Robespierre’s affection was not that of an impassioned lover; he did not show it by warm caresses9 or fervid10 vows11; but yet he made her, whom he had chosen, understand that she was to him dearer than any other woman; and Eleanor was prouder of her affianced husband, than though the handsomest youth of Paris was at her feet.
As she entered his chamber12, he was thinking partly of her, and he was not sorry to be thus interrupted. She carried a candle in one hand, and in the other a bouquet13 of fresh flowers, which she quietly laid among his papers. Robespierre either had, or affected14 a taste for flowers, and, as long as they were to be gotten, he was seldom seen without them, either in his hand or on his coat.
“I thought you would want a light, M. Robespierre,” said she, for though she hoped to be closely connected with him, she seldom ventured on the familiarity of calling him by his Christian15 name. Had she been a man, her democratic principle would have taught her to discontinue the aristocratic Monsieur; but, even in 1793, the accustomed courtesy of that obnoxious17 word was allowed to woman’s lips. “I thought you would want a light, or I would not have interrupted you at your work.”
“Thanks, Eleanor: I was not at work, though; my brain, my eyes, and hands were all tired. I have been sitting idle for, I believe, this half hour.”
“Your eyes and hands may have been at rest,” said she, sitting down at the end of the table, “but it is seldom that your thoughts are not at work.”
“It is one of the high privileges of man, that though his body needs repose18, the faculties19 of his mind need never be entirely20 dormant21. I know that I have reasoned in my sleep as lucidly22 as I have ever done awake; and though, when awake, I have forgotten what has passed through my mind, the work of my brain has not been lost: the same ideas have recurred23 to me again, and though in the recurrence24, I cannot remember when I have before employed myself with arranging them, still they come to me as old friends, with whom I am well acquainted. The mind will seldom complain of too much labour, if the body be not injured by indulgence or disease.”
“But too much labour will bring on disease,” said Eleanor, in a tone which plainly showed the sincerity25 of the anxiety which she expressed. “We never get a walk with you now; do you know that it is months since we were in the Champs Elys茅es together; it was in May, and this is October now.”
“Affairs must be greatly altered, Eleanor; many things which are now undone26 must be completed, before we walk again for our pleasure: a true patriot27 can no longer walk the streets of Paris in safety, while traitors28 can come and go in security, with their treason blazoned29 on their foreheads.”
“Many are condemned31 and die; but I fear not always those who have most deserved death. Much blood has been shed, and it has partly been in compliance33 with my counsel. I would that the vengeance34 of the Republic might now stay its hand, if it could be so, with safety to the people. I am sick of the unchanging sentences of the judges, and the verdicts of juries who are determined35 to convict. I doubt not that those who are brought before them are traitors or aristocrats—at any rate, they are not at heart republicans, and if so, they have deserved death; but I should be better pleased, if now and then a victim was spared.” He paused for a while, and then added, “The blood of traitors is very sickening; but there are those Eleanor, in whose nostrils36 it has a sweet savour: there are butchers of the human kind, who revel37 in the horrid38 shambles39, in which they are of necessity employed. Such men are to me accursed—their breath reeks40 of human blood.”
Eleanor shuddered42 as she listened to him: but it was not the thought of all the blood, which he whom she loved had shed, which made her shudder41: she had no idea that Robespierre was a sanguinary man: she sympathized with the weakness of humanity which he confessed, and loved him for the kindness of his heart—and he was not a hypocrite in his protestation; he believed that there was nothing in common between himself and the wretches43 who crowded round the last sufferings of the victims whom he had caused to ascend44 the scaffold. He little thought that, in a few years, he would be looked upon as the sole author of the barbarities of which he now complained.
It was seldom that Robespierre had spoken so openly to Eleanor Duplay of his inmost thoughts. She was flattered and gratified to think he had thought her worthy46 of his confidence, that he had chosen her to listen to the secrets of his heart, and she felt that, if she had influence with him, it would become her as a woman to use it on behalf of those whom it might be in his power to save from a fearful death.
“And are there many more who must die?” said she. “When I hear the wheels of that horrid cart, as it carries the poor creatures who have been condemned, on their last journey, my heart, too, sickens within me. Will these horrid executions go on much longer?”
“There are still thousands upon thousands of men in France, who would sooner be the slaves of a King, than draw the breath of liberty,” answered he.
“But they can be taught the duties and feelings of men, cannot they? They think, and feel now only as they have been brought up to think and feel.”
“Had they not been too stubborn to learn, they have had a lesson written in letters of blood, which would have long since convinced them—if it be necessary, it must be repeated I for one will not shrink from my duty. No though I should sink beneath the horrid task which it imposes on me.”
They both then sat silent for a while; though Robespierre had ventured to express to the girl, whom he knew to be so entirely devoted47 to him, a feeling somewhat akin48 to that of pity for his victims, he could not bear that even she should appear to throw a shadow of an imputation49 on the propriety50 and justness of his measures, although she only did so by repeating and appealing to the kindly51 expressions which had fallen from himself. He had become so used to the unmeasured praise of those among whom he lived, so painfully suspicious of those who, in the remotest degree, disapproved52 of any of his words or deeds, so confident of himself, so distrustful of all others, that even what she had said was painful to him, and though he himself hardly knew why, yet he felt that he was displeased53 with her. Eleanor, however, was altogether unconscious of having irritated his sore feelings; and relying on the kind tone of what he had said, and the confident manner in which he had spoken to her, she determined to obey the dictates55 of her heart, and intercede56 for mercy for her fellow-creatures. Poor girl! she did not know the danger of coming near the lion’s prey57.
She had heard much of the Vendeans, and though those who had spoken in her hearing of the doings of the royalist rebels were not likely to say much to excite sympathy on their behalf still she had learnt that they were true to each other, faithful to their leaders, generous to their enemies, and brave in battle. The awful punishment to be inflicted58 on the doomed59 district had also been partially61 discussed in her hearing; and though the Republic had no more enthusiastic daughter than herself, her woman’s heart could not endure the idea that even the innocent children of a large province should be condemned to slaughter62 for their fathers’ want of patriotism63. What work so fitting for the woman whom a ruler of the people had chosen for a wife, as to implore64 the stern magistrate65 to temper justice with mercy? In what way could she use her influence so sweetly as to ask for the lives of women and children?
And yet she felt afraid to make her innocent request. Robespierre had never yet been offended with her. Though he had given her counsel on almost every subject, he had never yet spoken to her one word of disapprobation still she knew that he had inspired her with fear. She made some attempts to begin the subject, which he did not notice, for he was still brooding over the unpleasant sensation which her words had occasioned; but at last she gathered courage, and said:
“The soldiers of the Republic have at last overcome the rebels of La Vend茅e—have they not, M. Robespierre?”
“It is not enough to conquer traitors,” answered he, “they must be crushed, before the country can be safe from their treachery.”
“Their treason must be crushed, I know.”
“Crimes between man and man can be atoned66 for by minor68 punishments: crimes between citizens and their country can only be properly avenged69 by death. You may teach the murderer or the thief the iniquity70 of his fault; and when he has learnt to hate the deed he has committed, he may be pardoned. It is not so with traitors. Though the truest child of France should spend his life in the attempt, he would not be able to inspire one aristocrat16 with a spark of patriotism.”
“Must every royalist in La Vend茅e perish then?” said Eleanor.
Robespierre did not answer her immediately, but leaning his elbow on the table, he rested his forehead on his hand, so as nearly to conceal71 his face. Eleanor thought that he was meditating72 on her question; and remembering that he had declared that he should be pleased if now and then a victim might be spared, again commenced her difficult task of urging him to mercy.
“They talk of shedding the blood of innocent children—of destroying peasant women, who can only think and feel as their husbands bid them. You will not allow that this should be done, will you?”
“Is the life of a woman more precious to her than that of a man? It is a false sentiment which teaches us to spare the iniquities73 of women because of their sex. Their weakness entitles them to our protection, their beauty begets74 our love; but neither their weakness or their beauty should be accepted as an excuse for their crimes.”
“But poor innocent babes—it is not possible that they should have committed crimes.”
“In the religion of Christ it is declared, that the sins of the fathers shall be visited on the children, to the third and fourth generation. The priests who made these laws, and handed them down to their flocks, as the very words of their God, had closely studied human nature. I do not believe that an Almighty75 Creator condescended76 to engrave77 on stone, with his own finger, these words, as they would feign78 that he did do; but the law is not the less true; the children must expatiate79, to the third and fourth generation, the sins of their fathers. Nature, which is all benignant, wills that it should be so.”
“If this be so, will not nature work out her own law. Will it not be punishment enough that so many women should lose their husbands; so many children their fathers? You, I know, are averse80 to shedding blood; you would spare life whenever your sense of duty would allow you to do so. Try what clemency81 will do in La Vend茅e. Try whether kindness will not put a stop to the bitterness of their enmity. Do, dearest, for my sake.”
It is possible that Eleanor had never before spoken to her lover in language so tender; it is also probable that she had never before asked of him any request, in which ought of a political nature was concerned. Be that as it may, as soon as she had finished speaking, her face became suffused82 with scarlet83, as though she had said something of which she was ashamed. One would think that there was nothing in the term of endearment84 which she had used which could have displeased a betrothed85 husband; nothing in the petition she, had made which could have angered a political friend. Robespierre, however, soon showed that he was displeased and angered; nay86, worse still, that his black, unmanly suspicion was aroused. To his disordered brain it seemed that Eleanor was practising on him her woman’s wiles87 for some unworthy purpose, and that treason lurked88 in her show of humanity and affection. He believed that she, who had always believed in him, loved him, almost worshipped him, had become in an instant false and designing.
He looked her steadily89 in the face a moment or two before he answered, and she did not bear calmly the fierce glance of his eye; she saw at once that she had angered him, and, in spite of her love, she could not but know how dark and terrible was his anger.
“Set me on, M. Robespierre! what do you mean? Who should have set me on?”
“There are hundreds, I grieve to say, ready to do so. Some of them are daily near you. I should have thought, though, that with you I might have been safe.”
“Safe with me! And do you doubt it now—do you doubt that you are safe with me?” and as she spoke45, she laid her hand upon his arm, and attempted to appeal to his affection. He gently withdrew his arm from her grasp, and again concealed91 his face with his hand. “As I stand here alive before you,” continued she, speaking with a more assured voice than she had hitherto used, “I have not whispered a word to man or woman upon this subject, but yourself.”
Eleanor had risen from her chair when her companion first expressed his suspicion, and she was now standing92; but Robespierre remained seated, still shading his eyes with his hand, as though he had nothing further to say to her, and would wish to be alone. She, however, felt that she could not leave him without some further explanation on her part, some retraction94 on his; but she knew not how to set about it. The most eloquent95 men in France had found it difficult to explain anything to Robespierre’s satisfaction. No one had yet been able to make him retract93 the word which he had spoken.
“Say that you believe me, M. Robespierre,” said she; “for mercy’s sake, say that you do not doubt me! Do you not know that I would always obey you, that your words are always to me the words of truth? I have done wrong, I doubt not, in speaking to you of public matters. I beg your pardon, and promise that I will not so transgress96 again; but before I leave you, tell me that you do not distrust my fidelity97.”
“I would still wish to hope, Eleanor, that you are truly anxious for the welfare of your country, and the safety of your friend,” said he, still, however, without looking up.
“Indeed I am, most anxious; anxious above all things for your welfare and safety. I should think little of my life, could I give it to promote the one, or secure the other.”
“Tell me then, I conjure98 you, who are they who have desired you to beg for the lives of these Vendean rebels,” and as he spoke, he leapt from his chair, and putting his hand upon her shoulder, looked sternly into her face.
“As God is my judge—”
“Bah! if neither love of your country or of me, nor yet fear of the punishment due to traitors, will keep you true,” (and he slightly shook her with his hand, as he slowly uttered the last fearful words), “the judgment99 of God will not have much effect upon you.”
“True!” said the poor girl, almost confounded with her horror at the charge against her, amid the violence of the man. “True! Oh! Sir, for mercy’s sake, tell me what it is of which you accuse me—tell me what it is that I have done. No man has spoken of you behind your back words which you might not yourself have heard. No man has desired me to ask you to spare the rebels. No man has even dared to hint to me, that I should do or say ought in opposition100 to you.”
“Some woman has done it then,” said he.
“My God! that you should think so foully101 of me! No, Sir, neither man, nor woman, nor child. You said that, were it possible, you would wish that the hand of the executioner might be stayed. It was your own words that set me on to say what I did. I did not dream that I should displease54 you. Tell me, M. Robespierre, tell me that you are not angry with me, and I will forget it all.”
“Forget it all. Yes, things trivial and of no concern are long remembered, but matters on which depend the life and death of those we ought to love, are soon forgotten if they are unpleasant. No, Eleanor, do not forget it all. Do not forget this—remember that I never have, and never will, allow my feelings as a private man to influence my conduct as a public functionary102. I have many duties to perform; duties which are arduous103, disagreeable, and dangerous, but difficult as they are, I believe that I am able to perform them. I do not wish for advice, and I will not permit interference. Now go down, Eleanor; our friends are below, I heard their steps a while since, as they came in. I have but a few words to write, and I will join you.”
“But you will tell me before I go that we are friends again,” said the poor girl, now weeping. “You will say that you do not distrust me.”
“I do not believe that you meant evil to me, but you were indiscreet. Let that be sufficient now, and bear this in mind, Eleanor—you know the place you hold in my affections, but were you still nearer to me than you are; were you already my wife, and the mother of my children, I would not stand between you and the punishment you would deserve, if you were untrue to your country.”
After hearing this energetic warning, Eleanor Duplay left her lover’s room, firmly believing that she had greatly sinned in speaking as she had done, but conscious, at any rate, of having intended no evil, either to him or to the unfortunate country respecting which he expressed so constant a solicitude104.
As soon as she was gone, he again took up the papers which he had written, and re-read them with great care. In the letter to the two Commissioners105 he underscored the passages which most forcibly urged them to energy in their work of destruction, and added a word here and there which showed more clearly his intention that mercy should be shown to none. He then turned to his letter to his brother. In that he said that Eleanor’s conduct had been a source of great comfort to him, and that he blamed himself for still feeling any reserve with her. He now erased106 the passage, and wrote in its stead, “even with Eleanor Duplay I have some reserve, and I feel that I cannot throw it off with safety!” and having done this, he, laboriously107 copied, for the second time, the long letter which he had written.
When he had finished his task, he left his own chamber, and went down into a room below, in which the family were in the habit of assembling in the evening, and meeting such of Robespierre’s friends as he wished to have admitted. The cabinet-maker108, and his wife and daughters, together with his son and nephew, who assisted him in his workshop, were always there; and few evenings passed without the attendance of some of his more intimate friends. They were, at first, merely in the habit of returning with him from the Jacobins’ club, but after a while their private meetings became so necessary to them, that they assembled at Duplay’s on those nights also on which the Jacobins did not meet.
When Robespierre entered the humble109 salon110, Lebas, St. Just, and Couthon were there; three men who were constant to him to the last, and died with him when he died. As far as we can judge of their characters, they were none of them naturally bad men. They were not men prone111 to lust112 or plunder113; they betrayed no friends; they sought in their political views no private ends; they even frequently used the power with which they were invested to save the lives of multitudes for whose blood the infuriate mob were eager. Lebas and St. Just were constant to the girls they loved, and Couthon, who was an object of pity as a cripple, was happy in the affection of a young wife whom he adored; and yet these were the men who assisted Robespierre in organizing the Reign114 of Terror, and with him share the infamy115 of the deeds which were then committed. They were all of them young when they died. They were men of education, and a certain elevation116, of spirit. Men who were able to sacrifice the pleasures of youth to the hard work of high political duties. Blood could not have been, was not, acceptable to them; yet under how great a load of infamy do their names now lie buried!
“We thought you were going to seclude117 yourself tonight,” said Lebas, “and we were regretting it.”
“What have you done with Eleanor,” said Madame Duplay, “that she does not come down to us?”
“I thought to have found her here,” answered he; “she left me some minutes since. She was not in good spirits, and has probably retired118 for the night. Tell me, St. Just, do they talk much of tomorrow’s trial?”
Robespierre alluded119 to the trial of Marie Antoinette, as the cruel farce120, which was so called, was then to commence. The people were now thirsty after her blood, and thought themselves wronged in that she had been so long held back from their wrath121.
“They speak of her execution as of a thing of course,” said St. Just; “and they are right; her sand has well nigh run itself out. I wish she were now at her nephew’s court.”
“Wish rather that she had never come from thence,” said Couthon. “She has brought great misfortunes on France. Could she die a thousand deaths, she could not atone67 for what she has done. Not that I would have her die, if it were possible that she could be allowed to live.”
“It is not possible,” said Robespierre. “To have been Queen of France, is in itself a crime which it would have been necessary that she should expiate, even had she shown herself mistress of all the virtues122 which could adorn123 a woman.”
“And she is not possessed124 of one,” said Lebas. “She was beautiful, but her beauty was a stain upon her, for she was voluptuous125. She was talented, but her talents were all turned to evil, for they only enabled her to intrigue126 against her adopted country. She had the disposal of wealth, with which she might have commanded the blessings127 of the poor, and she wasted it in vain frivolities. She was gracious in demeanour, but she kept her smiles for those only who deserved her frowns. She had unbounded influence over her husband, and she persuaded him to falsehood, dishonesty, and treachery.”
“Do not deny that she has courage,” said St. Just. “She has borne her adversity well, though she could not bear her prosperity.”
“She has courage,” said Lebas, “and how has she used it? in fighting an ineffectual battle against the country who had received her with open arms. We must all be judged by posterity128, but no historian will dare to say that Marie Antoinette did not deserve the doom60 which now awaits her.”
How little are men able to conceive what award posterity will make in judging of their actions, even when they act with pure motives129, and on what they consider to be high principles; and posterity is often as much in error in its indiscriminate condemnation130 of actions, as are the actors in presuming themselves entitled to its praise.
When years have rolled by, and passions have cooled, the different motives and feelings of the persons concerned become known to all, and mankind is enabled to look upon public acts from every side. Not so the actors; they are not only in ignorance of facts, the knowledge of which is necessary to their judging rightly, but falsehoods dressed in the garb131 of facts are studiously brought forward to deceive them, and men thus groping in darkness are forced to form opinions, and to act upon them.
Public men are like soldiers fighting in a narrow valley: they see nothing but what is close around them, and that imperfectly, as everything is in motion. The historian is as the general, who stands elevated on the high ground, and, with telescope in hand, sees plainly all the different movements of the troops. He would be an inconsiderate general, who would expect that his officers in action should have had as clear an idea of what was going on, as he himself had been able to obtain.
There was no murder perpetrated during the French Revolution, under the pretext132 of a judicial133 sentence, which has created more general disgust than has that of Marie Antoinette. She came as a stranger to the country, which on that account owed to her its special protection. She had been called to France to be a Queen, and her greatest crime was that she would not give up the high station she had been invited to fill. She had been a faithful wife to a husband who did not love her till he knew her well, and who was slow in learning anything. She had been a good mother to the children, who were born, as she believed, to rule the destinies of France.
She had clung to a falling cause, with a sense of duty which was as admirable as her courage, and at last she died with the devoted heroism134 which so well became her mother’s daughter. But what we now look on as virtues, were vices135 in the eyes of the republicans, who were her judges. Her constancy was stubbornness, and her courage was insolence136. Her innocent mirth was called licentiousness137, and the royal splendour which she had been taught to maintain, was looked upon as iniquitous138 extravagance. Nor was this, even in those bloody139 days, enough to condemn32 her. Lies of the basest kind were, with care and difficulty, contrived140 to debase her character—lies which have now been proved to be so, but which were then not only credible141, but sure to receive credit from those who already believed that all royal blood was, from its nature, capable of every abomination.
When Lebas so confidently predicated the sentence which posterity would pass on the fall of Marie Antoinette, none of his auditors142 doubted the correctness of his prophecy. Posterity, however, more partial to the frivolities of courts than to the fury of revolutions, has acquitted143 the Queen, and passed, perhaps, too heavy a sentence on the judges who condemned her. Till the power of Satan over the world has been destroyed, and man is able to walk uprightly before his Maker, the virtues of one generation will be the vices of another.
点击
收听单词发音
收听单词发音 |
1
countenance
|
|
| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
eldest
|
|
| adj.最年长的，最年老的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
inmate
|
|
| n.被收容者；(房屋等的)居住人；住院人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
repulsive
|
|
| adj.排斥的，使人反感的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
invaluable
|
|
| adj.无价的，非常宝贵的，极为贵重的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
begotten
|
|
| v.为…之生父( beget的过去分词 )；产生，引起 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
regenerating
|
|
| v.新生，再生( regenerate的现在分词 )；正反馈 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
saviour
|
|
| n.拯救者，救星 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
caresses
|
|
| 爱抚，抚摸( caress的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
fervid
|
|
| adj.热情的；炽热的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
vows
|
|
| 誓言( vow的名词复数 )； 郑重宣布，许愿 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
chamber
|
|
| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
bouquet
|
|
| n.花束，酒香 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
affected
|
|
| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
Christian
|
|
| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
aristocrat
|
|
| n.贵族，有贵族气派的人，上层人物 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
obnoxious
|
|
| adj.极恼人的，讨人厌的，可憎的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
repose
|
|
| v.(使)休息；n.安息 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
faculties
|
|
| n.能力( faculty的名词复数 )；全体教职员；技巧；院 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
entirely
|
|
| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
dormant
|
|
| adj.暂停活动的；休眠的；潜伏的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
lucidly
|
|
| adv.清透地，透明地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
recurred
|
|
| 再发生，复发( recur的过去式和过去分词 )； 治愈 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
recurrence
|
|
| n.复发，反复，重现 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
sincerity
|
|
| n.真诚，诚意；真实 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
undone
|
|
| a.未做完的，未完成的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
patriot
|
|
| n.爱国者，爱国主义者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
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： |
|
|
|
|
29
blazoned
|
|
| v.广布( blazon的过去式和过去分词 )；宣布；夸示；装饰 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
expiate
|
|
| v.抵补，赎罪 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
condemned
|
|
| adj. 被责难的, 被宣告有罪的 动词condemn的过去式和过去分词 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
condemn
|
|
| vt.谴责，指责；宣判(罪犯)，判刑 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
compliance
|
|
| n.顺从；服从；附和；屈从 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
vengeance
|
|
| n.报复，报仇，复仇 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
determined
|
|
| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
nostrils
|
|
| 鼻孔( nostril的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
revel
|
|
| vi.狂欢作乐，陶醉；n.作乐，狂欢 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
horrid
|
|
| adj.可怕的；令人惊恐的；恐怖的；极讨厌的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
shambles
|
|
| n.混乱之处；废墟 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
reeks
|
|
| n.恶臭( reek的名词复数 )v.发出浓烈的臭气( reek的第三人称单数 )；散发臭气；发出难闻的气味 (of sth)；明显带有（令人不快或生疑的跡象） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
shudder
|
|
| v.战粟，震动，剧烈地摇晃；n.战粟，抖动 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
shuddered
|
|
| v.战栗( shudder的过去式和过去分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
wretches
|
|
| n.不幸的人( wretch的名词复数 )；可怜的人；恶棍；坏蛋 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
ascend
|
|
| vi.渐渐上升，升高；vt.攀登，登上 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
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： |
|
|
|
|
46
worthy
|
|
| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
devoted
|
|
| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
akin
|
|
| adj.同族的，类似的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
imputation
|
|
| n.归罪，责难 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
propriety
|
|
| n.正当行为；正当；适当 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
51
kindly
|
|
| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
52
disapproved
|
|
| v.不赞成( disapprove的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
53
displeased
|
|
| a.不快的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
54
displease
|
|
| vt.使不高兴，惹怒；n.不悦，不满，生气 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
55
dictates
|
|
| n.命令，规定，要求( dictate的名词复数 )v.大声讲或读( dictate的第三人称单数 )；口授；支配；摆布 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
56
intercede
|
|
| vi.仲裁，说情 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
57
prey
|
|
| n.被掠食者，牺牲者，掠食；v.捕食，掠夺，折磨 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
58
inflicted
|
|
| 把…强加给，使承受，遭受( inflict的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
59
doomed
|
|
| 命定的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
60
doom
|
|
| n.厄运，劫数；v.注定，命定 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
61
partially
|
|
| adv.部分地，从某些方面讲 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
62
slaughter
|
|
| n.屠杀，屠宰；vt.屠杀，宰杀 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
63
patriotism
|
|
| n.爱国精神，爱国心，爱国主义 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
64
implore
|
|
| vt.乞求，恳求，哀求 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
65
magistrate
|
|
| n.地方行政官，地方法官，治安官 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
66
atoned
|
|
| v.补偿，赎（罪）( atone的过去式和过去分词 )；补偿，弥补，赎回 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
67
atone
|
|
| v.赎罪，补偿 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
68
minor
|
|
| adj.较小(少)的，较次要的；n.辅修学科；vi.辅修 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
69
avenged
|
|
| v.为…复仇，报…之仇( avenge的过去式和过去分词 )；为…报复 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
70
iniquity
|
|
| n.邪恶；不公正 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
71
conceal
|
|
| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
72
meditating
|
|
| a.沉思的，冥想的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
73
iniquities
|
|
| n.邪恶( iniquity的名词复数 )；极不公正 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
74
begets
|
|
| v.为…之生父( beget的第三人称单数 )；产生，引起 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
75
almighty
|
|
| adj.全能的，万能的；很大的，很强的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
76
condescended
|
|
| 屈尊，俯就( condescend的过去式和过去分词 )； 故意表示和蔼可亲 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
77
engrave
|
|
| vt.（在...上）雕刻，使铭记，使牢记 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
78
feign
|
|
| vt.假装，佯作 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
79
expatiate
|
|
| v.细说，详述 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
80
averse
|
|
| adj.厌恶的；反对的，不乐意的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
81
clemency
|
|
| n.温和，仁慈，宽厚 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
82
suffused
|
|
| v.（指颜色、水气等）弥漫于，布满( suffuse的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
83
scarlet
|
|
| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
84
endearment
|
|
| n.表示亲爱的行为 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
85
betrothed
|
|
| n. 已订婚者 动词betroth的过去式和过去分词 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
86
nay
|
|
| adv.不；n.反对票，投反对票者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
87
wiles
|
|
| n.（旨在欺骗或吸引人的）诡计，花招；欺骗，欺诈( wile的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
88
lurked
|
|
| vi.潜伏，埋伏（lurk的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
89
steadily
|
|
| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
90
fixed
|
|
| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
91
concealed
|
|
| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
92
standing
|
|
| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
93
retract
|
|
| vt.缩回，撤回收回，取消 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
94
retraction
|
|
| n.撤消；收回 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
95
eloquent
|
|
| adj.雄辩的，口才流利的；明白显示出的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
96
transgress
|
|
| vt.违反，逾越 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
97
fidelity
|
|
| n.忠诚，忠实；精确 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
98
conjure
|
|
| v.恳求，祈求；变魔术，变戏法 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
99
judgment
|
|
| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
100
opposition
|
|
| n.反对，敌对 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
101
foully
|
|
| ad.卑鄙地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
102
functionary
|
|
| n.官员；公职人员 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
103
arduous
|
|
| adj.艰苦的，费力的，陡峭的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
104
solicitude
|
|
| n.焦虑 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
105
commissioners
|
|
| n.专员( commissioner的名词复数 )；长官；委员；政府部门的长官 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
106
erased
|
|
| v.擦掉( erase的过去式和过去分词 )；抹去；清除 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
107
laboriously
|
|
| adv.艰苦地；费力地；辛勤地；（文体等）佶屈聱牙地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
108
maker
|
|
| n.制造者，制造商 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
109
humble
|
|
| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
110
salon
|
|
| n.[法]沙龙；客厅；营业性的高级服务室 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
111
prone
|
|
| adj.(to)易于…的，很可能…的；俯卧的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
112
lust
|
|
| n.性(淫)欲；渴(欲)望；vi.对…有强烈的欲望 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
113
plunder
|
|
| vt.劫掠财物，掠夺；n.劫掠物，赃物；劫掠 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
114
reign
|
|
| n.统治时期，统治，支配，盛行；v.占优势 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
115
infamy
|
|
| n.声名狼藉，出丑，恶行 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
116
elevation
|
|
| n.高度；海拔；高地；上升；提高 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
117
seclude
|
|
| vi.使隔离，使孤立，使隐退 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
118
retired
|
|
| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
119
alluded
|
|
| 提及，暗指( allude的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
120
farce
|
|
| n.闹剧，笑剧，滑稽戏；胡闹 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
121
wrath
|
|
| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
122
virtues
|
|
| 美德( virtue的名词复数 )； 德行； 优点； 长处 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
123
adorn
|
|
| vt.使美化，装饰 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
124
possessed
|
|
| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
125
voluptuous
|
|
| adj.肉欲的，骄奢淫逸的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
126
intrigue
|
|
| vt.激起兴趣，迷住；vi.耍阴谋；n.阴谋，密谋 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
127
blessings
|
|
| n.（上帝的）祝福( blessing的名词复数 )；好事；福分；因祸得福 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
128
posterity
|
|
| n.后裔，子孙，后代 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
129
motives
|
|
| n.动机，目的( motive的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
130
condemnation
|
|
| n.谴责; 定罪 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
131
garb
|
|
| n.服装，装束 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
132
pretext
|
|
| n.借口，托词 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
133
judicial
|
|
| adj.司法的，法庭的，审判的，明断的，公正的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
134
heroism
|
|
| n.大无畏精神，英勇 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
135
vices
|
|
| 缺陷( vice的名词复数 )； 恶习； 不道德行为； 台钳 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
136
insolence
|
|
| n.傲慢；无礼；厚颜；傲慢的态度 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
137
licentiousness
|
|
| n.放肆，无法无天 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
138
iniquitous
|
|
| adj.不公正的；邪恶的；高得出奇的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
139
bloody
|
|
| adj.非常的的；流血的；残忍的；adv.很；vt.血染 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
140
contrived
|
|
| adj.不自然的，做作的；虚构的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
141
credible
|
|
| adj.可信任的，可靠的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
142
auditors
|
|
| n.审计员，稽核员( auditor的名词复数 )；（大学课程的）旁听生 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
143
acquitted
|
|
| 宣判…无罪( acquit的过去式和过去分词 )； 使（自己）作出某种表现 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |