The marriage of Mr. Ferrars with Lady Montfort surprised some, but, on the whole, pleased everybody. They were both of them popular, and no one seemed to envy them their happiness and prosperity. The union took place at a season of the year when there was no London world to observe and to criticise1. It was a quiet ceremony; they went down to Northumberland to Lady Montfort’s father, and they were married in his private chapel2. After that they went off immediately to pay a visit to King Florestan and his queen; Myra had sent her a loving letter.
“Perhaps it will be the first time that your sister ever saw me with satisfaction,” remarked Lady Montfort, “but I think she will love me now! I always loved her; perhaps because she is so like you.”
It was a happy meeting and a delightful3 visit. They did not talk much of the past. The enormous change in the position of their host and hostess since the first days of their acquaintance, and, on their own part, some indefinite feeling of delicate reserve, combined to make them rather dwell on a present which was full of novelty so attractive and so absorbing. In his manner, the king was unchanged; he was never a demonstrative person, but simple, unaffected, rather silent; with a sweet temper and a tender manner, he seemed to be gratified that he had the power of conferring happiness on those around him. His feeling to his queen was one of idolatry, and she received Berengaria as a sister and a much-loved one. Their presence and the season of the year made their life a festival, and when they parted, there were entreaties4 and promises that the visit should be often repeated.
“Adieu! my Endymion,” said Myra at the last moment they were alone. “All has happened for you beyond my hopes; all now is safe. I might wish we were in the same land, but not if I lost my husband, whom I adore.”
The reason that forced them to curtail5 their royal visit was the state of politics at home, which had suddenly become critical. There were symptoms, and considerable ones, of disturbance6 and danger when they departed for their wedding tour, but they could not prevail on themselves to sacrifice a visit on which they had counted so much, and which could not be fulfilled on another occasion under the same interesting circumstances. Besides, the position of Mr. Ferrars, though an important, was a subordinate one, and though cabinet ministers were not justified7 in leaving the country, an under-secretary of state and a bridegroom might, it would seem, depart on his irresponsible holiday. Mr. Sidney Wilton, however, shook his head; “I do not like the state of affairs,” he said, “I think you will have to come back sooner than you imagine.”
“You are not going to be so foolish as to have an early session?” inquired Lady Montfort.
He only shrugged8 his shoulders, and said, “We are in a mess.”
What mess? and what was the state of affairs?
This had happened. At the end of the autumn, his Holiness the Pope had made half a dozen new cardinals10, and to the surprise of the world, and the murmurs11 of the Italians, there appeared among them the name of an Englishman, Nigel Penruddock, archbishop in partibus. Shortly after this, a papal bull, “given at St. Peter’s, Rome, under the seal of the fisherman,” was issued, establishing a Romish hierarchy12 in England. This was soon followed by a pastoral letter by the new cardinal9 “given out of the Appian Gate,” announcing that “Catholic England had been restored to its orbit in the ecclesiastical firmament13.”
The country at first was more stupefied than alarmed. It was conscious that something extraordinary had happened, and some great action taken by an ecclesiastical power, which from tradition it was ever inclined to view with suspicion and some fear. But it held its breath for a while. It so happened that the prime minister was a member of a great house which had become illustrious by its profession of Protestant principles, and even by its sufferings in a cause which England had once looked on as sacred. The prime minister, a man of distinguished14 ability, not devoid15 even of genius, was also a wily politician, and of almost unrivalled experience in the management of political parties. The ministry16 was weak and nearly worn out, and its chief, influenced partly by noble and historical sentiments, partly by a conviction that he had a fine occasion to rally the confidence of the country round himself and his friends, and to restore the repute of his political connection, thought fit, without consulting his colleagues, to publish a manifesto17 denouncing the aggression18 of the Pope upon our Protestantism as insolent19 and insidious20, and as expressing a pretension21 of supremacy22 over the realm of England which made the minister indignant.
A confused public wanted to be led, and now they were led. They sprang to their feet like an armed man. The corporation of London, the universities of Oxford23 and Cambridge had audiences of the Queen; the counties met, the municipalities memorialised; before the first of January there had been held nearly seven thousand public meetings, asserting the supremacy of the Queen and calling on Her Majesty’s Government to vindicate24 it by stringent25 measures.
Unfortunately, it was soon discovered by the minister that there had been nothing illegal in the conduct of the Pope or the Cardinal, and a considerable portion of the Liberal party began to express the inconvenient26 opinion, that the manifesto of their chief was opposed to those principles of civil and religious liberty of which he was the hereditary27 champion. Some influential28 members of his own cabinet did not conceal29 their disapprobation of a step on which they had not been consulted.
Immediately after Christmas, Endymion and Lady Montfort settled in London. She was anxious to open her new mansion30 as soon as parliament met, and to organise31 continuous receptions. She looked upon the ministry as in a critical state, and thought it was an occasion when social influences might not inconsiderably assist them.
But though she exhibited for this object her wonted energy and high spirit, a fine observer—Mr. Sidney Wilton, for example—might have detected a change in the manner of Berengaria. Though the strength of her character was unaltered, there was an absence of that restlessness, it might be said, that somewhat feverish32 excitement, from which formerly33 she was not always free. The truth is, her heart was satisfied, and that brought repose34. Feelings of affection, long mortified35 and pent up, were now lavished36 and concentrated on a husband of her heart and adoration37, and she was proud that his success and greatness might be avowed38 as the objects of her life.
The campaign, however, for which such preparations were made, ended almost before it began. The ministry, on the meeting of parliament, found themselves with a discontented House of Commons, and discordant39 counsels among themselves. The anti-papal manifesto was the secret cause of this evil state, but the prime minister, to avoid such a mortifying40 admission, took advantage of two unfavourable divisions on other matters, and resigned.
Here was a crisis—another crisis! Could the untried Protectionists, without men, form an administration? It was whispered that Lord Derby had been sent for, and declined the attempt. Then there was another rumour41, that he was going to try. Mr. Bertie Tremaine looked mysterious. The time for the third party had clearly arrived. It was known that he had the list of the next ministry in his breast-pocket, but it was only shown to Mr. Tremaine Bertie, who confided42 in secrecy43 to the initiated44 that it was the strongest government since “All the Talents.”
Notwithstanding this great opportunity, “All the Talents” were not summoned. The leader of the Protectionists renounced45 the attempt in despair, and the author of the anti-papal manifesto was again sent for, and obliged to introduce the measure which had already destroyed a government and disorganised a party.
“Sidney Wilton,” said Lady Montfort to her husband, “says that they are in the mud, and he for one will not go back—but he will go. I know him. He is too soft-hearted to stand an appeal from colleagues in distress46. But were I you, Endymion, I would not return. I think you want a little rest, or you have got a great deal of private business to attend to, or something of that kind. Nobody notices the withdrawal47 of an under-secretary except those in office. There is no necessity why you should be in the mud. I will continue to receive, and do everything that is possible for our friends, but I think my husband has been an under-secretary long enough.”
Endymion quite agreed with his wife. The minister offered him preferment and the Privy48 Council, but Lady Montfort said it was really not so important as the office he had resigned. She was resolved that he should not return to them, and she had her way. Ferrars himself now occupied a rather peculiar49 position, being the master of a great fortune and of an establishment which was the headquarters of the party of which he was now only a private member; but, calm and collected, he did not lose his head; always said and did the right thing, and never forgot his early acquaintances. Trenchard was his bosom50 political friend. Seymour Hicks, who, through Endymion’s kindness, had now got into the Treasury51, and was quite fashionable, had the run of the House, and made himself marvellously useful, while St. Barbe, who had become by mistake a member of the Conservative Club, drank his frequent claret cup every Saturday evening at Lady Montfort’s receptions with many pledges to the welfare of the Liberal administration.
The flag of the Tory party waved over the magnificent mansion of which Imogene Beaumaris was the graceful52 life. As parties were nearly equal, and the ministry was supposed to be in decay, the rival reception was as well attended as that of Berengaria. The two great leaders were friends, intimate, but not perhaps quite so intimate as a few years before. “Lady Montfort is very kind to me,” Imogene would say, “but I do not think she now quite remembers we are cousins.” Both Lord and Lady Waldershare seemed equally devoted53 to Lady Beaumaris. “I do not think,” he would say, “that I shall ever get Adriana to receive. It is an organic gift, and very rare. What I mean to do is to have a first-rate villa54 and give the party strawberries. I always say Adriana is like Nell Gwyn, and she shall go about with a pottle. One never sees a pottle of strawberries now. I believe they went out, like all good things, with the Stuarts.”
And so, after all these considerable events, the season rolled on and closed tranquilly55. Lord and Lady Hainault continued to give banquets, over which the hostess sighed; Sir Peter Vigo had the wisdom to retain his millions, which few manage to do, as it is admitted that it is easier to make a fortune than to keep one. Mrs. Rodney, supremely56 habited, still drove her ponies57, looking younger and prettier than ever, and getting more fashionable every day, and Mr. Ferrars and Berengaria, Countess of Montfort, retired58 in the summer to their beautiful and beloved Princedown.
1 criticise | |
v.批评,评论;非难 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
2 chapel | |
n.小教堂,殡仪馆 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
3 delightful | |
adj.令人高兴的,使人快乐的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
4 entreaties | |
n.恳求,乞求( entreaty的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
5 curtail | |
vt.截短,缩短;削减 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
6 disturbance | |
n.动乱,骚动;打扰,干扰;(身心)失调 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
7 justified | |
a.正当的,有理的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
8 shrugged | |
vt.耸肩(shrug的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
9 cardinal | |
n.(天主教的)红衣主教;adj.首要的,基本的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
10 cardinals | |
红衣主教( cardinal的名词复数 ); 红衣凤头鸟(见于北美,雄鸟为鲜红色); 基数 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
11 murmurs | |
n.低沉、连续而不清的声音( murmur的名词复数 );低语声;怨言;嘀咕 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
12 hierarchy | |
n.等级制度;统治集团,领导层 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
13 firmament | |
n.苍穹;最高层 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
14 distinguished | |
adj.卓越的,杰出的,著名的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
15 devoid | |
adj.全无的,缺乏的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
16 ministry | |
n.(政府的)部;牧师 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
17 manifesto | |
n.宣言,声明 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
18 aggression | |
n.进攻,侵略,侵犯,侵害 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
19 insolent | |
adj.傲慢的,无理的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
20 insidious | |
adj.阴险的,隐匿的,暗中为害的,(疾病)不知不觉之间加剧 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
21 pretension | |
n.要求;自命,自称;自负 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
22 supremacy | |
n.至上;至高权力 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
23 Oxford | |
n.牛津(英国城市) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
24 vindicate | |
v.为…辩护或辩解,辩明;证明…正确 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
25 stringent | |
adj.严厉的;令人信服的;银根紧的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
26 inconvenient | |
adj.不方便的,令人感到麻烦的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
27 hereditary | |
adj.遗传的,遗传性的,可继承的,世袭的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
28 influential | |
adj.有影响的,有权势的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
29 conceal | |
v.隐藏,隐瞒,隐蔽 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
30 mansion | |
n.大厦,大楼;宅第 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
31 organise | |
vt.组织,安排,筹办 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
32 feverish | |
adj.发烧的,狂热的,兴奋的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
33 formerly | |
adv.从前,以前 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
34 repose | |
v.(使)休息;n.安息 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
35 mortified | |
v.使受辱( mortify的过去式和过去分词 );伤害(人的感情);克制;抑制(肉体、情感等) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
36 lavished | |
v.过分给予,滥施( lavish的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
37 adoration | |
n.爱慕,崇拜 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
38 avowed | |
adj.公开声明的,承认的v.公开声明,承认( avow的过去式和过去分词) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
39 discordant | |
adj.不调和的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
40 mortifying | |
adj.抑制的,苦修的v.使受辱( mortify的现在分词 );伤害(人的感情);克制;抑制(肉体、情感等) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
41 rumour | |
n.谣言,谣传,传闻 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
42 confided | |
v.吐露(秘密,心事等)( confide的过去式和过去分词 );(向某人)吐露(隐私、秘密等) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
43 secrecy | |
n.秘密,保密,隐蔽 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
44 initiated | |
n. 创始人 adj. 新加入的 vt. 开始,创始,启蒙,介绍加入 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
45 renounced | |
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 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
46 distress | |
n.苦恼,痛苦,不舒适;不幸;vt.使悲痛 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
47 withdrawal | |
n.取回,提款;撤退,撤军;收回,撤销 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
48 privy | |
adj.私用的;隐密的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
49 peculiar | |
adj.古怪的,异常的;特殊的,特有的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
50 bosom | |
n.胸,胸部;胸怀;内心;adj.亲密的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
51 treasury | |
n.宝库;国库,金库;文库 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
52 graceful | |
adj.优美的,优雅的;得体的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
53 devoted | |
adj.忠诚的,忠实的,热心的,献身于...的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
54 villa | |
n.别墅,城郊小屋 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
55 tranquilly | |
adv. 宁静地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
56 supremely | |
adv.无上地,崇高地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
57 ponies | |
矮种马,小型马( pony的名词复数 ); £25 25 英镑 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
58 retired | |
adj.隐退的,退休的,退役的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
欢迎访问英文小说网 |