However much Madame la Duchesse d’Ivry was disposed to admire and praise her own conduct in the affair which ended so unfortunately for poor Lord Kew, between whom and the Gascon her grace vowed1 that she had done everything in her power to prevent a battle, the old Duke, her lord, was, it appeared, by no means delighted with his wife’s behaviour, nay2, visited her with his very sternest displeasure. Miss O’Grady, the Duchesse’s companion, and her little girl’s instructress, at this time resigned her functions in the Ivry family; it is possible that in the recriminations consequent upon the governess’s dismissal, the Miss Irlandaise, in whom the family had put so much confidence, divulged3 stories unfavourable to her patroness, and caused the indignation of the Duke, her husband. Between Florac and the Duchesse there was also open war and rupture5. He had been one of Kew’s seconds in the latter’s affair with the Vicomte’s countryman. He had even cried out for fresh pistols, and proposed to engage Castillonnes, when his gallant6 principal fell; and though a second duel7 was luckily averted8 as murderous and needless, M. de Florac never hesitated afterwards, and in all companies, to denounce with the utmost virulence9 the instigator10 and the champion of the odious11 original quarrel. He vowed that the Duchesse had shot le petit Kiou as effectually as if she had herself fired the pistol at his breast. Murderer, poisoner, Brinvilliers, a hundred more such epithets12 he used against his kinswoman, regretting that the good old times were past — that there was no Chambre Ardente to try her, and no rack and wheel to give her her due.
The biographer of the Newcomes has no need (although he possesses the fullest information) to touch upon the Duchesse’s doings, further than as they relate to that most respectable English family. When the Duke took his wife into the country, Florac never hesitated to say that to live with her was dangerous for the old man, and to cry out to his friends of the Boulevards or the Jockey Club, “Ma parole d’honneur, cette femme le tuera!”
Do you know, O gentle and unsuspicious readers, or have you ever reckoned as you have made your calculation of society, how many most respectable husbands help to kill their wives — how many respectable wives aid in sending their husbands to Hades? The wife of a chimney-sweep or a journeyman butcher comes shuddering13 before a police magistrate14 — her head bound up — her body scarred and bleeding with wounds, which the drunken ruffian, her lord, has administered: a poor shopkeeper or mechanic is driven out of his home by the furious ill-temper of the shrill15 virago16 his wife — takes to the public-house — to evil courses — to neglecting his business — to the gin-bottle — to delirium17 tremens — to perdition. Bow Street, and policemen, and the newspaper reporters, have cognisance and a certain jurisdiction18 over these vulgar matrimonial crimes; but in politer company how many murderous assaults are there by husband or wife — where the woman is not felled by the actual fist, though she staggers and sinks under blows quite as cruel and effectual; where, with old wounds yet unhealed, which she strives to hide under a smiling face from the world, she has to bear up and to be stricken down and to rise to her feet again, under fresh daily strokes of torture; where the husband, fond and faithful, has to suffer slights, coldness, insult, desertion, his children sneered20 away from their love for him, his friends driven from his door by jealousy21, his happiness strangled, his whole life embittered22, poisoned, destroyed! If you were acquainted with the history of every family in your street, don’t you know that in two or three of the houses there such tragedies have been playing? Is not the young mistress of Number 20 already pining at her husband’s desertion? The kind master of Number 30 racking his fevered brains and toiling23 through sleepless24 nights to pay for the jewels on his wife’s neck, and the carriage out of which she ogles25 Lothario in the Park? The fate under which man or woman falls, blow of brutal26 tyranny, heartless desertion, weight of domestic care too heavy to bear — are not blows such as these constantly striking people down? In this long parenthesis27 we are wandering ever so far away from M. le Duc and Madame la Duchesse d’Ivry, and from the vivacious28 Florac’s statement regarding his kinsman29, that that woman will kill him.
There is this at least to be said, that if the Duc d’Ivry did die he was a very old gentleman, and had been a great viveur for at least threescore years of his life. As Prince de Moncontour in his father’s time before the Revolution, during the Emigration, even after the Restoration, M. le Duc had vecu with an extraordinary vitality30. He had gone through good and bad fortune: extreme poverty, display and splendour, affairs of love — affairs of honour — and of one disease or another a man must die at the end. After the Baden business — and he had dragged off his wife to Champagne31 — the Duke became greatly broken; he brought his little daughter to a convent at Paris, putting the child under the special guardianship32 of Madame de Florac, with whom and with whose family in these latter days the old chief of the house effected a complete reconciliation33. The Duke was now for ever coming to Madame de Florac; he poured all his wrongs and griefs into her ear with garrulous34 senile eagerness. “That little Duchesse is a monstre, a femme d’Eugene Sue,” the Vicomte used to say; “the poor old Duke he cry — ma parole d’honneur, he cry and I cry too when he comes to recount to my poor mother, whose sainted heart is the asile of all griefs, a real Hotel Dieu, my word the most sacred, with beds for all the afflicted35, with sweet words, like Sisters of Charity, to minister to them:— I cry, mon bon Pendennis, when this vieillard tells his stories about his wife and tears his white hairs to the feet of my mother.”
When the little Antoinette was separated by her father from her mother, the Duchesse d’Ivry, it might have been expected that that poetess would have dashed off a few more cris de l’ame, shrieking36 according to her wont37, and baring and beating that shrivelled maternal38 bosom39 of hers, from which her child had been just torn. The child skipped and laughed to go away to the convent. It was only when she left Madame de Florac that she used to cry; and when urged by that good lady to exhibit a little decorous sentiment in writing to her mamma, Antoinette would ask, in her artless way, “Pourquoi? Mamma used never to speak to me except sometimes before the world, before ladies, that understands itself. When her gentleman came, she put me to the door; then she gave me tapes, o oui, she gave me tapes! I cry no more; she has so much made to cry M. le Duc, that it is quite enough of one in a family.” So Madame la Duchesse d’Ivry did not weep, even in print, for the loss of her pretty little Antoinette; besides, she was engaged, at that time, by other sentimental40 occupations. A young grazier of their neighbouring town, of an aspiring41 mind and remarkable42 poetic43 talents, engrossed44 the Duchesse’s platonic45 affections at this juncture46. When he had sold his beasts at market, he would ride over and read Rousseau and Schiller with Madame la Duchesse, who formed him. His pretty young wife was rendered miserable47 by all these readings, but what could the poor little ignorant countrywoman know of Platonism? Faugh! there is more than one woman we see in society smiling about from house to house, pleasant and sentimental and formosa superne enough; but I fancy a fish’s tail is flapping under her fine flounces, and a forked fin48 at the end of it!
Finer flounces, finer bonnets49, more lovely wreaths, more beautiful lace, smarter carriages, bigger white bows, larger footmen, were not seen, during all the season of 18 — than appeared round about St. George’s, Hanover Square, in the beautiful month of June succeeding that September when so many of our friends the Newcomes were assembled at Baden. Those flaunting50 carriages, powdered and favoured footmen, were in attendance upon members of the Newcome family and their connexions, who were celebrating what is called a marriage in high life in the temple within. Shall we set down a catalogue of the dukes, marquises, earls, who were present; cousins of the lovely bride? Are they not already in the Morning Herald51 and Court Journal, as well as in the Newcome Chronicle and Independent, and the Dorking Intelligencer and Chanticleer Weekly Gazette? There they are, all printed at full length sure enough; the name of the bride, Lady Clara Pulleyn, the lovely and accomplished52 daughter of the Earl and Countess of Dorking; of the beautiful bridesmaids, the Ladies Henrietta, Belinda, Adelaide Pulleyn, Miss Newcome, Miss Alice Newcome, Miss Maude Newcome, Miss Anna Maria (Hobson) Newcome; and all the other persons engaged in the ceremony. It was performed by the Right Honourable53 Viscount Gallowglass, Bishop54 of Ballyshannon, brother-inlaw to the bride, assisted by the Honourable and Reverend Hercules O’Grady, his lordship’s chaplain, and the Reverend John Bulders, Rector of St. Mary’s, Newcome. Then follow the names of all the nobility who were present, and of the noble and distinguished55 personages who signed the book. Then comes an account of the principal dresses, chefs-d’oeuvre of Madame Crinoline; of the bride’s coronal of brilliants, supplied by Messrs. Morr and Stortimer; — of the veil of priceless Chantilly lace, the gift of the Dowager Countess of Kew. Then there is a description of the wedding-breakfast at the house of the bride’s noble parents, and of the cake, decorated by Messrs. Gunter with the most delicious taste and the sweetest hymeneal allusions56.
No mention was made by the fashionable chronicler of a slight disturbance57 which occurred at St. George’s, and which was indeed out of the province of such a genteel purveyor58 of news. Before the marriage service began, a woman of vulgar appearance and disorderly aspect, accompanied by two scared children who took no part in the disorder59 occasioned by their mother’s proceeding60, except by their tears and outcries to augment61 the disquiet62, made her appearance in one of the pews of the church, was noted63 there by persons in the vestry, was requested to retire by a beadle, and was finally induced to quit the sacred precincts of the building by the very strongest persuasion64 of a couple of policemen; X and Y laughed at one another, and nodded their heads knowingly as the poor wretch65 with her whimpering boys was led away. They understood very well who the personage was who had come to disturb the matrimonial ceremony; it did not commence until Mrs. De Lacy (as this lady chose to be called) had quitted this temple of Hymen. She slunk through the throng66 of emblazoned carriages, and the press of footmen arrayed as splendidly as Solomon in his glory. John jeered67 at Thomas, William turned his powdered head, and signalled Jeames, who answered with a corresponding grin, as the woman with sobs68, and wild imprecations, and frantic69 appeals, made her way through the splendid crowd escorted by her aides-de-camp in blue. I dare say her little history was discussed at many a dinner-table that day in the basement story of several fashionable houses. I know that at clubs in St. James’s the facetious70 little anecdote71 was narrated72. A young fellow came to Bays’s after the marriage breakfast and mentioned the circumstance with funny comments; although the Morning Post, in describing this affair in high life, naturally omitted all mention of such low people as Mrs. De Lacy and her children.
Those people who knew the noble families whose union had been celebrated73 by such a profusion74 of grandees75, fine equipages, and footmen, brass77 bands, brilliant toilets, and wedding favours, asked how it was that Lord Kew did not assist at Barnes Newcome’s marriage; other persons in society inquired waggishly78 why Jack79 Belsize was not present to give Lady Clara away.
As for Jack Belsize, his clubs had not been ornamented80 by his presence for a year past. It was said he had broken the bank at Hombourg last autumn; had been heard of during the winter at Milan, Venice, and Vienna; and when, a few months after the marriage of Barnes Newcome and Lady Clara, Jack’s elder brother died, and he himself became the next in succession to the title and estates of Highgate, many folks said it was a pity little Barney’s marriage had taken place so soon. Lord Kew was not present, because Kew was still abroad; he had had a gambling82 duel with a Frenchman, and a narrow squeak83 for his life. He had turned Roman Catholic, some men said; others vowed that he had joined the Methodist persuasion. At all events Kew had given up his wild courses, broken with the turf, and sold his stud off; he was delicate yet, and his mother was taking care of him; between whom and the old dowager of Kew, who had made up Barney’s marriage, as everybody knew, there was no love lost.
Then who was the Prince de Moncontour, who, with his princess, figured at this noble marriage? There was a Moncontour, the Duc d’Ivry’s son, but he died at Paris before the revolution of ‘30: one or two of the oldsters at Bays’s, Major Pendennis, General Tufto, old Cackleby — the old fogies, in a word — remembered the Duke of Ivry when he was here during the Emigration, and when he was called Prince de Moncontour, the title of the eldest84 son of the family. Ivry was dead, having buried his son before him, and having left only a daughter by that young woman whom he married, and who led him such a life. Who was this present Moncontour?
He was a gentleman to whom the reader has already been presented, though when we lately saw him at Baden he did not enjoy so magnificent a title. Early in the year of Barnes Newcome’s marriage, there came to England, and to our modest apartment in the Temple, a gentleman bringing a letter of recommendation from our dear young Clive, who said that the bearer, the Vicomte de Florac, was a great friend of his, and of the Colonel’s, who had known his family from boyhood. A friend of our Clive and our Colonel was sure of a welcome in Lamb Court; we gave him the hand of hospitality, the best cigar in the box, the easy-chair with only one broken leg; the dinner in chambers85 and at the club, the banquet at Greenwich (where, ma foi, the little whites baits elicited86 his profound satisfaction); in a word, did our best to honour that bill which our young Clive had drawn87 upon us. We considered the young one in the light of a nephew of our own; we took a pride in him, and were fond of him; and as for the Colonel, did we not love and honour him; would we not do our utmost in behalf of any stranger who came recommended to us by Thomas Newcome’s good word? So Florac was straightway admitted to our companionship. We showed him the town, and some of the modest pleasures thereof; we introduced him to the Haunt, and astonished him by the company which he met there. Between Brent’s “Deserter” and Mark Wilder’s “Garryowen,” Florac sang —
Tiens voici ma pipe, voila mon bri — quet;
Et quand la Tulipe fait le noir tra — jet
Que tu sois la seule dans le regi — ment
Avec la brule-gueule de ton cher z’a — mant;
to the delight of Tom Sarjent, who, though he only partially88 comprehended the words of the song, pronounced the singer to be a rare gentleman, full of most excellent differences. We took our Florac to the Derby; we presented him in Fitzroy Square, whither we still occasionally went, for Clive’s and our dear Colonel’s sake.
The Vicomte pronounced himself strongly in favour of the blanche misse little Rosey Mackenzie, of whom we have lost sight for some few chapters. Mrs. Mac he considered, my faith, to be a woman superb. He used to kiss the tips of his own fingers, in token of his admiration89 for the lovely widow; he pronounced her again more pretty than her daughter; and paid her a thousand compliments, which she received with exceeding good-humour. If the Vicomte gave us to understand presently that Rosey and her mother were both in love with him, but that for all the world he would not meddle90 with the happiness of his dear little Clive, nothing unfavourable to the character or constancy of the before-mentioned ladies must be inferred from M. de Florac’s speech; his firm conviction being, that no woman could pass many hours in his society without danger to her subsequent peace of mind.
For some little time we had no reason to suspect that our French friend was not particularly well furnished with the current coin of the realm. Without making any show of wealth, he would, at first, cheerfully engage in our little parties: his lodgings91 in the neighbourhood of Leicester Square, though dingy92, were such as many noble foreign exiles have inhabited. It was not until he refused to join some pleasure-trip which we of Lamb Court proposed, honestly confessing his poverty, that we were made aware of the Vicomte’s little temporary calamity93; and, as we became more intimate with him, he acquainted us, with great openness, with the history of all his fortunes. He described energetically that splendid run of luck which had set in at Baden with Clive’s loan: his winnings, at that fortunate period, had carried him through the winter with considerable brilliancy, but bouillotte and Mademoiselle Atala, of the Varietes (une ogresse, mon cher, who devours94 thirty of our young men every year in her cavern95, in the Rue19 de Breda), had declared against him, and the poor Vicomte’s pockets were almost empty when he came to London.
He was amiably96 communicative regarding himself, and told us his virtues97 and his faults (if indeed a passion for play and for women could be considered as faults in a gay young fellow of two or three and forty), with a like engaging frankness. He would weep in describing his angel mother: he would fly off again into tirades98 respecting the wickedness, the wit, the extravagance, the charms of the young lady of the Varietes. He would then (in conversation) introduce us to Madame de Florac, nee Higg, of Manchesterre. His prattle99 was incessant100, and to my friend Mr. Warrington especially he was an object of endless delight and amusement and wonder. He would roll and smoke countless101 paper cigars, talking unrestrainedly when we were not busy, silent when we were engaged; he would only rarely partake of our meals, and altogether refused all offers of pecuniary102 aid. He disappeared at dinner-time into the mysterious purlieus of Leicester Square, and dark ordinaries only frequented by Frenchmen. As we walked with him in the Regent Street precincts, he would exchange marks of recognition with many dusky personages, smoking bravos; and whiskered refugees of his nation.
“That gentleman,” he would say, “who has done me the honour to salute103 me, is a coiffeur of the most celebrated; he forms the deuces of our table-d’hote. ‘Bon jour, mon cher monsieur!’ We are friends, though not of the same opinion. Monsieur is a republican of the most distinguished; conspirator104 of profession, and at this time engaged in constructing an infernal machine to the address of His Majesty105, Louis Philippe, King of the French.” “Who is my friend with the scarlet106 beard and the white paletot? My good Warrington! you do not move in the world; you make yourself a hermit107, my dear! Not know monsieur! — monsieur is secretary to Mademoiselle Caracoline, the lovely rider at the circus of Astley; I shall be charmed to introduce you to this amiable108 society some day at our table-d’hote.”
Warrington vowed that the company of Florac’s friends would be infinitely109 more amusing than the noblest society ever chronicled in the Morning Post; but we were neither sufficiently110 familiar with the French language to make conversation in that tongue as pleasant to us as talking in our own; and so were content with Florac’s description of his compatriots, which the Vicomte delivered in that charming French-English of which he was a master.
However threadbare in his garments, poor in purse, and eccentric in morals our friend was, his manners were always perfectly111 gentlemanlike, and he draped himself in his poverty with the grace of a Spanish grandee76. It must be confessed, that the grandee loved the estaminet where he could play billiards112 with the first comer; that he had a passion for the gambling-house; that he was a loose and disorderly nobleman: but, in whatever company he found himself, a certain kindness, simplicity113, and politeness distinguished him always. He bowed to the damsel who sold him a penny cigar, as graciously as to a duchess; he crushed a manant’s impertinence or familiarity as haughtily114 as his noble ancestors ever did at the Louvre, at Marli, or Versailles. He declined to obtemperer to his landlady115’s request to pay his rent, but he refused with a dignity which struck the woman with awe116; and King Alfred, over the celebrated muffin (on which Gandish and other painters have exercised their genius), could not have looked more noble than Florac in a robe-de-chambre, once gorgeous, but shady now as became its owner’s clouded fortunes; toasting his bit of bacon at his lodgings, when the fare even of his table-d’hote had grown too dear for him.
As we know from Gandish’s work, that better times were in store for the wandering monarch117, and that the officers came acquainting him that his people demanded his presence a grands cris, when of course King Alfred laid down the toast and resumed the sceptre; so in the case of Florac, two humble118 gentlemen, inhabitants of Lamb Court, and members of the Upper temple, had the good luck to be the heralds119 as it were, nay indeed, the occasion, of the rising fortunes of the Prince de Moncontour. Florac had informed us of the death of his cousin the Duc d’Ivry, by whose demise120 the Vicomte’s father, the old Count de Florac, became the representative of the house of Ivry, and possessor, through his relative’s bequest121, of an old chateau122 still more gloomy and spacious123 than the count’s own house in the Faubourg St. Germain — a chateau, of which the woods, domains124, and appurtenances had been lopped off by the Revolution. “Monsieur le Comte,” Florac says, “has not wished to change his name at his age; he has shrugged125 his old shoulder, and said it was not the trouble to make to engrave126 a new card; and for me,” the philosophical127 Vicomte added, “of what good shall be a title of prince in the position where I find myself?” It is wonderful for us who inhabit a country where rank is worshipped with so admirable a reverence128, to think that there are many gentlemen in France who actually have authentic129 titles and do not choose to bear them.
Mr. George Warrington was hugely amused with this notion of Florac’s ranks and dignities. The idea of the Prince purchasing penny cigars; of the Prince mildly expostulating with his landlady regarding the rent; of his punting for half-crowns at a neighbouring hall in Air Street, whither the poor gentleman desperately130 ran when he had money in his pocket, tickled131 George’s sense of humour. It was Warrington who gravely saluted132 the Vicomte, and compared him to King Alfred, on that afternoon when we happened to call upon him and found him engaged in cooking his modest dinner.
We were bent133 upon an excursion to Greenwich, and on having our friend’s company on that voyage, and we induced the Vicomte to forgo134 his bacon, and be our guest for once. George Warrington chose to indulge in a great deal of ironical135 pleasantry in the course of the afternoon’s excursion. As we went down the river, he pointed136 out to Florac the very window in the Tower where the captive Duke of Orleans used to sit when he was an inhabitant of that fortress137. At Greenwich, which palace Florac informed us was built by Queen Elizabeth, George showed the very spot where Raleigh laid his cloak down to enable Her Majesty to step over a puddle138. In a word, he mystified M. de Florac; such was Mr. Warrington’s reprehensible139 spirit.
It happened that Mr. Barnes Newcome came to dine at Greenwich on the same day when our little party took place. He had come down to meet Rooster and one or two other noble friends whose names he took care to give us, cursing them at the same time for having thrown him over. Having missed his own company, Mr. Barnes condescended140 to join ours, Warrington gravely thanking him for the great honour which he conferred upon us by volunteering to take a place at our table. Barnes drank freely, and was good enough to resume his acquaintance with Monsieur de Florac, whom he perfectly well recollected141 at Baden, but had thought proper to forget on the one or two occasions when they had met in public since the Vicomte’s arrival in this country. There are few men who can drop and resume an acquaintance with such admirable self-possession as Barnes Newcome. When, over our dessert, by which time all tongues were unloosed and each man talked gaily142, George Warrington feelingly thanked Barnes in a little mock speech, for his great kindness in noticing us, presenting him at the same time to Florac as the ornament81 of the City, the greatest banker of his age, the beloved kinsman of their friend Clive, who was always writing about him; Barnes said, with one of his accustomed curses, he did not know whether Mr. Warrington was “chaffing” him or not, and indeed could never make him out. Warrington replied that he never could make himself out: and if ever Mr. Barnes could, George would thank him for information on that subject.
Florac, like most Frenchmen very sober in his potations, left us for a while over ours, which were conducted after the more liberal English manner, and retired143 to smoke his cigar on the terrace. Barnes then freely uttered his sentiments regarding him, which were not more favourable4 than those which the young gentleman generally emitted respecting gentlemen whose backs were turned. He had known a little of Florac the year before at Baden: he had been mixed up with Kew in that confounded row in which Kew was hit; he was an adventurer, a pauper144, a blackleg, a regular Greek; he had heard Florac was of old family, that was true; but what of that? He was only one of those d ——— French counts; everybody was a count in France confound ’em! The claret was beastly — not fit for a gentleman to drink! — He swigged off a great bumper145 as he was making the remark: for Barnes Newcome abuses the men and things which he uses, and perhaps is better served than more grateful persons.
“Count!” cries Warrington, “what do you mean by talking about beggarly counts? Florac’s family is one of the noblest and most ancient in Europe. It is more ancient than your illustrious friend, the barber-surgeon; it was illustrious before the house, ay, or the pagoda146 of Kew was in existence.” And he went on to describe how Florac by the demise of his kinsman, was now actually Prince de Moncontour, though he did not choose to assume that title. Very likely the noble Gascon drink in which George had been indulging, imparted a certain warmth and eloquence147 to his descriptions of Florac’s good qualities, high birth, and considerable patrimony148; Barnes looked quite amazed and scared at these announcements, then laughed and declared once more that Warrington was chaffing him.
