Just a week before the marriage of Napoleon with Josephine he had been appointed general-in-chief of the Army of Italy, and two days after the marriage he left for his command. Josephine remained in Paris, at her home in the Rue1 Chantereine, a little relieved, probably, at the departure of her tempestuous2 lover. Certainly she was not sufficiently3 in love to be able to keep pace with the ardent4 letters which he sent her from every post on his route. She read them, to be sure; even showed them to her friends, pronouncing them dr?le; but her answers equalled them neither in number nor in warmth. Napoleon’s suffering and reproaches and prayers disturbed her peace. She could not love like this. Soon he began to beg her to come to Italy. The campaign was well started; he was winning victories. There was no reason why she should not join him; or come at least to Nice—to Milan. “You will come,” he begs, “and quick. If you hesitate, if you delay, you will find me ill. Fatigue5 and your absence are too much for me.... Take wings, come—come!”
But Josephine did not want to leave Paris. Particularly now when she was reaping the first fruits of her young husband’s glory in an homage6 such as she had never known, but of which there is no doubt she had dreamed from childhood. 347Napoleon’s victories had driven the Parisians wild with joy, and they asked nothing better than to adore the wife of the hero of the campaign. Scarcely two months, in fact, had passed, after leaving Paris before Napoleon sent back, by his brother Joseph and his aide Junot, twenty-one flags taken from the enemy. They were received at a public session of the Directory. Josephine was present with Mme. Tallien, and when the two beautiful women, accompanied by Junot, left the Luxembourg, where the presentation had taken place, there was such a demonstration7 as Paris had not seen over a woman in many a day. “Look,” they cried, “it is his wife! Isn’t she beautiful! Long live General Bonaparte! Long live the Citizeness Bonaparte! Long live Notre Dame8 des Victoires!”
New triumphs followed, and to celebrate them there was held a grand fête on May 29. There were balls at the Luxembourg, gala nights at the theaters. And everywhere Josephine, the wife of the conquering general, was queen. And yet almost every night, when she returned from opera or ball, she found awaiting her a passionate9 appeal from Bonaparte to come to Italy. Several weeks she put him off, she pleaded the hardship of the trip, the dangers and discomforts10 she might have to undergo there, a hundred excuses; and Bonaparte, in reply, only begged the more fiercely that she come.
At last she could resist no longer, but she took no pains to conceal11 her sorrow at going. “Her chagrin12 was extreme, when she saw there was no longer any way of escaping,” Arnault says, “she thought more of what she was going to leave than what she was going to find. She would have given the palace at Milan which had been prepared for her, she would have given all the palaces of the world, for her house in the Rue Chantereine.... She started for Italy from the Luxembourg, where she had 348supped with some friends. Poor woman, she burst into tears and sobbed13 as if she was going to punishment—she who was going to reign14.”
It was the end of June before Josephine arrived in Milan. The palace which awaited her was the princely home of the Duke de Serbelloni;—the society the choicest of Italy. She at once found herself literally15 living like a princess. Unhappily for her, however, there was no opportunity to remain long quietly at Milan and enjoy the pleasures open to her. Bonaparte was in active campaign—unable to stay but a couple of days after her arrival, and he soon began to beg that she join him in the field. At the end of July, she did go to Brescia, where she experienced a series of exciting adventures. The Austrians were pressing close on the French—closer than Napoleon realized; twice he and she narrowly escaped capture together; once she was under fire. Finally Bonaparte was obliged to send her, by way of Bologna and Ferrara to Lucques, a journey that she made in safety, but in tears.
Henceforth Josephine had an excellent reason for not joining her husband in the field. And Napoleon did not ask her to do so. All he asked now was letters, letters, letters. “Your health and your face are never out of my mind. I cannot be at peace until your letters are received. I wait them impatiently. You cannot conceive my unrest.” And again, “I do not love you at all; on the contrary, I detest16 you. You are a wretched, awkward, stupid little thing. You do not write me any more at all; you do not love your husband. You know the pleasure that your letters give me, and yet write me not more than six lines and that by chance. What are you doing all day long, Madame? But seriously, I am very much disturbed, my dear, at not hearing from you. Write me four pages quickly of those kind of things which fill my heart with pleasure.” A few days later he writes, 349“No letters from you. Truly that disturbs me. I am told you are well and that you have even been to Lake Como. I look impatiently every day for the courier who will bring me news of you.” And again, “I write you very often, my dear, and you write me so rarely.” And so it went on through the entire summer and fall of 1796. While she received at Milan the honors due the wife of a conqueror17 who held the fate of states in his hands, he in the field exhausted18 himself in a frenzied19 struggle for victory—not victory for himself, so he told Josephine, and so for a time, perhaps, he persuaded himself; but victory because it pleased her that he win it; honor because she set store by it; otherwise, said he, “I should leave all to throw myself at your feet.”
All this impetuous passion wearied Josephine more and more. No response was awakened20 in her heart. That she was proud of his love, there is no doubt. She told everybody of his devotion, as well she might: it was her passport to power. But she could not answer it in kind, and she found excuses for her neglect in her health, which was not good at this time, and in the social requirements of her brilliant and conspicuous21 position, and frequently, too, in the fact that the life at Milan, gay as it was, did not please her. She was homesick for Paris. “Monsieur de Serbelloni will tell you, my dear aunt,” she wrote early in September, “how I have been received in Italy, fêted wherever I have gone, all the princes of Italy entertaining me, even the Grand Duke of Tuscany. Ah, well! I would rather be a simple private individual in France; I do not like the honors of this country, I am bored to death. It is true that my health does much to make me sad; I am not well at all. If happiness could bring health, I ought to be well. I have the kindest husband that one could possibly find; I have not time to want anything; my will is his; he is on his knees before me all day long, as if I were a divinity. One could not have a better husband. M. de Serbelloni will tell you how much I am loved; he writes often to my children and is very fond of them.”
350
JOSEPHINE.
By J. B. Isabey. (Collection of M. Edmond Taigny.) This portrait in crayon, lightly touched with color, was executed at Malmaison, probably in the course of the year 1798. It is very little known. Isabey, whose pencil was quick and sure, must have requested Josephine to pose for a few minutes after a walk in the park. This sketch22 was given to M. Taigny by Isabey himself.—A. D.
351Not only did Josephine neglect to write to this “best husband in the world”, as she herself called Bonaparte, but she spent many hours at Milan in conspicuous flirtations with young officers who were glad enough to pay her court. Vague rumors23 of these flirtations came to Napoleon’s ears, no doubt, though it is certain he thought little of them. There are references in his letters which might be attributed to jealousy24, but it is clear that his confidence in Josephine at this time was such that a denial from her, an aggrieved25 look, a tear of reproach, made him sue for pardon and forget his fears.
Aside from her carelessness about writing to him, the gravest complaint that he had against her was her willingness to receive valuable gifts. The treasures of Italy were open to the French, and Bonaparte was sending quantities of rare art objects to Paris; but he declared it highly improper26 that any of these things or any private gifts should go to him or his suite27. Josephine, however, had no scruples28 about gifts, and accepted gladly the jewels, pictures, and bibelots which were sent her. More than one scene resulted from this indiscretion, but it always ended in her keeping the treasure. She learned before she had been long in Italy not to tell the General what had been given her, or if he accused her of receiving gifts, to deny it.
But unhappy as Josephine made Bonaparte in his absence by her neglect and her flirtations, she more than compensated29 for it by her amiability30 when he returned. He had reason soon, too, to see that by her tact31 she did much to help his cause in Italy. She was the embodiment of grace and cheerfulness, she was familiar with the ways of good 352society, she had tact with the republican element of the country, which prided itself on its ideals and patriotism32, and she appeased33 the nobles, who felt that she was one of them. Napoleon had reason to say of Josephine’s influence in Italy what he said later of her influence in Paris—that without it, he could never have accomplished34 what he did. Her value in his plans was particularly evident in the spring and summer of 1797, which they passed together, partly at the palace of Serbelloni and partly at the chateau35 of Montebello. Their life at this time was rather that of two crowned heads than that of a general of an army and his wife. They lived in the greatest state, protected by strict etiquette36 and surrounded by the officers of the army of Italy and representatives from Austria and the Italian states. Audiences with the General were daily sought by the greatest men of Italy. In all this pageant37 of power Josephine moved as naturally and easily as if she had been born to it. On every side she won friends; no one came to the chateau who did not go away to praise her good taste, her simplicity38, her anxiety to please. She never interfered39 in politics either, they said, though she was ever willing to help a friend in securing the General’s favor; and all this praise was deserved. Josephine’s good will was born of a kind heart. It was not merely the complacency of indolence; she had no malice40, she felt kindly41 toward the whole world, she had all her life been willing to exhaust every resource in her power for her friends. She was willing to do so now, and she remained of this disposition42 to the end of her life. Such a character makes a man or woman loved in any age, in any society, whatever his faults. It made Josephine loved particularly in her age and her society, where genuine kindness was rare and where her peculiar43 faults—vices, perhaps one should say—were readily overlooked, particularly if they were handled discreetly44.
353The fall of 1797, Napoleon passed in negotiations45 with Austria. For a time Josephine was with him. Then restless and eager to see Italy, she left him in October and went to Venice, where a splendid reception was given her. From there she travelled as her fancy dictated46 in Northern Italy. Everywhere she went she was received royally, and loaded with gifts. She did not reach Paris until the first of January, 1798, nearly a month after Napoleon.
She came back to find her husband the most talked of man in Europe. She found, too, that her return was eagerly looked for because the General absolutely refused to be lionized—even to appear at public functions, without her. Her coming was thus the signal for a round of gaieties, where, it must be confessed, Bonaparte played rather the part of a bear. He would not leave Josephine’s side; he wanted to talk with her alone, and he openly declared that he would rather stay at home with her than go to the most brilliant reception Paris could offer. “I love my wife,” he said seriously to those who chaffed him or remonstrated47. With all his dreams of ambition, it is certain that she filled his life as completely now as she had nearly two years before, when he married her. As for Josephine herself, she seems to have been completely satisfied now that she was in Paris. She was the centre of an admiring circle; she was loaded daily with presents, not only from cities and statesmen, but from shop-keepers and manufacturers, eager to have her approval, to use her name. Not since her marriage had she been so contented48.
This satisfactory state of affairs was interrupted in May, when Bonaparte sailed for Egypt. Josephine went to Toulon to see him off, promising49 that she would soon follow him, and then retired50 to the springs at Plombières for a season. It was fall before she returned to Paris. When she did return, it was to plunge51 into a round of frivolity52 and 354extravagance. The most conspicuous of her indiscretions was the attentions she accepted from a young man—Hippolyte Charles—a former adjutant to one of Napoleon’s generals. She had known him before she went to Italy; indeed he had been in her party when she left for Milan in 1796. At Milan he had paid her so assiduous court and had been so encouraged that the news came to Napoleon’s ears, and Charles was suddenly dismissed from the service. He had found a place in Paris—through Josephine’s influence, the gossips said. At all events, this young man reappeared now that Bonaparte was in Egypt, and became a constant visitor at her house; and when, the summer following, she bought Malmaison and took possession, Charles was her first guest. “You had better get a divorce from Bonaparte and marry Charles,” some of her plain-speaking friends told her.
When people as little scrupulous53 as Josephine herself reproved her, it can be imagined what the effect would be on the Bonaparte family, most of whom were now established in or near Paris. They had never cared for Josephine, and never had had much to do with her. Lucien and Joseph were the only members of the family who had seen her before her marriage to Napoleon, and to all of them the marriage came as a shock, Bonaparte not having announced it even to his mother. They looked upon her as an interloper—one who might deprive them of some of the rewards of Bonaparte’s genius: these rewards the entire family seem to have felt from the first belonged to them and to them alone. No one of them had had, until this winter, much opportunity to study Josephine. They were irritated to find her so evidently a woman of higher rank than themselves; they were disgusted at her extravagance and indiscretion. Josephine, on her side, took little trouble to win them. After all, they were only Corsicans, and not amusing like 355Napoleon. No doubt, she felt a little towards them as Alexander de Beauharnais had felt towards her when she first arrived in Paris—an untrained little islander, the province speaking in every gesture. To Josephine’s credit, let it be said, she never was guilty of trying to undermine the place of his family in her husband’s affections; she never opposed their advancement54; she always, to the best of her ability, aided Napoleon in any plans he had for them. It is much more than can be said of the Bonapartes’ attitude towards the Beauharnais.
Shocking to the Bonapartes as were Josephine’s flirtations, they looked on her extravagance with even more horror. To Madame Bonaparte, especially, it was an unforgivable sin; and, in fact, extravagance could scarcely have gone farther. Bonaparte was not rich. Indeed he prided himself on having returned from Italy poor. But he had left a fair income in his brother Joseph’s hands—a part of which was to go to Josephine. She, in utter disregard of the amount of this income, lived in luxury, entertaining royally, and buying prodigally55 everything that pleased her fancy. To meet her pressing demands, she borrowed right and left. Finally, in the summer of 1799, she purchased Malmaison, a country seat at which she and Napoleon had looked before he left for Egypt. The purchasing price was about $50,000, and she had to borrow $3,000 for the advance payment. She went immediately to the place, running in debt for repairs and furnishings.
Joseph Bonaparte was deeply disgusted by Josephine’s reckless expenditures56, and it was only with the greatest difficulty that she was able to get any money from him. He was the more disobliging because he and other members of the family believed that they now had proofs which surely would convince Napoleon that Josephine was faithless and would cause him to secure a divorce as soon as he returned 356from Italy. And, indeed their cause had already advanced in Egypt far beyond their knowledge. Joseph had, before Napoleon’s sailing, put such suspicions of Josephine’s infidelity into his mind and referred him to such members of his own staff for proof, that the General once at sea had investigated the matter and become convinced of the truth of the charges. The revelation caused him weeks of gloom. There was nothing left to live for, he wrote Joseph. At twenty-nine he was disillusioned58. Honors wearied him, glory was colorless, sentiment dead, men without interest. He should return to France and retire to the country. But he could not abandon his post at once, and as the weeks went on recklessness succeeded to gloom. If his wife was faithless, why should he be faithful? From that time Josephine’s exclusive sway was broken. The man who had for her sake spurned59 all women rode openly through the streets of Cairo with a pretty little madame whose husband had been sent suddenly to France. The glory of love was gone forever for Bonaparte, and poor Josephine had lost the rarest jewel of her life. Perhaps the saddest of it all was that she had never realized what she possessed60, never knew her loss.
How much Josephine knew of her husband’s change of feeling towards her is uncertain. There is a letter in existence purporting61 to be hers, written at this time in answer to accusations62 which Napoleon had made from Egypt, in which she repels63 the charges with virtuous64 indignation and attributes them to her enemies, presumably the Bonapartes:—
It is impossible, General (she writes), that the letter I have just received comes from you? I can scarcely credit it when I compare that letter with others now before me, to which your love imparts so many charms! My eyes, indeed, would persuade me that your hand traced these lines; but my heart refuses to believe that a letter from you could 357ever have caused the mortal anguish65 I experience on perusing66 these expressions of your displeasure, which afflict67 me the more when I consider how much pain they must have cost you.
I know not what I have done to provoke some malignant68 enemy to destroy my peace by disturbing yours; but certainly a powerful motive69 must influence some one in continually renewing calumnies70 against me, and giving them a sufficient appearance of probability to impose on the man who has hitherto judged me worthy71 of his affection and confidence. These two sentiments are necessary to my happiness, and if they are to be so soon withdrawn72 from me, I can only regret that I was ever blest in possessing them or knowing you....
Instead of listening to traducers, who, for reasons which I cannot explain, seek to disturb our happiness, why do you not silence them by enumerating73 the benefits you have bestowed74 on a woman whose heart could never be reproached with ingratitude75? The knowledge of what you have done for my children would check the malignity76 of these calumniators, for they would then see that the strongest link of my attachment77 for you depends on my character as a mother. Your subsequent conduct, which has claimed the admiration78 of all Europe, could have no other effect than to make me adore the husband who gave me his hand when I was poor and unfortunate. Every step you take adds to the glory of the name I bear; yet this is the moment that has been selected for persuading you that I no longer love you! Surely nothing can be more wicked and absurd than the conduct of those who are about you, and are jealous of your marked superiority!
Yes, I still love you, and no less tenderly than ever. Those who allege79 the contrary know that they speak falsely. To those very persons I have frequently written to enquire80 about you and to recommend them to console you by their friendship for the absence of her who is your best and truest friend.
Yet what has been the conduct of the men in whom you repose81 confidence, and on whose testimony82 you form so unjust an opinion of me? They conceal from you every circumstance calculated to alleviate83 the anguish of our separation, and they seek to fill your mind with suspicion in order to drive you from a country with which they are dissatisfied. Their object is to make you unhappy. I see this plainly, though you are blind to their perfidious84 intentions. Being no longer their equal, you have become their enemy, and every one of your victories is a fresh ground of envy and hatred85.
I know their intrigues86, and I disdain87 to avenge88 myself by naming the men whom I despise, but whose valor89 and talents may be useful to you in the great enterprise which you have so propitiously90 commenced. When you return, I will unmask these enemies of your glory—but no; 358the happiness of seeing you again will banish91 from my recollection the misery92 they are endeavoring to inflict93 upon me, and I shall think only of what they have done to promote the success of your projects.
I acknowledge that I see a great deal of company; for every one is eager to compliment me on your success, and I confess I have not resolution to close my door against those who speak of you. I also confess that a great portion of my visitors are gentlemen. Men understand your bold projects better than women, and they speak with enthusiasm of your glorious achievements, while my female friends only complain of you for having carried away their husbands, brothers or fathers. I take no pleasure in their society if they do not praise you; yet there are some among them whose hearts and understandings claim my highest regard because they entertain sincere friendship for you. In this number I may distinguish Mesdames d’Aiguillon, Tallien, and my aunt. They are almost constantly with me, and they can tell you, ungrateful as you are, whether I have been coquetting with everybody. These are your words, and they would be hateful to me were I not certain that you have disavowed them and are sorry for having written them....
I sometimes receive honors here which cause me no small degree of embarrassment94. I am not accustomed to this sort of homage, and I see it is displeasing95 to our authorities, who are always suspicious and fearful of losing their newly-gotten power. Never mind them, you will say; and I should not, but that I know they will try to injure you, and I cannot endure the thought of contributing in any way to those feelings of enmity which your triumphs sufficiently account for. If they are envious96 now, what will they be when you return crowned with fresh laurels97? Heavens knows to what lengths their malignity will then carry them! But you will be here, and then nothing can vex98 me....
For my part, my time is occupied in writing to you, hearing your praises, reading the journals, in which your name appears in every page, thinking of you, looking forward to the time when I may see you hourly, complaining of your absence, and longing99 for your return; and when my task is ended, I begin it over again. Are all these proofs of indifference100? You will never have any others from me, and if I receive no worse from you, I shall have no great reason to complain, in spite of the ill-natured stories I hear about a certain lady in whom you are said to take a lively interest. But why should I doubt you? You assure me that you love me, and, judging of your heart by my own, I believe you.
Josephine seems not to have doubted her power to propitiate101 Napoleon on his return. She did not count, however, on his brothers seeing him before she did; but so it 359turned out. Bonaparte, with an eye to effect, landed unexpectedly in France on October 6, 1799. The Bonaparte brothers, as soon as they heard of his arrival, hurried southward without notifying Josephine, whose first knowledge of his coming was while she was dining out on October 10. She immediately started to meet him, but took the wrong route. Returning to Paris alone, she found that her husband had reached home twelve hours ahead of her.
Hastening to the little house in the rue de la Victoire,—a street that had latterly changed its name in honor of him; and the house in which she had first received him, which he had bought subsequently because of its associations, and which he had declared, after his disillusion57 in Egypt, that he should always keep,—Josephine found Napoleon locked in his room. Joseph and Lucien had improved their opportunity, and wrung102 from him a promise to see his wife no more—to secure a divorce. Throwing herself on her knees before the door, Josephine wept and begged for hours, until the door opened; and then, aided by Hortense and Eugène, she sued for pardon. The power she still had over the man was too great for him to resist long. The next morning, when the Bonaparte brothers called, they found a reconciled household.
How complete the reconciliation103 was they realized when they saw Napoleon paying the $200,000 and more due at Malmaison and settling the debts to servants, merchants, jewelers, caterers, florists104, liverymen, everybody, in fact, which Josephine had contracted right and left in his absence. Not only did he pay her obligations with little more than a grimace105, but he entered heartily106 into her plans for repairing and beautifying their new home. The two appeared constantly together in public, where their evident happiness coming so close upon the rumors of a divorce, caused endless gossip.
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rue
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| n.懊悔，芸香，后悔；v.后悔，悲伤，懊悔 | |
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tempestuous
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sufficiently
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ardent
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，强烈的，烈性的 | |
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fatigue
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| n.疲劳，劳累 | |
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homage
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| n.尊敬，敬意，崇敬 | |
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demonstration
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| n.表明，示范，论证，示威 | |
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dame
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| n.女士 | |
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passionate
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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discomforts
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conceal
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chagrin
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| n.懊恼；气愤；委屈 | |
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sobbed
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| 哭泣，啜泣( sob的过去式和过去分词 )； 哭诉，呜咽地说 | |
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reign
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| n.统治时期，统治，支配，盛行；v.占优势 | |
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literally
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| adv.照字面意义，逐字地；确实 | |
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detest
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| vt.痛恨，憎恶 | |
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conqueror
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| n.征服者，胜利者 | |
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exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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frenzied
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| a.激怒的；疯狂的 | |
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awakened
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| v.（使）醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
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conspicuous
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sketch
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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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jealousy
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aggrieved
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| adj.愤愤不平的，受委屈的；悲痛的；（在合法权利方面）受侵害的v.令委屈，令苦恼，侵害( aggrieve的过去式)；令委屈，令苦恼，侵害( aggrieve的过去式和过去分词) | |
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improper
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suite
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| n.一套(家具)；套房；随从人员 | |
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scruples
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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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amiability
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| n.和蔼可亲的，亲切的，友善的 | |
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tact
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| n.机敏，圆滑，得体 | |
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patriotism
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| n.爱国精神，爱国心，爱国主义 | |
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appeased
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| 安抚，抚慰( appease的过去式和过去分词 )； 绥靖（满足另一国的要求以避免战争） | |
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accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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chateau
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| n.城堡，别墅 | |
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etiquette
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| n.礼仪，礼节；规矩 | |
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pageant
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| n.壮观的游行；露天历史剧 | |
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simplicity
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| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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interfered
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| v.干预( interfere的过去式和过去分词 )；调停；妨碍；干涉 | |
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malice
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| n.恶意，怨恨，蓄意；[律]预谋 | |
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kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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disposition
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| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
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peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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discreetly
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| ad.(言行)审慎地，慎重地 | |
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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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dictated
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| v.大声讲或读( dictate的过去式和过去分词 )；口授；支配；摆布 | |
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remonstrated
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| v.抗议( remonstrate的过去式和过去分词 )；告诫 | |
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contented
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| adj.满意的，安心的，知足的 | |
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promising
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| adj.有希望的，有前途的 | |
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retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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plunge
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| v.跳入，(使)投入，(使)陷入；猛冲 | |
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frivolity
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| n.轻松的乐事，兴高采烈；轻浮的举止 | |
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scrupulous
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| adj.审慎的，小心翼翼的，完全的，纯粹的 | |
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advancement
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| n.前进，促进，提升 | |
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prodigally
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| adv.浪费地，丰饶地 | |
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expenditures
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| n.花费( expenditure的名词复数 )；使用；（尤指金钱的）支出额；（精力、时间、材料等的）耗费 | |
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disillusion
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| vt.使不再抱幻想，使理想破灭 | |
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disillusioned
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| a.不再抱幻想的，大失所望的，幻想破灭的 | |
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spurned
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| v.一脚踢开，拒绝接受( spurn的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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purporting
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| v.声称是…，（装得）像是…的样子( purport的现在分词 ) | |
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accusations
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| n.指责( accusation的名词复数 )；指控；控告；（被告发、控告的）罪名 | |
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repels
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| v.击退( repel的第三人称单数 )；使厌恶；排斥；推开 | |
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virtuous
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| adj.有品德的，善良的，贞洁的，有效力的 | |
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anguish
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| n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦，烦恼 | |
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perusing
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| v.读（某篇文字）( peruse的现在分词 )；（尤指）细阅；审阅；匆匆读或心不在焉地浏览（某篇文字） | |
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afflict
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| vt.使身体或精神受痛苦，折磨 | |
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malignant
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| adj.恶性的，致命的；恶意的，恶毒的 | |
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motive
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| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
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calumnies
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| n.诬蔑，诽谤，中伤（的话）( calumny的名词复数 ) | |
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worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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withdrawn
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| vt.收回；使退出；vi.撤退，退出 | |
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enumerating
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| v.列举，枚举，数( enumerate的现在分词 ) | |
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bestowed
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| 赠给，授予( bestow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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ingratitude
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| n.忘恩负义 | |
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malignity
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| n.极度的恶意，恶毒；（病的）恶性 | |
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attachment
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| n.附属物，附件；依恋；依附 | |
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admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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allege
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| vt.宣称，申述，主张，断言 | |
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enquire
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| v.打听，询问；调查，查问 | |
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repose
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| v.(使)休息；n.安息 | |
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82
testimony
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| n.证词；见证，证明 | |
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83
alleviate
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| v.减轻，缓和，缓解(痛苦等) | |
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84
perfidious
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| adj.不忠的，背信弃义的 | |
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85
hatred
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| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
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intrigues
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| n.密谋策划( intrigue的名词复数 )；神秘气氛；引人入胜的复杂情节v.搞阴谋诡计( intrigue的第三人称单数 )；激起…的好奇心 | |
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disdain
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| n.鄙视，轻视；v.轻视，鄙视，不屑 | |
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avenge
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| v.为...复仇，为...报仇 | |
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valor
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| n.勇气，英勇 | |
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propitiously
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banish
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| vt.放逐，驱逐；消除，排除 | |
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misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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93
inflict
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| vt.(on)把…强加给，使遭受，使承担 | |
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embarrassment
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| n.尴尬；使人为难的人(事物)；障碍；窘迫 | |
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displeasing
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| 不愉快的，令人发火的 | |
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96
envious
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| adj.嫉妒的，羡慕的 | |
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laurels
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| n.桂冠，荣誉 | |
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vex
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| vt.使烦恼，使苦恼 | |
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99
longing
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| n.（for）渴望 | |
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100
indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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101
propitiate
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| v.慰解，劝解 | |
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102
wrung
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| 绞( wring的过去式和过去分词 )； 握紧（尤指别人的手）； 把（湿衣服）拧干； 绞掉（水） | |
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103
reconciliation
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| n.和解，和谐，一致 | |
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104
florists
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| n.花商，花农，花卉研究者( florist的名词复数 ) | |
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105
grimace
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| v.做鬼脸，面部歪扭 | |
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106
heartily
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| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
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