Schneider was an old college friend of uncle Jacob’s, was a Benedictine monk3, and a man famous for his learning; as for me, I was at that time my uncle’s chorister, clerk, and sacristan; I swept the church, chanted the prayers with my shrill4 treble, and swung the great copper5 incense-pot on Sundays and feasts; and I toiled6 over the Fathers for the other days of the week.
The old gentleman said that my progress was prodigious7, and, without vanity, I believe he was right, for I then verily considered that praying was my vocation8, and not fighting, as I have found since.
You would hardly conceive (said the Captain, swearing a great oath) how devout9 and how learned I was in those days; I talked Latin faster than my own beautiful patois10 of Alsacian French; I could utterly11 overthrow12 in argument every Protestant (heretics we called them) parson in the neighborhood, and there was a confounded sprinkling of these unbelievers in our part of the country. I prayed half a dozen times a day; I fasted thrice in a week; and, as for penance13, I used to scourge14 my little sides, till they had no more feeling than a peg-top: such was the godly life I led at my uncle Jacob’s in the village of Steinbach.
Our family had long dwelt in this place, and a large farm and a pleasant house were then in the possession of another uncle — uncle Edward. He was the youngest of the three sons of my grandfather; but Jacob, the elder, had shown a decided15 vocation for the church, from, I believe, the age of three, and now was by no means tired of it at sixty. My father, who was to have inherited the paternal16 property, was, as I hear, a terrible scamp and scapegrace, quarrelled with his family, and disappeared altogether, living and dying at Paris; so far we knew through my mother, who came, poor woman, with me, a child of six months, on her bosom17, was refused all shelter by my grandfather, but was housed and kindly18 cared for by my good uncle Jacob.
Here she lived for about seven years, and the old gentleman, when she died, wept over her grave a great deal more than I did, who was then too young to mind anything but toys or sweetmeats.
During this time my grandfather was likewise carried off: he left, as I said, the property to his son Edward, with a small proviso in his will that something should be done for me, his grandson.
Edward was himself a widower19, with one daughter, Mary, about three years older than I, and certainly she was the dearest little treasure with which Providence20 ever blessed a miserly father; by the time she was fifteen, five farmers, three lawyers, twelve Protestant parsons, and a lieutenant21 of Dragoons had made her offers: it must not be denied that she was an heiress as well as a beauty, which, perhaps, had something to do with the love of these gentlemen. However, Mary declared that she intended to live single, turned away her lovers one after another, and devoted22 herself to the care of her father.
Uncle Jacob was as fond of her as he was of any saint or martyr23. As for me, at the mature age of twelve I had made a kind of divinity of her, and when we sang “Ave Maria” on Sundays I could not refrain from turning to her, where she knelt, blushing and praying and looking like an angel, as she was. Besides her beauty, Mary had a thousand good qualities; she could play better on the harpsichord24, she could dance more lightly, she could make better pickles25 and puddings, than any girl in Alsace; there was not a want or a fancy of the old hunks her father, or a wish of mine or my uncle’s, that she would not gratify if she could; as for herself, the sweet soul had neither wants nor wishes except to see us happy.
I could talk to you for a year of all the pretty kindnesses that she would do for me; how, when she found me of early mornings among my books, her presence “would cast a light upon the day;” how she used to smooth and fold my little surplice, and embroider26 me caps and gowns for high feast-days; how she used to bring flowers for the altar, and who could deck it so well as she? But sentiment does not come glibly27 from under a grizzled moustache, so I will drop it, if you please.
Amongst other favors she showed me, Mary used to be particularly fond of kissing me: it was a thing I did not so much value in those days, but I found that the more I grew alive to the extent of the benefit, the less she would condescend29 to confer it on me; till at last, when I was about fourteen, she discontinued it altogether, of her own wish at least; only sometimes I used to be rude, and take what she had now become so mighty31 unwilling32 to give.
I was engaged in a contest of this sort one day with Mary, when, just as I was about to carry off a kiss from her cheek, I was saluted33 with a staggering slap on my own, which was bestowed34 by uncle Edward, and sent me reeling some yards down the garden.
The old gentleman, whose tongue was generally as close as his purse, now poured forth35 a flood of eloquence36 which quite astonished me. I did not think that so much was to be said on any subject as he managed to utter on one, and that was abuse of me; he stamped, he swore, he screamed; and then, from complimenting me, he turned to Mary, and saluted her in a manner equally forcible and significant; she, who was very much frightened at the commencement of the scene, grew very angry at the coarse words he used, and the wicked motives37 he imputed38 to her.
“The child is but fourteen,” she said; “he is your own nephew, and a candidate for holy orders:— father, it is a shame that you should thus speak of me, your daughter, or of one of his holy profession.”
I did not particularly admire this speech myself, but it had an effect on my uncle, and was the cause of the words with which this history commences. The old gentleman persuaded his brother that I must be sent to Strasburg, and there kept until my studies for the church were concluded. I was furnished with a letter to my uncle’s old college chum, Professor Schneider, who was to instruct me in theology and Greek.
I was not sorry to see Strasburg, of the wonders of which I had heard so much; but felt very loth as the time drew near when I must quit my pretty cousin, and my good old uncle. Mary and I managed, however, a parting walk, in which a number of tender things were said on both sides. I am told that you Englishmen consider it cowardly to cry; as for me, I wept and roared incessantly39: when Mary squeezed me, for the last time, the tears came out of me as if I had been neither more nor less than a great wet sponge. My cousin’s eyes were stoically dry; her ladyship had a part to play, and it would have been wrong for her to be in love with a young chit of fourteen — so she carried herself with perfect coolness, as if there was nothing the matter. I should not have known that she cared for me, had it not been for a letter which she wrote me a month afterwards — THEN, nobody was by, and the consequence was that the letter was half washed away with her weeping; if she had used a watering-pot the thing could not have been better done.
