The child who, in these not very impressive circumstances, appeared in the world, received but scant1 attention. There was small reason to foresee her destiny. The Duchess of Clarence, two months before, had given birth to a daughter, this infant, indeed, had died almost immediately; but it seemed highly probable that the Duchess would again become a mother; and so it actually fell out. More than this, the Duchess of Kent was young, and the Duke was strong; there was every likelihood that before long a brother would follow, to snatch her faint chance of the succession from the little princess.
Nevertheless, the Duke had other views: there were prophecies . . . At any rate, he would christen the child Elizabeth, a name of happy augury3. In this, however, he reckoned without the Regent, who, seeing a chance of annoying his brother, suddenly announced that he himself would be present at the baptism, and signified at the same time that one of the godfathers was to be the Emperor Alexander of Russia. And so when the ceremony took place, and the Archbishop of Canterbury asked by what name he was to baptise the child, the Regent replied “Alexandria.” At this the Duke ventured to suggest that another name might be added. “Certainly,” said the Regent; “Georgina?” “Or Elizabeth?” said the Duke. There was a pause, during which the Archbishop, with the baby in his lawn sleeves, looked with some uneasiness from one Prince to the other. “Very well, then,” said the Regent at last, “call her after her mother. But Alexandrina must come first.” Thus, to the disgust of her father, the child was christened Alexandrina Victoria.
The Duke had other subjects of disgust. The meagre grant of the Commons had by no means put an end to his financial distresses5. It was to be feared that his services were not appreciated by the nation. His debts continued to grow. For many years he had lived upon L7000 a year; but now his expenses were exactly doubled; he could make no further reductions; as it was, there was not a single servant in his meagre grant establishment who was idle for a moment from morning to night. He poured out his griefs in a long letter to Robert Owen, whose sympathy had the great merit of being practical. “I now candidly6 state,” he wrote, “that, after viewing the subject in every possible way, I am satisfied that, to continue to live in England, even in the quiet way in which we are going on, WITHOUT SPLENDOUR, and WITHOUT SHOW, NOTHING SHORT OF DOUBLING THE SEVEN THOUSAND POUNDS WILL DO, REDUCTION BEING IMPOSSIBLE.” It was clear that he would be obliged to sell his house for L51,300, if that failed, he would go and live on the Continent. “If my services are useful to my country, it surely becomes THOSE WHO HAVE THE POWER to support me in substantiating7 those just claims I have for the very extensive losses and privations I have experienced, during the very long period of my professional servitude in the Colonies; and if this is not attainable8, IT IS A CLEAR PROOF TO ME THAT THEY ARE THEY ARE NOT APPRECIATED; and under that impression I shall not scruple9, in DUE time, to resume my retirement10 abroad, when the Duchess and myself shall have fulfilled our duties in establishing the ENGLISH birth of my child, and giving it material nutriment on the soil of Old England; and which we shall certainly repeat, if Providence11 destines, to give us any further increase of family.”
In the meantime, he decided12 to spend the winter at Sidmouth, “in order,” he told Owen, “that the Duchess may have the benefit of tepid13 sea bathing, and our infant that of sea air, on the fine coast of Devonshire, during the months of the year that are so odious14 in London.” In December the move was made. With the new year, the Duke remembered another prophecy. In 1820, a fortune-teller had told him, two members of the Royal Family would die. Who would they be? He speculated on the various possibilities: The King, it was plain, could not live much longer; and the Duchess of York had been attacked by a mortal disease. Probably it would be the King and the Duchess of York; or perhaps the King and the Duke of York; or the King and the Regent. He himself was one of the healthiest men in England. “My brothers,” he declared, “are not so strong as I am; I have lived a regular life. I shall outlive them all. The crown will come to me and my children.” He went out for a walk, and got his feet wet. On coming home, he neglected to change his stockings. He caught cold, inflammation of the lungs set in, and on January 22 he was a dying man. By a curious chance, young Dr. Stockmar was staying in the house at the time; two years before, he had stood by the death-bed of the Princess Charlotte; and now he was watching the Duke of Kent in his agony. On Stockmar’s advice, a will was hastily prepared. The Duke’s earthly possessions were of a negative character; but it was important that the guardianship16 of the unwitting child, whose fortunes were now so strangely changing, should be assured to the Duchess. The Duke was just able to understand the document, and to append his signature. Having inquired whether his writing was perfectly17 clear, he became unconscious, and breathed his last on the following morning! Six days later came the fulfilment of the second half of the gipsy’s prophecy. The long, unhappy, and inglorious life of George the Third of England was ended.
ii
Such was the confusion of affairs at Sidmouth, that the Duchess found herself without the means of returning to London. Prince Leopold hurried down, and himself conducted his sister and her family, by slow and bitter stages, to Kensington. The widowed lady, in her voluminous blacks, needed all her equanimity18 to support her. Her prospects19 were more dubious20 than ever. She had L6000 a year of her own; but her husband’s debts loomed21 before her like a mountain. Soon she learnt that the Duchess of Clarence was once more expecting a child. What had she to look forward to in England? Why should she remain in a foreign country, among strangers, whose language she could not speak, whose customs she could not understand? Surely it would be best to return to Amorbach, and there, among her own people, bring up her daughters in economical obscurity. But she was an inveterate22 optimist23; she had spent her life in struggles, and would not be daunted24 now; and besides, she adored her baby. “C’est mon bonheur, mes delices, mon existence,” she declared; the darling should be brought up as an English princess, whatever lot awaited her. Prince Leopold came forward nobly with an offer of an additional L3000 a year; and the Duchess remained at Kensington.
The child herself was extremely fat, and bore a remarkable25 resemblance to her grandfather. “C’est l’image du feu Roi!” exclaimed the Duchess. “C’est le Roi Georges en jupons,” echoed the surrounding ladies, as the little creature waddled26 with difficulty from one to the other.
Before long, the world began to be slightly interested in the nursery at Kensington. When, early in 1821, the Duchess of Clarence’s second child, the Princess Elizabeth, died within three months of its birth, the interest increased. Great forces and fierce antagonisms27 seemed to be moving, obscurely, about the royal cradle. It was a time of faction28 and anger, of violent repression29 and profound discontent. A powerful movement, which had for long been checked by adverse30 circumstances, was now spreading throughout the country. New passions, new desires, were abroad; or rather old passions and old desires, reincarnated31 with a new potency32: love of freedom, hatred33 of injustice34, hope for the future of man. The mighty35 still sat proudly in their seats, dispensing36 their ancient tyranny; but a storm was gathering37 out of the darkness, and already there was lightning in the sky. But the vastest forces must needs operate through frail38 human instruments; and it seemed for many years as if the great cause of English liberalism hung upon the life of the little girl at Kensington. She alone stood between the country and her terrible uncle, the Duke of Cumberland, the hideous39 embodiment of reaction. Inevitably40, the Duchess of Kent threw in her lot with her husband’s party; Whig leaders, Radical41 agitators42, rallied round her; she was intimate with the bold Lord Durham, she was on friendly terms with the redoubtable43 O’Connell himself. She received Wilberforce-though, to be sure, she did not ask him to sit down. She declared in public that she put her faith in “the liberties of the People.” It was certain that the young Princess would be brought up in the way that she should go; yet there, close behind the throne, waiting, sinister44, was the Duke of Cumberland. Brougham, looking forward into the future in his scurrilous45 fashion, hinted at dreadful possibilities. “I never prayed so heartily46 for a Prince before,” he wrote, on hearing that George IV had been attacked by illness. “If he had gone, all the troubles of these villains47 (the Tory Ministers) went with him, and they had Fred. I (the Duke of York) their own man for his life. He (Fred. I) won’t live long either; that Prince of Blackguards, ‘Brother William,’ is as bad a life, so we come in the course of nature to be ASSASSINATED48 by King Ernest I or Regent Ernest (the Duke of Cumberland).” Such thoughts were not peculiar49 to Brougham; in the seething50 state of public feeling, they constantly leapt to the surface; and, even so late as the year previous to her accession, the Radical newspapers were full of suggestions that the Princess Victoria was in danger from the machinations of her wicked uncle.
But no echo of these conflicts and forebodings reached the little Drina — for so she was called in the family circle — as she played with her dolls, or scampered51 down the passages, or rode on the donkey her uncle York had given her along the avenues of Kensington Gardens The fair-haired, blue-eyed child was idolised by her nurses, and her mother’s ladies, and her sister Feodora; and for a few years there was danger, in spite of her mother’s strictness, of her being spoilt. From time to time, she would fly into a violent passion, stamp her little foot, and set everyone at defiance52; whatever they might say, she would not learn her letters — no, she WOULD NOT; afterwards, she was very sorry, and burst into tears; but her letters remained unlearnt. When she was five years old, however, a change came, with the appearance of Fraulein Lehzen. This lady, who was the daughter of a Hanoverian clergyman, and had previously53 been the Princess Feodora’s governess, soon succeeded in instilling54 a new spirit into her charge. At first, indeed, she was appalled55 by the little Princess’s outbursts of temper; never in her life, she declared, had she seen such a passionate56 and naughty child. Then she observed something else; the child was extraordinarily57 truthful58; whatever punishment might follow, she never told a lie. Firm, very firm, the new governess yet had the sense to see that all the firmness in the world would be useless, unless she could win her way into little Drina’s heart. She did so, and there were no more difficulties. Drina learnt her letters like an angel; and she learnt other things as well. The Baroness59 de Spath taught her how to make little board boxes and decorate them with tinsel and painted flowers; her mother taught her religion. Sitting in the pew every Sunday morning, the child of six was seen listening in rapt attention to the clergyman’s endless sermon, for she was to be examined upon it in the afternoon. The Duchess was determined60 that her daughter, from the earliest possible moment, should be prepared for her high station in a way that would commend itself to the most respectable; her good, plain, thrifty61 German mind recoiled62 with horror and amazement63 from the shameless junketings at Carlton House; Drina should never be allowed to forget for a moment the virtues64 of simplicity65, regularity66, propriety67, and devotion. The little girl, however, was really in small need of such lessons, for she was naturally simple and orderly, she was pious68 without difficulty, and her sense of propriety was keen. She understood very well the niceties of her own position. When, a child of six, Lady Jane Ellice was taken by her grandmother to Kensington Palace, she was put to play with the Princess Victoria, who was the same age as herself. The young visitor, ignorant of etiquette69, began to make free with the toys on the floor, in a way which was a little too familiar; but “You must not touch those,” she was quickly told, “they are mine; and I may call you Jane, but you must not call me Victoria.” The Princess’s most constant playmate was Victoire, the daughter of Sir John Conroy, the Duchess’s major-domo. The two girls were very fond of one another; they would walk hand in hand together in Kensington Gardens. But little Drina was perfectly aware for which of them it was that they were followed, at a respectful distance, by a gigantic scarlet70 flunkey.
Warm-hearted, responsive, she loved her dear Lehzen, and she loved her dear Feodora, and her dear Victoire, and her dear Madame de Spath. And her dear Mamma, of course, she loved her too; it was her duty; and yet — she could not tell why it was — she was always happier when she was staying with her Uncle Leopold at Claremont. There old Mrs. Louis, who, years ago, had waited on her Cousin Charlotte, petted her to her heart’s content; and her uncle himself was wonderfully kind to her, talking to her seriously and gently, almost as if she were a grown-up person. She and Feodora invariably wept when the too-short visit was over, and they were obliged to return to the dutiful monotony, and the affectionate supervision72 of Kensington. But sometimes when her mother had to stay at home, she was allowed to go out driving all alone with her dear Feodora and her dear Lehzen, and she could talk and look as she liked, and it was very delightful73.
The visits to Claremont were frequent enough; but one day, on a special occasion, she paid one of a rarer and more exciting kind. When she was seven years old, she and her mother and sister were asked by the King to go down to Windsor. George IV, who had transferred his fraternal ill-temper to his sister-in-law and her family, had at last grown tired of sulking, and decided to be agreeable. The old rip, bewigged and gouty, ornate and enormous, with his jewelled mistress by his side and his flaunting74 court about him, received the tiny creature who was one day to hold in those same halls a very different state. “Give me your little paw,” he said; and two ages touched. Next morning, driving in his phaeton with the Duchess of Gloucester, he met the Duchess of Kent and her child in the Park. “Pop her in,” were his orders, which, to the terror of the mother and the delight of the daughter, were immediately obeyed. Off they dashed to Virginia Water, where there was a great barge76, full of lords and ladies fishing, and another barge with a band; and the King ogled77 Feodora, and praised her manners, and then turned to his own small niece. “What is your favourite tune15? The band shall play it.” “God save the King, sir,” was the instant answer. The Princess’s reply has been praised as an early example of a tact78 which was afterwards famous. But she was a very truthful child, and perhaps it was her genuine opinion.
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In 1827 the Duke of York, who had found some consolation79 for the loss of his wife in the sympathy of the Duchess of Rutland, died, leaving behind him the unfinished immensity of Stafford House and L200,000 worth of debts. Three years later George IV also disappeared, and the Duke of Clarence reigned80 in his stead. The new Queen, it was now clear, would in all probability never again be a mother; the Princess Victoria, therefore, was recognised by Parliament as heir-presumptive; and the Duchess of Kent, whose annuity81 had been doubled five years previously, was now given an additional L10,000 for the maintenance of the Princess, and was appointed regent, in case of the death of the King before the majority of her daughter. At the same time a great convulsion took place in the constitution of the State. The power of the Tories, who had dominated England for more than forty years, suddenly began to crumble83. In the tremendous struggle that followed, it seemed for a moment as if the tradition of generations might be snapped, as if the blind tenacity84 of the reactionaries85 and the determined fury of their enemies could have no other issue than revolution. But the forces of compromise triumphed: the Reform Bill was passed. The centre of gravity in the constitution was shifted towards the middle classes; the Whigs came into power; and the complexion86 of the Government assumed a Liberal tinge87. One of the results of this new state of affairs was a change in the position of the Duchess of Kent and her daughter. From being the protegees of an opposition88 clique89, they became assets of the official majority of the nation. The Princess Victoria was henceforward the living symbol of the victory of the middle classes.
The Duke of Cumberland, on the other hand, suffered a corresponding eclipse: his claws had been pared by the Reform Act. He grew insignificant90 and almost harmless, though his ugliness remained; he was the wicked uncle still — but only of a story.
The Duchess’s own liberalism was not very profound. She followed naturally in the footsteps of her husband, repeating with conviction the catchwords of her husband’s clever friends and the generalisations of her clever brother Leopold. She herself had no pretensions91 to cleverness; she did not understand very much about the Poor Law and the Slave Trade and Political Economy; but she hoped that she did her duty; and she hoped — she ardently92 hoped — that the same might be said of Victoria. Her educational conceptions were those of Dr. Arnold, whose views were just then beginning to permeate93 society. Dr. Arnold’s object was, first and foremost, to make his pupils “in the highest and truest sense of the words, Christian94 gentlemen,” intellectual refinements95 might follow. The Duchess felt convinced that it was her supreme96 duty in life to make quite sure that her daughter should grow up into a Christian queen. To this task she bent97 all her energies; and, as the child developed, she flattered herself that her efforts were not unsuccessful. When the Princess was eleven, she desired the Bishops98 of London and Lincoln to submit her daughter to an examination, and report upon the progress that had been made. “I feel the time to be now come,” the Duchess explained, in a letter obviously drawn99 up by her own hand, “that what has been done should be put to some test, that if anything has been done in error of judgment100 it may be corrected, and that the plan for the future should be open to consideration and revision . . . I attend almost always myself every lesson, or a part; and as the lady about the Princess is a competent person, she assists Her in preparing Her lessons, for the various masters, as I resolved to act in that manner so as to be Her Governess myself. When she was at a proper age she commenced attending Divine Service regularly with me, and I have every feeling that she has religion at Her heart, that she is morally impressed with it to that degree, that she is less liable to error by its application to her feelings as a Child capable of reflection.” “The general bent of Her character,” added the Duchess, “is strength of intellect, capable of receiving with ease, information, and with a peculiar readiness in coming to a very just and benignant decision on any point Her opinion is asked on. Her adherence101 to truth is of so marked a character that I feel no apprehension102 of that Bulwark103 being broken down by any circumstances.” The Bishops attended at the Palace, and the result of their examination was all that could be wished. “In answering a great variety of questions proposed to her,” they reported, “the Princess displayed an accurate knowledge of the most important features of Scripture104 History, and of the leading truths and precepts105 of the Christian Religion as taught by the Church of England, as well as an acquaintance with the Chronology and principal facts of English History remarkable in so young a person. To questions in Geography, the use of the Globes, Arithmetic, and Latin Grammar, the answers which the Princess returned were equally satisfactory.” They did not believe that the Duchess’s plan of education was susceptible106 of any improvement; and the Archbishop of Canterbury, who was also consulted, came to the same gratifying conclusion.
One important step, however, remained to be taken. So far, as the Duchess explained to the Bishops, the Princess had been kept in ignorance of the station that she was likely to fill. “She is aware of its duties, and that a Sovereign should live for others; so that when Her innocent mind receives the impression of Her future fate, she receives it with a mind formed to be sensible of what is to be expected from Her, and it is to be hoped, she will be too well grounded in Her principles to be dazzled with the station she is to look to.” In the following year it was decided that she should be enlightened on this point. The well — known scene followed: the history lesson, the genealogical table of the Kings of England slipped beforehand by the governess into the book, the Princess’s surprise, her inquiries107, her final realisation of the facts. When the child at last understood, she was silent for a moment, and then she spoke108: “I will be good,” she said. The words were something more than a conventional protestation, something more than the expression of a superimposed desire; they were, in their limitation and their intensity109, their egotism and their humility110, an instinctive111 summary of the dominating qualities of a life. “I cried much on learning it,” her Majesty112 noted113 long afterwards. No doubt, while the others were present, even her dear Lehzen, the little girl kept up her self-command; and then crept away somewhere to ease her heart of an inward, unfamiliar114 agitation115, with a handkerchief, out of her mother’s sight.
But her mother’s sight was by no means an easy thing to escape. Morning and evening, day and night, there was no relaxation116 of the maternal117 vigilance. The child grew into the girl, the girl into the young woman; but still she slept in her mother’s bedroom; still she had no place allowed her where she might sit or work by herself. An extraordinary watchfulness118 surrounded her every step: up to the day of her accession, she never went downstairs without someone beside her holding her hand. Plainness and regularity ruled the household. The hours, the days, the years passed slowly and methodically by. The dolls — the innumerable dolls, each one so neatly119 dressed, each one with its name so punctiliously120 entered in the catalogue — were laid aside, and a little music and a little dancing took their place. Taglioni came, to give grace and dignity to the figure, and Lablache, to train the piping treble upon his own rich bass121. The Dean of Chester, the official preceptor, continued his endless instruction in Scripture history, while the Duchess of Northumberland, the official governess, presided over every lesson with becoming solemnity. Without doubt, the Princess’s main achievement during her school-days was linguistic122. German was naturally the first language with which she was familiar; but English and French quickly followed; and she became virtually trilingual, though her mastery of English grammar remained incomplete. At the same time, she acquired a working knowledge of Italian and some smattering of Latin. Nevertheless, she did not read very much. It was not an occupation that she cared for; partly, perhaps, because the books that were given her were all either sermons, which were very dull, or poetry, which was incomprehensible. Novels were strictly123 forbidden. Lord Durham persuaded her mother to get her some of Miss Martineau’s tales, illustrating124 the truths of Political Economy, and they delighted her; but it is to be feared that it was the unaccustomed pleasure of the story that filled her mind, and that she never really mastered the theory of exchanges or the nature of rent.
It was her misfortune that the mental atmosphere which surrounded her during these years of adolescence125 was almost entirely126 feminine. No father, no brother, was there to break in upon the gentle monotony of the daily round with impetuosity, with rudeness, with careless laughter and wafts127 of freedom from the outside world. The Princess was never called by a voice that was loud and growling128; never felt, as a matter of course, a hard rough cheek on her own soft one; never climbed a wall with a boy. The visits to Claremont — delicious little escapes into male society — came to an end when she was eleven years old and Prince Leopold left England to be King of the Belgians. She loved him still; he was still “il mio secondo padre or, rather, solo padre, for he is indeed like my real father, as I have none;” but his fatherliness now came to her dimly and indirectly129, through the cold channel of correspondence. Henceforward female duty, female elegance130, female enthusiasm, hemmed131 her completely in; and her spirit, amid the enclosing folds, was hardly reached by those two great influences, without which no growing life can truly prosper132 — humour and imagination. The Baroness Lehzen — for she had been raised to that rank in the Hanoverian nobility by George IV before he died — was the real centre of the Princess’s world. When Feodora married, when Uncle Leopold went to Belgium, the Baroness was left without a competitor. The Princess gave her mother her dutiful regards; but Lehzen had her heart. The voluble, shrewd daughter of the pastor133 in Hanover, lavishing134 her devotion on her royal charge, had reaped her reward in an unbounded confidence and a passionate adoration136. The girl would have gone through fire for her “PRECIOUS Lehzen,” the “best and truest friend,” she declared, that she had had since her birth. Her journal, begun when she was thirteen, where she registered day by day the small succession of her doings and her sentiments, bears on every page of it the traces of the Baroness and her circumambient influence. The young creature that one sees there, self-depicted in ingenuous137 clarity, with her sincerity138, her simplicity, her quick affections and pious resolutions, might almost have been the daughter of a German pastor herself. Her enjoyments140, her admirations, her engouements were of the kind that clothed themselves naturally in underlinings and exclamation142 marks. “It was a DELIGHTFUL ride. We cantered a good deal. SWEET LITTLE ROSY143 WENT BEAUTIFULLY!! We came home at a 1/4 past 1 . . . At 20 minutes to 7 we went out to the Opera . . . Rubini came on and sang a song out of ‘Anna Boulena’ QUITE BEAUTIFULLY. We came home at 1/2 past 11.” In her comments on her readings, the mind of the Baroness is clearly revealed. One day, by some mistake, she was allowed to take up a volume of memoirs144 by Fanny Kemble. “It is certainly very pertly and oddly written. One would imagine by the style that the authoress must be very pert, and not well bred; for there are so many vulgar expressions in it. It is a great pity that a person endowed with so much talent, as Mrs. Butler really is, should turn it to so little account and publish a book which is so full of trash and nonsense which can only do her harm. I stayed up till 20 minutes past 9.” Madame de Sevigne’s letters, which the Baroness read aloud, met with more approval. “How truly elegant and natural her style is! It is so full of naivete, cleverness, and grace.” But her highest admiration141 was reserved for the Bishop4 of Chester’s ‘Exposition of the Gospel of St. Matthew.’ “It is a very fine book indeed. Just the sort of one I like; which is just plain and comprehensible and full of truth and good feeling. It is not one of those learned books in which you have to cavil145 at almost every paragraph. Lehzen gave it me on the Sunday that I took the Sacrament.” A few weeks previously she had been confirmed, and she described the event as follows: “I felt that my confirmation146 was one of the most solemn and important events and acts in my life; and that I trusted that it might have a salutary effect on my mind. I felt deeply repentant147 for all what I had done which was wrong and trusted in God Almighty148 to strengthen my heart and mind; and to forsake149 all that is bad and follow all that is virtuous150 and right. I went with the firm determination to become a true Christian, to try and comfort my dear Mamma in all her griefs, trials, and anxieties, and to become a dutiful and affectionate daughter to her. Also to be obedient to DEAR Lehzen, who has done so much for me. I was dressed in a white lace dress, with a white crepe bonnet151 with a wreath of white roses round it. I went in the chariot with my dear Mamma and the others followed in another carriage.” One seems to hold in one’s hand a small smooth crystal pebble152, without a flaw and without a scintillation, and so transparent153 that one can see through it at a glance.
Yet perhaps, after all, to the discerning eye, the purity would not be absolute. The careful searcher might detect, in the virgin75 soil, the first faint traces of an unexpected vein154. In that conventual existence visits were exciting events; and, as the Duchess had many relatives, they were not infrequent; aunts and uncles would often appear from Germany, and cousins too. When the Princess was fourteen she was delighted by the arrival of a couple of boys from Wurtemberg, the Princes Alexander and Ernst, sons of her mother’s sister and the reigning155 duke. “They are both EXTREMELY TALL,” she noted, “Alexander is VERY HANDSOME, and Ernst has a VERY KIND EXPRESSION. They are both extremely AMIABLE156.” And their departure filled her with corresponding regrets. “We saw them get into the barge, and watched them sailing away for some time on the beach. They were so amiable and so pleasant to have in the house; they were ALWAYS SATISFIED, ALWAYS GOOD-HUMOURED; Alexander took such care of me in getting out of the boat, and rode next to me; so did Ernst.” Two years later, two other cousins arrived, the Princes Ferdinand and Augustus. “Dear Ferdinand,” the Princess wrote, “has elicited157 universal admiration from all parties . . . He is so very unaffected, and has such a very distinguished158 appearance and carriage. They are both very dear and charming young men. Augustus is very amiable, too, and, when known, shows much good sense.” On another occasion, “Dear Ferdinand came and sat near me and talked so dearly and sensibly. I do SO love him. Dear Augustus sat near me and talked with me, and he is also a dear good young man, and is very handsome.” She could not quite decide which was the handsomer of the two. “On the whole,” she concluded, “I think Ferdinand handsomer than Augustus, his eyes are so beautiful, and he has such a lively clever expression; BOTH have such a sweet expression; Ferdinand has something QUITE BEAUTIFUL in his expression when he speaks and smiles, and he is SO good.” However, it was perhaps best to say that they were “both very handsome and VERY DEAR.” But shortly afterwards two more cousins arrived, who threw all the rest into the shade. These were the Princes Ernest and Albert, sons of her mother’s eldest159 brother, the Duke of Saxe–Coburg. This time the Princess was more particular in her observations. “Ernest,” she remarked, “is as tall as Ferdinand and Augustus; he has dark hair, and fine dark eyes and eyebrows160, but the nose and mouth are not good; he has a most kind, honest, and intelligent expression in his countenance161, and has a very good figure. Albert, who is just as tall as Ernest but stouter162, is extremely handsome; his hair is about the same colour as mine; his eyes are large and blue, and he has a beautiful nose and a very sweet mouth with fine teeth; but the charm of his countenance is his expression, which is most delightful; c’est a la fois full of goodness and sweetness, and very clever and intelligent.” “Both my cousins,” she added, “are so kind and good; they are much more formes and men of the world than Augustus; they speak English very well, and I speak it with them. Ernest will be 18 years old on the 21st of June, and Albert 17 on the 26th of August. Dear Uncle Ernest made me the present of a most delightful Lory, which is so tame that it remains163 on your hand and you may put your finger into its beak164, or do anything with it, without its ever attempting to bite. It is larger than Mamma’s grey parrot.” A little later, “I sat between my dear cousins on the sofa and we looked at drawings. They both draw very well, particularly Albert, and are both exceedingly fond of music; they play very nicely on the piano. The more I see them the more I am delighted with them, and the more I love them . . . It is delightful to be with them; they are so fond of being occupied too; they are quite an example for any young person.” When, after a stay of three weeks, the time came for the young men and their father to return to Germany, the moment of parting was a melancholy165 one. “It was our last HAPPY HAPPY breakfast, with this dear Uncle and those DEAREST beloved cousins, whom I DO love so VERY VERY dearly; MUCH MORE DEARLY than any other cousins in the WORLD. Dearly as I love Ferdinand, and also good Augustus, I love Ernest and Albert MORE than them, oh yes, MUCH MORE . . . They have both learnt a good deal, and are very clever, naturally clever, particularly Albert, who is the most reflecting of the two, and they like very much talking about serious and instructive things and yet are so VERY VERY merry and gay and happy, like young people ought to be; Albert always used to have some fun and some clever witty166 answer at breakfast and everywhere; he used to play and fondle Dash so funnily too . . . Dearest Albert was playing on the piano when I came down. At 11 dear Uncle, my DEAREST BELOVED cousins, and Charles, left us, accompanied by Count Kolowrat. I embraced both my dearest cousins most warmly, as also my dear Uncle. I cried bitterly, very bitterly.” The Princes shared her ecstasies167 and her italics between them; but it is clear enough where her secret preference lay. “Particularly Albert!” She was just seventeen; and deep was the impression left upon that budding organism by the young man’s charm and goodness and accomplishments168, and his large blue eyes and beautiful nose, and his sweet mouth and fine teeth.
iv
King William could not away with his sister-in-law, and the Duchess fully71 returned his antipathy169. Without considerable tact and considerable forbearance their relative positions were well calculated to cause ill-feeling; and there was very little tact in the composition of the Duchess, and no forbearance at all in that of his Majesty. A bursting, bubbling old gentleman, with quarterdeck gestures, round rolling eyes, and a head like a pineapple, his sudden elevation170 to the throne after fifty-six years of utter insignificance171 had almost sent him crazy. His natural exuberance172 completely got the best of him; he rushed about doing preposterous173 things in an extraordinary manner, spreading amusement and terror in every direction, and talking all the time. His tongue was decidedly Hanoverian, with its repetitions, its catchwords —“That’s quite another thing! That’s quite another thing!”— its rattling174 indomitability, its loud indiscreetness. His speeches, made repeatedly at the most inopportune junctures175, and filled pell-mell with all the fancies and furies that happened at the moment to be whisking about in his head, were the consternation176 of Ministers. He was one part blackguard, people said, and three parts buffoon177; but those who knew him better could not help liking178 him — he meant well; and he was really good-humoured and kind-hearted, if you took him the right way. If you took him the wrong way, however, you must look out for squalls, as the Duchess of Kent discovered.
She had no notion of how to deal with him — could not understand him in the least. Occupied with her own position, her own responsibilities, her duty, and her daughter, she had no attention to spare for the peppery susceptibilities of a foolish, disreputable old man. She was the mother of the heiress of England; and it was for him to recognise the fact — to put her at once upon a proper footing — to give her the precedence of a dowager Princess of Wales, with a large annuity from the privy179 purse. It did not occur to her that such pretensions might be galling180 to a king who had no legitimate181 child of his own, and who yet had not altogether abandoned the hope of having one. She pressed on, with bulky vigour182, along the course she had laid out. Sir John Conroy, an Irishman with no judgment and a great deal of self-importance, was her intimate counsellor, and egged her on. It was advisable that Victoria should become acquainted with the various districts of England, and through several summers a succession of tours — in the West, in the Midlands, in Wales — were arranged for her. The intention of the plan was excellent, but its execution was unfortunate. The journeys, advertised in the Press, attracting enthusiastic crowds, and involving official receptions, took on the air of royal progresses. Addresses were presented by loyal citizens, the delighted Duchess, swelling183 in sweeping184 feathers and almost obliterating185 the diminutive186 Princess, read aloud, in her German accent, gracious replies prepared beforehand by Sir John, who, bustling187 and ridiculous, seemed to be mingling188 the roles of major-domo and Prime Minister. Naturally the King fumed189 over his newspaper at Windsor. “That woman is a nuisance!” he exclaimed. Poor Queen Adelaide, amiable though disappointed, did her best to smooth things down, changed the subject, and wrote affectionate letters to Victoria; but it was useless. News arrived that the Duchess of Kent, sailing in the Solent, had insisted that whenever her yacht appeared it should be received by royal salutes190 from all the men-of-war and all the forts. The King declared that these continual poppings must cease; the Premier191 and the First Lord of the Admiralty were consulted; and they wrote privately192 to the Duchess, begging her to waive193 her rights. But she would not hear of it; Sir John Conroy was adamant194. “As her Royal Highness’s CONFIDENTIAL195 ADVISER,” he said, “I cannot recommend her to give way on this point.” Eventually the King, in a great state of excitement, issued a special Order in Council, prohibiting the firing of royal salutes to any ships except those which carried the reigning sovereign or his consort196 on board.
When King William quarrelled with his Whig Ministers the situation grew still more embittered197, for now the Duchess, in addition to her other shortcomings, was the political partisan198 of his enemies. In 1836 he made an attempt to prepare the ground for a match between the Princess Victoria and one of the sons of the Prince of Orange, and at the same time did his best to prevent the visit of the young Coburg princes to Kensington. He failed in both these objects; and the only result of his efforts was to raise the anger of the King of the Belgians, who, forgetting for a moment his royal reserve, addressed an indignant letter on the subject to his niece. “I am really ASTONISHED,” he wrote, “at the conduct of your old Uncle the King; this invitation of the Prince of Orange and his sons, this forcing him on others, is very extraordinary . . . Not later than yesterday I got a half-official communication from England, insinuating199 that it would be HIGHLY desirable that the visit of YOUR relatives SHOULD NOT TAKE PLACE THIS YEAR— qu’en dites-vous? The relations of the Queen and the King, therefore, to the God-knows-what degree, are to come in shoals and rule the land, when YOUR RELATIONS are to be FORBIDDEN the country, and that when, as you know, the whole of your relations have ever been very dutiful and kind to the King. Really and truly I never heard or saw anything like it, and I hope it will a LITTLE ROUSE YOUR SPIRIT; now that slavery is even abolished in the British Colonies, I do not comprehend WHY YOUR LOT ALONE SHOULD BE TO BE KEPT A WHITE LITTLE SLAVEY IN ENGLAND, for the pleasure of the Court, who never bought you, as I am not aware of their ever having gone to any expense on that head, or the King’s ever having SPENT A SIXPENCE FOR YOUR EXISTENCE . . . Oh, consistency200 and political or OTHER HONESTY, where must one look for you!”
Shortly afterwards King Leopold came to England himself, and his reception was as cold at Windsor as it was warm at Kensington. “To hear dear Uncle speak on any subject,” the Princess wrote in her diary, “is like reading a highly instructive book; his conversation is so enlightened, so clear. He is universally admitted to be one of the first politicians now extant. He speaks so mildly, yet firmly and impartially201, about politics. Uncle tells me that Belgium is quite a pattern for its organisation202, its industry, and prosperity; the finances are in the greatest perfection. Uncle is so beloved and revered203 by his Belgian subjects, that it must be a great compensation for all his extreme trouble.” But her other uncle by no means shared her sentiments. He could not, he said, put up with a water-drinker; and King Leopold would touch no wine. “What’s that you’re drinking, sir?” he asked him one day at dinner. “Water, sir.” “God damn it, sir!” was the rejoinder. “Why don’t you drink wine? I never allow anybody to drink water at my table.”
It was clear that before very long there would be a great explosion; and in the hot days of August it came. The Duchess and the Princess had gone down to stay at Windsor for the King’s birthday party, and the King himself, who was in London for the day to prorogue204 Parliament, paid a visit at Kensington Palace in their absence. There he found that the Duchess had just appropriated, against his express orders, a suite205 of seventeen apartments for her own use. He was extremely angry, and, when he returned to Windsor, after greeting the Princess with affection, he publicly rebuked206 the Duchess for what she had done. But this was little to what followed. On the next day was the birthday banquet; there were a hundred guests; the Duchess of Kent sat on the King’s right hand, and the Princess Victoria opposite. At the end of the dinner, in reply to the toast of the King’s health, he rose, and, in a long, loud, passionate speech, poured out the vials of his wrath207 upon the Duchess. She had, he declared, insulted him — grossly and continually; she had kept the Princess away from him in the most improper208 manner; she was surrounded by evil advisers209, and was incompetent210 to act with propriety in the high station which she filled; but he would bear it no longer; he would have her to know he was King; he was determined that his authority should be respected; henceforward the Princess should attend at every Court function with the utmost regularity; and he hoped to God that his life might be spared for six months longer, so that the calamity211 of a regency might be avoided, and the functions of the Crown pass directly to the heiress-presumptive instead of into the hands of the “person now near him,” upon whose conduct and capacity no reliance whatever could be placed. The flood of vituperation rushed on for what seemed an interminable period, while the Queen blushed scarlet, the Princess burst into tears, and the hundred guests sat aghast. The Duchess said not a word until the tirade212 was over and the company had retired213; then in a tornado214 of rage and mortification215, she called for her carriage and announced her immediate2 return to Kensington. It was only with the utmost difficulty that some show of a reconciliation216 was patched up, and the outraged217 lady was prevailed upon to put off her departure till the morrow.
Her troubles, however, were not over when she had shaken the dust of Windsor from her feet. In her own household she was pursued by bitterness and vexation of spirit. The apartments at Kensington were seething with subdued218 disaffection, with jealousies219 and animosities virulently220 intensified221 by long years of propinquity and spite.
There was a deadly feud222 between Sir John Conroy and Baroness Lehzen. But that was not all. The Duchess had grown too fond of her Major–Domo. There were familiarities, and one day the Princess Victoria discovered the fact. She confided223 what she had seen to the Baroness, and to the Baroness’s beloved ally, Madame de Spath. Unfortunately, Madame de Spath could not hold her tongue, and was actually foolish enough to reprove the Duchess; whereupon she was instantly dismissed. It was not so easy to get rid of the Baroness. That lady, prudent224 and reserved, maintained an irreproachable225 demeanour. Her position was strongly entrenched226; she had managed to secure the support of the King; and Sir John found that he could do nothing against her. But henceforward the household was divided into two camps.1 The Duchess supported Sir John with all the abundance of her authority; but the Baroness, too, had an adherent227 who could not be neglected. The Princess Victoria said nothing, but she had been much attached to Madame de Spath, and she adored her Lehzen. The Duchess knew only too well that in this horrid228 embroilment229 her daughter was against her. Chagrin230, annoyance231, moral reprobation232, tossed her to and fro. She did her best to console herself with Sir John’s affectionate loquacity233, or with the sharp remarks of Lady Flora234 Hastings, one of her maids of honour, who had no love for the Baroness. The subject lent itself to satire235; for the pastor’s daughter, with all her airs of stiff superiority, had habits which betrayed her origin. Her passion for caraway seeds, for instance, was uncontrollable. Little bags of them came over to her from Hanover, and she sprinkled them on her bread and butter, her cabbage, and even her roast beef. Lady Flora could not resist a caustic236 observation; it was repeated to the Baroness, who pursed her lips in fury, and so the mischief237 grew.
1 Greville, IV, 21; and August 15, 1839 (unpublished). “The cause of the Queen’s alienation238 from the Duchess and hatred of Conroy, the Duke (of Wellington) said, was unquestionably owing to her having witnessed some familiarities between them. What she had seen she repeated to Baroness Spaeth, and Spaeth not only did not hold her tongue, but (he thinks) remonstrated239 with the Duchess herself on the subject. The consequence was that they got rid of Spaeth, and they would have got rid of Lehzen, too, if they had been able, but Lehzen, who knew very well what was going on, was prudent enough not to commit herself, and who was, besides, powerfully protected by George IV and William IV, so that they did not dare to attempt to expel her.”
V
The King had prayed that he might live till his niece was of age; and a few days before her eighteenth birthday — the date of her legal majority — a sudden attack of illness very nearly carried him off. He recovered, however, and the Princess was able to go through her birthday festivities — a state ball and a drawing-room — with unperturbed enjoyment139. “Count Zichy,” she noted in her diary, “is very good-looking in uniform, but not in plain clothes. Count Waldstein looks remarkably240 well in his pretty Hungarian uniform.” With the latter young gentleman she wished to dance, but there was an insurmountable difficulty. “He could not dance quadrilles, and, as in my station I unfortunately cannot valse and gallop241, I could not dance with him.” Her birthday present from the King was of a pleasing nature, but it led to a painful domestic scene. In spite of the anger of her Belgian uncle, she had remained upon good terms with her English one. He had always been very kind to her, and the fact that he had quarrelled with her mother did not appear to be a reason for disliking him. He was, she said, “odd, very odd and singular,” but “his intentions were often ill interpreted.” He now wrote her a letter, offering her an allowance of L10,000 a year, which he proposed should be at her own disposal, and independent of her mother. Lord Conyngham, the Lord Chamberlain, was instructed to deliver the letter into the Princess’s own hands. When he arrived at Kensington, he was ushered242 into the presence of the Duchess and the Princess, and, when he produced the letter, the Duchess put out her hand to take it. Lord Conyngham begged her Royal Highness’s pardon, and repeated the King’s commands. Thereupon the Duchess drew back, and the Princess took the letter. She immediately wrote to her uncle, accepting his kind proposal. The Duchess was much displeased243; L4000 a year, she said, would be quite enough for Victoria; as for the remaining L6000, it would be only proper that she should have that herself.
King William had thrown off his illness, and returned to his normal life. Once more the royal circle at Windsor — their Majesties244, the elder Princesses, and some unfortunate Ambassadress or Minister’s wife — might be seen ranged for hours round a mahogany table, while the Queen netted a purse, and the King slept, occasionally waking from his slumbers245 to observe “Exactly so, ma’am, exactly so!” But this recovery was of short duration. The old man suddenly collapsed246; with no specific symptoms besides an extreme weakness, he yet showed no power of rallying; and it was clear to everyone that his death was now close at hand.
All eyes, all thoughts, turned towards the Princess Victoria; but she still remained, shut away in the seclusion247 of Kensington, a small, unknown figure, lost in the large shadow of her mother’s domination. The preceding year had in fact been an important one in her development. The soft tendrils of her mind had for the first time begun to stretch out towards unchildish things. In this King Leopold encouraged her. After his return to Brussels, he had resumed his correspondance in a more serious strain; he discussed the details of foreign politics; he laid down the duties of kingship; he pointed82 out the iniquitous248 foolishness of the newspaper press. On the latter subject, indeed, he wrote with some asperity249. “If all the editors,” he said, “of the papers in the countries where the liberty of the press exists were to be assembled, we should have a crew to which you would NOT confide135 a dog that you would value, still less your honour and reputation.” On the functions of a monarch250, his views were unexceptionable. “The business of the highest in a State,” he wrote, “is certainly, in my opinion, to act with great impartiality251 and a spirit of justice for the good of all.” At the same time the Princess’s tastes were opening out. Though she was still passionately252 devoted253 to riding and dancing, she now began to have a genuine love of music as well, and to drink in the roulades and arias254 of the Italian opera with high enthusiasm. She even enjoyed reading poetry — at any rate, the poetry of Sir Walter Scott.
When King Leopold learnt that King William’s death was approaching, he wrote several long letters of excellent advice to his niece. “In every letter I shall write to you,” he said, “I mean to repeat to you, as a FUNDAMENTAL RULE, TO BE FIRM, AND COURAGEOUS255, AND HONEST, AS YOU HAVE BEEN TILL NOW.” For the rest, in the crisis that was approaching, she was not to be alarmed, but to trust in her “good natural sense and the TRUTH” of her character; she was to do nothing in a hurry; to hurt no one’s amour-propre, and to continue her confidence in the Whig administration! Not content with letters, however, King Leopold determined that the Princess should not lack personal guidance, and sent over to her aid the trusted friend whom, twenty years before, he had taken to his heart by the death-bed at Claremont. Thus, once again, as if in accordance with some preordained destiny, the figure of Stockmar is discernible — inevitably present at a momentous256 hour.
On June 18, the King was visibly sinking. The Archbishop of Canterbury was by his side, with all the comforts of the church. Nor did the holy words fall upon a rebellious257 spirit; for many years his Majesty had been a devout258 believer. “When I was a young man,” he once explained at a public banquet, “as well as I can remember, I believed in nothing but pleasure and folly259 — nothing at all. But when I went to sea, got into a gale260, and saw the wonders of the mighty deep, then I believed; and I have been a sincere Christian ever since.” It was the anniversary of the Battle of Waterloo, and the dying man remembered it. He should be glad to live, he said, over that day; he would never see another sunset. “I hope your Majesty may live to see many,” said Dr. Chambers261. “Oh! that’s quite another thing, that’s quite another thing,” was the answer. One other sunset he did live to see; and he died in the early hours of the following morning. It was on June 20, 1837.
When all was over, the Archbishop and the Lord Chamberlain ordered a carriage, and drove post-haste from Windsor to Kensington. They arrived at the Palace at five o’clock, and it was only with considerable difficulty that they gained admittance. At six the Duchess woke up her daughter, and told her that the Archbishop of Canterbury and Lord Conyngham were there, and wished to see her. She got out of bed, put on her dressing-gown, and went, alone, into the room where the messengers were standing262. Lord Conyngham fell on his knees, and officially announced the death of the King; the Archbishop added some personal details. Looking at the bending, murmuring dignitaries before her, she knew that she was Queen of England. “Since it has pleased Providence,” she wrote that day in her journal, “to place me in this station, I shall do my utmost to fulfil my duty towards my country; I am very young, and perhaps in many, though not in all things, inexperienced, but I am sure, that very few have more real good will and more real desire to do what is fit and right than I have.” But there was scant time for resolutions and reflections. At once, affairs were thick upon her. Stockmar came to breakfast, and gave some good advice. She wrote a letter to her uncle Leopold, and a hurried note to her sister Feodora. A letter came from the Prime Minister, Lord Melbourne, announcing his approaching arrival. He came at nine, in full court dress, and kissed her hand. She saw him alone, and repeated to him the lesson which, no doubt, the faithful Stockmar had taught her at breakfast. “It has long been my intention to retain your Lordship and the rest of the present Ministry263 at the head of affairs;” whereupon Lord Melbourne again kissed her hand and shortly after left her. She then wrote a letter of condolence to Queen Adelaide. At eleven, Lord Melbourne came again; and at half-past eleven she went downstairs into the red saloon to hold her first Council. The great assembly of lords and notables, bishops, generals, and Ministers of State, saw the doors thrown open and a very short, very slim girl in deep plain mourning come into the room alone and move forward to her seat with extraordinary dignity and grace; they saw a countenance, not beautiful, but prepossessing — fair hair, blue prominent eyes, a small curved nose, an open mouth revealing the upper teeth, a tiny chin, a clear complexion, and, over all, the strangely mingled signs of innocence, of gravity, of youth, and of composure; they heard a high unwavering voice reading aloud with perfect clarity; and then, the ceremony was over, they saw the sm
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scant
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| adj.不充分的，不足的；v.减缩，限制，忽略 | |
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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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augury
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| n.预言，征兆，占卦 | |
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bishop
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| n.主教，（国际象棋）象 | |
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distresses
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| n.悲痛( distress的名词复数 )；痛苦；贫困；危险 | |
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candidly
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| adv.坦率地，直率而诚恳地 | |
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substantiating
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| v.用事实支持（某主张、说法等），证明，证实( substantiate的现在分词 ) | |
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attainable
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| a.可达到的，可获得的 | |
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scruple
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| n./v.顾忌，迟疑 | |
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retirement
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| n.退休，退职 | |
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providence
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| n.深谋远虑，天道，天意；远见；节约；上帝 | |
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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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tepid
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| adj.微温的，温热的，不太热心的 | |
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odious
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| adj.可憎的，讨厌的 | |
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tune
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| n.调子；和谐，协调；v.调音，调节，调整 | |
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guardianship
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| n. 监护, 保护, 守护 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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equanimity
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| n.沉着，镇定 | |
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prospects
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| n.希望，前途(恒为复数) | |
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dubious
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| adj.怀疑的，无把握的；有问题的，靠不住的 | |
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loomed
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| v.隐约出现，阴森地逼近( loom的过去式和过去分词 )；隐约出现，阴森地逼近 | |
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inveterate
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| adj.积习已深的，根深蒂固的 | |
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optimist
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| n.乐观的人，乐观主义者 | |
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daunted
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| 使（某人）气馁，威吓( daunt的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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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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waddled
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| v.（像鸭子一样）摇摇摆摆地走( waddle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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antagonisms
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| 对抗，敌对( antagonism的名词复数 ) | |
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faction
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| n.宗派，小集团；派别；派系斗争 | |
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repression
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| n.镇压，抑制，抑压 | |
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adverse
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| adj.不利的；有害的；敌对的，不友好的 | |
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reincarnated
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| v.赋予新形体，使转世化身( reincarnate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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potency
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| n. 效力，潜能 | |
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hatred
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| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
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injustice
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| n.非正义，不公正，不公平，侵犯（别人的）权利 | |
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mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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dispensing
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| v.分配( dispense的现在分词 )；施与；配（药） | |
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gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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frail
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| adj.身体虚弱的；易损坏的 | |
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hideous
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| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
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inevitably
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| adv.不可避免地；必然发生地 | |
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radical
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| n.激进份子，原子团，根号；adj.根本的，激进的，彻底的 | |
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agitators
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| n.（尤指政治变革的）鼓动者( agitator的名词复数 )；煽动者；搅拌器；搅拌机 | |
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redoubtable
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| adj.可敬的；可怕的 | |
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sinister
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| adj.不吉利的，凶恶的，左边的 | |
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scurrilous
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| adj.下流的，恶意诽谤的 | |
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heartily
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| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
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villains
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| n.恶棍( villain的名词复数 )；罪犯；（小说、戏剧等中的）反面人物；淘气鬼 | |
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48
assassinated
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| v.暗杀( assassinate的过去式和过去分词 )；中伤；诋毁；破坏 | |
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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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seething
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| 沸腾的，火热的 | |
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51
scampered
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| v.蹦蹦跳跳地跑，惊惶奔跑( scamper的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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52
defiance
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| n.挑战，挑衅，蔑视，违抗 | |
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53
previously
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| adv.以前，先前（地） | |
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54
instilling
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| v.逐渐使某人获得（某种可取的品质），逐步灌输( instil的现在分词 )；逐渐使某人获得（某种可取的品质），逐步灌输( instill的现在分词 ) | |
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55
appalled
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| 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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56
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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57
extraordinarily
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| adv.格外地；极端地 | |
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58
truthful
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| adj.真实的，说实话的，诚实的 | |
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59
baroness
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| n.男爵夫人，女男爵 | |
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60
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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61
thrifty
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| adj.节俭的；兴旺的；健壮的 | |
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62
recoiled
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| v.畏缩( recoil的过去式和过去分词 )；退缩；报应；返回 | |
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63
amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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64
virtues
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| 美德( virtue的名词复数 )； 德行； 优点； 长处 | |
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65
simplicity
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| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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66
regularity
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| n.规律性，规则性；匀称，整齐 | |
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67
propriety
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| n.正当行为；正当；适当 | |
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68
pious
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|
| adj.虔诚的；道貌岸然的 | |
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69
etiquette
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|
| n.礼仪，礼节；规矩 | |
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70
scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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71
fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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72
supervision
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| n.监督，管理 | |
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73
delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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74
flaunting
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|
| adj.招摇的，扬扬得意的，夸耀的v.炫耀，夸耀( flaunt的现在分词 )；有什么能耐就施展出来 | |
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75
virgin
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|
| n.处女，未婚女子；adj.未经使用的；未经开发的 | |
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76
barge
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| n.平底载货船，驳船 | |
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77
ogled
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| v.（向…）抛媚眼，送秋波( ogle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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78
tact
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| n.机敏，圆滑，得体 | |
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79
consolation
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|
| n.安慰，慰问 | |
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80
reigned
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| vi.当政，统治（reign的过去式形式） | |
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81
annuity
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|
| n.年金；养老金 | |
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82
pointed
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|
| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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83
crumble
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|
| vi.碎裂，崩溃；vt.弄碎，摧毁 | |
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84
tenacity
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| n.坚韧 | |
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85
reactionaries
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|
| n.反动分子，反动派( reactionary的名词复数 ) | |
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86
complexion
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|
| n.肤色；情况，局面；气质，性格 | |
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87
tinge
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|
| vt.(较淡)着色于，染色；使带有…气息；n.淡淡色彩，些微的气息 | |
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88
opposition
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|
| n.反对，敌对 | |
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89
clique
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| n.朋党派系，小集团 | |
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90
insignificant
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|
| adj.无关紧要的，可忽略的，无意义的 | |
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91
pretensions
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| 自称( pretension的名词复数 )； 自命不凡； 要求； 权力 | |
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92
ardently
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| adv.热心地，热烈地 | |
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93
permeate
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|
| v.弥漫，遍布，散布；渗入，渗透 | |
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94
Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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95
refinements
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|
| n.（生活）风雅；精炼( refinement的名词复数 )；改良品；细微的改良；优雅或高贵的动作 | |
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96
supreme
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| adj.极度的，最重要的；至高的，最高的 | |
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97
bent
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|
| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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98
bishops
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| （基督教某些教派管辖大教区的）主教( bishop的名词复数 )； （国际象棋的）象 | |
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99
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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100
judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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101
adherence
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| n.信奉，依附，坚持，固着 | |
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102
apprehension
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| n.理解，领悟；逮捕，拘捕；忧虑 | |
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103
bulwark
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| n.堡垒，保障，防御 | |
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104
scripture
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| n.经文，圣书，手稿；Scripture:(常用复数)《圣经》，《圣经》中的一段 | |
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105
precepts
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|
| n.规诫，戒律，箴言( precept的名词复数 ) | |
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106
susceptible
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|
| adj.过敏的，敏感的；易动感情的，易受感动的 | |
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107
inquiries
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| n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 )；疑问；探究；打听 | |
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108
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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109
intensity
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|
| n.强烈，剧烈；强度；烈度 | |
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110
humility
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|
| n.谦逊，谦恭 | |
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111
instinctive
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|
| adj.(出于)本能的；直觉的；(出于)天性的 | |
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112
majesty
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|
| n.雄伟，壮丽，庄严，威严；最高权威，王权 | |
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113
noted
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|
| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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114
unfamiliar
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|
| adj.陌生的，不熟悉的 | |
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115
agitation
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| n.搅动；搅拌；鼓动，煽动 | |
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116
relaxation
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| n.松弛，放松；休息；消遣；娱乐 | |
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117
maternal
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|
| adj.母亲的，母亲般的，母系的，母方的 | |
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118
watchfulness
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| 警惕，留心； 警觉（性） | |
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119
neatly
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|
| adv.整洁地，干净地，灵巧地，熟练地 | |
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120
punctiliously
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121
bass
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| n.男低音(歌手)；低音乐器；低音大提琴 | |
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122
linguistic
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|
| adj.语言的，语言学的 | |
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123
strictly
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| adv.严厉地，严格地；严密地 | |
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124
illustrating
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| 给…加插图( illustrate的现在分词 )； 说明； 表明； （用示例、图画等）说明 | |
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125
adolescence
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| n.青春期，青少年 | |
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126
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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127
wafts
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| n.空中飘来的气味，一阵气味( waft的名词复数 )；摇转风扇v.吹送，飘送，（使）浮动( waft的第三人称单数 ) | |
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128
growling
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| n.吠声, 咆哮声 v.怒吠, 咆哮, 吼 | |
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129
indirectly
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| adv.间接地，不直接了当地 | |
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130
elegance
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| n.优雅；优美，雅致；精致，巧妙 | |
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131
hemmed
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| 缝…的褶边( hem的过去式和过去分词 )； 包围 | |
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132
prosper
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| v.成功，兴隆，昌盛；使成功，使昌隆，繁荣 | |
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133
pastor
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| n.牧师，牧人 | |
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134
lavishing
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| v.过分给予，滥施( lavish的现在分词 ) | |
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135
confide
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| v.向某人吐露秘密 | |
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136
adoration
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| n.爱慕，崇拜 | |
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137
ingenuous
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|
| adj.纯朴的，单纯的；天真的；坦率的 | |
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138
sincerity
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| n.真诚，诚意；真实 | |
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139
enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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140
enjoyments
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|
| 愉快( enjoyment的名词复数 )； 令人愉快的事物； 享有； 享受 | |
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141
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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142
exclamation
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| n.感叹号，惊呼，惊叹词 | |
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143
rosy
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| adj.美好的，乐观的，玫瑰色的 | |
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144
memoirs
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| n.回忆录；回忆录传( mem,自oir的名词复数) | |
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145
cavil
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| v.挑毛病，吹毛求疵 | |
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146
confirmation
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| n.证实，确认，批准 | |
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147
repentant
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| adj.对…感到悔恨的 | |
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148
almighty
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| adj.全能的，万能的；很大的，很强的 | |
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149
forsake
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| vt.遗弃，抛弃；舍弃，放弃 | |
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150
virtuous
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| adj.有品德的，善良的，贞洁的，有效力的 | |
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151
bonnet
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| n.无边女帽；童帽 | |
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152
pebble
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| n.卵石，小圆石 | |
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153
transparent
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| adj.明显的，无疑的；透明的 | |
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154
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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155
reigning
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| adj.统治的，起支配作用的 | |
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156
amiable
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| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
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157
elicited
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| 引出，探出( elicit的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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158
distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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159
eldest
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| adj.最年长的，最年老的 | |
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160
eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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161
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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162
stouter
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| 粗壮的( stout的比较级 )； 结实的； 坚固的； 坚定的 | |
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163
remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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164
beak
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| n.鸟嘴，茶壶嘴，钩形鼻 | |
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165
melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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166
witty
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| adj.机智的，风趣的 | |
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167
ecstasies
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| 狂喜( ecstasy的名词复数 )； 出神； 入迷； 迷幻药 | |
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168
accomplishments
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| n.造诣；完成( accomplishment的名词复数 )；技能；成绩；成就 | |
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169
antipathy
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| n.憎恶；反感，引起反感的人或事物 | |
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170
elevation
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| n.高度；海拔；高地；上升；提高 | |
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171
insignificance
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| n.不重要；无价值；无意义 | |
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172
exuberance
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| n.丰富；繁荣 | |
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173
preposterous
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| adj.荒谬的，可笑的 | |
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174
rattling
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|
| adj. 格格作响的, 活泼的, 很好的 adv. 极其, 很, 非常 动词rattle的现在分词 | |
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175
junctures
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| n.时刻，关键时刻( juncture的名词复数 )；接合点 | |
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176
consternation
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| n.大为吃惊，惊骇 | |
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177
buffoon
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| n.演出时的丑角 | |
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178
liking
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| n.爱好；嗜好；喜欢 | |
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179
privy
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| adj.私用的；隐密的 | |
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180
galling
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| adj.难堪的,使烦恼的,使焦躁的 | |
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181
legitimate
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| adj.合法的，合理的，合乎逻辑的；v.使合法 | |
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182
vigour
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| （=vigor）n.智力，体力，精力 | |
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183
swelling
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| n.肿胀 | |
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184
sweeping
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| adj.范围广大的，一扫无遗的 | |
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185
obliterating
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| v.除去( obliterate的现在分词 )；涂去；擦掉；彻底破坏或毁灭 | |
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186
diminutive
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| adj.小巧可爱的，小的 | |
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187
bustling
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| adj.喧闹的 | |
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188
mingling
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| adj.混合的 | |
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189
fumed
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| 愤怒( fume的过去式和过去分词 )； 大怒； 发怒； 冒烟 | |
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190
salutes
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| n.致敬，欢迎，敬礼( salute的名词复数 )v.欢迎，致敬( salute的第三人称单数 )；赞扬，赞颂 | |
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191
premier
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| adj.首要的；n.总理，首相 | |
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192
privately
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| adv.以私人的身份，悄悄地，私下地 | |
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193
waive
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| vt.放弃，不坚持(规定、要求、权力等) | |
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194
adamant
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| adj.坚硬的，固执的 | |
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195
confidential
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| adj.秘（机）密的，表示信任的，担任机密工作的 | |
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196
consort
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| v.相伴；结交 | |
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197
embittered
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| v.使怨恨，激怒( embitter的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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198
partisan
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| adj.党派性的；游击队的；n.游击队员；党徒 | |
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199
insinuating
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| adj.曲意巴结的，暗示的v.暗示( insinuate的现在分词 )；巧妙或迂回地潜入；（使）缓慢进入；慢慢伸入 | |
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200
consistency
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| n.一贯性，前后一致，稳定性；(液体的)浓度 | |
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201
impartially
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| adv.公平地，无私地 | |
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202
organisation
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| n.组织，安排，团体，有机休 | |
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203
revered
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| v.崇敬，尊崇，敬畏( revere的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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204
prorogue
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| v.使（会议）休会 | |
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205
suite
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| n.一套(家具)；套房；随从人员 | |
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206
rebuked
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| 责难或指责( rebuke的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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207
wrath
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| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
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208
improper
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| adj.不适当的，不合适的，不正确的，不合礼仪的 | |
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209
advisers
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| 顾问，劝告者( adviser的名词复数 )； （指导大学新生学科问题等的）指导教授 | |
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210
incompetent
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| adj.无能力的，不能胜任的 | |
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211
calamity
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| n.灾害，祸患，不幸事件 | |
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212
tirade
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| n.冗长的攻击性演说 | |
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213
retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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214
tornado
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| n.飓风，龙卷风 | |
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215
mortification
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| n.耻辱，屈辱 | |
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reconciliation
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| n.和解，和谐，一致 | |
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217
outraged
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| a.震惊的，义愤填膺的 | |
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subdued
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| adj. 屈服的，柔和的，减弱的 动词subdue的过去式和过去分词 | |
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jealousies
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| n.妒忌( jealousy的名词复数 )；妒羡 | |
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220
virulently
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| 恶毒地，狠毒地 | |
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221
intensified
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| v.（使）增强， （使）加剧( intensify的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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222
feud
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| n.长期不和；世仇；v.长期争斗；世代结仇 | |
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confided
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| 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） | |
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224
prudent
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| adj.谨慎的，有远见的，精打细算的 | |
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225
irreproachable
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| adj.不可指责的，无过失的 | |
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226
entrenched
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| adj.确立的，不容易改的(风俗习惯) | |
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227
adherent
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| n.信徒，追随者，拥护者 | |
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228
horrid
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| adj.可怕的；令人惊恐的；恐怖的；极讨厌的 | |
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229
embroilment
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| n.搅乱，纠纷 | |
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230
chagrin
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| n.懊恼；气愤；委屈 | |
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231
annoyance
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| n.恼怒，生气，烦恼 | |
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232
reprobation
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| n.斥责 | |
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233
loquacity
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| n.多话，饶舌 | |
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234
flora
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| n.(某一地区的)植物群 | |
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235
satire
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| n.讽刺，讽刺文学，讽刺作品 | |
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236
caustic
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| adj.刻薄的，腐蚀性的 | |
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237
mischief
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| n.损害，伤害，危害；恶作剧，捣蛋，胡闹 | |
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238
alienation
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| n.疏远；离间；异化 | |
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239
remonstrated
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| v.抗议( remonstrate的过去式和过去分词 )；告诫 | |
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240
remarkably
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| ad.不同寻常地，相当地 | |
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241
gallop
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| v./n.(马或骑马等)飞奔；飞速发展 | |
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242
ushered
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| v.引，领，陪同( usher的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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243
displeased
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| a.不快的 | |
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244
majesties
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| n.雄伟( majesty的名词复数 )；庄严；陛下；王权 | |
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245
slumbers
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| 睡眠，安眠( slumber的名词复数 ) | |
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246
collapsed
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| adj.倒塌的 | |
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247
seclusion
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| n.隐遁，隔离 | |
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248
iniquitous
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| adj.不公正的；邪恶的；高得出奇的 | |
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249
asperity
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| n.粗鲁，艰苦 | |
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250
monarch
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| n.帝王，君主，最高统治者 | |
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251
impartiality
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| n. 公平, 无私, 不偏 | |
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252
passionately
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| ad.热烈地，激烈地 | |
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253
devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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254
arias
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| n.咏叹调( aria的名词复数 ) | |
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255
courageous
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| adj.勇敢的，有胆量的 | |
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256
momentous
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| adj.重要的，重大的 | |
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257
rebellious
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| adj.造反的，反抗的，难控制的 | |
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258
devout
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| adj.虔诚的，虔敬的，衷心的 (n.devoutness) | |
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259
folly
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| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
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260
gale
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| n.大风，强风，一阵闹声（尤指笑声等） | |
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261
chambers
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| n.房间( chamber的名词复数 )；（议会的）议院；卧室；会议厅 | |
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262
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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263
ministry
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| n.(政府的)部；牧师 | |
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