But Napoleon had much to occupy him besides his separation from Josephine. Extraordinary difficulties surrounded his new post. Neither the generals nor the men knew anything of their new commander. “Who is this General Bonaparte? Where has he served? No one knows anything about him,” wrote Junot’s father when the latter at Toulon decided1 to follow his artillery2 commander.
In the Army of Italy they were asking the same questions, and the Directory could only answer as Junot had done: “As far as I can judge, he is one of those men of whom nature is avaricious3, and that she permits upon the earth only from age to age.”
He was to replace a commander-in-chief who had sneered4 at his plans for an Italian campaign and who might be expected to put obstacles in his way. He was to take an army which was in the last stages of poverty and discouragement. Their garments were in rags. Even the officers were so nearly shoeless that when they reached Milan and one of them was invited to dine at the palace of a marquise, he was obliged to go in shoes without soles and tied on by cords carefully blacked. They had provisions for only a month, and half rations6 at that. The Piedmontese called them the “rag heroes.”
Worse than their poverty was their inactivity. “For 62three years they had fired off their guns in Italy only because war was going on, and not for any especial object—only to satisfy their consciences.” Discontent was such that counter-revolution gained ground daily. One company had even taken the name of “Dauphin,” and royalist songs were heard in camp.
Napoleon saw at a glance all these difficulties, and set himself to conquer them. With his generals he was reserved and severe. “It was necessary,” he explained afterward7, “in order to command men so much older than myself.” His look and bearing quelled8 insubordination, restrained familiarity, even inspired fear. “From his arrival,” says Marmont, “his attitude was that of a man born for power. It was plain to the least clairvoyant9 eyes that he knew how to compel obedience10, and scarcely was he in authority before the line of a celebrated11 poet might have been applied12 to him:
“‘Des egaux? dès longtemps Mahomet n’en a plus.’”
General Decrès, who had known Napoleon well at Paris, hearing that he was going to pass through Toulon, where he was stationed, offered to present his comrades. “I run,” he says, “full of eagerness and joy; the salon13 opens; I am about to spring forward, when the attitude, the look, the sound of his voice are sufficient to stop me. There was nothing rude about him, but it was enough. From that time I was never tempted14 to pass the line which had been drawn15 for me.”
Lavalette says of his first interview with him: “He looked weak, but his regard was so firm and so fixed16 that I felt myself turning pale when he spoke17 to me.” Augereau goes to see him at Albenga, full of contempt for this favorite of Barras who has never known an action, determined18 on insubordination. Bonaparte comes out, little, thin, round-shouldered, and gives Augereau, a giant among the generals, 63his orders. The big man backs out in a kind of terror. “He frightened me,” he tells Masséna. “His first glance crushed me.”
He quelled insubordination in the ranks by quick, severe punishment, but it was not long that he had insubordination. The army asked nothing but to act, and immediately they saw that they were to move. He had reached his post on March 22d; nineteen days later operations began.
The theatre of action was along that portion of the maritime19 Alps which runs parallel with the sea. Bonaparte held the coast and the mountains; and north, in the foot-hills, stretched from the Tende to Genoa, were the Austrians and their Sardinian allies. If the French were fully5 ten thousand inferior in number, their position was the stronger, for the enemy was scattered20 in a hilly country where it was difficult to unite their divisions.
As Bonaparte faced his enemy, it was with a youthful zest21 and anticipation22 which explains much of what follows. “The two armies are in motion,” he wrote Josephine, “each trying to outwit the other. The more skilful23 will succeed. I am much pleased with Beaulieu. He man?uvres very well, and is superior to his predecessor24. I shall beat him, I hope, out of his boots.”
The first step in the campaign was a skilful stratagem25. He spread rumors26 which made Beaulieu suspect that he intended marching on Genoa, and he threw out his lines in that direction. The Austrian took the feint as a genuine movement, and marched his left to the sea to cut off the French advance. But Bonaparte was not marching to Genoa, and, rapidly collecting his forces, he fell on the Austrian army at Montenotte on April 12th, and defeated it. The right and left of the allies were divided, and the centre broken.
By a series of clever feints, Bonaparte prevented the various 64divisions of the enemy from re?nforcing each other, and forced them separately to battle. At Millesimo, on the 14th, he defeated one section; on the same day, at Dego, another; the next morning, near Dego, another. The Austrians were now driven back, but their Sardinian allies were still at Ceva. To them Bonaparte now turned, and, driving them from their camp, defeated them at Mondovi on the 22d.
It was phenomenal in Italy. In ten days the “rag heroes,” at whom they had been mocking for three years, had defeated two well-fed armies ten thousand stronger than themselves, and might at any moment march on Turin. The Sardinians sued for peace.
The victory was as bewildering to the French as it was terrifying to the enemy, and Napoleon used it to stir his army to new conquests.
“Soldiers!” he said, “in fifteen days you have gained six victories, taken twenty-one stands of colors, fifty-five pieces of cannon27, and several fortresses28, and conquered the richest part of Piedmont. You have made fifteen hundred prisoners, and killed or wounded ten thousand men.
“Hitherto, however, you have been fighting for barren rocks, made memorable30 by your valor31, but useless to the nation. Your exploits now equal those of the conquering armies of Holland and the Rhine. You were utterly32 destitute33, and have supplied all your wants. You have gained battles without cannons34, passed rivers without bridges, performed forced marches without shoes, bivouacked without brandy, and often without bread. None but republican phalanxes—soldiers of liberty—could have borne what you have endured. For this you have the thanks of your country.
“The two armies which lately attacked you in full confidence, now fly before you in consternation36.... But, soldiers, it must not be concealed37 that you have done nothing, since there remains38 aught to do. Neither Turin nor Milan is ours.... The greatest difficulties are no doubt surmounted39; but you have still battles to fight, towns to take, rivers to cross....”
Not less clever in diplomacy40 than in battle, Bonaparte, on his own responsibility, concluded an armistice41 with the 65Sardinians, which left him only the Austrians to fight, and at once set out to follow Beaulieu, who had fled beyond the Po.
As adroitly42 as he had made Beaulieu believe, three weeks before, that he was going to march on Genoa, he now deceives him as to the point where he proposes to cross the Po, leading him to believe it is at Valenza. When certain that Beaulieu had his eye on that point, Bonaparte marched rapidly down the river, and crossed at Placentia. If an unforeseen delay had not occurred in the passage, he would have been on the Austrian rear. As it was, Beaulieu took alarm, and withdrew the body of his army, after a slight resistance to the French advance, across the Adda, leaving but twelve thousand men at Lodi.
Bonaparte was jubilant. “We have crossed the Po,” he wrote the directory. “The second campaign has commenced. Beaulieu is disconcerted; he miscalculates, and continually falls into the snares43 I set for him. Perhaps he wishes to give battle, for he has both audacity44 and energy, but not genius.... Another victory, and we shall be masters of Italy.”
Determined to leave no enemies behind him, Bonaparte now marched against the twelve thousand men at Lodi. The town, lying on the right bank of the Adda, was guarded by a small force of Austrians; but the mass of the enemy was on the left bank, at the end of a bridge some three hundred and fifty feet in length, and commanded by a score or more of cannon.
Rushing into the town on May 10th the French drove out the guarding force, and arrived at the bridge before the Austrians had time to destroy it. The French grenadiers pressed forward in a solid mass, but, when half way over, the cannon at the opposite end poured such a storm of shot at them that the column wavered and fell back. Several 66generals in the ranks, Bonaparte at their head, rushed to the front of the force. The presence of the officers was enough to inspire the soldiers, and they swept across the bridge with such impetuosity that the Austrian line on the opposite bank allowed its batteries to be taken, and in a few moments was in retreat. “Of all the actions in which the soldiers under my command have been engaged,” wrote Bonaparte to the Directory, “none has equalled the tremendous passage of the bridge at Lodi. If we have lost but few soldiers, it was merely owing to the promptitude of our attacks and the effect produced on the enemy by the formidable fire from our invincible45 army. Were I to name all the officers who distinguished46 themselves in this affair, I should be obliged to enumerate47 every carabinier of the advanced guard, and almost every officer belonging to the staff.”
The Austrians now withdrew beyond the Mincio, and on the 15th of May the French entered Milan. The populace greeted their conquerors48 as liberators, and for several days the army rejoiced in comforts which it had not known for years. While it was being fêted, Bonaparte was instituting the Lombard Republic, and trying to conciliate or outwit, as the case demanded, the nobles and clergy49 outraged50 at the introduction of French ideas. It was not until the end of May that Lombardy was in a situation to permit Bonaparte to follow the Austrians.
After Lodi, Beaulieu had led his army to the Mincio. As usual, his force was divided, the right being near Lake Garda, the left at Mantua, the centre about halfway51 between, at Valeggio. It was at this latter point that Bonaparte decided to attack them. Feigning52 to march on their right, he waited until his opponent had fallen into his trap, and then sprang on the weakened centre, broke it to pieces, and drove all but twelve thousand men, escaped to Mantua, into the Tyrol. In fifty days he had swept all but a remnant of the 67Austrians away from Italy. Two weeks later, having taken a strong position on the Adige, he began the siege of Mantua.
The French were victorious53, but their position was precarious54. Austria was preparing a new army. Between the victors and France lay a number of feeble Italian governments whose friendship could not be depended upon. The populace of these states favored the French, for they brought promises of liberal government, of equality and fraternity. The nobles and clergy hated them for the same reason. It was evident that a victory of the Austrians would set all these petty princes on Bonaparte’s heels. The Papal States to the south were plotting. Naples was an ally of Austria. Venice was neutral, but she could not be trusted. The English were off the coast, and might, at any moment, make an alliance which would place a formidable enemy on the French rear.
While waiting for the arrival of the new Austrian army, Bonaparte set himself to lessening55 these dangers. He concluded a peace with Naples. Two divisions of the army were sent south, one to Bologna, the other into Tuscany. The people received the French with such joy that Rome was glad to purchase peace. Leghorn was taken. The malcontents in Milan were silenced. By the time a fresh Austrian army of sixty thousand men, under a new general, Wurmser, was ready to fight, Italy had been effectually quieted.
The Austrians advanced against the French in three columns, one to the west of Lake Garda, under Quasdanovich, one on each side of the Adige, east of the lake, under Wurmser. Their plan was to attack the French outposts on each side of the lake simultaneously56, and then envelop57 the army. The first movements were successful. The French on each side of the lake were driven back. Bonaparte’s army was 68inferior to the one coming against him, but the skill with which he handled his forces and used the blunders of the enemy more than compensated58 for lack of numbers. Raising the siege of Mantua, he concentrated his forces at the south of the lake in such a way as to prevent the reunion of the Austrians. Then, with unparalleled swiftness, he fell on the enemy piecemeal59. Wherever he could engage a division he did so, providing his own force was superior to that of the Austrians at the moment of the battle. Thus, on July 31st, at Lonato, he defeated Quasdanovich, though not so decisively but that the Austrian collected his division and returned towards the same place, hoping to unite there with Wurmser, who had foolishly divided his divisions, sending one to Lonato and another to Castiglione, while he himself went off to Mantua to relieve the garrison60 there. Bonaparte engaged the forces at Lonato and at Castiglione on the same day (August 3d), defeating them both, and then turned his whole army against the body of Austrians under Wurmser, who, by his time, had returned from his relief expedition at Mantua. On August 5th, at Castiglione, Wurmser was beaten, driven over the Mincio and into the Tyrol. In six days the campaign has been finished. “The Austrian army has vanished like a dream,” Bonaparte wrote home.
It had vanished, true, but only for a day. Re?nforcements were soon sent, and a new campaign started early in September. Leaving Davidovich in the Tyrol with twenty thousand men, Wurmser started down the Brenta with twenty-six thousand men, intending to fall on Bonaparte’s rear, cut him to pieces, and relieve Mantua. But Bonaparte had a plan of his own this time, and, without waiting to find out where Wurmser was going, he started up the Adige, intending to attack the Austrians in the Tyrol, and join the army of the Rhine, then on the upper Danube. As it 69happened, Wurmser’s plan was a happy one for Bonaparte. The French found less than half the Austrian army opposing them, and, after they had beaten it, discovered that they were actually on the rear of the other half. Of course Bonaparte did not lose the opportunity. He sped down the Brenta behind Wurmser, overtook him at Bassano on the 8th of September, and of course defeated him. The Austrians fled in terrible demoralization. Wurmser succeeded in reaching Mantua, where he united with the garrison. The sturdy old Austrian had the courage, in spite of his losses, to come out of Mantua and meet Bonaparte on the 15th, but he was defeated again, and obliged to take refuge in the fortress29. If the Austrians had been beaten repeatedly, they had no idea of yielding, and, in fact, there was apparently62 every reason to continue the struggle. The French army was in a most desperate condition. Its number was reduced to barely forty thousand, and this number was poorly supplied, and many of them were ill. Though living in the richest of countries, the rapacity63 and dishonesty of the army contractors64 were such that food reached the men half spoiled and in insufficient65 quantities, while the clothing supplied was pure shoddy. Many officers were laid up by wounds or fatigue66; those who remained at their posts were discouraged, and threatening to resign. The Directory had tampered67 with Bonaparte’s armistices68 and treaties until Naples and Rome were ready to spring upon the French; and Venice, if not openly hostile, was irritating the army in many ways.
Bonaparte, in face of these difficulties, was in genuine despair:
“Everything is being spoiled in Italy,” he wrote the Directory. “The prestige of our forces is being lost. A policy which will give you friends among the princes as well as among the people, is necessary. Diminish your enemies. The influence of Rome is beyond calculation. It was a great mistake to quarrel with that power. Had I been consulted I should have delayed negotiations70 as I did with Genoa and Venice. Whenever your general in Italy is not the centre of everything, you will run great risks. This language is not that of ambition; I have only too many honors, and my health is so impaired71 that I think I shall be forced to demand a successor. I can no longer get on horseback. My courage alone remains, and that is not sufficient in a position like this.”
70
“BONAPARTE A LA BATAILLE D’ARCOLE, LE 27 BRUMAIRE, AN V.”
71It was in such a situation that Bonaparte saw the Austrian force outside of Mantua, increased to fifty thousand men, and a new commander-in-chief, Alvinzi, put at its head. The Austrians advanced in two divisions, one down the Adige, the other by the Brenta. The French division which met the enemy at Trent and Bassano were driven back. In spite of his best efforts, Bonaparte was obliged to retire with his main army to Verona. Things looked serious. Alvinzi was pressing close to Verona, and the army on the Adige was slowly driving back the French division sent to hold it in check. If Davidovich and Alvinzi united, Bonaparte was lost.
“Perhaps we are on the point of losing Italy,” wrote Bonaparte to the Directory. “In a few days we shall make a last effort.” On November 14th this last effort was made. Alvinzi was close upon Verona, holding a position shut in by rivers and mountains on every side, and from which there was but one exit, a narrow pass at his rear. The French were in Verona.
On the night of the 14th of November Bonaparte went quietly into camp. Early in the evening he gave orders to leave Verona, and took the road westward72. It looked like a retreat. The French army believed it to be so, and began to say sorrowfully among themselves that Italy was lost. When far enough from Verona to escape the attention of the enemy, Bonaparte wheeled to the southeast. On the morning of the 15th he crossed the Adige, intending, if possible, to reach the defile73 by which alone Alvinzi could escape from his position. The country into which his army 72marched was a morass74 crossed by two causeways. The points which it was necessary to take to command the defile were the town of Arcola and a bridge over the rapid stream on which the town lay. The Austrians discovered the plan, and hastened out to dispute Arcola and the bridge. All day long the two armies fought desperately75, Bonaparte and his generals putting themselves at the head of their columns and doing the work of common soldiers. But at night Arcola was not taken, and the French retired76 to the right bank of the Adige, only to return on the 16th to re?ngage Alvinzi, who, fearful lest his retreat be cut off, had withdrawn77 his army from near Verona, and had taken a position at Arcola. For two days the French struggled with the Austrians, wrenching78 the victory from them before the close of the 17th, and sending them flying towards Bassano. Bonaparte and his army returned to Verona, but this time it was by the gate which the Austrians, three days before, were pointing out as the place where they should enter.
It was a month and a half before the Austrians could collect a fifth army to send against the French. Bonaparte, tormented79 on every side by threatened uprisings in Italy; opposed by the Directory, who wanted to make peace; and distressed80 by the condition of his army, worked incessantly82 to strengthen his relations, quiet his enemies, and restore his army. When the Austrians, some forty-five thousand strong, advanced in January, 1797, against him, he had a force of about thirty-five thousand men ready to meet them. Some ten thousand of his army were watching Wurmser and twenty thousand Austrians shut up at Mantua.
Alvinzi had planned his attack skilfully83. Advancing with twenty-eight thousand men by the Adige, he sent seventeen thousand under Provera to approach Verona from the east. The two divisions were to approach secretly, and to strike simultaneously.
73At first Bonaparte was uncertain of the position of the main body of the enemy. Sending out feelers in every direction, he became convinced that it must be that it approached Rivoli. Leaving a force at Verona to hold back Provera, he concentrated his army in a single night on the plateau of Rivoli, and on the morning of January 14th advanced to the attack. The struggle at Rivoli lasted two days. Nothing but Bonaparte’s masterly tactics won it, for the odds84 were greatly against him. His victory, however, was complete. Of the twenty-eight thousand Austrians brought to the field, less than half escaped.
While his battle was waging, Bonaparte was also directing the fight with Provera, who was intent upon reaching Mantua and attacking the French besiegers on the rear, while Wurmser left the city and engaged them in front. The attack had begun, but Bonaparte had foreseen the move, and sent a division to the relief of his men. This battle, known as La Favorita, destroyed Provera’s division of the Austrian army, and so discouraged Wurmser, whose army was terribly reduced by sickness and starvation, that he surrendered on February 2d.
The Austrians were driven utterly from Italy, but Bonaparte had no time to rest. The Papal States and the various aristocratic parties of southern Italy were threatening to rise against the French. The spirit of independence and revolt which the invaders86 were bringing into the country could not but weaken clerical and monarchical87 institutions. An active enemy to the south would have been a serious hindrance88 to Napoleon, and he marched into the Papal States. A fortnight was sufficient to silence the threats of his enemies, and on February 19, 1797, he signed with the Pope the treaty of Tolentino. The peace was no sooner made than he started again against the Austrians.
When Mantua fell, and Austria saw herself driven from 74Italy, she had called her ablest general, the Archduke Charles, from the Rhine, and given him an army of over one hundred thousand men to lead against Bonaparte. The French had been re?nforced to some seventy thousand, and though twenty thousand were necessary to keep Italy quiet, Bonaparte had a fine army, and he led it confidently to meet the main body of the enemy, which had been sent south to protect Trieste. Early in March he crossed the Tagliamento, and in a series of contests, in which he was uniformly successful, he drove his opponent back, step by step, until Vienna itself was in sight, and in April an armistice was signed. In May the French took possession of Venice, which had refused a French alliance, and which was playing a perfidious89 part, in Bonaparte’s judgment90, and a republic on the French model was established.
Italy and Austria, worn out and discouraged by this “war of principle,” as Napoleon called it, at last compromised, and on October 17th, one year, seven months, and seven days after he left Paris, Napoleon signed the treaty of Campo Formio. By this treaty France gained the frontier of the Rhine and the Low Countries to the mouth of the Scheldt. Austria was given Venice, and a republic called the Cisalpine was formed from Reggio, Modena, Lombardy, and a part of the States of the Pope.
The military genius that this twenty-seven-year-old commander had shown in the campaign in Italy bewildered his enemies and thrilled his friends.
“Things go on very badly,” said an Austrian veteran taken at Lodi. “No one seems to know what he is about. The French general is a young blockhead who knows nothing of the regular rules of war. Sometimes he is on our right, at others on our left; now in front, and presently in our rear. This mode of warfare91 is contrary to all system, and utterly insufferable.”
75It is certain that if Napoleon’s opponents never knew what he was going to do, if his generals themselves were frequently uncertain, it being his practice to hold his peace about his plans, he himself had definite rules of warfare. The most important of these were:
“Attacks should not be scattered, but should be concentrated.”
“Always be superior to the enemy at the point of attack.”
“Time is everything.”
To these formulated92 rules he joined marvelous fertility in stratagem. The feint by which, at the beginning of the campaign, he had enticed93 Beaulieu to march on Genoa, and that by which, a few days later, he had induced him to place his army near Valenza, were masterpieces in their way.
His quick-wittedness in emergency frequently saved him from disaster. Thus, on August 4th, in the midst of the excitement of the contest, Bonaparte went to Lonato to see what troops could be drawn from there. On entering he was greatly surprised to receive an Austrian parlementaire, who called on the commandant of Lonato to surrender, because the French were surrounded. Bonaparte saw at once that the Austrians could be nothing but a division which had been cut off and was seeking escape; but he was embarrassed, for there were only twelve hundred men at Lonato. Sending for the man, he had his eyes unbandaged, and told him that if his commander had the presumption94 to capture the general-in-chief of the army of Italy he might advance; that the Austrian division ought to have known that he was at Lonato with his whole army; and he added that if they did not lay down their arms in eight minutes he would not spare a man. This audacity saved Bonaparte, and won him four thousand prisoners with guns and cavalry95.
76
“ITALIE.”
From a lithograph96 by Raffet.
77His fertility in stratagem, his rapidity of action, his audacity in attack, bewildered and demoralized the enemy, but it raised the enthusiasm of his imaginative Southern troops to the highest pitch.
He insisted in this campaign on one other rule: “Unity61 of command is necessary to assure success.” After his defeat of the Piedmontese, the Directory ordered him, May 7, 1796, to divide his command with Kellermann. Napoleon answered:
“I believe it most impolitic to divide the army of Italy in two parts. It is quite as much against the interests of the republic to place two different generals over it....
“A single general is not only necessary, but also it is essential that nothing trouble him in his march and operations. I have conducted this campaign without consulting any one. I should have done nothing of value if I had been obliged to reconcile my plans with those of another. I have gained advantage over superior forces and when stripped of everything myself, because persuaded that your confidence was in me. My action has been as prompt as my thought.
“If you impose hindrances97 of all sorts upon me, if I must refer every step to government commissioners98, if they have the right to change my movements, of taking from me or of sending me troops, expect no more of any value. If you enfeeble your means by dividing your forces, if you break the unity of military thought in Italy, I tell you sorrowfully you will lose the happiest opportunity of imposing99 laws on Italy.
“In the condition of the affairs of the republic in Italy, it is indispensable that you have a general that has your entire confidence. If it is not I, I am sorry for it, but I shall redouble my zeal100 to merit your esteem101 in the post you confide35 to me. Each one has his own way of carrying on war. General Kellermann has more experience and will do it better than I, but both together will do it very badly.
“I can only render the services essential to the country when invested entirely102 and absolutely with your confidence.”
He remained in charge, and throughout the rest of the campaign continued to act more and more independently of the Directory, even dictating103 terms of peace to please himself.
It was in this Italian campaign that the almost superstitious104 adoration105 which Napoleon’s soldiers and most of his 78generals felt for him began. Brilliant generalship was not the only reason for this. It was due largely to his personal courage, which they had discovered at Lodi. A charge had been ordered across a wooden bridge swept by thirty pieces of cannon, and beyond was the Austrian army. The men hesitated. Napoleon sprang to their head and led them into the thickest of the fire. From that day he was known among them as the “Little Corporal.” He had won them by the quality which appeals most deeply to a soldier in the ranks—contempt of death. Such was their devotion to him that they gladly exposed their lives if they saw him in danger. There were several such cases in the battle of Arcola. The first day, when Bonaparte was exposing himself in an advance, his aide-de-camp, Colonel Muiron, saw that he was in imminent106 danger. Throwing himself before Bonaparte, the colonel covered him with his body, receiving a wound which was destined107 for the general. The brave fellow’s blood spurted108 into Bonaparte’s face. He literally109 gave his life to save his commander’s. The same day, in a final effort to take Arcola, Bonaparte seized a flag, rushed on the bridge, and planted it there. His column reached the middle of the bridge, but there it was broken by the enemy’s flanking fire. The grenadiers at the head, finding themselves deserted110 by the rear, were compelled to retreat; but, critical as their position was, they refused to abandon their general. They seized him by his arms, by his clothes, and dragged him with them through shot and smoke. When one fell out wounded, another pressed to his place. Precipitated111 into the morass, Bonaparte sank. The enemy were surrounding him when the grenadiers perceived his danger. A cry was raised, “Forward, soldiers, to save the General!” and immediately they fell upon the Austrians with such fury that they drove them off, dragged out their hero, and bore him to a safe place.
79His addresses never failed to stir them to action and enthusiasm. They were oratorical112, prophetic, and abounded113 in phrases which the soldiers never forgot. Such was his address at Milan:
“Soldiers! you have precipitated yourselves like a torrent114 from the summit of the Apennines; you have driven back and dispersed115 all that opposed your march. Piedmont, liberated116 from Austrian tyranny, has yielded to her natural sentiments of peace and amity117 towards France. Milan is yours, and the Republican flag floats throughout Lombardy, while the Dukes of Modena and Parma owe their political existence solely118 to your generosity119. The army which so haughtily120 menaced you, finds no barrier to secure it from your courage. The Po, the Ticino, and the Adda have been unable to arrest your courage for a single day. Those boasted ramparts of Italy proved insufficient. You have surmounted them as rapidly as you cleared the Apennines. So much success has diffused121 joy through the bosom122 of your country. Yes, soldiers, you have done well; but is there nothing more for you to accomplish? Shall it be said of us that we knew how to conquer, but knew not how to profit by victory? Shall posterity123 reproach us with having found a Capua in Lombardy? But I see you rush to arms; unmanly repose124 wearies you, and the days lost to glory are lost to happiness.
“Let us set forward. We have still forced marches to perform, enemies to conquer, laurels125 to gather, and injuries to avenge126. Let those tremble who have whetted127 the poniards of civil war in France; who have, like dastards, assassinated128 our ministers, and burned our ships in Toulon. The hour of vengeance130 is arrived, but let the people be tranquil131. We are the friends of all nations, particularly the descendants of the Brutuses, the Scipios, and those illustrious persons we have chosen for our models. To restore the Capitol, replace with honor the statues of the heroes who rendered it renowned132, and rouse the Roman people, become torpid133 by so many ages of slavery—shall, will, be the fruit of your victories. You will then return to your homes, and your fellow-citizens when pointing to you will say, ‘He was of the army of Italy.’”
Such was his address in March, before the final campaign against the Austrians:
80
BONAPARTE.
Engraved134 by Bartolozzi, R.A., an Italian engraver135, resident of England, after the portrait of Appiani.
81“You have been victorious in fourteen pitched battles and sixty-six combats; you have taken one hundred thousand prisoners, five hundred pieces of large cannon and two thousand pieces of smaller, four equipages for bridge pontoons. The country has nourished you, paid you during your campaign, and you have beside that sent thirty millions from the public treasury136 to Paris. You have enriched the Museum of Paris with three hundred chefs-d’oeuvre of ancient and modern Italy, which it has taken thirty ages to produce. You have conquered the most beautiful country of Europe. The French colors float for the first time upon the borders of the Adriatic. The kings of Sardinia and Naples, the Pope, the Duke of Parma have become allies. You have chased the English from Leghorn, Genoa, and Corsica. You have yet to march against the Emperor of Austria.”
His approval was their greatest joy. Let him speak a word of praise to a regiment137, and they embroidered138 it on their banners. “I was at ease, the Thirty-second was there,” was on the flag of that regiment. Over the Fifty-seventh floated a name Napoleon had called them by, “The terrible Fifty-seventh.”
His displeasure was a greater spur than his approval. He said to a corps139 which had retreated in disorder140: “Soldiers, you have displeased141 me. You have shown neither courage nor constancy, but have yielded positions where a handful of men might have defied an army. You are no longer French soldiers. Let it be written on their colors, ‘They no longer form part of the Army of Italy.’” A veteran pleaded that they be placed in the van, and during the rest of the campaign no regiment was more distinguished.
The effect of his genius was as great on his generals as on his troops. They were dazzled by his stratagems142 and man?uvres, inspired by his imagination. “There was so much of the future in him,” is Marmont’s expressive143 explanation. They could believe anything of him. A remarkable144 set of men they were to have as followers145 and friends—Augereau, Masséna, Berthier, Marmont, Junot.
The people and the government in Paris had begun to believe in him, as did the Army of Italy. He not only sent flags and reports of victory; he sent money and works of art. Impoverished146 as the Directory was, the sums which 82came from Italy were a reason for not interfering147 with the high hand the young general carried in his campaigns and treaties.
Never before had France received such letters from a general. Now he announces that he has sent “twenty first masters, from Correggio to Michael Angelo;” now, “a dozen millions of money;” now, two or three millions in jewels and diamonds to be sold in Paris. In return he asks only for men and officers “who have fire and a firm resolution not to make learned retreats.”
The entry into Paris of the first art acquisitions made a profound impression on the people:
“The procession of enormous cars, drawn by richly caparisoned horses, was divided into four sections. First came trunks filled with books, manuscripts, ... including the antiques of Josephus, on papyrus148, with works in the handwriting of Galileo.... Then followed collections of mineral products.... For the occasion were added wagons149 laden150 with iron cages containing lions, tigers, panthers, over which waved enormous palm branches and all kinds of exotic shrubs151. Afterwards rolled along chariots bearing pictures carefully packed, but with the names of the most important inscribed152 in large letters on the outside, as, The Transfiguration, by Raphael; The Christ, by Titian. The number was great, the value greater. When these trophies153 had passed, amid the applause of an excited crowd, a heavy rumbling154 announced the approach of massive carts bearing statues and marble groups: the Apollo Belvidere; the Nine Muses155; the Laoco?n.... The Venus de Medici was eventually added, decked with bouquets156, crowns of flowers, flags taken from the enemy, and French, Italian, and Greek inscriptions157. Detachments of cavalry and infantry158, colors flying, drums beating, music playing, marched at intervals159; the members of the newly established Institute fell into line; artists and savants; and the singers of the theatres made the air ring with national hymns160. This procession marched through all Paris, and at the Champ de Mars defiled161 before the five members of the Directory, surrounded by their subordinate officers.”
The practice of sending home works of art, begun in the Italian campaign, Napoleon continued throughout his military career, and the art of France owes much to the education thus given the artists of the first part of this century. 83His agents ransacked162 Italy, Spain, Germany, and Flanders for chefs-d’oeuvre. When entering a country one of the first things he did was to collect information about its chief art objects, in order to demand them in case of victory, for it was by treaty that they were usually obtained. Among the works of art which Napoleon sent to Paris were twenty-five Raphaels, twenty-three Titians, fifty-three Rubenses, thirty-three Van Dykes163, thirty-one Rembrandts.
In Italy rose Napoleon’s “star,” that mysterious guide which he followed from Lodi to Waterloo. Here was born that faith in him and his future, that belief that he “marched under the protection of the goddess of fortune and of war,” that confidence that he was endowed with a “good genius.”
He called Lodi the birthplace of his faith. “Vendémiaire and even Montenotte did not make me believe myself a superior man. It was only after Lodi that it came into my head that I could become a decisive actor on our political field. Then was born the first spark of high ambition.”
Trained in a religion full of mysticism, taught to believe in signs, guided by a “star,” there is a tinge164 of superstition165 throughout his active, practical, hardworking life. Marmont tells that one day while in Italy the glass over the portrait of his wife, which he always wore, was broken.
“He turned frightfully pale, and the impression upon him was most sorrowful. ‘Marmont,’ he said, ‘my wife is very ill or she is unfaithful.’” There are many similar anecdotes166 to show his dependence85 upon and confidence in omens167.
In a campaign of such achievements as that in Italy there seems to be no time for love, and yet love was never more imperative168, more absorbing, in Napoleon’s life than during this period.
84
“NAPOLEONE BUONAPARTE.”
“Engraved by Henry Richter from the celebrated bust169 by Ceracchi, lately brought from Paris and now in his possession. Published June 1, 1801, by H. Richter, No. 26 Newman Street, Oxford170 Street.” This bust was made in the Italian campaign by Ceracchi, a Corsican working in Rome. Ceracchi left Rome in 1799 to escape punishment for taking part in an insurrection in the city, and went to Paris, where he hoped to receive aid from the First Consul69. He made the busts171 of several generals—Berthier, Masséna, and Bernadotte—but as orders did not multiply, and Napoleon did nothing for him, he became incensed172 against him, and took part in a plot to assassinate129 the First Consul at the opera, the 18th Brumaire, 1801. Arrested on his way to the loge in the opera, he was executed soon after.
85“Oh, my adorable wife,” he wrote Josephine in April, “I do not know what fate awaits me, but if it keeps me longer from you, I shall not be able to endure it; my courage will not hold out to that point. There was a time when I was proud of my courage; and when I thought of the harm that men might do me, of the lot that my destiny might reserve for me, I looked at the most terrible misfortunes without a quiver, with no surprise. But now, the thought that my Josephine may be in trouble, that she may be ill, and, above all, the cruel, fatal thought that she may love me less, inflicts173 torture in my soul, stops the beating of my heart, makes me sad and dejected, robs me of even the courage of fury and despair. I often used to say, ‘Man can do no harm to one who is willing to die;’ but now, to die without being loved by you, to die without this certainty, is the torture of hell; it is the vivid and crushing image of total annihilation. It seems to me as if I were choking. My only companion, you who have been chosen by fate to make with me the painful journey of life, the day when I shall no longer possess your heart will be that when for me the world shall have lost all warmth and all its vegetation.... I will stop, my sweet pet; my soul is sad. I am very tired, my mind is worn out, I am sick of men. I have good reason for hating them. They separate me from my love.”
Josephine was indifferent to this strong passion. “How queer Bonaparte is!” she said coldly at the evidences of his affection which he poured upon her; and when, after a few weeks separation, he began to implore174 her to join him she hesitated, made excuses, tried in every possible way to evade175 his wish. It was not strange that a woman of her indolent nature, loving flattery, having no passion but for amusement, reckless expenditure176, and her own ease, should prefer life in Paris. There she shared with Madame Tallien the adoration which the Parisian world is always bestowing178 on some fair woman. At opera and ball she was the centre of attraction; even in the street the people knew her. Notre Dame177 des Victoires was the name they gave her.
In desperation at her indifference179, Napoleon finally wrote her, in June, from Tortona:
“My life is a perpetual nightmare. A black presentiment180 makes breathing difficult. I am no longer alive; I have lost more than life, 86more than happiness, more than peace; I am almost without hope. I am sending you a courier. He will stay only four hours in Paris, and then will bring me your answer. Write to me ten pages; that is the only thing that can console me in the least. You are ill; you love me; I have distressed you; you are with child; and I do not see you.... I have treated you so ill that I do not know how to set myself right in your eyes. I have been blaming you for staying in Paris, and you have been ill there. Forgive me, my dear; the love with which you have filled me has robbed me of my reason, and I shall never recover it. It is a malady181 from which there is no recovery. My forebodings are so gloomy that all I ask is to see you, to hold you in my arms for two hours, and that we may die together. Who is taking care of you? I suppose that you have sent for Hortense; I love the dear child a thousand times better since I think that she may console you a little. As for me, I am without consolation182, rest, and hope until I see again the messenger whom I am sending to you, and until you explain to me in a long letter just what is the matter with you, and how serious it is. If there were any danger, I warn you that I should start at once for Paris.... You! you!—and the rest of the world will not exist for me any more than if it had been annihilated183. I care for honor because you care for it; for victory, because it brings you pleasure; otherwise, I should abandon everything to throw myself at your feet.”
After this letter Josephine consented to go to Italy, but she left Paris weeping as if going to her execution. Once at Milan, where she held almost a court, she recovered her gaiety, and the two were very happy for a time. But it did not last. Napoleon, obliged to be on the march, would implore Josephine to come to him here and there, and once she narrowly escaped with her life when trying to get away from the army.
Wherever she was installed she had a circle of adorers about her, and as a result she neglected writing to her husband. Reproaches and entreaties184 filled his letters. He begged her for only a line, and he implored185 her that she be less cold.
“Your letters are as cold as fifty years of age; one would think they had been written after we had been married fifteen years. They are full of the friendliness186 and feelings of life’s winter,... What more can you do to distress81 me? Stop loving me? That you have already 87done. Hate me? Well, I wish you would; everything degrades me except hatred187; but indifference, with a calm pulse, fixed eyes, monotonous188 walk!... A thousand kisses, tender, like my heart.”
It was not merely indolence and indifference that caused Josephine’s neglect. It was coquetry frequently, and Napoleon, informed by his couriers as to whom she received at Milan or Genoa, and of the pleasures she enjoyed, was jealous with all the force of his nature. More than one young officer who dared pay homage189 to Josephine in this campaign was banished190 “by order of the commander-in-chief.” Reaching Milan once, unexpectedly, he found her gone. His disappointment was bitter.
“I reached Milan, rushed to your rooms, having thrown up everything to see you, to press you to my heart—you were not there; you are traveling about from one town to another, amusing yourself with balls.... My unhappiness is inconceivable.... Don’t put yourself out; pursue your pleasure; happiness is made for you.”
It was between such extremes of triumphant191 love and black despair that Napoleon lived throughout the Italian campaign.
88
BONAPARTE AT MALMAISON.
The title on the engraving192 reads: “Bonaparte, dédié à Madame Bonaparte.” Engraved in 1803 by Godefroy, after Isabey.

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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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artillery
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n.(军)火炮,大炮;炮兵(部队) | |
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avaricious
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adj.贪婪的,贪心的 | |
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sneered
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讥笑,冷笑( sneer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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fully
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adv.完全地,全部地,彻底地;充分地 | |
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rations
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定量( ration的名词复数 ); 配给量; 正常量; 合理的量 | |
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afterward
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adv.后来;以后 | |
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quelled
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v.(用武力)制止,结束,镇压( quell的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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clairvoyant
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adj.有预见的;n.有预见的人 | |
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obedience
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n.服从,顺从 | |
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celebrated
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adj.有名的,声誉卓著的 | |
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applied
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adj.应用的;v.应用,适用 | |
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salon
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n.[法]沙龙;客厅;营业性的高级服务室 | |
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tempted
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v.怂恿(某人)干不正当的事;冒…的险(tempt的过去分词) | |
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drawn
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v.拖,拉,拔出;adj.憔悴的,紧张的 | |
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fixed
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adj.固定的,不变的,准备好的;(计算机)固定的 | |
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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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determined
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adj.坚定的;有决心的 | |
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maritime
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adj.海的,海事的,航海的,近海的,沿海的 | |
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scattered
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adj.分散的,稀疏的;散步的;疏疏落落的 | |
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zest
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n.乐趣;滋味,风味;兴趣 | |
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anticipation
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n.预期,预料,期望 | |
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skilful
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(=skillful)adj.灵巧的,熟练的 | |
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predecessor
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n.前辈,前任 | |
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stratagem
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n.诡计,计谋 | |
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rumors
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n.传闻( rumor的名词复数 );[古]名誉;咕哝;[古]喧嚷v.传闻( rumor的第三人称单数 );[古]名誉;咕哝;[古]喧嚷 | |
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cannon
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n.大炮,火炮;飞机上的机关炮 | |
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fortresses
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堡垒,要塞( fortress的名词复数 ) | |
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fortress
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n.堡垒,防御工事 | |
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memorable
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adj.值得回忆的,难忘的,特别的,显著的 | |
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valor
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n.勇气,英勇 | |
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utterly
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adv.完全地,绝对地 | |
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destitute
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adj.缺乏的;穷困的 | |
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cannons
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n.加农炮,大炮,火炮( cannon的名词复数 ) | |
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confide
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v.向某人吐露秘密 | |
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consternation
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n.大为吃惊,惊骇 | |
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concealed
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a.隐藏的,隐蔽的 | |
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remains
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n.剩余物,残留物;遗体,遗迹 | |
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surmounted
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战胜( surmount的过去式和过去分词 ); 克服(困难); 居于…之上; 在…顶上 | |
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diplomacy
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n.外交;外交手腕,交际手腕 | |
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armistice
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n.休战,停战协定 | |
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adroitly
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adv.熟练地,敏捷地 | |
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snares
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n.陷阱( snare的名词复数 );圈套;诱人遭受失败(丢脸、损失等)的东西;诱惑物v.用罗网捕捉,诱陷,陷害( snare的第三人称单数 ) | |
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audacity
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n.大胆,卤莽,无礼 | |
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invincible
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adj.不可征服的,难以制服的 | |
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distinguished
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adj.卓越的,杰出的,著名的 | |
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enumerate
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v.列举,计算,枚举,数 | |
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conquerors
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征服者,占领者( conqueror的名词复数 ) | |
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clergy
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n.[总称]牧师,神职人员 | |
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outraged
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a.震惊的,义愤填膺的 | |
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halfway
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adj.中途的,不彻底的,部分的;adv.半路地,在中途,在半途 | |
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feigning
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假装,伪装( feign的现在分词 ); 捏造(借口、理由等) | |
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victorious
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adj.胜利的,得胜的 | |
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precarious
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adj.不安定的,靠不住的;根据不足的 | |
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lessening
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减轻,减少,变小 | |
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simultaneously
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adv.同时发生地,同时进行地 | |
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envelop
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vt.包,封,遮盖;包围 | |
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compensated
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补偿,报酬( compensate的过去式和过去分词 ); 给(某人)赔偿(或赔款) | |
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piecemeal
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adj.零碎的;n.片,块;adv.逐渐地;v.弄成碎块 | |
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garrison
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n.卫戍部队;驻地,卫戍区;vt.派(兵)驻防 | |
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unity
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n.团结,联合,统一;和睦,协调 | |
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apparently
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adv.显然地;表面上,似乎 | |
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rapacity
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n.贪婪,贪心,劫掠的欲望 | |
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contractors
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n.(建筑、监造中的)承包人( contractor的名词复数 ) | |
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insufficient
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adj.(for,of)不足的,不够的 | |
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fatigue
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n.疲劳,劳累 | |
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tampered
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v.窜改( tamper的过去式 );篡改;(用不正当手段)影响;瞎摆弄 | |
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armistices
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n.停火( armistice的名词复数 );停战;休战协议;停战协议 | |
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consul
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n.领事;执政官 | |
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negotiations
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协商( negotiation的名词复数 ); 谈判; 完成(难事); 通过 | |
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impaired
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adj.受损的;出毛病的;有(身体或智力)缺陷的v.损害,削弱( impair的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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westward
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n.西方,西部;adj.西方的,向西的;adv.向西 | |
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defile
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v.弄污,弄脏;n.(山间)小道 | |
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morass
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n.沼泽,困境 | |
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desperately
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adv.极度渴望地,绝望地,孤注一掷地 | |
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retired
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adj.隐退的,退休的,退役的 | |
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withdrawn
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vt.收回;使退出;vi.撤退,退出 | |
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wrenching
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n.修截苗根,苗木铲根(铲根时苗木不起土或部分起土)v.(猛力地)扭( wrench的现在分词 );扭伤;使感到痛苦;使悲痛 | |
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tormented
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饱受折磨的 | |
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distressed
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痛苦的 | |
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distress
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n.苦恼,痛苦,不舒适;不幸;vt.使悲痛 | |
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incessantly
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ad.不停地 | |
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skilfully
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adv. (美skillfully)熟练地 | |
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odds
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n.让步,机率,可能性,比率;胜败优劣之别 | |
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dependence
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n.依靠,依赖;信任,信赖;隶属 | |
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invaders
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入侵者,侵略者,侵入物( invader的名词复数 ) | |
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monarchical
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adj. 国王的,帝王的,君主的,拥护君主制的 =monarchic | |
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hindrance
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n.妨碍,障碍 | |
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perfidious
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adj.不忠的,背信弃义的 | |
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judgment
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n.审判;判断力,识别力,看法,意见 | |
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warfare
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n.战争(状态);斗争;冲突 | |
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formulated
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v.构想出( formulate的过去式和过去分词 );规划;确切地阐述;用公式表示 | |
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enticed
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诱惑,怂恿( entice的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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presumption
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n.推测,可能性,冒昧,放肆,[法律]推定 | |
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95
cavalry
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n.骑兵;轻装甲部队 | |
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96
lithograph
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n.平板印刷,平板画;v.用平版印刷 | |
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97
hindrances
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阻碍者( hindrance的名词复数 ); 障碍物; 受到妨碍的状态 | |
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98
commissioners
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n.专员( commissioner的名词复数 );长官;委员;政府部门的长官 | |
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99
imposing
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adj.使人难忘的,壮丽的,堂皇的,雄伟的 | |
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100
zeal
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n.热心,热情,热忱 | |
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101
esteem
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n.尊敬,尊重;vt.尊重,敬重;把…看作 | |
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102
entirely
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ad.全部地,完整地;完全地,彻底地 | |
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103
dictating
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v.大声讲或读( dictate的现在分词 );口授;支配;摆布 | |
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104
superstitious
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adj.迷信的 | |
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105
adoration
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n.爱慕,崇拜 | |
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106
imminent
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adj.即将发生的,临近的,逼近的 | |
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107
destined
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adj.命中注定的;(for)以…为目的地的 | |
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108
spurted
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(液体,火焰等)喷出,(使)涌出( spurt的过去式和过去分词 ); (短暂地)加速前进,冲刺 | |
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109
literally
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adv.照字面意义,逐字地;确实 | |
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110
deserted
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adj.荒芜的,荒废的,无人的,被遗弃的 | |
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111
precipitated
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v.(突如其来地)使发生( precipitate的过去式和过去分词 );促成;猛然摔下;使沉淀 | |
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112
oratorical
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adj.演说的,雄辩的 | |
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113
abounded
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v.大量存在,充满,富于( abound的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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114
torrent
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n.激流,洪流;爆发,(话语等的)连发 | |
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115
dispersed
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adj. 被驱散的, 被分散的, 散布的 | |
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116
liberated
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a.无拘束的,放纵的 | |
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117
amity
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n.友好关系 | |
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118
solely
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adv.仅仅,唯一地 | |
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119
generosity
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n.大度,慷慨,慷慨的行为 | |
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120
haughtily
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adv. 傲慢地, 高傲地 | |
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121
diffused
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散布的,普及的,扩散的 | |
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122
bosom
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n.胸,胸部;胸怀;内心;adj.亲密的 | |
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123
posterity
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n.后裔,子孙,后代 | |
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124
repose
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v.(使)休息;n.安息 | |
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125
laurels
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n.桂冠,荣誉 | |
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126
avenge
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v.为...复仇,为...报仇 | |
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127
whetted
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v.(在石头上)磨(刀、斧等)( whet的过去式和过去分词 );引起,刺激(食欲、欲望、兴趣等) | |
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128
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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129
assassinate
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vt.暗杀,行刺,中伤 | |
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130
vengeance
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n.报复,报仇,复仇 | |
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131
tranquil
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adj. 安静的, 宁静的, 稳定的, 不变的 | |
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132
renowned
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adj.著名的,有名望的,声誉鹊起的 | |
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133
torpid
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adj.麻痹的,麻木的,迟钝的 | |
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134
engraved
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v.在(硬物)上雕刻(字,画等)( engrave的过去式和过去分词 );将某事物深深印在(记忆或头脑中) | |
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135
engraver
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n.雕刻师,雕工 | |
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136
treasury
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n.宝库;国库,金库;文库 | |
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137
regiment
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n.团,多数,管理;v.组织,编成团,统制 | |
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138
embroidered
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adj.绣花的 | |
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139
corps
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n.(通信等兵种的)部队;(同类作的)一组 | |
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140
disorder
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n.紊乱,混乱;骚动,骚乱;疾病,失调 | |
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141
displeased
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a.不快的 | |
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142
stratagems
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n.诡计,计谋( stratagem的名词复数 );花招 | |
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143
expressive
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adj.表现的,表达…的,富于表情的 | |
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144
remarkable
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adj.显著的,异常的,非凡的,值得注意的 | |
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145
followers
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追随者( follower的名词复数 ); 用户; 契据的附面; 从动件 | |
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146
impoverished
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adj.穷困的,无力的,用尽了的v.使(某人)贫穷( impoverish的过去式和过去分词 );使(某物)贫瘠或恶化 | |
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147
interfering
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adj. 妨碍的 动词interfere的现在分词 | |
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148
papyrus
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n.古以纸草制成之纸 | |
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149
wagons
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n.四轮的运货马车( wagon的名词复数 );铁路货车;小手推车 | |
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150
laden
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adj.装满了的;充满了的;负了重担的;苦恼的 | |
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151
shrubs
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灌木( shrub的名词复数 ) | |
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152
inscribed
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v.写,刻( inscribe的过去式和过去分词 );内接 | |
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153
trophies
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n.(为竞赛获胜者颁发的)奖品( trophy的名词复数 );奖杯;(尤指狩猎或战争中获得的)纪念品;(用于比赛或赛跑名称)奖 | |
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154
rumbling
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n. 隆隆声, 辘辘声 adj. 隆隆响的 动词rumble的现在分词 | |
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155
muses
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v.沉思,冥想( muse的第三人称单数 );沉思自语说(某事) | |
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156
bouquets
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n.花束( bouquet的名词复数 );(酒的)芳香 | |
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157
inscriptions
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(作者)题词( inscription的名词复数 ); 献词; 碑文; 证劵持有人的登记 | |
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158
infantry
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n.[总称]步兵(部队) | |
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159
intervals
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n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 );间隔时间;[数学]区间;(戏剧、电影或音乐会的)幕间休息 | |
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160
hymns
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n.赞美诗,圣歌,颂歌( hymn的名词复数 ) | |
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161
defiled
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v.玷污( defile的过去式和过去分词 );污染;弄脏;纵列行进 | |
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162
ransacked
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v.彻底搜查( ransack的过去式和过去分词 );抢劫,掠夺 | |
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163
dykes
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abbr.diagonal wire cutters 斜线切割机n.堤( dyke的名词复数 );坝;堰;沟 | |
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164
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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165
superstition
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n.迷信,迷信行为 | |
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166
anecdotes
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n.掌故,趣闻,轶事( anecdote的名词复数 ) | |
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167
omens
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n.前兆,预兆( omen的名词复数 ) | |
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168
imperative
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n.命令,需要;规则;祈使语气;adj.强制的;紧急的 | |
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169
bust
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vt.打破;vi.爆裂;n.半身像;胸部 | |
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170
Oxford
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n.牛津(英国城市) | |
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171
busts
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半身雕塑像( bust的名词复数 ); 妇女的胸部; 胸围; 突击搜捕 | |
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172
incensed
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盛怒的 | |
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173
inflicts
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把…强加给,使承受,遭受( inflict的第三人称单数 ) | |
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174
implore
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vt.乞求,恳求,哀求 | |
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175
evade
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vt.逃避,回避;避开,躲避 | |
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176
expenditure
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n.(时间、劳力、金钱等)支出;使用,消耗 | |
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177
dame
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n.女士 | |
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178
bestowing
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砖窑中砖堆上层已烧透的砖 | |
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179
indifference
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n.不感兴趣,不关心,冷淡,不在乎 | |
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180
presentiment
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n.预感,预觉 | |
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181
malady
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n.病,疾病(通常做比喻) | |
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182
consolation
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n.安慰,慰问 | |
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183
annihilated
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v.(彻底)消灭( annihilate的过去式和过去分词 );使无效;废止;彻底击溃 | |
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184
entreaties
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n.恳求,乞求( entreaty的名词复数 ) | |
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185
implored
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恳求或乞求(某人)( implore的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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186
friendliness
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n.友谊,亲切,亲密 | |
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187
hatred
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n.憎恶,憎恨,仇恨 | |
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188
monotonous
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adj.单调的,一成不变的,使人厌倦的 | |
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189
homage
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n.尊敬,敬意,崇敬 | |
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190
banished
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v.放逐,驱逐( banish的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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191
triumphant
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adj.胜利的,成功的;狂欢的,喜悦的 | |
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192
engraving
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n.版画;雕刻(作品);雕刻艺术;镌版术v.在(硬物)上雕刻(字,画等)( engrave的现在分词 );将某事物深深印在(记忆或头脑中) | |
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