Well, I arrived at Strasburg — a dismal40, old-fashioned, rickety town in those days — and straightway presented myself and letter at Schneider’s door; over it was written —
COMITé DE SALUT PUBLIC.
Would you believe it? I was so ignorant a young fellow, that I had no idea of the meaning of the words; however, I entered the citizen’s room without fear, and sat down in his ante-chamber41 until I could be admitted to see him.
Here I found very few indications of his reverence’s profession; the walls were hung round with portraits of Robespierre, Marat, and the like; a great bust42 of Mirabeau, mutilated, with the word Tra?tre underneath43; lists and republican proclamations, tobacco-pipes and fire-arms. At a deal-table, stained with grease and wine, sat a gentleman, with a huge pigtail dangling44 down to that part of his person which immediately succeeds his back, and a red nightcap, containing a TRICOLOR cockade as large as a pancake. He was smoking a short pipe, reading a little book, and sobbing45 as if his heart would break. Every now and then he would make brief remarks upon the personages or the incidents of his book, by which I could judge that he was a man of the very keenest sensibilities — “Ah, brigand46!” “O malheureuse!” “O Charlotte, Charlotte!” The work which this gentleman was perusing47 is called “The Sorrows of Werter;” it was all the rage, in those days, and my friend was only following the fashion. I asked him if I could see Father Schneider? he turned towards me a hideous48, pimpled49 face, which I dream of now at forty years’ distance.
“Father who?” said he. “Do you imagine that citizen Schneider has not thrown off the absurd mummery of priesthood? If you were a little older you would go to prison for calling him Father Schneider — many a man has died for less;” and he pointed50 to a picture of a guillotine, which was hanging in the room.
I was in amazement51.
“What is he? Is he not a teacher of Greek, an abbé, a monk, until monasteries52 were abolished, the learned editor of the songs of ‘Anacreon?’”
“He WAS all this,” replied my grim friend; “he is now a Member of the Committee of Public Safety, and would think no more of ordering your head off than of drinking this tumbler of beer.”
He swallowed, himself, the frothy liquid, and then proceeded to give me the history of the man to whom my uncle had sent me for instruction.
Schneider was born in 1756: was a student at Würzburg, and afterwards entered a convent, where he remained nine years. He here became distinguished53 for his learning and his talents as a preacher, and became chaplain to Duke Charles of Würtemberg. The doctrines54 of the Illuminati began about this time to spread in Germany, and Schneider speedily joined the sect55. He had been a professor of Greek at Cologne; and being compelled, on account of his irregularity, to give up his chair, he came to Strasburg at the commencement of the French Revolution, and acted for some time a principal part as a revolutionary agent at Strasburg.
[“Heaven knows what would have happened to me had I continued long under his tuition!” said the Captain. “I owe the preservation56 of my morals entirely57 to my entering the army. A man, sir, who is a soldier, has very little time to be wicked; except in the case of a siege and the sack of a town, when a little license58 can offend nobody.”]
By the time that my friend had concluded Schneider’s biography, we had grown tolerably intimate, and I imparted to him (with that experience so remarkable59 in youth) my whole history — my course of studies, my pleasant country life, the names and qualities of my dear relations, and my occupations in the vestry before religion was abolished by order of the Republic. In the course of my speech I recurred60 so often to the name of my cousin Mary, that the gentleman could not fail to perceive what a tender place she had in my heart.
Then we reverted61 to “The Sorrows of Werter,” and discussed the merits of that sublime62 performance. Although I had before felt some misgivings63 about my new acquaintance, my heart now quite yearned64 towards him. He talked about love and sentiment in a manner which made me recollect65 that I was in love myself; and you know that when a man is in that condition, his taste is not very refined, any maudlin66 trash of prose or verse appearing sublime to him, provided it correspond, in some degree, with his own situation.
“Candid youth!” cried my unknown, “I love to hear thy innocent story and look on thy guileless face. There is, alas67! so much of the contrary in this world, so much terror and crime and blood, that we who mingle68 with it are only too glad to forget it. Would that we could shake off our cares as men, and be boys, as thou art, again!”
Here my friend began to weep once more, and fondly shook my hand. I blessed my stars that I had, at the very outset of my career, met with one who was so likely to aid me. What a slanderous69 world it is, thought I; the people in our village call these Republicans wicked and bloody-minded; a lamb could not be more tender than this sentimental70 bottle-nosed gentleman! The worthy71 man then gave me to understand that he held a place under Government. I was busy in endeavoring to discover what his situation might be, when the door of the next apartment opened, and Schneider made his appearance.
At first he did not notice me, but he advanced to my new acquaintance, and gave him, to my astonishment72, something very like a blow.
“You drunken, talking fool,” he said, “you are always after your time. Fourteen people are cooling their heels yonder, waiting until you have finished your beer and your sentiment!”
My friend slunk muttering out of the room.
“That fellow,” said Schneider, turning to me, “is our public executioner: a capital hand too if he would but keep decent time; but the brute73 is always drunk, and blubbering over ‘The Sorrows of Werter!’”
I know not whether it was his old friendship for my uncle, or my proper merits, which won the heart of this the sternest ruffian of Robespierre’s crew; but certain it is, that he became strangely attached to me, and kept me constantly about his person. As for the priesthood and the Greek, they were of course very soon out of the question. The Austrians were on our frontier; every day brought us accounts of battles won; and the youth of Strasburg, and of all France, indeed, were bursting with military ardor74. As for me, I shared the general mania75, and speedily mounted a cockade as large as that of my friend, the executioner.
The occupations of this worthy were unremitting. Saint Just, who had come down from Paris to preside over our town, executed the laws and the aristocrats76 with terrible punctuality; and Schneider used to make country excursions in search of offenders78 with this fellow, as a provost-marshal, at his back. In the meantime, having entered my sixteenth year, and being a proper lad of my age, I had joined a regiment79 of cavalry80, and was scampering81 now after the Austrians who menaced us, and now threatening the Emigrés, who were banded at Coblentz. My love for my dear cousin increased as my whiskers grew; and when I was scarcely seventeen, I thought myself man enough to marry her, and to cut the throat of any one who should venture to say me nay82.
I need not tell you that during my absence at Strasburg, great changes had occurred in our little village, and somewhat of the revolutionary rage had penetrated83 even to that quiet and distant place. The hideous “Fête of the Supreme84 Being” had been celebrated85 at Paris; the practice of our ancient religion was forbidden; its professors were most of them in concealment86, or in exile, or had expiated87 on the scaffold their crime of Christianity. In our poor village my uncle’s church was closed, and he, himself, an inmate88 in my brother’s house, only owing his safety to his great popularity among his former flock, and the influence of Edward Ancel.
The latter had taken in the Revolution a somewhat prominent part; that is, he had engaged in many contracts for the army, attended the clubs regularly, corresponded with the authorities of his department, and was loud in his denunciations of the aristocrats in the neighborhood. But owing, perhaps, to the German origin of the peasantry, and their quiet and rustic89 lives, the revolutionary fury which prevailed in the cities had hardly reached the country people. The occasional visit of a commissary from Paris or Strasburg served to keep the flame alive, and to remind the rural swains of the existence of a Republic in France.
Now and then, when I could gain a week’s leave of absence, I returned to the village, and was received with tolerable politeness by my uncle, and with a warmer feeling by his daughter.
I won’t describe to you the progress of our love, or the wrath90 of my uncle Edward, when he discovered that it still continued. He swore and he stormed; he locked Mary into her chamber, and vowed91 that he would withdraw the allowance he made me, if ever I ventured near her. His daughter, he said, should never marry a hopeless, penniless subaltern; and Mary declared she would not marry without his consent. What had I to do? — to despair and to leave her. As for my poor uncle Jacob, he had no counsel to give me, and, indeed, no spirit left: his little church was turned into a stable, his surplice torn off his shoulders, and he was only too lucky in keeping HIS HEAD on them. A bright thought struck him: suppose you were to ask the advice of my old friend Schneider regarding this marriage? he has ever been your friend, and may help you now as before.
(Here the Captain paused a little.) You may fancy (continued he) that it was droll92 advice of a reverend gentleman like uncle Jacob to counsel me in this manner, and to bid me make friends with such a murderous cut-throat as Schneider; but we thought nothing of it in those days; guillotining was as common as dancing, and a man was only thought the better patriot93 the more severe he might be. I departed forthwith to Strasburg, and requested the vote and interest of the Citizen President of the Committee of Public Safety.
He heard me with a great deal of attention. I described to him most minutely the circumstance, expatiated94 upon the charms of my dear Mary, and painted her to him from head to foot. Her golden hair and her bright blushing cheeks, her slim waist and her tripping tiny feet; and furthermore, I added that she possessed95 a fortune which ought, by rights, to be mine, but for the miserly old father. “Curse him for an aristocrat77!” concluded I, in my wrath.
As I had been discoursing96 about Mary’s charms Schneider listened with much complacency and attention: when I spoke97 about her fortune, his interest redoubled; and when I called her father an aristocrat, the worthy ex-Jesuit gave a grin of satisfaction, which was really quite terrible. O fool that I was to trust him so far!
The very same evening an officer waited upon me with the following note from Saint Just:—
“STRASBURG, Fifth year of the Republic, one and indivisible, 11 Ventose.
“The citizen Pierre Ancel is to leave Strasburg within two hours, and to carry the enclosed despatches to the President of the Committee of Public Safety at Paris. The necessary leave of absence from his military duties has been provided. Instant punishment will follow the slightest delay on the road.
Salut et Fraternité.”
There was no choice but obedience98, and off I sped on my weary way to the capital.
As I was riding out of the Paris gate I met an equipage which I knew to be that of Schneider. The ruffian smiled at me as I passed, and wished me a bon voyage. Behind his chariot came a curious machine, or cart; a great basket, three stout99 poles, and several planks100, all painted red, were lying in this vehicle, on the top of which was seated my friend with the big cockade. It was the PORTABLE GUILLOTINE which Schneider always carried with him on his travels. The bourreau was reading “The Sorrows of Werter,” and looked as sentimental as usual.
I will not speak of my voyage in order to relate to you Schneider’s. My story had awakened101 the wretch102’s curiosity and avarice103, and he was determined104 that such a prize as I had shown my cousin to be should fall into no hands but his own. No sooner, in fact, had I quitted his room than he procured105 the order for my absence, and was on the way to Steinbach as I met him.
The journey is not a very long one; and on the next day my uncle Jacob was surprised by receiving a message that the citizen Schneider was in the village, and was coming to greet his old friend. Old Jacob was in an ecstasy106, for he longed to see his college acquaintance, and he hoped also that Schneider had come into that part of the country upon the marriage-business of your humble107 servant. Of course Mary was summoned to give her best dinner, and wear her best frock; and her father made ready to receive the new State dignitary.
Schneider’s carriage speedily rolled into the court-yard, and Schneider’s CART followed, as a matter of course. The ex-priest only entered the house; his companion remaining with the horses to dine in private. Here was a most touching108 meeting between him and Jacob. They talked over their old college pranks109 and successes; they capped Greek verses, and quoted ancient epigrams upon their tutors, who had been dead since the Seven Years’ War. Mary declared it was quite touching to listen to the merry friendly talk of these two old gentlemen.
After the conversation had continued for a time in this strain, Schneider drew up all of a sudden, and said quietly, that he had come on particular and unpleasant business — hinting about troublesome times, spies, evil reports, and so forth. Then he called uncle Edward aside, and had with him a long and earnest conversation: so Jacob went out and talked with Schneider’s FRIEND; they speedily became very intimate, for the ruffian detailed110 all the circumstances of his interview with me. When he returned into the house, some time after this pleasing colloquy111, he found the tone of the society strangely altered. Edward Ancel, pale as a sheet, trembling, and crying for mercy; poor Mary weeping; and Schneider pacing energetically about the apartment, raging about the rights of man, the punishment of traitors113, and the one and indivisible republic.
“Jacob,” he said, as my uncle entered the room, “I was willing, for the sake of our old friendship, to forget the crimes of your brother. He is a known and dangerous aristocrat; he holds communications with the enemy on the frontier; he is a possessor of great and ill-gotten wealth, of which he has plundered114 the Republic. Do you know,” said he, turning to Edward Ancel, “where the least of these crimes, or the mere115 suspicion of them, would lead you?”
Poor Edward sat trembling in his chair, and answered not a word. He knew full well how quickly, in this dreadful time, punishment followed suspicion; and, though guiltless of all treason with the enemy, perhaps he was aware that, in certain contracts with the Government, he had taken to himself a more than patriotic116 share of profit.
“Do you know,” resumed Schneider, in a voice of thunder, “for what purpose I came hither, and by whom I am accompanied? I am the administrator117 of the justice of the Republic. The life of yourself and your family is in my hands: yonder man, who follows me, is the executor of the law; he has rid the nation of hundreds of wretches118 like yourself. A single word from me, and your doom119 is sealed without hope, and your last hour is come. Ho! Gregoire!” shouted he; “is all ready?”
Gregoire replied from the court, “I can put up the machine in half an hour. Shall I go down to the village and call the troops and the law people?”
“Do you hear him?” said Schneider. “The guillotine is in the court-yard; your name is on my list, and I have witnesses to prove your crime. Have you a word in your defence?”
Not a word came; the old gentleman was dumb; but his daughter, who did not give way to his terror, spoke for him.
“You cannot, sir,” said she, “although you say it, FEEL that my father is guilty; you would not have entered our house thus alone if you had thought it. You threaten him in this manner because you have something to ask and to gain from us: what is it, citizen? — tell us how much you value our lives, and what sum we are to pay for our ransom120?”
“Sum!” said uncle Jacob; “he does not want money of us: my old friend, my college chum, does not come hither to drive bargains with anybody belonging to Jacob Ancel?”
“Oh, no, sir, no, you can’t want money of us,” shrieked121 Edward; “we are the poorest people of the village: ruined, Monsieur Schneider, ruined in the cause of the Republic.”
“Silence, father,” said my brave Mary; “this man wants a PRICE: he comes, with his worthy friend yonder, to frighten us, not to kill us. If we die, he cannot touch a sou of our money; it is confiscated122 to the State. Tell us, sir, what is the price of our safety?”
Schneider smiled, and bowed with perfect politeness.
“Mademoiselle Marie,” he said, “is perfectly123 correct in her surmise124. I do not want the life of this poor drivelling old man: my intentions are much more peaceable, be assured. It rests entirely with this accomplished125 young lady (whose spirit I like, and whose ready wit I admire), whether the business between us shall be a matter of love or death. I humbly126 offer myself, citizen Ancel, as a candidate for the hand of your charming daughter. Her goodness, her beauty, and the large fortune which I know you intend to give her, would render her a desirable match for the proudest man in the republic, and, I am sure, would make me the happiest.”
“This must be a jest, Monsieur Schneider,” said Mary, trembling, and turning deadly pale: “you cannot mean this; you do not know me: you never heard of me until today.”
“Pardon me, belle127 dame,” replied he; “your cousin Pierre has often talked to me of your virtues128; indeed, it was by his special suggestion that I made the visit.”
“It is false! — it is a base and cowardly lie!” exclaimed she (for the young lady’s courage was up) — “Pierre never could have forgotten himself and me so as to offer me to one like you. You come here with a lie on your lips — a lie against my father, to swear his life away, against my dear cousin’s honor and love. It is useless now to deny it: father, I love Pierre Ancel; I will marry no other but him — no, though our last penny were paid to this man as the price of our freedom.”
Schneider’s only reply to this was a call to his friend Gregoire.
“Send down to the village for the maire and some gendarmes129; and tell your people to make ready.”
“Shall I put THE MACHINE up?” shouted he of the sentimental turn.
“You hear him,” said Schneider; “Marie Ancel, you may decide the fate of your father. I shall return in a few hours,” concluded he, “and will then beg to know your decision.”
The advocate of the rights of man then left the apartment, and left the family, as you may imagine, in no very pleasant mood.
Old uncle Jacob, during the few minutes which had elapsed in the enactment130 of this strange scene, sat staring wildly at Schneider, and holding Mary on his knees: the poor little thing had fled to him for protection, and not to her father, who was kneeling almost senseless at the window, gazing at the executioner and his hideous preparations. The instinct of the poor girl had not failed her; she knew that Jacob was her only protector, if not of her life — heaven bless him! — of her honor. “Indeed,” the old man said, in a stout voice, “this must never be, my dearest child — you must not marry this man. If it be the will of Providence that we fall, we shall have at least the thought to console us that we die innocent. Any man in France at a time like this, would be a coward and traitor112 if he feared to meet the fate of the thousand brave and good who have preceded us.”
“Who speaks of dying?” said Edward. “You, Brother Jacob? — you would not lay that poor girl’s head on the scaffold, or mine, your dear brother’s. You will not let us die, Mary; you will not, for a small sacrifice, bring your poor old father into danger?”
Mary made no answer. “Perhaps,” she said, “there is time for escape: he is to be here but in two hours; in two hours we may be safe, in concealment, or on the frontier.” And she rushed to the door of the chamber, as if she would have instantly made the attempt: two gendarmes were at the door. “We have orders, Mademoiselle,” they said, “to allow no one to leave this apartment until the return of the citizen Schneider.”
Alas! all hope of escape was impossible. Mary became quite silent for a while; she would not speak to uncle Jacob; and, in reply to her father’s eager questions, she only replied, coldly, that she would answer Schneider when he arrived.
The two dreadful hours passed away only too quickly; and, punctual to his appointment, the ex-monk appeared. Directly he entered, Mary advanced to him, and said, calmly —
“Sir, I could not deceive you if I said that I freely accepted the offer which you have made me. I will be your wife; but I tell you that I love another; and that it is only to save the lives of those two old men that I yield my person up to you.”
Schneider bowed, and said —
“It is bravely spoken. I like your candor131 — your beauty. As for the love, excuse me for saying that is a matter of total indifference132. I have no doubt, however, that it will come as soon as your feelings in favor of the young gentleman, your cousin, have lost their present fervor133. That engaging young man has, at present, another mistress — Glory. He occupies, I believe, the distinguished post of corporal in a regiment which is about to march to — Perpignan, I believe.”
It was, in fact, Monsieur Schneider’s polite intention to banish134 me as far as possible from the place of my birth; and he had, accordingly, selected the Spanish frontier as the spot where I was to display my future military talents.
Mary gave no answer to this sneer135: she seemed perfectly resigned and calm: she only said —
“I must make, however, some conditions regarding our proposed marriage, which a gentleman of Monsieur Schneider’s gallantry cannot refuse.”
“Pray command me,” replied the husband elect. “Fair lady, you know I am your slave.”
“You occupy a distinguished political rank, citizen representative,” said she; “and we in our village are likewise known and beloved. I should be ashamed, I confess, to wed28 you here; for our people would wonder at the sudden marriage, and imply that it was only by compulsion that I gave you my hand. Let us, then, perform this ceremony at Strasburg, before the public authorities of the city, with the state and solemnity which befits the marriage of one of the chief men of the Republic.”
“Be it so, madam,” he answered, and gallantly136 proceeded to embrace his bride.
Mary did not shrink from this ruffian’s kiss; nor did she reply when poor old Jacob, who sat sobbing in a corner, burst out, and said —
“O Mary, Mary, I did not think this of thee!”
“Silence, brother!” hastily said Edward; “my good son-inlaw will pardon your ill-humor.”
I believe uncle Edward in his heart was pleased at the notion of the marriage; he only cared for money and rank, and was little scrupulous137 as to the means of obtaining them.
The matter then was finally arranged; and presently, after Schneider had transacted138 the affairs which brought him into that part of the country, the happy bridal party set forward for Strasburg. Uncles Jacob and Edward occupied the back seat of the old family carriage, and the young bride and bridegroom (he was nearly Jacob’s age) were seated majestically139 in front. Mary has often since talked to me of this dreadful journey. She said she wondered at the scrupulous politeness of Schneider during the route; nay, that at another period she could have listened to and admired the singular talent of this man, his great learning, his fancy, and wit; but her mind was bent140 upon other things, and the poor girl firmly thought that her last day was come.
In the meantime, by a blessed chance, I had not ridden three leagues from Strasburg, when the officer of a passing troop of a cavalry regiment, looking at the beast on which I was mounted, was pleased to take a fancy to it, and ordered me, in an authoritative141 tone, to descend30, and to give up my steed for the benefit of the Republic. I represented to him, in vain, that I was a soldier, like himself, and the bearer of despatches to Paris. “Fool!” he said; “do you think they would send despatches by a man who can ride at best but ten leagues a day?” And the honest soldier was so wroth at my supposed duplicity, that he not only confiscated my horse, but my saddle, and the little portmanteau which contained the chief part of my worldly goods and treasure. I had nothing for it but to dismount, and take my way on foot back again to Strasburg. I arrived there in the evening, determining the next morning to make my case known to the citizen St. Just; and though I made my entry without a sou, I don’t know what secret exultation142 I felt at again being able to return.
The ante-chamber of such a great man as St. Just was, in those days, too crowded for an unprotected boy to obtain an early audience; two days passed before I could obtain a sight of the friend of Robespierre. On the third day, as I was still waiting for the interview, I heard a great bustle143 in the courtyard of the house, and looked out with many others at the spectacle.
A number of men and women, singing epithalamiums, and dressed in some absurd imitation of Roman costume, a troop of soldiers and gendarmerie, and an immense crowd of the badauds of Strasburg, were surrounding a carriage which then entered the court of the mayoralty. In this carriage, great God! I saw my dear Mary, and Schneider by her side. The truth instantly came upon me: the reason for Schneider’s keen inquiries144 and my abrupt145 dismissal; but I could not believe that Mary was false to me. I had only to look in her face, white and rigid146 as marble, to see that this proposed marriage was not with her consent.
I fell back in the crowd as the procession entered the great room in which I was, and hid my face in my hands: I could not look upon her as the wife of another — upon her so long loved and truly — the saint of my childhood — the pride and hope of my youth — torn from me for ever, and delivered over to the unholy arms of the murderer who stood before me.
The door of St. Just’s private apartment opened, and he took his seat at the table of mayoralty just as Schneider and his cortège arrived before it.
Schneider then said that he came in before the authorities of the Republic to espouse147 the citoyenne Marie Ancel.
“Is she a minor148?” asked St. Just.
“She is a minor, but her father is here to give her away.”
“I am here,” said uncle Edward, coming eagerly forward and bowing. “Edward Ancel, so please you, citizen representative. The worthy citizen Schneider has done me the honor of marrying into my family.”
“But my father has not told you the terms of the marriage,” said Mary, interrupting him, in a loud, clear voice.
Here Schneider seized her hand, and endeavored to prevent her from speaking. Her father turned pale, and cried, “Stop, Mary, stop! For heaven’s sake, remember your poor old father’s danger!”
“Sir, may I speak?”
“Let the young woman speak,” said St. Just, “if she have a desire to talk.” He did not suspect what would be the purport149 of her story.
“Sir,” she said, “two days since the citizen Schneider entered for the first time our house; and you will fancy that it must be a love of very sudden growth which has brought either him or me before you today. He had heard from a person who is now unhappily not present, of my name and of the wealth which my family was said to possess; and hence arose this mad design concerning me. He came into our village with supreme power, an executioner at his heels, and the soldiery and authorities of the district entirely under his orders. He threatened my father with death if he refused to give up his daughter; and I, who knew that there was no chance of escape, except here before you, consented to become his wife. My father I know to be innocent, for all his transactions with the State have passed through my hands. Citizen representative, I demand to be freed from this marriage; and I charge Schneider as a traitor to the Republic, as a man who would have murdered an innocent citizen for the sake of private gain.”
During the delivery of this little speech, uncle Jacob had been sobbing and panting like a broken-winded horse; and when Mary had done, he rushed up to her and kissed her, and held her tight in his arms. “Bless thee, my child!” he cried, “for having had the courage to speak the truth, and shame thy old father and me, who dared not say a word.”
“The girl amazes me,” said Schneider, with a look of astonishment. “I never saw her, it is true, till yesterday; but I used no force: her father gave her to me with his free consent, and she yielded as gladly. Speak, Edward Ancel, was it not so?”
“It was, indeed, by my free consent,” said Edward, trembling.
“For shame, brother!” cried old Jacob. “Sir, it was by Edward’s free consent and my niece’s; but the guillotine was in the court-yard! Question Schneider’s famulus, the man Gregoire, him who reads ‘The Sorrows of Werter.’”
Gregoire stepped forward, and looked hesitatingly at Schneider, as he said, “I know not what took place within doors; but I was ordered to put up the scaffold without; and I was told to get soldiers, and let no one leave the house.”
“Citizen St. Just,” cried Schneider, “you will not allow the testimony150 of a ruffian like this, of a foolish girl, and a mad ex-priest, to weigh against the word of one who has done such service to the Republic: it is a base conspiracy151 to betray me; the whole family is known to favor the interest of the émigrés.”
“And therefore you would marry a member of the family, and allow the others to escape; you must make a better defence, citizen Schneider,” said St. Just, sternly.
Here I came forward, and said that, three days since, I had received an order to quit Strasburg for Paris immediately after a conversation with Schneider, in which I had asked him his aid in promoting my marriage with my cousin, Mary Ancel; that he had heard from me full accounts regarding her father’s wealth; and that he had abruptly152 caused my dismissal, in order to carry on his scheme against her.
“You are in the uniform of a regiment of this town; who sent you from it?” said St. Just.
I produced the order, signed by himself, and the despatches which Schneider had sent me.
“The signature is mine, but the despatches did not come from my office. Can you prove in any way your conversation with Schneider?”
“Why,” said my sentimental friend Gregoire, “for the matter of that, I can answer that the lad was always talking about this young woman: he told me the whole story himself, and many a good laugh I had with citizen Schneider as we talked about it.”
“The charge against Edward Ancel must be examined into,” said St. Just. “The marriage cannot take place. But if I had ratified153 it, Mary Ancel, what then would have been your course?”
Mary felt for a moment in her bosom, and said —“He would have died to-night — I would have stabbed him with this dagger154.”4
4 This reply, and, indeed, the whole of the story, is historical. An account, by Charles Nodier, in the Revue de Paris, suggested it to the writer.
The rain was beating down the streets, and yet they were thronged155; all the world was hastening to the market-place, where the worthy Gregoire was about to perform some of the pleasant duties of his office. On this occasion, it was not death that he was to inflict156; he was only to expose a criminal who was to be sent on afterwards to Paris. St. Just had ordered that Schneider should stand for six hours in the public place of Strasburg, and then be sent on to the capital to be dealt with as the authorities might think fit.
The people followed with execrations the villain157 to his place of punishment; and Gregoire grinned as he fixed158 up to the post the man whose orders he had obeyed so often — who had delivered over to disgrace and punishment so many who merited it not.
Schneider was left for several hours exposed to the mockery and insults of the mob; he was then, according to his sentence, marched on to Paris, where it is probable that he would have escaped death, but for his own fault. He was left for some time in prison, quite unnoticed, perhaps forgotten: day by day fresh victims were carried to the scaffold, and yet the Alsacian tribune remained alive; at last, by the mediation159 of one of his friends, a long petition was presented to Robespierre, stating his services and his innocence160, and demanding his freedom. The reply to this was an order for his instant execution: the wretch died in the last days of Robespierre’s reign161. His comrade, St. Just, followed him, as you know; but Edward Ancel had been released before this, for the action of my brave Mary had created a strong feeling in his favor.
“And Mary?” said I.
Here a stout and smiling old lady entered the Captain’s little room: she was leaning on the arm of a military-looking man of some forty years, and followed by a number of noisy, rosy162 children.
“This is Mary Ancel,” said the Captain, “and I am Captain Pierre, and yonder is the Colonel, my son; and you see us here assembled in force, for it is the fête of little Jacob yonder, whose brothers and sisters have all come from their schools to dance at his birthday.”
点击
收听单词发音
收听单词发音 |
1
ordained
|
|
| v.任命（某人）为牧师( ordain的过去式和过去分词 )；授予（某人）圣职；（上帝、法律等）命令；判定 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
ministry
|
|
| n.(政府的)部；牧师 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
monk
|
|
| n.和尚，僧侣，修道士 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
shrill
|
|
| adj.尖声的；刺耳的；v尖叫 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
copper
|
|
| n.铜；铜币；铜器；adj.铜(制)的；(紫)铜色的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
toiled
|
|
| 长时间或辛苦地工作( toil的过去式和过去分词 )； 艰难缓慢地移动，跋涉 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
prodigious
|
|
| adj.惊人的，奇妙的；异常的；巨大的；庞大的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
vocation
|
|
| n.职业，行业 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
devout
|
|
| adj.虔诚的，虔敬的，衷心的 (n.devoutness) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
patois
|
|
| n.方言；混合语 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
utterly
|
|
| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
overthrow
|
|
| v.推翻，打倒，颠覆；n.推翻，瓦解，颠覆 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
penance
|
|
| n.（赎罪的）惩罪 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
scourge
|
|
| n.灾难，祸害；v.蹂躏 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
decided
|
|
| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
paternal
|
|
| adj.父亲的，像父亲的，父系的，父方的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
bosom
|
|
| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
kindly
|
|
| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
widower
|
|
| n.鳏夫 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
providence
|
|
| n.深谋远虑，天道，天意；远见；节约；上帝 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
lieutenant
|
|
| n.陆军中尉，海军上尉；代理官员，副职官员 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
devoted
|
|
| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
martyr
|
|
| n.烈士，殉难者；vt.杀害，折磨，牺牲 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
harpsichord
|
|
| n.键琴（钢琴前身） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
pickles
|
|
| n.腌菜( pickle的名词复数 )；处于困境；遇到麻烦；菜酱 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
embroider
|
|
| v.刺绣于(布)上；给…添枝加叶，润饰 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
glibly
|
|
| adv.流利地，流畅地；满口 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
wed
|
|
| v.娶，嫁，与…结婚 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
condescend
|
|
| v.俯就，屈尊；堕落，丢丑 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
descend
|
|
| vt./vi.传下来，下来，下降 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
mighty
|
|
| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
unwilling
|
|
| adj.不情愿的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
saluted
|
|
| v.欢迎，致敬( salute的过去式和过去分词 )；赞扬，赞颂 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
bestowed
|
|
| 赠给，授予( bestow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
forth
|
|
| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
eloquence
|
|
| n.雄辩；口才，修辞 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
motives
|
|
| n.动机，目的( motive的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
imputed
|
|
| v.把（错误等）归咎于( impute的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
incessantly
|
|
| ad.不停地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
dismal
|
|
| adj.阴沉的，凄凉的，令人忧郁的，差劲的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
chamber
|
|
| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
bust
|
|
| vt.打破；vi.爆裂；n.半身像；胸部 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
underneath
|
|
| adj.在...下面，在...底下；adv.在下面 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
dangling
|
|
| 悬吊着( dangle的现在分词 )； 摆动不定； 用某事物诱惑…； 吊胃口 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
sobbing
|
|
| <主方>Ⅰ adj.湿透的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
brigand
|
|
| n.土匪，强盗 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
perusing
|
|
| v.读（某篇文字）( peruse的现在分词 )；（尤指）细阅；审阅；匆匆读或心不在焉地浏览（某篇文字） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
hideous
|
|
| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
pimpled
|
|
| adj.有丘疹的，多粉刺的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
pointed
|
|
| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
51
amazement
|
|
| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
52
monasteries
|
|
| 修道院( monastery的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
53
distinguished
|
|
| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
54
doctrines
|
|
| n.教条( doctrine的名词复数 )；教义；学说；（政府政策的）正式声明 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
55
sect
|
|
| n.派别，宗教，学派，派系 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
56
preservation
|
|
| n.保护，维护，保存，保留，保持 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
57
entirely
|
|
| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
58
license
|
|
| n.执照，许可证，特许；v.许可，特许 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
59
remarkable
|
|
| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
60
recurred
|
|
| 再发生，复发( recur的过去式和过去分词 )； 治愈 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
61
reverted
|
|
| 恢复( revert的过去式和过去分词 )； 重提； 回到…上； 归还 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
62
sublime
|
|
| adj.崇高的，伟大的；极度的，不顾后果的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
63
misgivings
|
|
| n.疑虑，担忧，害怕；疑虑，担心，恐惧( misgiving的名词复数 )；疑惧 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
64
yearned
|
|
| 渴望，切盼，向往( yearn的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
65
recollect
|
|
| v.回忆，想起，记起，忆起，记得 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
66
maudlin
|
|
| adj.感情脆弱的，爱哭的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
67
alas
|
|
| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
68
mingle
|
|
| vt.使混合，使相混；vi.混合起来；相交往 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
69
slanderous
|
|
| adj.诽谤的，中伤的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
70
sentimental
|
|
| adj.多愁善感的，感伤的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
71
worthy
|
|
| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
72
astonishment
|
|
| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
73
brute
|
|
| n.野兽，兽性 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
74
ardor
|
|
| n.热情，狂热 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
75
mania
|
|
| n.疯狂；躁狂症，狂热，癖好 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
76
aristocrats
|
|
| n.贵族( aristocrat的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
77
aristocrat
|
|
| n.贵族，有贵族气派的人，上层人物 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
78
offenders
|
|
| n.冒犯者( offender的名词复数 )；犯规者；罪犯；妨害…的人（或事物） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
79
regiment
|
|
| n.团，多数，管理；v.组织，编成团，统制 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
80
cavalry
|
|
| n.骑兵；轻装甲部队 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
81
scampering
|
|
| v.蹦蹦跳跳地跑，惊惶奔跑( scamper的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
82
nay
|
|
| adv.不；n.反对票，投反对票者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
83
penetrated
|
|
| adj. 击穿的，鞭辟入里的 动词penetrate的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
84
supreme
|
|
| adj.极度的，最重要的；至高的，最高的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
85
celebrated
|
|
| adj.有名的，声誉卓著的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
86
concealment
|
|
| n.隐藏, 掩盖，隐瞒 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
87
expiated
|
|
| v.为（所犯罪过）接受惩罚，赎（罪）( expiate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
88
inmate
|
|
| n.被收容者；(房屋等的)居住人；住院人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
89
rustic
|
|
| adj.乡村的，有乡村特色的；n.乡下人，乡巴佬 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
90
wrath
|
|
| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
91
vowed
|
|
| 起誓，发誓（vow的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
92
droll
|
|
| adj.古怪的，好笑的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
93
patriot
|
|
| n.爱国者，爱国主义者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
94
expatiated
|
|
| v.详述，细说( expatiate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
95
possessed
|
|
| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
96
discoursing
|
|
| 演说（discourse的现在分词形式） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
97
spoke
|
|
| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
98
obedience
|
|
| n.服从，顺从 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
100
planks
|
|
| （厚）木板( plank的名词复数 )； 政纲条目，政策要点 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
101
awakened
|
|
| v.（使）醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
102
wretch
|
|
| n.可怜的人，不幸的人；卑鄙的人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
103
avarice
|
|
| n.贪婪；贪心 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
104
determined
|
|
| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
105
procured
|
|
| v.（努力）取得， （设法）获得( procure的过去式和过去分词 )；拉皮条 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
106
ecstasy
|
|
| n.狂喜，心醉神怡，入迷 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
107
humble
|
|
| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
108
touching
|
|
| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
109
pranks
|
|
| n.玩笑，恶作剧( prank的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
110
detailed
|
|
| adj.详细的，详尽的，极注意细节的，完全的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
111
colloquy
|
|
| n.谈话，自由讨论 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
112
traitor
|
|
| n.叛徒，卖国贼 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
113
traitors
|
|
| 卖国贼( traitor的名词复数 )； 叛徒； 背叛者； 背信弃义的人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
114
plundered
|
|
| 掠夺，抢劫( plunder的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
115
mere
|
|
| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
116
patriotic
|
|
| adj.爱国的，有爱国心的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
117
administrator
|
|
| n.经营管理者，行政官员 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
118
wretches
|
|
| n.不幸的人( wretch的名词复数 )；可怜的人；恶棍；坏蛋 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
119
doom
|
|
| n.厄运，劫数；v.注定，命定 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
120
ransom
|
|
| n.赎金，赎身；v.赎回，解救 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
121
shrieked
|
|
| v.尖叫( shriek的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
122
confiscated
|
|
| 没收，充公( confiscate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
123
perfectly
|
|
| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
124
surmise
|
|
| v./n.猜想，推测 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
125
accomplished
|
|
| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
126
humbly
|
|
| adv. 恭顺地，谦卑地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
127
belle
|
|
| n.靓女 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
128
virtues
|
|
| 美德( virtue的名词复数 )； 德行； 优点； 长处 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
129
gendarmes
|
|
| n.宪兵，警官( gendarme的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
130
enactment
|
|
| n.演出，担任…角色；制订，通过 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
131
candor
|
|
| n.坦白，率真 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
132
indifference
|
|
| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
133
fervor
|
|
| n.热诚；热心；炽热 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
134
banish
|
|
| vt.放逐，驱逐；消除，排除 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
135
sneer
|
|
| v.轻蔑；嘲笑；n.嘲笑，讥讽的言语 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
136
gallantly
|
|
| adv. 漂亮地，勇敢地，献殷勤地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
137
scrupulous
|
|
| adj.审慎的，小心翼翼的，完全的，纯粹的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
138
transacted
|
|
| v.办理（业务等）( transact的过去式和过去分词 )；交易，谈判 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
139
majestically
|
|
| 雄伟地； 庄重地； 威严地； 崇高地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
140
bent
|
|
| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
141
authoritative
|
|
| adj.有权威的，可相信的；命令式的；官方的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
142
exultation
|
|
| n.狂喜，得意 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
143
bustle
|
|
| v.喧扰地忙乱，匆忙，奔忙；n.忙碌；喧闹 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
144
inquiries
|
|
| n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 )；疑问；探究；打听 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
145
abrupt
|
|
| adj.突然的，意外的；唐突的，鲁莽的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
146
rigid
|
|
| adj.严格的，死板的；刚硬的，僵硬的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
147
espouse
|
|
| v.支持，赞成，嫁娶 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
148
minor
|
|
| adj.较小(少)的，较次要的；n.辅修学科；vi.辅修 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
149
purport
|
|
| n.意义，要旨，大要；v.意味著，做为...要旨，要领是... | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
150
testimony
|
|
| n.证词；见证，证明 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
151
conspiracy
|
|
| n.阴谋，密谋，共谋 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
152
abruptly
|
|
| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
153
ratified
|
|
| v.批准，签认（合约等）( ratify的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
154
dagger
|
|
| n.匕首，短剑，剑号 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
155
thronged
|
|
| v.成群，挤满( throng的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
156
inflict
|
|
| vt.(on)把…强加给，使遭受，使承担 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
157
villain
|
|
| n.反派演员，反面人物；恶棍；问题的起因 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
158
fixed
|
|
| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
159
mediation
|
|
| n.调解 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
160
innocence
|
|
| n.无罪；天真；无害 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
161
reign
|
|
| n.统治时期，统治，支配，盛行；v.占优势 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
162
rosy
|
|
| adj.美好的，乐观的，玫瑰色的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |