The father of Mr. Ferrars had the reputation of being the son of a once somewhat celebrated1 statesman, but the only patrimony2 he inherited from his presumed parent was a clerkship in the Treasury3, where he found himself drudging at an early age. Nature had endowed him with considerable abilities, and peculiarly adapted to the scene of their display. It was difficult to decide which was most remarkable5, his shrewdness or his capacity of labour. His quickness of perception and mastery of details made him in a few years an authority in the office, and a Secretary of the Treasury, who was quite ignorant of details, but who was a good judge of human character, had the sense to appoint Ferrars his private secretary. This happy preferment in time opened the whole official world to one not only singularly qualified6 for that kind of life, but who possessed7 the peculiar4 gifts that were then commencing to be much in demand in those circles. We were then entering that era of commercial and financial reform which had been, if not absolutely occasioned, certainly precipitated8, by the revolt of our colonies. Knowledge of finance and acquaintance with tariffs9 were then rare gifts, and before five years of his private secretaryship had expired, Ferrars was mentioned to Mr. Pitt as the man at the Treasury who could do something that the great minister required. This decided10 his lot. Mr. Pitt found in Ferrars the instrument he wanted, and appreciating all his qualities placed him in a position which afforded them full play. The minister returned Ferrars to Parliament, for the Treasury then had boroughs11 of its own, and the new member was preferred to an important and laborious12 post. So long as Pitt and Grenville were in the ascendant, Mr. Ferrars toiled13 and flourished. He was exactly the man they liked; unwearied, vigilant14, clear and cold; with a dash of natural sarcasm15 developed by a sharp and varied16 experience. He disappeared from the active world in the latter years of the Liverpool reign17, when a newer generation and more bustling18 ideas successfully asserted their claims; but he retired19 with the solace20 of a sinecure21, a pension, and a privy22-councillorship. The Cabinet he had never entered, nor dared to hope to enter. It was the privilege of an inner circle even in our then contracted public life. It was the dream of Ferrars to revenge in this respect his fate in the person of his son, and only child. He was resolved that his offspring should enjoy all those advantages of education and breeding and society of which he himself had been deprived. For him was to be reserved a full initiation23 in those costly24 ceremonies which, under the names of Eton and Christ Church, in his time fascinated and dazzled mankind. His son, William Pitt Ferrars, realised even more than his father’s hopes. Extremely good-looking, he was gifted with a precocity25 of talent. He was the marvel26 of Eton and the hope of Oxford27. As a boy, his Latin verses threw enraptured28 tutors into paroxysms of praise, while debating societies hailed with acclamation clearly another heaven-born minister. He went up to Oxford about the time that the examinations were reformed and rendered really efficient. This only increased his renown29, for the name of Ferrars figured among the earliest double-firsts. Those were days when a crack university reputation often opened the doors of the House of Commons to a young aspirant30; at least, after a season. But Ferrars had not to wait. His father, who watched his career with the passionate31 interest with which a Newmarket man watches the development of some gifted yearling, took care that all the odds32 should be in his favour in the race of life. An old colleague of the elder Mr. Ferrars, a worthy33 peer with many boroughs, placed a seat at the disposal of the youthful hero, the moment he was prepared to accept it, and he might be said to have left the University only to enter the House of Commons.
There, if his career had not yet realised the dreams of his youthful admirers, it had at least been one of progress and unbroken prosperity. His first speech was successful, though florid, but it was on foreign affairs, which permit rhetoric34, and in those days demanded at least one Virgilian quotation35. In this latter branch of oratorical36 adornment37 Ferrars was never deficient38. No young man of that time, and scarcely any old one, ventured to address Mr. Speaker without being equipped with a Latin passage. Ferrars, in this respect, was triply armed. Indeed, when he entered public life, full of hope and promise, though disciplined to a certain extent by his mathematical training, he had read very little more than some Latin writers, some Greek plays, and some treatises39 of Aristotle. These with a due course of Bampton Lectures and some dipping into the “Quarterly Review,” then in its prime, qualified a man in those days, not only for being a member of Parliament, but becoming a candidate for the responsibility of statesmanship. Ferrars made his way; for two years he was occasionally asked by the minister to speak, and then Lord Castlereagh, who liked young men, made him a Lord of the Treasury. He was Under–Secretary of State, and “very rising,” when the death of Lord Liverpool brought about the severance40 of the Tory party, and Mr. Ferrars, mainly under the advice of zealots, resigned his office when Mr. Canning was appointed Minister, and cast in his lot with the great destiny of the Duke of Wellington.
