do so; otherwise strange seizures215, accompanied, it would appear, by some inexplicable terror, has been the manner of the demise216.
And what, in this brief history of their annals, can be said of the legend, except that from being a terrible truth to Colin, first Earl, it has faded even as has faded the ink which records that mythical217 bargaining? It is more than a hundred years ago now that the Lord Yardley of the day caused the parchment to be inserted in the frame of his infamous218 ancestor, where it can be seen now every Thursday afternoon from three to five, when Stanier is open, without fee, to decently-clad visitors, and the very fact that Lord Yardley (temp. George III.) should have displayed it as a curiosity, is the measure of the incredulity with which those most closely concerned regarded it. A man would not put up for all the world to see the warrant that he should burn eternally in the fires of hell if he viewed it with the slightest tremor219 of misgiving220. It was blasphemous221 even to suppose that worldly prosperity (as said the excellent parson at Stanier who always dined at the house on Sunday evening and slept it off on Monday morning) was anything other than the mark of divine favour, and many texts from the Psalmist could be produced in support of his view. Thus fortified222 by port and professional advice, Lord Yardley decreed the insertion of the document into the frame that held the picture of that ancestor of his whose signature it bore, and gave a{24} remarkably223 generous subscription224 to the organ-fund. Faded as was the writing then, it has faded into greater indecipherability since, and with it any remnant of faith in its validity.
Yet hardly less curious to the psychologist is the strange nature of these Staniers. Decked as they are with the embellishment of distinction, of breeding, and beauty, they have always seemed to their contemporaries to be lacking in some quality, hard to define but easy to appreciate or, in their case, to miss. A tale of trouble will very likely win from them some solid alleviation225, but their generosity226, you would find, gave always the impression of being made not out of love or out of sympathy, but out of contempt.
Their charm—and God knows how many have fallen victims to it—has been and is that of some cold brilliance227, that attracts even as the beam of a lighthouse attracts the migrating birds who dash themselves to pieces against the glass that shields it; it can scarcely be said to be the fault of the light that the silly feathered things broke themselves against its transparent228, impenetrable armour229. It hardly invited: it only shone on business which did not concern the birds, so there was no definite design of attraction or cruelty in its beams, only of brilliance and indifference230. That is the habit of light; such, too, are the habits of birds; the light even might be supposed by sentimentalists faintly to regret the shattered wing and the brightness of the drowned plumage.
But, so it is popularly supposed, it is quite easy, though not very prudent, to arouse unfavourable emotion in a Stanier; you have but to vex231 him or run counter to his wish, and you will very soon find yourself on the target of a remorseless and vindictive232 hate. No ray of pity, so it is said, softens233 the hardness of that frosty intensity234; no contrition235, when once it has been aroused, will thaw236 it. Forgiveness is a word quite foreign to their vocabulary, and its nearest equivalent is a contemptuous indifference. Gratitude, in the same way, figures as an{25} obsolete237 term in the language of their emotions. They neither feel it nor expect it: it has no currency. Whatever you may be privileged to do for a Stanier, he takes as a mite145 in the endowment which the world has always, since the days of our Elizabethan Colin, poured into their treasuries238, while if he has done you a good turn, he has done so as he would chuck a picked bone to a hungry dog: the proper course for the dog is to snatch it up and retire into its corner to mumble239 it.
It would be strange, then, if, being without ruth or love, a Stanier could bestow212 or aspire240 to friendship with man or woman, and, indeed, such an anomaly has never occurred. But, then, it must be remembered that Staniers, as far as we can find out from old letters and diaries and mere historical documents, never wanted friendship nor, indeed, comprehended it. Their beauty and their charm made easy for them the creation of such relationships as they desired, the assuaging241 of such thirst as was theirs, after which the sucked rind could be thrown away; and though through all their generations they have practised those superb hospitalities which find so apt a setting at Stanier, it is rather as gods snuffing up the incense242 of their worshippers than as entertaining their friends that they fill the great house with all who are noblest by birth or distinction.
George IV., for instance, when Prince Regent, stayed there, it may be remembered, for nearly a fortnight, having been asked for three days, during which time the entire House of Lords with their wives spent in noble sections two nights at Stanier, as well as many much younger and sprightlier243 little personages just as famous in the proper quarter. The entire opera from Drury Lane diverted their evening one night, baccarat (or its equivalent) beguiled244 another, on yet another the Prince could not be found....
Not so fortunate, perhaps, save in being the mistresses of all this splendour, and invariably the mothers of hand{26}some sons, have been the successive wives in this illustrious line. For with whatever natural gaiety, with whatever high and independent spirit these ladies married the sons of the house, they seemed always to have undergone some gloomy and mysterious transformation245. It was as if they were ground in a mill, and ground exceeding small, and as if the resulting powder of grain was mixed and kneaded and baked into the Stanier loaf.
Especially was this the case with her who married the young Lord Stanier of the day; long before she succeeded to her full honours she had been crushed into the iron mould designed for the Countesses of Yardley. In public, dignity and stateliness and fine manner would distinguish her, but below these desirable insignia of her station, her character and individuality seemed to have been reduced to pulp246, to have been frozen to death, to have been pounded and brayed247 in some soul-shattering mortar248. Perhaps when first as a bride she entered through the glass doors which were only opened when the eldest249 son brought home his wife, or when there was welcomed at Stanier some reigning250 monarch251, her heart would be all afire with love and virgin longing252 for him with whom she passed through those fatal portals, but before the honeymoon253 was over this process that tamed and stifled254 and paralysed would have begun its deadly work.
For the eldest son and his wife there was reserved a floor in one of the wings of the house; they had no other establishment in the country, and here, when not in London, the family dwelt in patriarchal fashion. When no guests were present, the heir-apparent and his wife breakfasted and lunched in the privacy of their wing, if so they chose; they had their own horses, their own household of servants, but every evening, when the warning bell for dinner sounded, the major-domo came to the door of their apartments and preceded them down to the great gallery where, with any other sons and daughters-in-law, they awaited the entrance of Lord Yardley and his wife. Then came the stately and almost speechless dinner,{27} served on gold plate, and after that a rubber of whist, decorous and damning, until Lady Yardley retired on the stroke of ten, and the sons joined their father in the billiard-room.
Such evenings were rare (for usually throughout the shooting season there were guests in the house), but from them we can conjecture54 some sketch255 of the paralysing process: this was the conduct of a family evening in the mere superficial adventure of dining and passing a sociable256 evening, and from it we can estimate something of the effect of parallel processes applied257 to the thoughts and the mind and the aspirations258 and the desires of a young wife. No Stanier wanted love or gave it; what he wanted when he took his mate was that in obedience259 and subjection she should give him (as she always did) a legitimate260 and healthy heir. She was not a Stanier, and though she wore the family pearls like a halter, she was only there on sufferance and of necessity, and though her blood would beat with the true ichor in the arteries261 of the next generation, she was in herself no more than the sucked orange-rind.
The Staniers were too proud to reckon an alliance with any family on the face of the earth as anything but an honour for the family concerned; even when, as happened at the close of the eighteenth century, a princess of the Hohenzollern line was married to the heir, she was ground in the mill like any other. In her case she shared to the full in the brutal262 arrogance263 of her own family, and had imagined that it was she who, by this alliance, had conferred, not accepted, an honour. She had supposed that her husband and his relations would give her the deference264 due to royalty265, and it took her some little time to learn her lesson, which she appears to have mastered.
A hundred years later the Emperor William II. of Germany had a reminder266 of it which caused him considerable surprise. On one of his visits to England he deigned267 to pass a week-end at Stanier, and though received as a reigning monarch with opening of the glass{28} doors, he found that his condescension268 in remembering that he was connected with the family was not received with the rapture269 of humility which he had expected. He had asked to be treated by the members of the family as Cousin Willie, and they did so with a nonchalance270 that was truly amazing.
Such, in brief, was the rise of the Staniers, and such the outline of their splendour.
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1
superstition
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| n.迷信，迷信行为 | |
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aspiration
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| n.志向，志趣抱负；渴望；(语)送气音；吸出 | |
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3
sinister
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| adj.不吉利的，凶恶的，左边的 | |
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cynical
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| adj.(对人性或动机)怀疑的，不信世道向善的 | |
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vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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sumptuous
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| adj.豪华的，奢侈的，华丽的 | |
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sumptuously
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| 奢侈地，豪华地 | |
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8
affiliated
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| adj. 附属的, 有关连的 | |
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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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bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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hem
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| n.贴边，镶边；vt.缝贴边；(in)包围，限制 | |
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12
appreciative
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| adj.有鉴赏力的，有眼力的；感激的 | |
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athletic
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| adj.擅长运动的，强健的；活跃的，体格健壮的 | |
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appreciation
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| n.评价；欣赏；感谢；领会，理解；价格上涨 | |
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15
majesty
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| n.雄伟，壮丽，庄严，威严；最高权威，王权 | |
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humility
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| n.谦逊，谦恭 | |
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mingled
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| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
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humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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19
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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20
manor
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| n.庄园，领地 | |
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21
testy
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| adj.易怒的；暴躁的 | |
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savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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23
fawn
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| n.未满周岁的小鹿；v.巴结，奉承 | |
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24
sheathed
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| adj.雕塑像下半身包在鞘中的；覆盖的；铠装的；装鞘了的v.将（刀、剑等）插入鞘( sheathe的过去式和过去分词 )；包，覆盖 | |
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25
wrought
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| v.引起；以…原料制作；运转；adj.制造的 | |
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26
authoritative
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| adj.有权威的，可相信的；命令式的；官方的 | |
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27
deftness
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28
kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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29
pregnancy
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| n.怀孕，怀孕期 | |
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30
ascertained
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| v.弄清，确定，查明( ascertain的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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intoxicated
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| 喝醉的，极其兴奋的 | |
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32
ministries
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| （政府的）部( ministry的名词复数 )； 神职； 牧师职位； 神职任期 | |
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33
crunched
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| v.嘎吱嘎吱地咬嚼( crunch的过去式和过去分词 )；嘎吱作响；（快速大量地）处理信息；数字捣弄 | |
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34
draught
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| n.拉，牵引，拖；一网（饮，吸，阵)；顿服药量，通风；v.起草，设计 | |
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35
pedant
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| n.迂儒；卖弄学问的人 | |
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36
scrap
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| n.碎片；废料；v.废弃，报废 | |
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37
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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38
streaked
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| adj.有条斑纹的，不安的v.快速移动( streak的过去式和过去分词 )；使布满条纹 | |
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39
inexplicable
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| adj.无法解释的，难理解的 | |
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40
briefly
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| adv.简单地，简短地 | |
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41
affluence
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| n.充裕，富足 | |
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42
benefactor
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| n. 恩人，行善的人，捐助人 | |
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43
descend
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| vt./vi.传下来，下来，下降 | |
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44
renounced
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| v.声明放弃( renounce的过去式和过去分词 )；宣布放弃；宣布与…决裂；宣布摒弃 | |
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45
debtors
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| n.债务人，借方( debtor的名词复数 ) | |
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46
hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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47
tempting
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| a.诱人的, 吸引人的 | |
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48
perusal
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| n.细读，熟读；目测 | |
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49
drowsy
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| adj.昏昏欲睡的，令人发困的 | |
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50
momentous
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| adj.重要的，重大的 | |
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51
loquacious
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| adj.多嘴的，饶舌的 | |
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52
housekeeper
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| n.管理家务的主妇，女管家 | |
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53
conjectured
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| 推测，猜测，猜想( conjecture的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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54
conjecture
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| n./v.推测，猜测 | |
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55
profess
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| v.声称，冒称，以...为业，正式接受入教，表明信仰 | |
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56
perused
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| v.读（某篇文字）( peruse的过去式和过去分词 )；（尤指）细阅；审阅；匆匆读或心不在焉地浏览（某篇文字） | |
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57
discredited
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| 不足信的，不名誉的 | |
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58
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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59
corroding
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| 使腐蚀，侵蚀( corrode的现在分词 ) | |
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60
constructive
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| adj.建设的，建设性的 | |
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61
interpretation
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| n.解释，说明，描述；艺术处理 | |
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62
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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63
phenomena
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| n.现象 | |
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64
legendary
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| adj.传奇（中）的，闻名遐迩的；n.传奇（文学） | |
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65
incurable
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| adj.不能医治的，不能矫正的，无救的；n.不治的病人，无救的人 | |
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66
dagger
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| n.匕首，短剑，剑号 | |
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67
credence
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| n.信用，祭器台，供桌，凭证 | |
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68
authenticity
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| n.真实性 | |
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69
advent
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| n.(重要事件等的)到来，来临 | |
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70
waning
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| adj.（月亮）渐亏的，逐渐减弱或变小的n.月亏v.衰落( wane的现在分词 )；（月）亏；变小；变暗淡 | |
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71
diabolical
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| adj.恶魔似的，凶暴的 | |
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72
quagmires
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| n.沼泽地，泥潭( quagmire的名词复数 ) | |
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73
craved
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| 渴望，热望( crave的过去式 )； 恳求，请求 | |
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74
crook
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| v.使弯曲；n.小偷，骗子，贼；弯曲(处) | |
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75
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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76
buffets
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| （火车站的）饮食柜台( buffet的名词复数 )； （火车的）餐车； 自助餐 | |
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77
buffet
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| n.自助餐；饮食柜台；餐台 | |
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78
alacrity
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| n.敏捷，轻快，乐意 | |
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79
fussy
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| adj.为琐事担忧的，过分装饰的，爱挑剔的 | |
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80
utterance
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| n.用言语表达，话语，言语 | |
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81
mumbling
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| 含糊地说某事，叽咕，咕哝( mumble的现在分词 ) | |
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82
rustic
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| adj.乡村的，有乡村特色的；n.乡下人，乡巴佬 | |
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83
shuffled
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| v.洗（纸牌）( shuffle的过去式和过去分词 )；拖着脚步走；粗心地做；摆脱尘世的烦恼 | |
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84
ushered
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| v.引，领，陪同( usher的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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85
hemmed
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| 缝…的褶边( hem的过去式和过去分词 )； 包围 | |
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86
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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87
conspicuous
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| adj.明眼的，惹人注目的；炫耀的，摆阔气的 | |
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88
pricked
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| 刺，扎，戳( prick的过去式和过去分词 )； 刺伤； 刺痛； 使剧痛 | |
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89
downwards
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| adj./adv.向下的（地），下行的（地） | |
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90
steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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91
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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92
wretch
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| n.可怜的人，不幸的人；卑鄙的人 | |
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93
eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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94
semblance
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| n.外貌，外表 | |
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95
caress
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| vt./n.爱抚，抚摸 | |
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96
precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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97
salute
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| vi.行礼，致意，问候，放礼炮；vt.向…致意，迎接，赞扬；n.招呼，敬礼，礼炮 | |
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98
withered
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| adj. 枯萎的，干瘪的，（人身体的部分器官）因病萎缩的或未发育良好的 动词wither的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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99
embroidered
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| adj．绣花的 | |
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100
faltered
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| （嗓音）颤抖( falter的过去式和过去分词 )； 支吾其词； 蹒跚； 摇晃 | |
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101
tact
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| n.机敏，圆滑，得体 | |
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102
innocence
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| n.无罪；天真；无害 | |
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103
innate
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| adj.天生的，固有的，天赋的 | |
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104
fickleness
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| n.易变；无常；浮躁；变化无常 | |
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105
fickle
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| adj.(爱情或友谊上)易变的，不坚定的 | |
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106
frankly
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| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
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107
irresistible
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| adj.非常诱人的，无法拒绝的，无法抗拒的 | |
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108
fiery
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| adj.燃烧着的，火红的；暴躁的；激烈的 | |
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109
confidential
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| adj.秘（机）密的，表示信任的，担任机密工作的 | |
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110
rosy
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| adj.美好的，乐观的，玫瑰色的 | |
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111
deftly
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| adv.灵巧地，熟练地，敏捷地 | |
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112
insinuate
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| vt.含沙射影地说，暗示 | |
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113
prudent
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| adj.谨慎的，有远见的，精打细算的 | |
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114
degenerated
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| 衰退，堕落，退化( degenerate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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115
grudge
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| n.不满，怨恨，妒嫉；vt.勉强给，不情愿做 | |
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116
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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117
withdrawn
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| vt.收回；使退出；vi.撤退，退出 | |
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118
boon
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| n.恩赐，恩物，恩惠 | |
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119
vengeance
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| n.报复，报仇，复仇 | |
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120
accomplishment
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| n.完成，成就，（pl.）造诣，技能 | |
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121
gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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122
suppliant
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| adj.哀恳的；n.恳求者，哀求者 | |
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123
graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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124
Augmented
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| adj.增音的 动词augment的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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125
virtue
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| n.德行，美德；贞操；优点；功效，效力 | |
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126
prudence
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| n.谨慎，精明，节俭 | |
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127
knight
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| n.骑士，武士；爵士 | |
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128
marsh
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| n.沼泽，湿地 | |
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129
dwelling
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| n.住宅，住所，寓所 | |
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130
evicted
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| v.（依法从房屋里或土地上）驱逐，赶出( evict的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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131
evict
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| vt.驱逐，赶出，撵走 | |
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132
mansion
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| n.大厦，大楼；宅第 | |
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133
demolished
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| v.摧毁( demolish的过去式和过去分词 )；推翻；拆毁（尤指大建筑物）；吃光 | |
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134
chapel
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| n.小教堂，殡仪馆 | |
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135
kindle
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| v.点燃，着火 | |
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136
obduracy
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| n.冷酷无情，顽固，执拗 | |
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137
retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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138
glorify
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| vt.颂扬，赞美，使增光，美化 | |
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139
glades
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| n.林中空地( glade的名词复数 ) | |
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140
ornamental
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| adj.装饰的；作装饰用的；n.装饰品；观赏植物 | |
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141
uncouth
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| adj.无教养的，粗鲁的 | |
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142
intemperate
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| adj.无节制的，放纵的 | |
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143
brewery
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| n.啤酒厂 | |
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144
unlimited
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| adj.无限的，不受控制的，无条件的 | |
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145
mite
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| n.极小的东西；小铜币 | |
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146
stipulation
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| n.契约，规定，条文；条款说明 | |
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147
taint
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| n.污点；感染；腐坏；v.使感染；污染 | |
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148
eviction
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| n.租地等的收回 | |
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149
stickler
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| n.坚持细节之人 | |
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150
begotten
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| v.为…之生父( beget的过去分词 )；产生，引起 | |
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151
invoked
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| v.援引( invoke的过去式和过去分词 )；行使（权利等）；祈求救助；恳求 | |
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152
invoke
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| v.求助于(神、法律)；恳求，乞求 | |
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153
vow
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| n.誓(言)，誓约；v.起誓，立誓 | |
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154
unconditionally
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| adv.无条件地 | |
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155
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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156
salvation
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| n.（尤指基督）救世，超度，拯救，解困 | |
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157
enjoined
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| v.命令( enjoin的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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158
celibacy
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| n.独身(主义) | |
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159
consolations
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| n.安慰，慰问( consolation的名词复数 )；起安慰作用的人（或事物） | |
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160
consolation
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| n.安慰，慰问 | |
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161
infamies
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| n.声名狼藉( infamy的名词复数 )；臭名；丑恶；恶行 | |
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162
superstitious
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| adj.迷信的 | |
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163
dice
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| n.骰子；vt.把（食物）切成小方块，冒险 | |
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164
revelled
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| v.作乐( revel的过去式和过去分词 )；狂欢；着迷；陶醉 | |
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165
attachment
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| n.附属物，附件；依恋；依附 | |
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166
shrine
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| n.圣地，神龛，庙；v.将...置于神龛内，把...奉为神圣 | |
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167
wildernesses
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| 荒野( wilderness的名词复数 )； 沙漠； （政治家）在野； 不再当政（或掌权） | |
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168
serene
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| adj. 安详的，宁静的，平静的 | |
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169
malady
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| n.病，疾病(通常做比喻) | |
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170
fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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171
imprint
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| n.印痕，痕迹；深刻的印象；vt.压印，牢记 | |
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172
remorseful
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| adj.悔恨的 | |
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173
exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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174
pottery
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| n.陶器，陶器场 | |
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175
porcelain
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| n.瓷；adj.瓷的，瓷制的 | |
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176
withering
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| 使人畏缩的，使人害羞的，使人难堪的 | |
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177
doom
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| n.厄运，劫数；v.注定，命定 | |
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178
soften
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| v.(使)变柔软；(使)变柔和 | |
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179
ERECTED
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| adj. 直立的，竖立的，笔直的 vt. 使 ... 直立，建立 | |
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180
desecrated
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| 毁坏或亵渎( desecrate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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181
sincerity
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| n.真诚，诚意；真实 | |
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182
pageants
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| n.盛装的游行( pageant的名词复数 )；穿古代服装的游行；再现历史场景的娱乐活动；盛会 | |
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183
pious
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| adj.虔诚的；道貌岸然的 | |
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184
blasphemy
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| n.亵渎，渎神 | |
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185
solely
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| adv.仅仅，唯一地 | |
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186
immortal
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| adj.不朽的；永生的，不死的；神的 | |
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187
atheism
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| n.无神论，不信神 | |
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188
deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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189
tenants
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| n.房客( tenant的名词复数 )；佃户；占用者；占有者 | |
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190
pall
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| v.覆盖，使平淡无味；n.柩衣，棺罩；棺材；帷幕 | |
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191
presentiment
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| n.预感，预觉 | |
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192
stouter
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| 粗壮的( stout的比较级 )； 结实的； 坚固的； 坚定的 | |
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193
comely
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| adj.漂亮的，合宜的 | |
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194
appalling
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| adj.骇人听闻的，令人震惊的，可怕的 | |
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195
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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196
reigned
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| vi.当政，统治（reign的过去式形式） | |
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197
exclusion
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| n.拒绝，排除，排斥，远足，远途旅行 | |
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198
capability
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| n.能力；才能；(pl)可发展的能力或特性等 | |
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199
phantom
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| n.幻影，虚位，幽灵；adj.错觉的，幻影的，幽灵的 | |
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200
posthumous
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| adj.遗腹的；父亡后出生的；死后的，身后的 | |
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201
foresight
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| n.先见之明，深谋远虑 | |
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202
holder
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| n.持有者，占有者；(台，架等)支持物 | |
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203
larch
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| n.落叶松 | |
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204
collateral
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| adj.平行的；旁系的；n.担保品 | |
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205
prone
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| adj.(to)易于…的，很可能…的；俯卧的 | |
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206
outlet
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| n.出口/路；销路；批发商店；通风口；发泄 | |
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207
lode
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| n.矿脉 | |
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208
bracing
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| adj.令人振奋的 | |
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209
incapable
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| adj.无能力的，不能做某事的 | |
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210
lusts
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| 贪求（lust的第三人称单数形式） | |
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211
bestowed
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| 赠给，授予( bestow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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212
bestow
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| v.把…赠与，把…授予；花费 | |
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213
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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214
solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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215
seizures
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| n.起获( seizure的名词复数 )；没收；充公；起获的赃物 | |
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216
demise
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| n.死亡；v.让渡，遗赠，转让 | |
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217
mythical
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| adj.神话的；虚构的；想像的 | |
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218
infamous
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| adj.声名狼藉的，臭名昭著的，邪恶的 | |
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219
tremor
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| n.震动，颤动，战栗，兴奋，地震 | |
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220
misgiving
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| n.疑虑，担忧，害怕 | |
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221
blasphemous
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| adj.亵渎神明的，不敬神的 | |
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222
fortified
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| adj. 加强的 | |
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223
remarkably
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| ad.不同寻常地，相当地 | |
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224
subscription
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| n.预订，预订费，亲笔签名，调配法，下标（处方） | |
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225
alleviation
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| n. 减轻，缓和，解痛物 | |
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226
generosity
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| n.大度，慷慨，慷慨的行为 | |
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227
brilliance
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| n.光辉，辉煌，壮丽，（卓越的）才华，才智 | |
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228
transparent
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| adj.明显的，无疑的；透明的 | |
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229
armour
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| （=armor）n.盔甲；装甲部队 | |
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230
indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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231
vex
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| vt.使烦恼，使苦恼 | |
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vindictive
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| adj.有报仇心的，怀恨的，惩罚的 | |
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softens
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| （使）变软( soften的第三人称单数 )； 缓解打击； 缓和； 安慰 | |
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intensity
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| n.强烈，剧烈；强度；烈度 | |
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contrition
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| n.悔罪，痛悔 | |
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thaw
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| v.（使）融化，（使）变得友善；n.融化，缓和 | |
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237
obsolete
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| adj.已废弃的，过时的 | |
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238
treasuries
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| n.（政府的）财政部( treasury的名词复数 )；国库，金库 | |
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239
mumble
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| n./v.喃喃而语，咕哝 | |
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240
aspire
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| vi.(to，after)渴望，追求，有志于 | |
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241
assuaging
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| v.减轻( assuage的现在分词 )；缓和；平息；使安静 | |
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242
incense
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| v.激怒；n.香，焚香时的烟，香气 | |
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243
sprightlier
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| adj.生气勃勃的，活泼的( sprightly的比较级 ) | |
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244
beguiled
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| v.欺骗( beguile的过去式和过去分词 )；使陶醉；使高兴；消磨（时间等） | |
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245
transformation
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| n.变化；改造；转变 | |
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246
pulp
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| n.果肉，纸浆；v.化成纸浆，除去...果肉，制成纸浆 | |
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247
brayed
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| v.发出驴叫似的声音( bray的过去式和过去分词 )；发嘟嘟声；粗声粗气地讲话（或大笑）；猛击 | |
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248
mortar
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| n.灰浆，灰泥；迫击炮；v.把…用灰浆涂接合 | |
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249
eldest
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| adj.最年长的，最年老的 | |
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250
reigning
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| adj.统治的，起支配作用的 | |
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251
monarch
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| n.帝王，君主，最高统治者 | |
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252
longing
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| n.（for）渴望 | |
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253
honeymoon
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| n.蜜月（假期）；vi.度蜜月 | |
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254
stifled
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| （使）窒息， （使）窒闷( stifle的过去式和过去分词 )； 镇压，遏制； 堵 | |
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255
sketch
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| n.草图；梗概；素描；v.素描；概述 | |
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256
sociable
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| adj.好交际的，友好的，合群的 | |
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257
applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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258
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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259
obedience
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| n.服从，顺从 | |
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260
legitimate
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| adj.合法的，合理的，合乎逻辑的；v.使合法 | |
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261
arteries
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| n.动脉( artery的名词复数 )；干线，要道 | |
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brutal
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| adj.残忍的，野蛮的，不讲理的 | |
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263
arrogance
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| n.傲慢，自大 | |
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264
deference
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| n.尊重，顺从；敬意 | |
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265
royalty
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| n.皇家，皇族 | |
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reminder
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| n.提醒物，纪念品；暗示，提示 | |
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267
deigned
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| v.屈尊，俯就( deign的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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268
condescension
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| n.自以为高人一等，贬低(别人) | |
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269
rapture
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| n.狂喜；全神贯注；着迷；v.使狂喜 | |
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nonchalance
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| n.冷淡，漠不关心 | |
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