“As sure as the Black Prince was lord of Acquitaine — as sure as the English were masters of Bordeaux — and why did we ever lose the country?” cries George, filling himself a bumper — “every word I have said about Florac is true;” and Florac coming in at this juncture havin just finished his cigar, George turned round and made him a fine speech in the French language, in which he lauded149 his constancy and good-humour under evil fortune, paid him two or three more cordial compliments, and finished by drinking another great bumper to his good health.
Florac took a little wine, replied “with effusion” to the toast which his excellent, his noble friend had just carried. We rapped our glasses at the end of the speech. The landlord himself seemed deeply touched by it as he stood by with a fresh bottle. “It is good wine — it is honest wine — it is capital wine” says George, “and honni soit qui mal y pence! What business have you, you little beggar, to abuse it? My ancestor drank the wine and wore the motto round his leg long before a Newcome ever showed his pale face in Lombard Street.” George Warrington never bragged150 about his pedigree except under certain influences. I am inclined to think that on this occasion he really did find the claret very good.
“You don’t mean to say,” says Barnes, addressing Florac in French, on which he piqued151 himself, “que vous avez un tel manche a votre nom, et que vous ne l’usez pas?”
Florac shrugged his shoulders; he at first did not understand that familiar figure of English speech, or what was meant by “having a handle to your name.” “Moncontour cannot dine better than Florac,” he said. “Florac has two louis in his pocket, and Moncontour exactly forty shillings. Florac’s proprietor152 will ask Moncontour tomorrow for five weeks’ rent; and as for Florac’s friends, my dear, they will burst out laughing to Moncontour’s nose!” “How droll153 you English are!” this acute French observer afterwards said, laughing, and recalling the incident. Did you not see how that little Barnes, as soon as he knew my title of Prince, changed his manner and became all respect towards me? This, indeed, Monsieur de Florac’s two friends remarked with no little amusement. Barnes began quite well to remember their pleasant days at Baden, and talked of their acquaintance there: Barnes offered the Prince the vacant seat in his brougham, and was ready to set him down anywhere that he wished in town.
“Bah!” says Florac; “we came by the steamer, and I prefer the peniboat.” But the hospitable154 Barnes, nevertheless, called upon Florac the next day. And now having partially explained how the Prince de Moncontour was present at Mr. Barnes Newcome’s wedding, let us show how it was that Barnes’s first-cousin, the Earl of Kew, did not attend that ceremony.
点击
收听单词发音
收听单词发音 |
1
vowed
|
|
| 起誓，发誓（vow的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
nay
|
|
| adv.不；n.反对票，投反对票者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
divulged
|
|
| v.吐露，泄露( divulge的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
favourable
|
|
| adj.赞成的，称赞的，有利的，良好的，顺利的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
rupture
|
|
| n.破裂；(关系的)决裂；v.(使)破裂 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
gallant
|
|
| adj.英勇的，豪侠的；(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
duel
|
|
| n./v.决斗；(双方的)斗争 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
averted
|
|
| 防止，避免( avert的过去式和过去分词 )； 转移 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
virulence
|
|
| n.毒力，毒性；病毒性；致病力 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
instigator
|
|
| n.煽动者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
odious
|
|
| adj.可憎的，讨厌的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
epithets
|
|
| n.（表示性质、特征等的）词语( epithet的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
shuddering
|
|
| v.战栗( shudder的现在分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
magistrate
|
|
| n.地方行政官，地方法官，治安官 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
shrill
|
|
| adj.尖声的；刺耳的；v尖叫 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
virago
|
|
| n.悍妇 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
delirium
|
|
| n. 神智昏迷,说胡话;极度兴奋 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
jurisdiction
|
|
| n.司法权，审判权，管辖权，控制权 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
rue
|
|
| n.懊悔，芸香，后悔；v.后悔，悲伤，懊悔 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
sneered
|
|
| 讥笑，冷笑( sneer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
jealousy
|
|
| n.妒忌，嫉妒，猜忌 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
embittered
|
|
| v.使怨恨，激怒( embitter的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
toiling
|
|
| 长时间或辛苦地工作( toil的现在分词 )； 艰难缓慢地移动，跋涉 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
sleepless
|
|
| adj.不睡眠的，睡不著的，不休息的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
ogles
|
|
| v.（向…）抛媚眼，送秋波( ogle的第三人称单数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
brutal
|
|
| adj.残忍的，野蛮的，不讲理的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
parenthesis
|
|
| n.圆括号，插入语，插曲，间歇，停歇 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
vivacious
|
|
| adj.活泼的，快活的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
kinsman
|
|
| n.男亲属 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
vitality
|
|
| n.活力，生命力，效力 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
champagne
|
|
| n.香槟酒；微黄色 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
guardianship
|
|
| n. 监护, 保护, 守护 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
reconciliation
|
|
| n.和解，和谐，一致 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
garrulous
|
|
| adj.唠叨的，多话的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
afflicted
|
|
| 使受痛苦，折磨( afflict的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
shrieking
|
|
| v.尖叫( shriek的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
wont
|
|
| adj.习惯于；v.习惯；n.习惯 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
maternal
|
|
| adj.母亲的，母亲般的，母系的，母方的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
bosom
|
|
| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
sentimental
|
|
| adj.多愁善感的，感伤的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
aspiring
|
|
| adj.有志气的；有抱负的；高耸的v.渴望；追求 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
remarkable
|
|
| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
poetic
|
|
| adj.富有诗意的，有诗人气质的，善于抒情的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
engrossed
|
|
| adj.全神贯注的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
platonic
|
|
| adj.精神的；柏拉图（哲学）的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
juncture
|
|
| n.时刻，关键时刻，紧要关头 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
miserable
|
|
| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
fin
|
|
| n.鳍；(飞机的)安定翼 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
bonnets
|
|
| n.童帽( bonnet的名词复数 )；（烟囱等的）覆盖物；（苏格兰男子的）无边呢帽；（女子戴的）任何一种帽子 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
flaunting
|
|
| adj.招摇的，扬扬得意的，夸耀的v.炫耀，夸耀( flaunt的现在分词 )；有什么能耐就施展出来 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
51
herald
|
|
| vt.预示...的来临，预告，宣布，欢迎 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
52
accomplished
|
|
| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
53
honourable
|
|
| adj.可敬的；荣誉的，光荣的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
54
bishop
|
|
| n.主教，（国际象棋）象 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
55
distinguished
|
|
| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
56
allusions
|
|
| 暗指，间接提到( allusion的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
57
disturbance
|
|
| n.动乱，骚动；打扰，干扰；(身心)失调 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
58
purveyor
|
|
| n.承办商，伙食承办商 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
59
disorder
|
|
| n.紊乱，混乱；骚动，骚乱；疾病，失调 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
60
proceeding
|
|
| n.行动，进行，(pl.)会议录，学报 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
61
augment
|
|
| vt.(使)增大，增加，增长，扩张 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
62
disquiet
|
|
| n.担心，焦虑 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
63
noted
|
|
| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
64
persuasion
|
|
| n.劝说；说服；持有某种信仰的宗派 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
65
wretch
|
|
| n.可怜的人，不幸的人；卑鄙的人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
66
throng
|
|
| n.人群，群众；v.拥挤，群集 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
67
jeered
|
|
| v.嘲笑( jeer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
68
sobs
|
|
| 啜泣（声），呜咽（声）( sob的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
69
frantic
|
|
| adj.狂乱的，错乱的，激昂的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
70
facetious
|
|
| adj.轻浮的，好开玩笑的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
71
anecdote
|
|
| n.轶事，趣闻，短故事 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
72
narrated
|
|
| v.故事( narrate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
73
celebrated
|
|
| adj.有名的，声誉卓著的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
74
profusion
|
|
| n.挥霍；丰富 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
75
grandees
|
|
| n.贵族，大公，显贵者( grandee的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
76
grandee
|
|
| n.贵族；大公 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
77
brass
|
|
| n.黄铜；黄铜器，铜管乐器 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
78
waggishly
|
|
| adv.waggish（滑稽的，诙谐的）的变形 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
|
79
jack
|
|
| n.插座，千斤顶，男人；v.抬起，提醒，扛举；n.（Jake）杰克 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
80
ornamented
|
|
| adj.花式字体的v.装饰，点缀，美化( ornament的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
81
ornament
|
|
| v.装饰，美化；n.装饰，装饰物 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
82
gambling
|
|
| n.赌博；投机 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
83
squeak
|
|
| n.吱吱声，逃脱；v.（发出）吱吱叫，侥幸通过；（俚）告密 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
84
eldest
|
|
| adj.最年长的，最年老的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
85
chambers
|
|
| n.房间( chamber的名词复数 )；（议会的）议院；卧室；会议厅 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
86
elicited
|
|
| 引出，探出( elicit的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
87
drawn
|
|
| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
88
partially
|
|
| adv.部分地，从某些方面讲 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
89
admiration
|
|
| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
90
meddle
|
|
| v.干预，干涉，插手 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
91
lodgings
|
|
| n. 出租的房舍, 寄宿舍 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
92
dingy
|
|
| adj.昏暗的，肮脏的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
93
calamity
|
|
| n.灾害，祸患，不幸事件 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
94
devours
|
|
| 吞没( devour的第三人称单数 )； 耗尽； 津津有味地看； 狼吞虎咽地吃光 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
95
cavern
|
|
| n.洞穴，大山洞 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
96
amiably
|
|
| adv.和蔼可亲地，亲切地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
97
virtues
|
|
| 美德( virtue的名词复数 )； 德行； 优点； 长处 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
98
tirades
|
|
| 激烈的长篇指责或演说( tirade的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
99
prattle
|
|
| n.闲谈；v.（小孩般）天真无邪地说话；发出连续而无意义的声音 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
100
incessant
|
|
| adj.不停的，连续的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
101
countless
|
|
| adj.无数的，多得不计其数的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
102
pecuniary
|
|
| adj.金钱的；金钱上的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
103
salute
|
|
| 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 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
104
conspirator
|
|
| n.阴谋者，谋叛者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
105
majesty
|
|
| n.雄伟，壮丽，庄严，威严；最高权威，王权 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
106
scarlet
|
|
| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
107
hermit
|
|
| n.隐士，修道者；隐居 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
108
amiable
|
|
| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
109
infinitely
|
|
| adv.无限地，无穷地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
110
sufficiently
|
|
| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
111
perfectly
|
|
| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
112
billiards
|
|
| n.台球 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
113
simplicity
|
|
| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
114
haughtily
|
|
| adv. 傲慢地, 高傲地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
115
landlady
|
|
| n.女房东，女地主 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
116
awe
|
|
| n.敬畏，惊惧；vt.使敬畏，使惊惧 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
117
monarch
|
|
| n.帝王，君主，最高统治者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
118
humble
|
|
| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
119
heralds
|
|
| n.使者( herald的名词复数 )；预报者；预兆；传令官v.预示( herald的第三人称单数 )；宣布（好或重要） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
120
demise
|
|
| n.死亡；v.让渡，遗赠，转让 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
121
bequest
|
|
| n.遗赠；遗产，遗物 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
122
chateau
|
|
| n.城堡，别墅 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
123
spacious
|
|
| adj.广阔的，宽敞的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
124
domains
|
|
| n.范围( domain的名词复数 )；领域；版图；地产 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
125
shrugged
|
|
| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
126
engrave
|
|
| vt.（在...上）雕刻，使铭记，使牢记 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
127
philosophical
|
|
| adj.哲学家的，哲学上的，达观的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
128
reverence
|
|
| 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 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
129
authentic
|
|
| a.真的，真正的；可靠的，可信的，有根据的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
130
desperately
|
|
| adv.极度渴望地，绝望地，孤注一掷地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
131
tickled
|
|
| （使）发痒( tickle的过去式和过去分词 )； （使）愉快，逗乐 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
132
saluted
|
|
| v.欢迎，致敬( salute的过去式和过去分词 )；赞扬，赞颂 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
133
bent
|
|
| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
134
forgo
|
|
| v.放弃，抛弃 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
135
ironical
|
|
| adj.讽刺的，冷嘲的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
136
pointed
|
|
| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
137
fortress
|
|
| n.堡垒，防御工事 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
138
puddle
|
|
| n.(雨)水坑，泥潭 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
139
reprehensible
|
|
| adj.该受责备的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
140
condescended
|
|
| 屈尊，俯就( condescend的过去式和过去分词 )； 故意表示和蔼可亲 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
141
recollected
|
|
| adj.冷静的；镇定的；被回忆起的；沉思默想的v.记起，想起( recollect的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
142
gaily
|
|
| adv.欢乐地，高兴地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
143
retired
|
|
| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
144
pauper
|
|
| n.贫民，被救济者，穷人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
145
bumper
|
|
| n.(汽车上的)保险杠；adj.特大的，丰盛的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
146
pagoda
|
|
| n.宝塔（尤指印度和远东的多层宝塔），（印度教或佛教的）塔式庙宇 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
147
eloquence
|
|
| n.雄辩；口才，修辞 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
148
patrimony
|
|
| n.世袭财产，继承物 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
149
lauded
|
|
| v.称赞，赞美( laud的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
150
bragged
|
|
| v.自夸，吹嘘( brag的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
151
piqued
|
|
| v.伤害…的自尊心( pique的过去式和过去分词 )；激起（好奇心） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
152
proprietor
|
|
| n.所有人；业主；经营者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
153
droll
|
|
| adj.古怪的，好笑的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
154
hospitable
|
|
| adj.好客的；宽容的；有利的，适宜的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |