And frowning brow to brow, ourselves will hear
The accuser and accused freely speak;—
High-stomach’d are they both, and full of ire,
In rage deaf as the sea, hasty as fire.
Richard II.
“I am ordered to attend court tomorrow,” said Leicester, speaking to Varney, “to meet, as they surmise1, my Lord of Sussex. The Queen intends to take up matters betwixt us. This comes of her visit to Sayes Court, of which you must needs speak so lightly.”
“I maintain it was nothing,” said Varney; “nay, I know from a sure intelligencer, who was within earshot of much that was said, that Sussex has lost rather than gained by that visit. The Queen said, when she stepped into the boat, that Sayes Court looked like a guard-house, and smelt2 like an hospital. ‘Like a cook’s shop in Ram’s Alley3, rather,’ said the Countess of Rutland, who is ever your lordship’s good friend. And then my Lord of Lincoln must needs put in his holy oar4, and say that my Lord of Sussex must be excused for his rude and old-world housekeeping, since he had as yet no wife.”
“And what said the Queen?” asked Leicester hastily.
“She took him up roundly,” said Varney, “and asked what my Lord Sussex had to do with a wife, or my Lord Bishop5 to speak on such a subject. ‘If marriage is permitted,’ she said, ‘I nowhere read that it is enjoined6.’”
“She likes not marriages, or speech of marriage, among churchmen,” said Leicester.
“Nor among courtiers neither,” said Varney; but, observing that Leicester changed countenance7, he instantly added, “that all the ladies who were present had joined in ridiculing8 Lord Sussex’s housekeeping, and in contrasting it with the reception her Grace would have assuredly received at my Lord of Leicester’s.”
“You have gathered much tidings,” said Leicester, “but you have forgotten or omitted the most important of all. She hath added another to those dangling9 satellites whom it is her pleasure to keep revolving10 around her.”
“Your lordship meaneth that Raleigh, the Devonshire youth,” said Varney —“the Knight11 of the Cloak, as they call him at court?”
“He may be Knight of the Garter one day, for aught I know,” said Leicester, “for he advances rapidly — she hath capped verses with him, and such fooleries. I would gladly abandon, of my own free will, the part — I have in her fickle12 favour; but I will not be elbowed out of it by the clown Sussex, or this new upstart. I hear Tressilian is with Sussex also, and high in his favour. I would spare him for considerations, but he will thrust himself on his fate. Sussex, too, is almost as well as ever in his health.”
“My lord,” replied Varney, “there will be rubs in the smoothest road, specially14 when it leads uphill. Sussex’s illness was to us a godsend, from which I hoped much. He has recovered, indeed, but he is not now more formidable than ere he fell ill, when he received more than one foil in wrestling with your lordship. Let not your heart fail you, my lord, and all shall be well.”
“My heart never failed me, sir,” replied Leicester.
“No, my lord,” said Varney; “but it has betrayed you right often. He that would climb a tree, my lord, must grasp by the branches, not by the blossom.”
“Well, well, well!” said Leicester impatiently; “I understand thy meaning — my heart shall neither fail me nor seduce15 me. Have my retinue16 in order — see that their array be so splendid as to put down, not only the rude companions of Ratcliffe, but the retainers of every other nobleman and courtier. Let them be well armed withal, but without any outward display of their weapons, wearing them as if more for fashion’s sake than for use. Do thou thyself keep close to me, I may have business for you.”
The preparations of Sussex and his party were not less anxious than those of Leicester.
“Thy Supplication17, impeaching18 Varney of seduction,” said the Earl to Tressilian, “is by this time in the Queen’s hand — I have sent it through a sure channel. Methinks your suit should succeed, being, as it is, founded in justice and honour, and Elizabeth being the very muster19 of both. But — I wot not how — the gipsy” (so Sussex was wont20 to call his rival on account of his dark complexion) “hath much to say with her in these holyday times of peace. Were war at the gates, I should be one of her white boys; but soldiers, like their bucklers and Bilboa blades, get out of fashion in peace time, and satin sleeves and walking rapiers bear the bell. Well, we must be gay, since such is the fashion.— Blount, hast thou seen our household put into their new braveries? “But thou knowest as little of these toys as I do; thou wouldst be ready enow at disposing a stand of pikes.”
“My good lord,” answered Blount, “Raleigh hath been here, and taken that charge upon him — your train will glitter like a May morning. Marry, the cost is another question. One might keep an hospital of old soldiers at the charge of ten modern lackeys21.”
“He must not count cost today, Nicholas,” said the Earl in reply. “I am beholden to Raleigh for his care. I trust, though, he has remembered that I am an old soldier, and would have no more of these follies22 than needs must.”
“Nay, I understand nought23 about it,” said Blount; “but here are your honourable24 lordship’s brave kinsmen25 and friends coming in by scores to wait upon you to court, where, methinks, we shall bear as brave a front as Leicester, let him ruffle26 it as he will.”
“Give them the strictest charges,” said Sussex, “that they suffer no provocation27 short of actual violence to provoke them into quarrel. They have hot bloods, and I would not give Leicester the advantage over me by any imprudence of theirs.”
The Earl of Sussex ran so hastily through these directions, that it was with difficulty Tressilian at length found opportunity to express his surprise that he should have proceeded so far in the affair of Sir Hugh Robsart as to lay his petition at once before the Queen. “It was the opinion of the young lady’s friends,” he said, “that Leicester’s sense of justice should be first appealed to, as the offence had been committed by his officer, and so he had expressly told to Sussex.”
“This could have been done without applying to me,” said Sussex, somewhat haughtily28. “I at least, ought not to have been a counsellor when the object was a humiliating reference to Leicester; and I am suprised that you, Tressilian, a man of honour, and my friend, would assume such a mean course. If you said so, I certainly understood you not in a matter which sounded so unlike yourself.”
“My lord,” said Tressilian, “the course I would prefer, for my own sake, is that you have adopted; but the friends of this most unhappy lady —”
“Oh, the friends — the friends,” said Sussex, interrupting him; “they must let us manage this cause in the way which seems best. This is the time and the hour to accumulate every charge against Leicester and his household, and yours the Queen will hold a heavy one. But at all events she hath the complaint before her.”
Tressilian could not help suspecting that, in his eagerness to strengthen himself against his rival, Sussex had purposely adopted the course most likely to throw odium on Leicester, without considering minutely whether it were the mode of proceeding29 most likely to be attended with success. But the step was irrevocable, and Sussex escaped from further discussing it by dismissing his company, with the command, “Let all be in order at eleven o’clock; I must be at court and in the presence by high noon precisely30.”
While the rival statesmen were thus anxiously preparing for their approaching meeting in the Queen’s presence, even Elizabeth herself was not without apprehension31 of what might chance from the collision of two such fiery32 spirits, each backed by a strong and numerous body of followers34, and dividing betwixt them, either openly or in secret, the hopes and wishes of most of her court. The band of Gentlemen Pensioners35 were all under arms, and a reinforcement of the yeomen of the guard was brought down the Thames from London. A royal proclamation was sent forth36, strictly37 prohibiting nobles of whatever degree to approach the Palace with retainers or followers armed with shot or with long weapons; and it was even whispered that the High Sheriff of Kent had secret instructions to have a part of the array of the county ready on the shortest notice.
The eventful hour, thus anxiously prepared for on all sides, at length approached, and, each followed by his long and glittering train of friends and followers, the rival Earls entered the Palace Yard of Greenwich at noon precisely.
As if by previous arrangement, or perhaps by intimation that such was the Queen’s pleasure, Sussex and his retinue came to the Palace from Deptford by water while Leicester arrived by land; and thus they entered the courtyard from opposite sides. This trifling38 circumstance gave Leicester a ascendency in the opinion of the vulgar, the appearance of his cavalcade39 of mounted followers showing more numerous and more imposing40 than those of Sussex’s party, who were necessarily upon foot. No show or sign of greeting passed between the Earls, though each looked full at the other, both expecting perhaps an exchange of courtesies, which neither was willing to commence. Almost in the minute of their arrival the castle-bell tolled41, the gates of the Palace were opened, and the Earls entered, each numerously attended by such gentlemen of their train whose rank gave them that privilege. The yeomen and inferior attendants remained in the courtyard, where the opposite parties eyed each other with looks of eager hatred42 and scorn, as if waiting with impatience43 for some cause of tumult44, or some apology for mutual45 aggression46. But they were restrained by the strict commands of their leaders, and overawed, perhaps, by the presence of an armed guard of unusual strength.
In the meanwhile, the more distinguished47 persons of each train followed their patrons into the lofty halls and ante-chambers of the royal Palace, flowing on in the same current, like two streams which are compelled into the same channel, yet shun48 to mix their waters. The parties arranged themselves, as it were instinctively49, on the different sides of the lofty apartments, and seemed eager to escape from the transient union which the narrowness of the crowded entrance had for an instant compelled them to submit to. The folding doors at the upper end of the long gallery were immediately afterwards opened, and it was announced in a whisper that the Queen was in her presence-chamber, to which these gave access. Both Earls moved slowly and stately towards the entrance — Sussex followed by Tressilian, Blount, and Raleigh, and Leicester by Varney. The pride of Leicester was obliged to give way to court-forms, and with a grave and formal inclination50 of the head, he paused until his rival, a peer of older creation than his own, passed before him. Sussex returned the reverence51 with the same formal civility, and entered the presence-room. Tressilian and Blount offered to follow him, but were not permitted, the Usher52 of the Black Rod alleging53 in excuse that he had precise orders to look to all admissions that day. To Raleigh, who stood back on the repulse54 of his companions, he said, “You, sir, may enter,” and he entered accordingly.
“Follow me close, Varney,” said the Earl of Leicester, who had stood aloof55 for a moment to mark the reception of Sussex; and advancing to the entrance, he was about to pass on, when Varney, who was close behind him, dressed out in the utmost bravery of the day, was stopped by the usher, as Tressilian and Blount had been before him, “How is this, Master Bowyer?” said the Earl of Leicester. “Know you who I am, and that this is my friend and follower33?”
“Your lordship will pardon me,” replied Bowyer stoutly56; “my orders are precise, and limit me to a strict discharge of my duty.”
“Thou art a partial knave57,” said Leicester, the blood mounting to his face, “to do me this dishonour58, when you but now admitted a follower of my Lord of Sussex.”
“My lord,” said Bowyer, “Master Raleigh is newly admitted a sworn servant of her Grace, and to him my orders did not apply.”
“Thou art a knave — an ungrateful knave,” said Leicester; “but he that hath done can undo59 — thou shalt not prank60 thee in thy authority long!”
This threat he uttered aloud, with less than his usual policy and discretion61; and having done so, he entered the presence-chamber, and made his reverence to the Queen, who, attired62 with even more than her usual splendour, and surrounded by those nobles and statesmen whose courage and wisdom have rendered her reign63 immortal64, stood ready to receive the hommage of her subjects. She graciously returned the obeisance65 of the favourite Earl, and looked alternately at him and at Sussex, as if about to speak, when Bowyer, a man whose spirit could not brook66 the insult he had so openly received from Leicester, in the discharge of his office, advanced with his black rad in his hand, and knelt down before her.
“Why, how now, Bowyer?” said Elizabeth, “thy courtesy seems strangely timed!”
“My Liege Sovereign,” he said, while every courtier around trembled at his audacity67, “I come but to ask whether, in the discharge of mine office, I am to obey your Highness’s commands, or those of the Earl of Leicester, who has publicly menaced me with his displeasure, and treated me with disparaging68 terms, because I denied entry to one of his followers, in obedience69 to your Grace’s precise orders?”
The spirit of Henry VIII. was instantly aroused in the bosom70 of his daughter, and she turned on Leicester with a severity which appalled71 him, as well as all his followers.
“God’s death! my lord.” such was her emphatic72 phrase, “what means this? We have thought well of you, and brought you near to our person; but it was not that you might hide the sun from our other faithful subjects. Who gave you license73 to contradict our orders, or control our officers? I will have in this court, ay, and in this realm, but one mistress, and no master. Look to it that Master Bowyer sustains no harm for his duty to me faithfully discharged; for, as I am Christian75 woman and crowned Queen, I will hold you dearly answerable.— Go, Bowyer, you have done the part of an honest man and a true subject. We will brook no mayor of the palace here.
Bowyer kissed the hand which she extended towards him, and withdrew to his post! astonished at the success of his own audacity. A smile of triumph pervaded76 the faction77 of Sussex; that of Leicester seemed proportionally dismayed, and the favourite himself, assuming an aspect of the deepest humility78, did not even attempt a word in his own esculpation.
He acted wisely; for it was the policy of Elizabeth to humble79, not to disgrace him, and it was prudent80 to suffer her, without opposition81 or reply, to glory in the exertion82 of her authority. The dignity of the Queen was gratified, and the woman began soon to feel for the mortification83 which she had imposed on her favourite. Her keen eye also observed the secret looks of congratulation exchanged amongst those who favoured Sussex, and it was no part of her policy to give either party a decisive triumph.
“What I say to my Lord of Leicester,” she said, after a moment’s pause, “I say also to you, my Lord of Sussex. You also must needs ruffle in the court of England, at the head of a faction of your own?”
“My followers, gracious Princess,” said Sussex, “have indeed ruffled84 in your cause in Ireland, in Scotland, and against yonder rebellious85 Earls in the north. I am ignorant that —”
“Do you bandy looks and words with me, my lord?” said the Queen, interrupting him; “methinks you might learn of my Lord of Leicester the modesty86 to be silent, at least, under our censure87. I say, my lord, that my grandfather and my father, in their wisdom, debarred the nobles of this civilized88 land from travelling with such disorderly retinues89; and think you, that because I wear a coif, their sceptre has in my hand been changed into a distaff? I tell you, no king in Christendom will less brook his court to be cumbered, his people oppressed, and his kingdom’s peace disturbed, by the arrogance90 of overgrown power, than she who now speaks with you.— My Lord of Leicester, and you, my Lord of Sussex, I command you both to be friends with each other; or by the crown I wear, you shall find an enemy who will be too strong for both of you!”
“Madam,” said the Earl of Leicester, “you who are yourself the fountain of honour know best what is due to mine. I place it at your disposal, and only say that the terms on which I have stood with my Lord of Sussex have not been of my seeking; nor had he cause to think me his enemy, until he had done me gross wrong.”
“For me, madam,” said the Earl of Sussex, “I cannot appeal from your sovereign pleasure; but I were well content my Lord of Leicester should say in what I have, as he terms it, wronged him, since my tongue never spoke91 the word that I would not willingly justify92 either on foot or horseback.
“And for me,” said Leicester, “always under my gracious Sovereign’s pleasure, my hand shall be as ready to make good my words as that of any man who ever wrote himself Ratcliffe.”
“My lords,” said the Queen, “these are no terms for this presence; and if you cannot keep your temper, we will find means to keep both that and you close enough. Let me see you join hands, my lords, and forget your idle animosities.”
The two rivals looked at each other with reluctant eyes, each unwilling93 to make the first advance to execute the Queen’s will.
“Sussex,” said Elizabeth,“I entreat94 — Leicester, I command you.”
Yet, so were her words accented, that the entreaty95 sounded like command, and the command like entreaty. They remained still and stubborn, until she raised her voice to a height which argued at once impatience and absolute command.
“Sir Henry Lee,” she said, to an officer in attendance, “have a guard in present readiness, and man a barge96 instantly.— My Lords of Sussex and Leicester, I bid you once more to join hands; and, God’s death! he that refuses shall taste of our Tower fare ere he sees our face again. I will lower your proud hearts ere we part, and that I promise, on the word of a Queen!”
“The prison?” said Leicester, “might be borne, but to lose your Grace’s presence were to lose light and life at once.— Here, Sussex, is my hand.”
“And here,” said Sussex, “is mine in truth and honesty; but —”
“Nay, under favour, you shall add no more,” said the Queen. “Why, this is as it should be,” she added, looking on them more favourably97; “and when you the shepherds of the people, unite to protect them, it shall be well with the flock we rule over. For, my lords, I tell you plainly, your follies and your brawls98 lead to strange disorders100 among your servants.— My Lord of Leicester, you have a gentleman in your household called Varney?”
“Yes, gracious madam,” replied Leicester; “I presented him to kiss your royal hand when you were last at Nonsuch.”
“His outside was well enough,” said the Queen, “but scarce so fair, I should have thought, as to have caused a maiden101 of honourable birth and hopes to barter102 her fame for his good looks, and become his paramour. Yet so it is; this fellow of yours hath seduced103 the daughter of a good old Devonshire knight, Sir Hugh Robsart of Lidcote Hall, and she hath fled with him from her father’s house like a castaway.— My Lord of Leicester, are you ill, that you look so deadly pale?”
“No, gracious madam,” said Leicester; and it required every effort he could make to bring forth these few words.
“You are surely ill, my lord?” said Elizabeth, going towards him with hasty speech and hurried step, which indicated the deepest concern. “Call Masters — call our surgeon in ordinary.— Where be these loitering fools?— we lose the pride of our court through their negligence104.— Or is it possible, Leicester,” she continued, looking on him with a very gentle aspect, “can fear of my displeasure have wrought105 so deeply on thee? Doubt not for a moment, noble Dudley, that we could blame thee for the folly106 of thy retainer — thee, whose thoughts we know to be far otherwise employed. He that would climb the eagle’s nest, my lord, cares not who are catching107 linnets at the foot of the precipice108.”
“Mark you that?” said Sussex aside to Raleigh. “The devil aids him surely; for all that would sink another ten fathom109 deep seems but to make him float the more easily. Had a follower of mine acted thus —”
“Peace, my good lord,” said Raleigh, “for God’s sake, peace! Wait the change of the tide; it is even now on the turn.”
The acute observation of Raleigh, perhaps, did not deceive him; for Leicester’s confusion was so great, and, indeed, for the moment, so irresistibly110 overwhelming, that Elizabeth, after looking at him with a wondering eye, and receiving no intelligible111 answer to the unusual expressions of grace and affection which had escaped from her, shot her quick glance around the circle of courtiers, and reading, perhaps, in their faces something that accorded with her own awakened112 suspicions, she said suddenly, “Or is there more in this than we see — or than you, my lord, wish that we should see? Where is this Varney? Who saw him?”
“An it please your Grace,” said Bowyer, “it is the same against whom I this instant closed the door of the presence-room.”
“An it please me?” repeated Elizabeth sharply, not at that moment in the humour of being pleased with anything.—“It does not please me that he should pass saucily113 into my presence, or that you should exclude from it one who came to justify himself from an accusation114.”
“May it please you,” answered the perplexed115 usher, “if I knew, in such case, how to bear myself, I would take heed116 —”
“You should have reported the fellow’s desire to us, Master Usher, and taken our directions. You think yourself a great man, because but now we chid117 a nobleman on your account; yet, after all, we hold you but as the lead-weight that keeps the door fast. Call this Varney hither instantly. There is one Tressilian also mentioned in this petition. Let them both come before us.”
She was obeyed, and Tressilian and Varney appeared accordingly. Varney’s first glance was at Leicester, his second at the Queen. In the looks of the latter there appeared an approaching storm, and in the downcast countenance of his patron he could read no directions in what way he was to trim his vessel118 for the encounter. He then saw Tressilian, and at once perceived the peril119 of the situation in which he was placed. But Varney was as bold-faced and ready-witted as he was cunning and unscrupulous — a skilful120 pilot in extremity121, and fully74 conscious of the advantages which he would obtain could he extricate122 Leicester from his present peril, and of the ruin that yawned for himself should he fail in doing so.
“Is it true, sirrah,” said the Queen, with one of those searching looks which few had the audacity to resist, “that you have seduced to infamy123 a young lady of birth and breeding, the daughter of Sir Hugh Robsart of Lidcote Hall?”
Varney kneeled down, and replied, with a look of the most profound contrition124, “There had been some love passages betwixt him and Mistress Amy Robsart.”
Leicester’s flesh quivered with indignation as he heard his dependant125 make this avowal126, and for one moment he manned himself to step forward, and, bidding farewell to the court and the royal favour, confess the whole mystery of the secret marriage. But he looked at Sussex, and the idea of the triumphant127 smile which would clothe his cheek upon hearing the avowal sealed his lips. “Not now, at least,” he thought, “or in this presence, will I afford him so rich a triumph.” And pressing his lips close together, he stood firm and collected, attentive128 to each word which Varney uttered, and determined129 to hide to the last the secret on which his court-favour seemed to depend. Meanwhile, the Queen proceeded in her examination of Varney.
“Love passages!” said she, echoing his last words; “what passages, thou knave? and why not ask the wench’s hand from her father, if thou hadst any honesty in thy love for her?”
“An it please your Grace,” said Varney, still on his knees, “I dared not do so, for her father had promised her hand to a gentleman of birth and honour — I will do him justice, though I know he bears me ill-will — one Master Edmund Tressilian, whom I now see in the presence.”
“Soh!” replied the Queen. “And what was your right to make the simple fool break her worthy130 father’s contract, through your love passages, as your conceit131 and assurance terms them?”
“Madam,” replied Varney, “it is in vain to plead the cause of human frailty132 before a judge to whom it is unknown, or that of love to one who never yields to the passion”— he paused an instant, and then added, in a very low and timid tone —“which she inflicts133 upon all others.”
Elizabeth tried to frown, but smiled in her own despite, as she answered, “Thou art a marvellously impudent134 knave. Art thou married to the girl?”
Leicester’s feelings became so complicated and so painfully intense, that it seemed to him as if his life was to depend on the answer made by Varney, who, after a moment’s real hesitation135, answered, “Yes.”
“Thou false villain136!” said Leicester, bursting forth into rage, yet unable to add another word to the sentence which he had begun with such emphatic passion.
“Nay, my lord,” said the Queen, “we will, by your leave, stand between this fellow and your anger. We have not yet done with him.— Knew your master, my Lord of Leicester, of this fair work of yours? Speak truth, I command thee, and I will be thy warrant from danger on every quarter.”
“Gracious madam,” said Varney, “to speak Heaven’s truth, my lord was the cause of the whole matter.”
“Thou villain, wouldst thou betray me?” said Leicester.
“Speak on,” said the Queen hastily, her cheek colouring, and her eyes sparkling, as she addressed Varney —“speak on. Here no commands are heard but mine.”
“They are omnipotent137, gracious madam,” replied Varney; “and to you there can be no secrets.— Yet I would not,” he added, looking around him, “speak of my master’s concerns to other ears.”
“Fall back, my lords,” said the Queen to those who surrounded her, “and do you speak on. What hath the Earl to do with this guilty intrigue138 of thine? See, fellow, that thou beliest him not!”
“Far be it from me to traduce139 my noble patron,” replied Varney; “yet I am compelled to own that some deep, overwhelming, yet secret feeling hath of late dwelt in my lord’s mind, hath abstracted him from the cares of the household which he was wont to govern with such religious strictness, and hath left us opportunities to do follies, of which the shame, as in this case, partly falls upon our patron. Without this, I had not had means or leisure to commit the folly which has drawn140 on me his displeasure — the heaviest to endure by me which I could by any means incur141, saving always the yet more dreaded142 resentment143 of your Grace.”
“And in this sense, and no other, hath he been accessory to thy fault?” said Elizabeth.
“Surely, madam, in no other,” replied Varney; “but since somewhat hath chanced to him, he can scarce be called his own man. Look at him, madam, how pale and trembling he stands! how unlike his usual majesty144 of manner!— yet what has he to fear from aught I can say to your Highness? Ah! madam, since he received that fatal packet!”
“What packet, and from whence?” said the Queen eagerly.
“From whence, madam, I cannot guess; but I am so near to his person that I know he has ever since worn, suspended around his neck and next to his heart, that lock of hair which sustains a small golden jewel shaped like a heart. He speaks to it when alone — he parts not from it when he sleeps — no heathen ever worshipped an idol145 with such devotion.”
“Thou art a prying146 knave to watch thy master so closely,” said Elizabeth, blushing, but not with anger; “and a tattling knave to tell over again his fooleries.— What colour might the braid of hair be that thou pratest of?”
Varney replied, “A poet, madam, might call it a thread from the golden web wrought by Minerva; but to my thinking it was paler than even the purest gold — more like the last parting sunbeam of the softest day of spring.”
“Why, you are a poet yourself, Master Varney,” said the Queen, smiling. “But I have not genius quick enough to follow your rare metaphors147. Look round these ladies — is there”—(she hesitated, and endeavoured to assume an air of great indifference)—“is there here, in this presence, any lady, the colour of whose hair reminds thee of that braid? Methinks, without prying into my Lord of Leicester’s amorous148 secrets, I would fain know what kind of locks are like the thread of Minerva’s web, or the — what was it?— the last rays of the May-day sun.”
Varney looked round the presence-chamber, his eye travelling from one lady to another, until at length it rested upon the Queen herself, but with an aspect of the deepest veneration149. “I see no tresses,” he said, “in this presence, worthy of such similies, unless where I dare not look on them.”
“How, sir knave?” said the Queen; “dare you intimate —”
“Nay, madam,” replied Varney, shading his eyes with his hand, “it was the beams of the May-day sun that dazzled my weak eyes.”
“Go to — go to,” said the Queen; “thou art a foolish fellow”— and turning quickly from him she walked up to Leicester.
Intense curiosity, mingled150 with all the various hopes, fears, and passions which influence court faction, had occupied the presence-chamber during the Queen’s conference with Varney, as if with the strength of an Eastern talisman151. Men suspended every, even the slightest external motion, and would have ceased to breathe, had Nature permitted such an intermission of her functions. The atmosphere was contagious152, and Leicester, who saw all around wishing or fearing his advancement153 or his fall forgot all that love had previously154 dictated155, and saw nothing for the instant but the favour or disgrace which depended on the nod of Elizabeth and the fidelity156 of Varney. He summoned himself hastily, and prepared to play his part in the scene which was like to ensue, when, as he judged from the glances which the Queen threw towards him, Varney’s communications, be they what they might, were operating in his favour. Elizabeth did not long leave him in doubt; for the more than favour with which she accosted157 him decided158 his triumph in the eyes of his rival, and of the assembled court of England. “Thou hast a prating159 servant of this same Varney, my lord,” she said; “it is lucky you trust him with nothing that can hurt you in our opinion, for believe me, he would keep no counsel.”
“From your Highness,” said Leicester, dropping gracefully160 on one knee, “it were treason he should. I would that my heart itself lay before you, barer than the tongue of any servant could strip it.”
“What, my lord,” said Elizabeth, looking kindly162 upon him, “is there no one little corner over which you would wish to spread a veil? Ah! I see you are confused at the question, and your Queen knows she should not look too deeply into her servants’ motives163 for their faithful duty, lest she see what might, or at least ought to, displease164 her.”
Relieved by these last words, Leicester broke out into a torrent165 of expressions of deep and passionate166 attachment167, which perhaps, at that moment, were not altogether fictitious168. The mingled emotions which had at first overcome him had now given way to the energetic vigour169 with which he had determined to support his place in the Queen’s favour; and never did he seem to Elizabeth more eloquent170, more handsome, more interesting, than while, kneeling at her feet, he conjured171 her to strip him of all his dower, but to leave him the name of her servant.—“Take from the poor Dudley,” he exclaimed, “all that your bounty172 has made him, and bid him be the poor gentleman he was when your Grace first shone on him; leave him no more than his cloak and his sword, but let him still boast he has — what in word or deed he never forfeited173 — the regard of his adored Queen and mistress!”
“No, Dudley!” said Elizabeth, raising him with one hand, while she extended the other that he might kiss it. “Elizabeth hath not forgotten that, whilst you were a poor gentleman, despoiled174 of your hereditary175 rank, she was as poor a princess, and that in her cause you then ventured all that oppression had left you — your life and honour. Rise, my lord, and let my hand go — rise, and be what you have ever been, the grace of our court and the support of our throne! Your mistress may be forced to chide176 your misdemeanours, but never without owning your merits.— And so help me God,” she added, turning to the audience, who, with various feelings, witnessed this interesting scene —“so help me God, gentlemen, as I think never sovereign had a truer servant than I have in this noble Earl!”
A murmur177 of assent178 rose from the Leicestrian faction, which the friends of Sussex dared not oppose. They remained with their eyes fixed179 on the ground, dismayed as well as mortified180 by the public and absolute triumph of their opponents. Leicester’s first use of the familiarity to which the Queen had so publicly restored him was to ask her commands concerning Varney’s offence. “although,” he said, “the fellow deserves nothing from me but displeasure, yet, might I presume to intercede181 —”
“In truth, we had forgotten his matter,” said the Queen; “and it was ill done of us, who owe justice to our meanest as well as to our highest subject. We are pleased, my lord, that you were the first to recall the matter to our memory.— Where is Tressilian, the accuser?— let him come before us.”
Tressilian appeared, and made a low and beseeming reference. His person, as we have elsewhere observed, had an air of grace and even of nobleness, which did not escape Queen Elizabeth’s critical observation. She looked at him with, attention as he stood before her unabashed, but with an air of the deepest dejection.
“I cannot but grieve for this gentleman,” she said to Leicester. “I have inquired concerning him, and his presence confirms what I heard, that he is a scholar and a soldier, well accomplished182 both in arts and arms. We women, my lord, are fanciful in our choice — I had said now, to judge by the eye, there was no comparison to be held betwixt your follower and this gentleman. But Varney is a well-spoken fellow, and, to say truth, that goes far with us of the weaker sex.— look you, Master Tressilian, a bolt lost is not a bow broken. Your true affection, as I will hold it to be, hath been, it seems, but ill requited183; but you have scholarship, and you know there have been false Cressidas to be found, from the Trojan war downwards184. Forget, good sir, this Lady Light o’ Love — teach your affection to see with a wiser eye. This we say to you, more from the writings of learned men than our own knowledge, being, as we are, far removed by station and will from the enlargement of experience in such idle toys of humorous passion. For this dame’s father, we can make his grief the less by advancing his son-inlaw to such station as may enable him to give an honourable support to his bride. Thou shalt not be forgotten thyself, Tressilian — follow our court, and thou shalt see that a true Troilus hath some claim on our grace. Think of what that arch-knave Shakespeare says — a plague on him, his toys come into my head when I should think of other matters. Stay, how goes it?
‘Cressid was yours, tied with the bonds of heaven;
These bonds of heaven are slipt, dissolved, and loosed,
And with another knot five fingers tied,
The fragments of her faith are bound to Diomed.’
You smile, my Lord of Southampton — perchance I make your player’s verse halt through my bad memory. But let it suffice let there be no more of this mad matter.”
And as Tressilian kept the posture185 of one who would willingly be heard, though, at the same time, expressive186 of the deepest reverence, the Queen added with some impatience, “What would the man have? The wench cannot wed13 both of you? She has made her election — not a wise one perchance — but she is Varney’s wedded187 wife.”
“My suit should sleep there, most gracious Sovereign,” said Tressilian, “and with my suit my revenge. But I hold this Varney’s word no good warrant for the truth.”
“Had that doubt been elsewhere urged,” answered Varney, “my sword —”
“Thy sword!” interrupted Tressilian scornfully; “with her Grace’s leave, my sword shall show —”
“Peace, you knaves188, both!” said the Queen; “know you where you are?— This comes of your feuds189, my lords,” she added, looking towards Leicester and Sussex; “your followers catch your own humour, and must bandy and brawl99 in my court and in my very presence, like so many Matamoros.— Look you, sirs, he that speaks of drawing swords in any other quarrel than mine or England’s, by mine honour, I’ll bracelet190 him with iron both on wrist and ankle!” She then paused a minute, and resumed in a milder tone, “I must do justice betwixt the bold and mutinous191 knaves notwithstanding.— My Lord of Leicester, will you warrant with your honour — that is, to the best of your belief — that your servant speaks truth in saying he hath married this Amy Robsart?”
This was a home-thrust, and had nearly staggered Leicester. But he had now gone too far to recede192, and answered, after a moment’s hesitation, “To the best of my belief — indeed on my certain knowledge — she is a wedded wife.”
“Gracious madam,” said Tressilian, “may I yet request to know, when and under what circumstances this alleged193 marriage —”
“Out, sirrah,” answered the Queen; “alleged marriage! Have you not the word of this illustrious Earl to warrant the truth of what his servant says? But thou art a loser — thinkest thyself such at least — and thou shalt have indulgence; we will look into the matter ourself more at leisure.— My Lord of Leicester, I trust you remember we mean to taste the good cheer of your Castle of Kenilworth on this week ensuing. We will pray you to bid our good and valued friend, the Earl of Sussex, to hold company with us there.”
“If the noble Earl of Sussex,” said Leicester, bowing to his rival with the easiest and with the most graceful161 courtesy, “will so far honour my poor house, I will hold it an additional proof of the amicable194 regard it is your Grace’s desire we should entertain towards each other.”
Sussex was more embarrassed. “I should,” said he, “madam, be but a clog195 on your gayer hours, since my late severe illness.”
“And have you been indeed so very ill?” said Elizabeth, looking on him with more attention than before; “you are, in faith, strangely altered, and deeply am I grieved to see it. But be of good cheer — we will ourselves look after the health of so valued a servant, and to whom we owe so much. Masters shall order your diet; and that we ourselves may see that he is obeyed, you must attend us in this progress to Kenilworth.”
This was said so peremptorily196, and at the same time with so much kindness, that Sussex, however unwilling to become the guest of his rival, had no resource but to bow low to the Queen in obedience to her commands, and to express to Leicester, with blunt courtesy, though mingled with embarrassment197, his acceptance of his invitation. As the Earls exchanged compliments on the occasion, the Queen said to her High Treasurer198, “Methinks, my lord, the countenances199 of these our two noble peers resemble those of the two famed classic streams, the one so dark and sad, the other so fair and noble. My old Master Ascham would have chid me for forgetting the author. It is Caesar, as I think. See what majestic200 calmness sits on the brow of the noble Leicester, while Sussex seems to greet him as if he did our will indeed, but not willingly.”
“The doubt of your Majesty’s favour,” answered the Lord Treasurer, “may perchance occasion the difference, which does not — as what does?— escape your Grace’s eye.”
“Such doubt were injurious to us, my lord,” replied the Queen. “We hold both to be near and dear to us, and will with impartiality201 employ both in honourable service for the weal of our kingdom. But we will break their further conference at present.— My Lords of Sussex and Leicester, we have a word more with you. ‘Tressilian and Varney are near your persons — you will see that they attend you at Kenilworth. And as we shall then have both Paris and Menelaus within our call, so we will have the same fair Helen also, whose fickleness202 has caused this broil203.— Varney, thy wife must be at Kenilworth, and forthcoming at my order.— My Lord of Leicester, we expect you will look to this.”
The Earl and his follower bowed low and raised their heads, without daring to look at the Queen, or at each other, for both felt at the instant as if the nets and toils204 which their own falsehood had woven were in the act of closing around them. The Queen, however, observed not their confusion, but proceeded to say, “My Lords of Sussex and Leicester, we require your presence at the privy-council to be presently held, where matters of importance are to be debated. We will then take the water for our divertisement, and you, my lords, will attend us.— And that reminds us of a circumstance.— Do you, Sir Squire205 of the Soiled Cassock” (distinguishing Raleigh by a smile), “fail not to observe that you are to attend us on our progress. You shall be supplied with suitable means to reform your wardrobe.”
And so terminated this celebrated206 audience, in which, as throughout her life, Elizabeth united the occasional caprice of her sex with that sense and sound policy in which neither man nor woman ever excelled her.
点击收听单词发音
1 surmise | |
v./n.猜想,推测 | |
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2 smelt | |
v.熔解,熔炼;n.银白鱼,胡瓜鱼 | |
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3 alley | |
n.小巷,胡同;小径,小路 | |
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4 oar | |
n.桨,橹,划手;v.划行 | |
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5 bishop | |
n.主教,(国际象棋)象 | |
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6 enjoined | |
v.命令( enjoin的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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7 countenance | |
n.脸色,面容;面部表情;vt.支持,赞同 | |
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8 ridiculing | |
v.嘲笑,嘲弄,奚落( ridicule的现在分词 ) | |
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9 dangling | |
悬吊着( dangle的现在分词 ); 摆动不定; 用某事物诱惑…; 吊胃口 | |
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10 revolving | |
adj.旋转的,轮转式的;循环的v.(使)旋转( revolve的现在分词 );细想 | |
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11 knight | |
n.骑士,武士;爵士 | |
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12 fickle | |
adj.(爱情或友谊上)易变的,不坚定的 | |
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13 wed | |
v.娶,嫁,与…结婚 | |
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14 specially | |
adv.特定地;特殊地;明确地 | |
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15 seduce | |
vt.勾引,诱奸,诱惑,引诱 | |
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16 retinue | |
n.侍从;随员 | |
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17 supplication | |
n.恳求,祈愿,哀求 | |
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18 impeaching | |
v.控告(某人)犯罪( impeach的现在分词 );弹劾;对(某事物)怀疑;提出异议 | |
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19 muster | |
v.集合,收集,鼓起,激起;n.集合,检阅,集合人员,点名册 | |
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20 wont | |
adj.习惯于;v.习惯;n.习惯 | |
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21 lackeys | |
n.听差( lackey的名词复数 );男仆(通常穿制服);卑躬屈膝的人;被待为奴仆的人 | |
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22 follies | |
罪恶,时事讽刺剧; 愚蠢,蠢笨,愚蠢的行为、思想或做法( folly的名词复数 ) | |
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23 nought | |
n./adj.无,零 | |
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24 honourable | |
adj.可敬的;荣誉的,光荣的 | |
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25 kinsmen | |
n.家属,亲属( kinsman的名词复数 ) | |
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26 ruffle | |
v.弄皱,弄乱;激怒,扰乱;n.褶裥饰边 | |
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27 provocation | |
n.激怒,刺激,挑拨,挑衅的事物,激怒的原因 | |
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28 haughtily | |
adv. 傲慢地, 高傲地 | |
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29 proceeding | |
n.行动,进行,(pl.)会议录,学报 | |
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30 precisely | |
adv.恰好,正好,精确地,细致地 | |
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31 apprehension | |
n.理解,领悟;逮捕,拘捕;忧虑 | |
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32 fiery | |
adj.燃烧着的,火红的;暴躁的;激烈的 | |
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33 follower | |
n.跟随者;随员;门徒;信徒 | |
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34 followers | |
追随者( follower的名词复数 ); 用户; 契据的附面; 从动件 | |
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35 pensioners | |
n.领取退休、养老金或抚恤金的人( pensioner的名词复数 ) | |
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36 forth | |
adv.向前;向外,往外 | |
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37 strictly | |
adv.严厉地,严格地;严密地 | |
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38 trifling | |
adj.微不足道的;没什么价值的 | |
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39 cavalcade | |
n.车队等的行列 | |
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40 imposing | |
adj.使人难忘的,壮丽的,堂皇的,雄伟的 | |
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41 tolled | |
鸣钟(toll的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
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42 hatred | |
n.憎恶,憎恨,仇恨 | |
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43 impatience | |
n.不耐烦,急躁 | |
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44 tumult | |
n.喧哗;激动,混乱;吵闹 | |
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45 mutual | |
adj.相互的,彼此的;共同的,共有的 | |
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46 aggression | |
n.进攻,侵略,侵犯,侵害 | |
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47 distinguished | |
adj.卓越的,杰出的,著名的 | |
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48 shun | |
vt.避开,回避,避免 | |
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49 instinctively | |
adv.本能地 | |
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50 inclination | |
n.倾斜;点头;弯腰;斜坡;倾度;倾向;爱好 | |
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51 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 | |
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52 usher | |
n.带位员,招待员;vt.引导,护送;vi.做招待,担任引座员 | |
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53 alleging | |
断言,宣称,辩解( allege的现在分词 ) | |
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54 repulse | |
n.击退,拒绝;vt.逐退,击退,拒绝 | |
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55 aloof | |
adj.远离的;冷淡的,漠不关心的 | |
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56 stoutly | |
adv.牢固地,粗壮的 | |
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57 knave | |
n.流氓;(纸牌中的)杰克 | |
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58 dishonour | |
n./vt.拒付(支票、汇票、票据等);vt.凌辱,使丢脸;n.不名誉,耻辱,不光彩 | |
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59 undo | |
vt.解开,松开;取消,撤销 | |
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60 prank | |
n.开玩笑,恶作剧;v.装饰;打扮;炫耀自己 | |
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61 discretion | |
n.谨慎;随意处理 | |
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62 attired | |
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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63 reign | |
n.统治时期,统治,支配,盛行;v.占优势 | |
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64 immortal | |
adj.不朽的;永生的,不死的;神的 | |
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65 obeisance | |
n.鞠躬,敬礼 | |
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66 brook | |
n.小河,溪;v.忍受,容让 | |
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67 audacity | |
n.大胆,卤莽,无礼 | |
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68 disparaging | |
adj.轻蔑的,毁谤的v.轻视( disparage的现在分词 );贬低;批评;非难 | |
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69 obedience | |
n.服从,顺从 | |
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70 bosom | |
n.胸,胸部;胸怀;内心;adj.亲密的 | |
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71 appalled | |
v.使惊骇,使充满恐惧( appall的过去式和过去分词)adj.惊骇的;丧胆的 | |
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72 emphatic | |
adj.强调的,着重的;无可置疑的,明显的 | |
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73 license | |
n.执照,许可证,特许;v.许可,特许 | |
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74 fully | |
adv.完全地,全部地,彻底地;充分地 | |
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75 Christian | |
adj.基督教徒的;n.基督教徒 | |
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76 pervaded | |
v.遍及,弥漫( pervade的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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77 faction | |
n.宗派,小集团;派别;派系斗争 | |
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78 humility | |
n.谦逊,谦恭 | |
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79 humble | |
adj.谦卑的,恭顺的;地位低下的;v.降低,贬低 | |
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80 prudent | |
adj.谨慎的,有远见的,精打细算的 | |
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81 opposition | |
n.反对,敌对 | |
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82 exertion | |
n.尽力,努力 | |
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83 mortification | |
n.耻辱,屈辱 | |
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84 ruffled | |
adj. 有褶饰边的, 起皱的 动词ruffle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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85 rebellious | |
adj.造反的,反抗的,难控制的 | |
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86 modesty | |
n.谦逊,虚心,端庄,稳重,羞怯,朴素 | |
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87 censure | |
v./n.责备;非难;责难 | |
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88 civilized | |
a.有教养的,文雅的 | |
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89 retinues | |
n.一批随员( retinue的名词复数 ) | |
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90 arrogance | |
n.傲慢,自大 | |
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91 spoke | |
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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92 justify | |
vt.证明…正当(或有理),为…辩护 | |
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93 unwilling | |
adj.不情愿的 | |
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94 entreat | |
v.恳求,恳请 | |
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95 entreaty | |
n.恳求,哀求 | |
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96 barge | |
n.平底载货船,驳船 | |
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97 favourably | |
adv. 善意地,赞成地 =favorably | |
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98 brawls | |
吵架,打架( brawl的名词复数 ) | |
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99 brawl | |
n.大声争吵,喧嚷;v.吵架,对骂 | |
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100 disorders | |
n.混乱( disorder的名词复数 );凌乱;骚乱;(身心、机能)失调 | |
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101 maiden | |
n.少女,处女;adj.未婚的,纯洁的,无经验的 | |
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102 barter | |
n.物物交换,以货易货,实物交易 | |
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103 seduced | |
诱奸( seduce的过去式和过去分词 ); 勾引; 诱使堕落; 使入迷 | |
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104 negligence | |
n.疏忽,玩忽,粗心大意 | |
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105 wrought | |
v.引起;以…原料制作;运转;adj.制造的 | |
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106 folly | |
n.愚笨,愚蠢,蠢事,蠢行,傻话 | |
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107 catching | |
adj.易传染的,有魅力的,迷人的,接住 | |
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108 precipice | |
n.悬崖,危急的处境 | |
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109 fathom | |
v.领悟,彻底了解 | |
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110 irresistibly | |
adv.无法抵抗地,不能自持地;极为诱惑人地 | |
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111 intelligible | |
adj.可理解的,明白易懂的,清楚的 | |
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112 awakened | |
v.(使)醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 );(使)觉醒;弄醒;(使)意识到 | |
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113 saucily | |
adv.傲慢地,莽撞地 | |
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114 accusation | |
n.控告,指责,谴责 | |
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115 perplexed | |
adj.不知所措的 | |
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116 heed | |
v.注意,留意;n.注意,留心 | |
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117 chid | |
v.责骂,责备( chide的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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118 vessel | |
n.船舶;容器,器皿;管,导管,血管 | |
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119 peril | |
n.(严重的)危险;危险的事物 | |
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120 skilful | |
(=skillful)adj.灵巧的,熟练的 | |
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121 extremity | |
n.末端,尽头;尽力;终极;极度 | |
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122 extricate | |
v.拯救,救出;解脱 | |
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123 infamy | |
n.声名狼藉,出丑,恶行 | |
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124 contrition | |
n.悔罪,痛悔 | |
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125 dependant | |
n.依靠的,依赖的,依赖他人生活者 | |
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126 avowal | |
n.公开宣称,坦白承认 | |
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127 triumphant | |
adj.胜利的,成功的;狂欢的,喜悦的 | |
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128 attentive | |
adj.注意的,专心的;关心(别人)的,殷勤的 | |
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129 determined | |
adj.坚定的;有决心的 | |
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130 worthy | |
adj.(of)值得的,配得上的;有价值的 | |
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131 conceit | |
n.自负,自高自大 | |
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132 frailty | |
n.脆弱;意志薄弱 | |
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133 inflicts | |
把…强加给,使承受,遭受( inflict的第三人称单数 ) | |
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134 impudent | |
adj.鲁莽的,卑鄙的,厚颜无耻的 | |
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135 hesitation | |
n.犹豫,踌躇 | |
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136 villain | |
n.反派演员,反面人物;恶棍;问题的起因 | |
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137 omnipotent | |
adj.全能的,万能的 | |
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138 intrigue | |
vt.激起兴趣,迷住;vi.耍阴谋;n.阴谋,密谋 | |
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139 traduce | |
v.中伤;n.诽谤 | |
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140 drawn | |
v.拖,拉,拔出;adj.憔悴的,紧张的 | |
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141 incur | |
vt.招致,蒙受,遭遇 | |
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142 dreaded | |
adj.令人畏惧的;害怕的v.害怕,恐惧,担心( dread的过去式和过去分词) | |
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143 resentment | |
n.怨愤,忿恨 | |
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144 majesty | |
n.雄伟,壮丽,庄严,威严;最高权威,王权 | |
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145 idol | |
n.偶像,红人,宠儿 | |
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146 prying | |
adj.爱打听的v.打听,刺探(他人的私事)( pry的现在分词 );撬开 | |
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147 metaphors | |
隐喻( metaphor的名词复数 ) | |
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148 amorous | |
adj.多情的;有关爱情的 | |
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149 veneration | |
n.尊敬,崇拜 | |
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150 mingled | |
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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151 talisman | |
n.避邪物,护身符 | |
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152 contagious | |
adj.传染性的,有感染力的 | |
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153 advancement | |
n.前进,促进,提升 | |
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154 previously | |
adv.以前,先前(地) | |
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155 dictated | |
v.大声讲或读( dictate的过去式和过去分词 );口授;支配;摆布 | |
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156 fidelity | |
n.忠诚,忠实;精确 | |
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157 accosted | |
v.走过去跟…讲话( accost的过去式和过去分词 );跟…搭讪;(乞丐等)上前向…乞讨;(妓女等)勾搭 | |
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158 decided | |
adj.决定了的,坚决的;明显的,明确的 | |
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159 prating | |
v.(古时用语)唠叨,啰唆( prate的现在分词 ) | |
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160 gracefully | |
ad.大大方方地;优美地 | |
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161 graceful | |
adj.优美的,优雅的;得体的 | |
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162 kindly | |
adj.和蔼的,温和的,爽快的;adv.温和地,亲切地 | |
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163 motives | |
n.动机,目的( motive的名词复数 ) | |
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164 displease | |
vt.使不高兴,惹怒;n.不悦,不满,生气 | |
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165 torrent | |
n.激流,洪流;爆发,(话语等的)连发 | |
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166 passionate | |
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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167 attachment | |
n.附属物,附件;依恋;依附 | |
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168 fictitious | |
adj.虚构的,假设的;空头的 | |
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169 vigour | |
(=vigor)n.智力,体力,精力 | |
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170 eloquent | |
adj.雄辩的,口才流利的;明白显示出的 | |
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171 conjured | |
用魔术变出( conjure的过去式和过去分词 ); 祈求,恳求; 变戏法; (变魔术般地) 使…出现 | |
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172 bounty | |
n.慷慨的赠予物,奖金;慷慨,大方;施与 | |
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173 forfeited | |
(因违反协议、犯规、受罚等)丧失,失去( forfeit的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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174 despoiled | |
v.掠夺,抢劫( despoil的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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175 hereditary | |
adj.遗传的,遗传性的,可继承的,世袭的 | |
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176 chide | |
v.叱责;谴责 | |
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177 murmur | |
n.低语,低声的怨言;v.低语,低声而言 | |
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178 assent | |
v.批准,认可;n.批准,认可 | |
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179 fixed | |
adj.固定的,不变的,准备好的;(计算机)固定的 | |
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180 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) | |
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181 intercede | |
vi.仲裁,说情 | |
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182 accomplished | |
adj.有才艺的;有造诣的;达到了的 | |
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183 requited | |
v.报答( requite的过去式和过去分词 );酬谢;回报;报复 | |
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184 downwards | |
adj./adv.向下的(地),下行的(地) | |
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185 posture | |
n.姿势,姿态,心态,态度;v.作出某种姿势 | |
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186 expressive | |
adj.表现的,表达…的,富于表情的 | |
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187 wedded | |
adj.正式结婚的;渴望…的,执著于…的v.嫁,娶,(与…)结婚( wed的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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188 knaves | |
n.恶棍,无赖( knave的名词复数 );(纸牌中的)杰克 | |
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189 feuds | |
n.长期不和,世仇( feud的名词复数 ) | |
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190 bracelet | |
n.手镯,臂镯 | |
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191 mutinous | |
adj.叛变的,反抗的;adv.反抗地,叛变地;n.反抗,叛变 | |
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192 recede | |
vi.退(去),渐渐远去;向后倾斜,缩进 | |
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193 alleged | |
a.被指控的,嫌疑的 | |
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194 amicable | |
adj.和平的,友好的;友善的 | |
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195 clog | |
vt.塞满,阻塞;n.[常pl.]木屐 | |
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196 peremptorily | |
adv.紧急地,不容分说地,专横地 | |
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197 embarrassment | |
n.尴尬;使人为难的人(事物);障碍;窘迫 | |
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198 treasurer | |
n.司库,财务主管 | |
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199 countenances | |
n.面容( countenance的名词复数 );表情;镇静;道义支持 | |
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200 majestic | |
adj.雄伟的,壮丽的,庄严的,威严的,崇高的 | |
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201 impartiality | |
n. 公平, 无私, 不偏 | |
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202 fickleness | |
n.易变;无常;浮躁;变化无常 | |
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203 broil | |
v.烤,烧,争吵,怒骂;n.烤,烧,争吵,怒骂 | |
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204 toils | |
网 | |
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205 squire | |
n.护卫, 侍从, 乡绅 | |
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206 celebrated | |
adj.有名的,声誉卓著的 | |
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