The elder Ferrars had the reputation of being wealthy. It was supposed that he had enjoyed opportunities of making money, and had availed himself of them, but this was not true. Though a cynic, and with little respect for his fellow-creatures, Ferrars had a pride in official purity, and when the Government was charged with venality41 and corruption42, he would observe, with a dry chuckle43, that he had seen a great deal of life, and that for his part he would not much trust any man out of Downing Street. He had been unable to resist the temptation of connecting his life with that of an individual of birth and rank; and in a weak moment, perhaps his only one, he had given his son a stepmother in a still good-looking and very expensive Viscountess–Dowager.
Mr. Ferrars was anxious that his son should make a great alliance, but he was so distracted between prudential considerations and his desire that in the veins44 of his grand-children there should flow blood of undoubted nobility, that he could never bring to his purpose that clear and concentrated will which was one of the causes of his success in life; and, in the midst of his perplexities, his son unexpectedly settled the question himself. Though naturally cold and calculating, William Ferrars, like most of us, had a vein45 of romance in his being, and it asserted itself. There was a Miss Carey, who suddenly became the beauty of the season. She was an orphan46, and reputed to be no inconsiderable heiress, and was introduced to the world by an aunt who was a duchess, and who meant that her niece should be the same. Everybody talked about them, and they went everywhere—among other places to the House of Commons, where Miss Carey, spying the senators from the old ventilator in the ceiling of St. Stephen’s Chapel47, dropped in her excitement her opera-glass, which fell at the feet of Mr. Under–Secretary Ferrars. He hastened to restore it to its beautiful owner, whom he found accompanied by several of his friends, and he was not only thanked, but invited to remain with them; and the next day he called, and he called very often afterwards, and many other things happened, and at the end of July the beauty of the season was married not to a Duke, but to a rising man, who Zenobia, who at first disapproved48 of the match—for Zenobia never liked her male friends to marry—was sure would one day be Prime Minister of England.
Mrs. Ferrars was of the same opinion as Zenobia, for she was ambitious, and the dream was captivating. And Mrs. Ferrars soon gained Zenobia’s good graces, for she had many charms, and, though haughty49 to the multitude, was a first-rate flatterer. Zenobia liked flattery, and always said she did. Mr. Under–Secretary Ferrars took a mansion50 in Hill Street, and furnished it with befitting splendour. His dinners were celebrated, and Mrs. Ferrars gave suppers after the opera. The equipages of Mrs. Ferrars were distinguished51, and they had a large retinue52 of servants. They had only two children, and they were twins, a brother and a sister, who were brought up like the children of princes. Partly for them, and partly because a minister should have a Tusculum, the Ferrars soon engaged a magnificent villa53 at Wimbledon, which had the advantage of admirable stables, convenient, as Mrs. Ferrars was fond of horses, and liked the children too, with their fancy ponies54, to be early accustomed to riding. All this occasioned expenditure55, but old Mr. Ferrars made his son a liberal allowance, and young Mrs. Ferrars was an heiress, or the world thought so, which is nearly the same, and then, too, young Mr. Ferrars was a rising man, in office, and who would always be in office for the rest of his life; at least, Zenobia said so, because he was on the right side and the Whigs were nowhere, and never would be anywhere, which was quite right, as they had wished to make us the slaves of Bonaparte.
When the King, after much hesitation56, send for Mr. Canning, on the resignation of Lord Liverpool, the Zenobian theory seemed a little at fault, and William Ferrars absolutely out of office had more than one misgiving57; but after some months of doubt and anxiety, it seemed after all the great lady was right. The unexpected disappearance58 of Mr. Canning from the scene, followed by the transient and embarrassed phantom59 of Lord Goderich, seemed to indicate an inexorable destiny that England should be ruled by the most eminent60 men of the age, and the most illustrious of her citizens. William Ferrars, under the inspiration of Zenobia, had thrown in his fortunes with the Duke, and after nine months of disquietude found his due reward. In the January that succeeded the August conversation in St. James’ Street with Sidney Wilton, William Ferrars was sworn of the Privy Council, and held high office, on the verge61 of the Cabinet.
Mr. Ferrars had a dinner party in Hill Street on the day he had returned from Windsor with the seals of his new office. The catastrophe62 of the Goderich Cabinet, almost on the eve of the meeting of Parliament, had been so sudden, that, not anticipating such a state of affairs, Ferrars, among his other guests, had invited Sidney Wilton. He was rather regretting this when, as his carriage stopped at his own door, he observed that very gentleman on his threshold.
Wilton greeted him warmly, and congratulated him on his promotion63. “I do so at once,” he added, “because I shall not have the opportunity this evening. I was calling here in the hope of seeing Mrs. Ferrars, and asking her to excuse me from being your guest today.”
“Well, it is rather awkward,” said Ferrars, “but I could have no idea of this when you were so kind as to say you would come.”
“Oh, nothing of that sort,” said Sidney. “I am out and you are in, and I hope you may be in for a long, long time. I dare say it may be so, and the Duke is the man of the age, as you always said he was. I hope your being in office is not to deprive me of your pleasant dinners; it would be too bad to lose my place both at Whitehall and in Hill Street.”
“I trust that will never happen, my dear fellow; but today I thought it might be embarrassing.”
“Not at all; I could endure without wincing64 even the triumphant65 glances of Zenobia. The fact is, I have some business of the most pressing nature which has suddenly arisen, and which demands my immediate66 attention.”
Ferrars expressed his regret, though in fact he was greatly relieved, and they parted.
Zenobia did dine with the William Ferrars today, and her handsome husband came with her, a knight67 of the garter, and just appointed to a high office in the household by the new government. Even the excitement of the hour did not disturb his indigenous68 repose69. It was a dignified70 serenity71, quite natural, and quite compatible with easy and even cordial manners, and an address always considerate even when not sympathetic. He was not a loud or a long talker, but his terse72 remarks were full of taste and a just appreciation73 of things. If they were sometimes trenchant74, the blade was of fine temper. Old Mr. Ferrars was there and the Viscountess Edgware. His hair had become quite silvered, and his cheek rosy75 as a December apple. His hazel eyes twinkled with satisfaction as he remembered the family had now produced two privy councillors. Lord Pomeroy was there, the great lord who had returned William Ferrars to Parliament, a little man, quite, shy, rather insignificant76 in appearance, but who observed everybody and everything; a conscientious77 man, who was always doing good, in silence and secrecy78, and denounced as a boroughmonger, had never sold a seat in his life, and was always looking out for able men of character to introduce them to public affairs. It was not a formal party, but had grown up in great degree out of the circumstances of the moment. There were more men than women, and all men in office or devoted79 supporters of the new ministry80.
Mrs. Ferrars, without being a regular beauty, had a voluptuous81 face and form. Her complexion82 was brilliant, with large and long-lashed eyes of blue. Her mouth was certainly too large, but the pouting83 richness of her lips and the splendour of her teeth baffled criticism. She was a woman who was always gorgeously or fantastically attired84.
“I never can understand,” would sometimes observe Zenobia’s husband to his brilliant spouse85, “how affairs are carried on in this world. Now we have, my dear, fifty thousand per annum; and I do not see how Ferrars can have much more than five; and yet he lives much as we do, perhaps better. I know Gibson showed me a horse last week that I very much wanted, but I would not give him two hundred guineas for it. I called there today to look after it again, for it would have suited me exactly, but I was told I was too late, and it was sold to Mrs. Ferrars.”
“My dear, you know I do not understand money matters,” Zenobia said in reply. “I never could; but you should remember that old Ferrars must be very rich, and that William Ferrars is the most rising man of the day, and is sure to be in the Cabinet before he is forty.”
Everybody had an appetite for dinner today, and the dinner was worthy of the appetites. Zenobia’s husband declared to himself that he never dined so well, though he gave his chef 500 pounds a year, and old Lord Pomeroy, who had not yet admitted French wines to his own table, seemed quite abashed86 with the number of his wine-glasses and their various colours, and, as he tasted one succulent dish after another, felt a proud satisfaction in having introduced to public life so distinguished a man as William Ferrars.
With the dessert, not without some ceremony, were introduced the two most remarkable guests of the entertainment, and these were the twins; children of singular beauty, and dressed, if possible, more fancifully and brilliantly than their mamma. They resembled each other, and had the same brilliant complexion, rich chestnut87 hair, delicately arched brows, and dark blue eyes. Though only eight years of age, a most unchildlike self-possession distinguished them. The expression of their countenances88 was haughty, disdainful, and supercilious89. Their beautiful features seemed quite unimpassioned, and they moved as if they expected everything to yield to them. The girl, whose long ringlets were braided with pearls, was ushered90 to a seat next to her father, and, like her brother, who was placed by Mrs. Ferrars, was soon engaged in negligently91 tasting delicacies92, while she seemed apparently93 unconscious of any one being present, except when she replied to those who addressed her with a stare and a haughty monosyllable. The boy, in a black velvet94 jacket with large Spanish buttons of silver filagree, a shirt of lace, and a waistcoat of white satin, replied with reserve, but some condescension95, to the good-natured but half-humorous inquiries96 of the husband of Zenobia.
“And when do you go to school?” asked his lordship in a kind voice and with a laughing eye.
“I shall go to Eton in two years,” replied the child without the slightest emotion, and not withdrawing his attention from the grapes he was tasting, or even looking at his inquirer, “and then I shall go to Christ Church, and then I shall go into Parliament.”
“Myra,” said an intimate of the family, a handsome private secretary of Mr. Ferrars, to the daughter of the house, as he supplied her plate with some choicest delicacies, “I hope you have not forgotten your engagement to me which you made at Wimbledon two years ago?”
“What engagement?” she haughtily97 inquired.
“To marry me.”
“I should not think of marrying any one who was not in the House of Lords,” she replied, and she shot at him a glance of contempt.
The ladies rose. As they were ascending98 the stairs, one of them said to Mrs. Ferrars, “Your son’s name is very pretty, but it is very uncommon99, is it not?”
“’Tis a family name. The first Carey who bore it was a courtier of Charles the First, and we have never since been without it. William wanted our boy to be christened Pomeroy but I was always resolved, if I ever had a son, that he should be named ENDYMION.”
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celebrated
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| adj.有名的，声誉卓著的 | |
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patrimony
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| n.世袭财产，继承物 | |
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treasury
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| n.宝库；国库，金库；文库 | |
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peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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qualified
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| adj.合格的，有资格的，胜任的，有限制的 | |
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possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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precipitated
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| v.（突如其来地）使发生( precipitate的过去式和过去分词 )；促成；猛然摔下；使沉淀 | |
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tariffs
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| 关税制度； 关税( tariff的名词复数 )； 关税表； （旅馆或饭店等的）收费表； 量刑标准 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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boroughs
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| （尤指大伦敦的）行政区( borough的名词复数 )； 议会中有代表的市镇 | |
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laborious
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| adj.吃力的，努力的，不流畅 | |
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toiled
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| 长时间或辛苦地工作( toil的过去式和过去分词 )； 艰难缓慢地移动，跋涉 | |
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vigilant
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| adj.警觉的，警戒的，警惕的 | |
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sarcasm
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| n.讥讽，讽刺，嘲弄，反话 （adj.sarcastic） | |
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varied
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| adj.多样的，多变化的 | |
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reign
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| n.统治时期，统治，支配，盛行；v.占优势 | |
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bustling
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| adj.喧闹的 | |
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retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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solace
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| n.安慰；v.使快乐；vt.安慰(物)，缓和 | |
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sinecure
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| n.闲差事，挂名职务 | |
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privy
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| adj.私用的；隐密的 | |
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initiation
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| n.开始 | |
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costly
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| adj.昂贵的，价值高的，豪华的 | |
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precocity
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| n.早熟，早成 | |
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marvel
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| vi.(at)惊叹vt.感到惊异；n.令人惊异的事 | |
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Oxford
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| n.牛津（英国城市） | |
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enraptured
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| v.使狂喜( enrapture的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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renown
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| n.声誉，名望 | |
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aspirant
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| n.热望者；adj.渴望的 | |
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passionate
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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odds
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| n.让步，机率，可能性，比率；胜败优劣之别 | |
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worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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rhetoric
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| n.修辞学，浮夸之言语 | |
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quotation
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| n.引文，引语，语录；报价，牌价，行情 | |
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oratorical
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| adj.演说的，雄辩的 | |
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adornment
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| n.装饰；装饰品 | |
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deficient
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| adj.不足的，不充份的，有缺陷的 | |
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treatises
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| n.专题著作，专题论文，专著( treatise的名词复数 ) | |
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severance
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| n.离职金；切断 | |
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venality
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| n.贪赃枉法，腐败 | |
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corruption
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| n.腐败，堕落，贪污 | |
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chuckle
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| vi.／n.轻声笑，咯咯笑 | |
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veins
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| n.纹理；矿脉( vein的名词复数 )；静脉；叶脉；纹理 | |
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vein
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| n.血管，静脉；叶脉，纹理；情绪；vt.使成脉络 | |
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orphan
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| n.孤儿；adj.无父母的 | |
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chapel
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| n.小教堂，殡仪馆 | |
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disapproved
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| v.不赞成( disapprove的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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haughty
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| adj.傲慢的，高傲的 | |
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mansion
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| n.大厦，大楼；宅第 | |
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distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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retinue
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| n.侍从；随员 | |
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villa
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| n.别墅，城郊小屋 | |
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ponies
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| 矮种马，小型马( pony的名词复数 )； ￡25 25 英镑 | |
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expenditure
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| n.(时间、劳力、金钱等)支出；使用，消耗 | |
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hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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misgiving
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| n.疑虑，担忧，害怕 | |
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disappearance
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| n.消失，消散，失踪 | |
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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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eminent
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| adj.显赫的，杰出的，有名的，优良的 | |
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verge
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| n.边，边缘；v.接近，濒临 | |
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catastrophe
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| n.大灾难，大祸 | |
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promotion
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| n.提升，晋级；促销，宣传 | |
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wincing
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| 赶紧避开，畏缩( wince的现在分词 ) | |
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triumphant
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| adj.胜利的，成功的；狂欢的，喜悦的 | |
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immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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knight
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| n.骑士，武士；爵士 | |
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indigenous
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| adj.土产的，土生土长的，本地的 | |
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repose
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| v.(使)休息；n.安息 | |
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dignified
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| a.可敬的，高贵的 | |
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serenity
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| n.宁静，沉着，晴朗 | |
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terse
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| adj.(说话，文笔)精炼的，简明的 | |
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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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trenchant
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| adj.尖刻的，清晰的 | |
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rosy
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| adj.美好的，乐观的，玫瑰色的 | |
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insignificant
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| adj.无关紧要的，可忽略的，无意义的 | |
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conscientious
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| adj.审慎正直的，认真的，本着良心的 | |
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secrecy
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| n.秘密，保密，隐蔽 | |
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79
devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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ministry
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| n.(政府的)部；牧师 | |
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voluptuous
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| adj.肉欲的，骄奢淫逸的 | |
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82
complexion
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| n.肤色；情况，局面；气质，性格 | |
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pouting
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| v.撅（嘴）( pout的现在分词 ) | |
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84
attired
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| adj.穿着整齐的v.使穿上衣服，使穿上盛装( attire的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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spouse
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| n.配偶(指夫或妻) | |
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abashed
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| adj.窘迫的，尴尬的v.使羞愧，使局促，使窘迫( abash的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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chestnut
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| n.栗树，栗子 | |
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countenances
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| n.面容( countenance的名词复数 )；表情；镇静；道义支持 | |
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supercilious
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| adj.目中无人的，高傲的；adv.高傲地；n.高傲 | |
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ushered
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| v.引，领，陪同( usher的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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negligently
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delicacies
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| n.棘手( delicacy的名词复数 )；精致；精美的食物；周到 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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velvet
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| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
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condescension
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| n.自以为高人一等，贬低(别人) | |
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inquiries
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| n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 )；疑问；探究；打听 | |
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haughtily
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| adv. 傲慢地, 高傲地 | |
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98
ascending
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| adj.上升的，向上的 | |
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uncommon
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| adj.罕见的，非凡的，不平常的 | |
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