About two-thirds of the way along the Rue2 du Bac, between the Rue de Grenelle and the Rue de la Plance, stands a massive dwelling3 which can be recognized to-day by the four Ionic columns which support, two by two, a heavy stone balcony. This was the Swedish embassy, and the celebrated4 Madame de Sta?l,[Pg 294] daughter of Monsieur de Necker, and wife of the Swedish ambassador, Baron5 de Sta?l-Holstein, resided there.
Madame de Sta?l is so well known that it would perhaps be superfluous6 to draw her portrait, physical, moral, and intellectual. We will, however, say a few words concerning her. Born in 1766, Madame de Sta?l was then in the zenith of her genius—we will not say beauty, since she was never beautiful. A passionate7 admirer of her father, who was only a mediocre8 man, whatever else may be said for him, she had followed his fortunes, and emigrated with him, although the position of her husband as Swedish ambassador insured her safety.
But she soon returned to Paris, when she drew up a plan for the escape of King Louis XVI., and in 1793 addressed the revolutionary government in the queen's defence, when the latter was brought to trial. Gustavus IV.'s declaration of war with Russia recalled the ambassador to Stockholm, and he was absent from Paris from the day of the queen's death to that of Robespierre's. After the 9th Thermidor, M. de Sta?l returned to Paris, still as Swedish ambassador, and Madame de Sta?l, who could not live out of sight of "that gutter9 of a Rue du Bac," returned with him.
She had but just returned when she opened her salon, where she naturally received all men of distinction, whether they were Frenchmen or foreigners. But, although she had been among the first to espouse10 the principles of 1789, whether because the voice of reason dictated11 the course, or the march of events had modified her ideas, she advocated the return of the émigré's with all her might, and so frequently did she ask that their names be erased12 from the list of the proscribed13, particularly that of M. de Narbonne, that the famous butcher Legendre denounced her to the tribune.
Her salon and that of Madame Tallien divided Paris, only Madame de Sta?l was in favor of a constitutional monarchy14, that is to say, something between the Cordeliers and the Girondins.
[Pg 295]
On this particular evening of the night of the 12th and the 13th Vendémiaire, when the Convention was in the greatest uproar15, Madame de Sta?l's salon was crowded with company. The gathering16 was very brilliant, and no one, looking at the apparel of the women and the easy carriage of the men would have imagined that people were about to cut each other's throats in the streets of Paris. And yet amid all this gayety and wit, which is never so great in France as in hours of danger, one might have discovered certain clouds, such as summer casts over fields and harvests.
Every new-comer was hailed with bursts of curiosity and eager questioning, which revealed the extent of the interest which the company took in the situation. And then for the moment the two or three ladies who shared the honors with Madame de Sta?l, either by reason of their wit or beauty, were left alone.
Every one ran to the new-comer, gathered from him whatever he knew, and then returned to his own circle, where the reports were eagerly discussed. By tacit agreement, each lady, who, as we have said, was admitted to the salon by reason of her wit or beauty, held a little court of her own in the reception-room of the H?tel de Suède; so on this particular evening there was, besides Madame de Sta?l, Madame de Krüdener and Madame Récamier.
Madame de Krüdener was three years younger than Madame de Sta?l. She was a Courlandaise, born at Riga, the daughter of a rich landowner, Baron de Witinghof. She married Baron de Krüdener at the age of fourteen, and accompanied him to Copenhagen and Venice, where he filled the r?le of Russian ambassador. Separated from her husband in 1791, she had regained17 the liberty which had been for a time curtailed18 by her marriage. She was very charming and very witty19, speaking and writing French extremely well. The only thing with which she could have been reproached in that exceedingly unsentimental age, was a strong tendency to solitude20 and revery. Her melan[Pg 296]choly, which was born of the North, and which made her look like a heroine of a Scandinavian saga21, lent her a peculiar22 character in the midst of her surroundings, which tended toward mysticism. Her friends were sometimes angered by a sort of ecstasy23 which occasionally seized upon her in the midst of a brilliant gathering. But when they drew near her in her inspired moments, and saw her beautiful eyes raised to heaven, they forgot Saint Thérèse in Madame de Krüdener, and the woman of the world in the inspired being. But it was common belief that those beautiful eyes, so often raised to heaven, would deign24 to regard things earthly the moment that the singer Garat entered the room where she was. A romance which she was then writing, entitled "Valérie, or the Letters of Gustave de Linard to Ernest de G.," was nothing more than the history of their love.
She was a woman of twenty-five or six, with that light hair peculiar to northern latitudes25. In her moments of ecstasy her face assumed a marble-like rigidity26 of expression, and her skin, as white as satin, gave an appearance of truth to the illusion. Her friends, and she had many, although she had as yet no disciples27, said that in her moments of lofty abstraction, and communion with supernatural beings, disconnected words escaped her, which nevertheless, like the Pythonesses of ancient times, had a meaning of their own. In short, Madame de Krüdener was a forerunner28 of modern spiritualism. In our day she would have been called a "medium." The word not being invented at that time, the world contented29 itself with calling her inspired.
Madame Récamier, the youngest of all the women of fashion of the day, was born at Lyons, in 1777, and was named Jeanne-Fran?oise-Adélaide-Julie Bernard. She married, in 1793, Jacques-Bose Récamier, who was twenty-six years older than she. His fortune was derived30 from an immense hat factory founded at Lyons by his father. When he was still quite young, he travelled for the house, after[Pg 297] receiving a classical education which enabled him to quote either Virgil or Horace when occasion required. He spoke31 Spanish, for his business had taken him more particularly into Spain. He was handsome, tall, of light complexion32, strongly built, easily moved, generous, and light-hearted; and but slightly attached to his friends, although he never refused to lend them money. One of his best friends, whom he had aided pecuniarily33 many times, died; he merely said with a sigh: "Another money-drawer closed!"
Married during the Terror, he was present at executions even on his wedding-day, just as he had been on the day previous, and would be on the following day. He saw the king and the queen die, together with Lavoisier and the twenty-seven farmers-general; Laborde, his most intimate friend; and, in short, almost all those with whom he had either business or social relations. When asked why he displayed such assiduity in attending the sad spectacle, he replied: "I wish to familiarize myself with the scaffold."
And in fact he escaped being guillotined almost by a miracle. He did, however, escape; and the sort of supernumerary time he had spent with death was of no value to him.
Was it in consequence of this daily contemplation of nothingness that he forgot his wife's beauty, so that he bore her only a paternal35 affection; or was it one of those imperfections by means of which capricious nature often renders sterile36 her most beautiful works? Be that as it may, the fact that she was a wife in name only remains37 a mystery but no secret.
And yet, at the age of sixteen, when Mademoiselle Bernard became his wife, her biographer tells us that she had passed from childhood into the splendor38 of youth. A supple39, elegant figure, shoulders worthy40 of the Goddess Hebe, a perfectly41 shaped and exquisitely42 formed neck, a small red mouth, teeth like pearls, arms which were charming though a little thin, chestnut43 hair which curled naturally, a nose both regular and delicate, although thoroughly44 French, a[Pg 298] complexion of incomparable brilliancy, a face replete45 with candor46 (though at times it sparkled with mischief), whose gentle expression lent it an irresistible47 charm, a manner at once insolent48 and proud, the best set head in the world—with all these graces it might most truly have been said of her, as Saint-Simon said of the Duchesse de Bourgogne: "Her bearing was that of a goddess enthroned upon clouds."
The little courts appeared as independent of each other as though they had been held in separate houses; but the principal one, through which the others were reached, was ruled by the mistress of the dwelling. This lady, as we have said, was Madame de Sta?l, already known in politics through the interests she had brought to bear in order to obtain the appointment of M. de Narbonne as minister of war, and in literature through her enthusiastic letters concerning Jean-Jacques Rousseau.
She was not beautiful, and yet it would have been impossible to pass her unnoticed, or to come in contact with her without realizing that hers was one of those natures which sow words upon the field of thought as a laborer49 sows his grain in the furrows50. This evening she wore a dress of red velvet51, opening at the sides over a petticoat of straw-colored satin; she had on a turban of straw-colored satin with a bird of paradise, and she was nibbling52 a sprig of flowering heather between her thick lips, which nevertheless disclosed beautiful teeth. Her nose was somewhat too strong, and her cheeks too tanned, but her eyes, eyebrows53 and forehead were wonderfully beautiful. Matter or divinity, there was power there.
Standing54 with her back to the mantel, with one hand leaning upon it, while she gesticulated with the other like a man, and still holding the heather from which she now and then bit off a piece with her teeth, she was talking to a young man, her ardent55 adorer, whose fair, curly hair shaded his face and fell almost to his shoulders.
"No, you are mistaken, my dear Constant. No, I am[Pg 299] not against the Republic. Quite on the contrary, those who know me know with what ardor56 I adopted the principles of '89. But I have a horror of sans-culottism, and vulgar loves. As soon as it became apparent that Liberty, instead of being the most chaste57 and beautiful of women, was a mere34 vulgar courtesan who passed from Marat's arms to those of Danton, and thence to Robespierre's, my respect for her ceased. Let there be no more princes, no more dukes, no more counts, no more marquises; I am perfectly willing. Citizen is a fine title when it is addressed to Cato; citizeness is even more noble when Cornelia is its object. But to be on intimate terms with my laundress, and to talk familiarly with my coachman, is more than I can agree to. Equality is a fine thing, but the word equality needs to be defined. If it signifies that education must be equal for all at the expense of the government, then it is most excellent; that all men shall be equal before the law, still more excellent. But if it means that all French citizens shall be of the same height, cut, and physical appearance, then it becomes the law of Procrustes, and not a proclamation of the rights of man. If I had to choose between the law of Lycurgus and that of Solon, between Sparta and Athens, I should choose Athens, and, furthermore, the Athens of Pericles, and not that of Pisistratus."
"Well!" replied the handsome young man to whom this social sally was addressed, with his witty smile, and who was none other than Benjamin Constant, "you would be wrong, for you would choose Athens in her decline, and not at her rise."
"Her decline? With Pericles? It seems to me that on the contrary I choose her in all her splendor."
"Yes; but, madame, nothing begins with splendor. Splendor is the fruit which is preceded by the buds, the flowers, and the leaves. You will have none of Pisistratus, and you are wrong. It was he who, in placing himself at the head of the poorer classes, prepared the future greatness of Athens. As for his two sons, Hipparchus and[Pg 300] Hippias, I abandon them to you. But Aclysthenes, who increased the number of senators to five hundred, as our Convention has just done, began the period of the great Persian wars. Miltiades defeated the Persians at Marathon; Pichegru has just conquered the Prussians and the Austrians. Themistocles destroyed the Persian fleet at Salamis; Moreau has just captured the Dutch fleet by a cavalry58 charge. It is even more original. The liberty of Greece sprang from the very wars which seemed to threaten her with inevitable59 destruction, as ours has from our war with foreign powers. Then it was that the privileges were extended; then it was that the archons and magistrates60 were chosen from all classes irrespective of degree. Moreover, you forget that ?schylus was born during this fertile period. Illuminated61 by the unconscious divination62 of power, he created the character of Prometheus; or, in other words, the revolt of man against tyranny—?schylus, the younger brother of Homer, who seems nevertheless the elder."
"Bravo! bravo!" said a voice. "You are strong in literature, upon my word. But in the meantime they are cutting one another's throats in the Section Le Peletier and the Quartier Feydeau. There, just hear the bells! They have returned from Rome."
"Ah! is it you, Barbé-Marbois," said Madame de Sta?l, addressing a man in the forties, very handsome, but with the pomposity63 and vapidity64 which is so often met with in palaces and among diplomats—a very honest man for all that, and the son-in-law of William Moore, the president and governor of Pennsylvania. "Where do you come from?"
"Straight from the Convention."
"And what are they doing there?"
"Arguing. They have outlawed65 the Sectionists and are arming the patriots66. As for the Sectionists, they have already found the bells, which proves that they are monarchists in disguise. To-morrow they will find their guns, and then there will be a fine rumpus."
[Pg 301]
"What can you expect?" asked a man with straight hair, hollow temples, livid skin, and a crooked67 mouth; a man who was ugly with the twofold ugliness of man and beast. "I kept telling them at the Convention, 'As long as you do not have an organized police and a minister of police—one who is not only appointed to the office but fitted for it—things will go to the devil.' Well, I who have a dozen fellows under me for the pleasure of it—I who am an amateur policeman because I like the business—I am better informed than they."
"And what do you know, Monsieur Fouché?" asked Madame de Sta?l.
"Faith, madame, I know that the Chouans have been convoked68 from all parts of the kingdom, and that the day before yesterday, at Lemaistre's house—you know Lemaistre, baroness69?"
"Is he not the agent of the princes?"
"That's the man. Well, the Jura and the Morbihan shook hands there."
"Which means—?" asked Barbé-Marbois.
"Which means that Cadoudal renewed his vow70 of fidelity71, and the Count de Sainte-Hermine his oath of vengeance72."
The other salons73 had diverged74 toward the first one, and were gathering around the new-comers who brought the news which we have already heard.
"We know who Cadoudal is," replied Madame de Sta?l. "He is a Chouan, who, after fighting in the Vendée, has crossed the Loire; but who is this Comte de Sainte-Hermine?"
"The Comte de Sainte-Hermine is a young noble who belongs to one of the best families of the Jura. He is the second of three sons. His father was guillotined, his mother died of grief, his brother was shot at Auenheim, and he has sworn to avenge75 his father and his brother. The mysterious president of the Section Le Peletier, the famous Morgan who insulted the Convention in its own hall of assembly, do you know who he is?"
[Pg 302]
"No."
"Well, he is the man."
"Really, Monsieur Fouché," said Benjamin Constant, "you have missed your vocation76. You ought to be neither priest, sailor, deputy, nor representative; you should be minister of police."
"And if I were," replied Fouché, "Paris would be quieter than it is now. I ask you, is it not perfectly absurd to quail77 before the Sections? Menou ought to be shot."
"Citizen," said Madame Krüdener, who affected78 republican forms of speech, "here is citizen Garat; he has just come in, and perhaps he can give us some news. Garat, what do you know?" And she drew into the circle a man of thirty-three or four, elegantly dressed.
"He knows that one minim is worth two crotchets," said Benjamin Constant, mockingly.
Garat rose on the tips of his toes to discover the author of this joke at his expense. He was strong on minims, a matchless singer, and, furthermore, one of the most perfect incroyables that the witty pencil of Horace Vernet has bequeathed to us. He was a nephew of the Conventional Garat, who wept as he read Louis XVI.'s sentence of death. Son of a distinguished79 lawyer, his father wished to make a lawyer of him, but nature and education produced a singer; for the former had endowed him with one of the most beautiful voices the world has ever heard.
An Italian named Lamberti, together with Fran?ois Beck, the director of the theatre at Bordeaux, gave him music lessons; which inspired him with such a passion for music that when he was sent to Paris to take a course in law he took a course in singing instead. When his father heard of this he stopped his allowance. The Comte d'Artois then appointed him his private secretary, and had him sing before Marie-Antoinette, who immediately admitted him to her private concerts.
Garat thus became completely estranged80 from his father, for nothing will estrange81 father and son quicker than the[Pg 303] withdrawal82 of the latter's allowance. The Comte d'Artois intending to visit Bordeaux, he suggested that Garat accompany him. The latter hesitated at first, but the desire to let his father see him in his new position induced him to go. At Bordeaux he found his old master Beck in penury83, and he arranged a concert for his benefit. Curiosity to hear a man from their own department, who had already attained84 fame as a singer, prevailed, and the people of Bordeaux flocked to hear him. The receipts were enormous, and Garat's success was so great that his father, who was present, left his place and threw himself in his son's arms. In consequence of this amend85, coram populo, Garat forgave him.
Garat remained an amateur until the beginning of the Revolution; but the loss of his fortune compelled him to become a professional artist. In 1793 he started for England, but the vessel86 in which he sailed, driven by contrary winds, landed him at Hamburg instead. Seven or eight concerts, which were attended with great success, enabled him to return to France with a thousand louis, which were each worth seven or eight hundred francs in paper money. Upon his return he met Madame Krüdener, and became intimate with her.
The Thermidorean reaction adopted Garat, and there was not, at the time of which we are speaking, a great concert, a brilliant gathering, or an elegant exhibition, at which he did not figure as the foremost of the artists, singers or invited guests. This good fortune made Garat very susceptible87, as we have seen, and there was nothing astonishing in the fact that he looked about him to see who had declared that his musical knowledge was limited to the incontrovertible fact that one minim is worth two crotchets. It must be remembered that it was Benjamin Constant, another incroyable, not less susceptible than Garat upon the point of honor, who had spoken.
"Look no further, citizen," said he, holding out his hand; "it is I who advanced that daring opinion. If you do know anything else tell it to us."
[Pg 304]
"Faith, no," he said; "I have just come from Cléry Hall. My carriage could not pass the Pont-Neuf, which was guarded, so I was obliged to get here by the quays89, where the drums are making a devil of a noise. I crossed the Pont égalité. It is raining in torrents90. Mesdames Todi and Mara sang, exquisitely, three or four selections from Gluck and Cimarosa."
"What did I tell you?" asked Benjamin Constant.
"Is it indeed drums that we hear?" asked a voice.
"Yes," replied Garat, "but they are relaxed by the rain, and nothing is more lugubrious91 than the sound of wet drums."
"Ah! here is Boissy d'Anglas," exclaimed Madame de Sta?l. "He has probably come from the Convention, unless he has resigned his position as president."
"Yes, baroness," said Boissy d'Anglas, with his melancholy92 smile, "I have come from the Convention; and I wish I could bring you better news."
"Good!" said Barbé-Marbois, "another Prairial?"
"If that were all," sighed Boissy d'Anglas.
"What is it, then?"
"Unless I am much mistaken, all Paris will be in flames to-morrow. And this time it is indeed civil war. The Section Le Peletier replied to our last summons that 'The Convention has five thousand men, and the Sections sixty thousand; we will give the Conventionals until daybreak to-morrow to vacate the hall of sessions. If it is not done by that time we will drive you out.'"
"And what do you intend to do, gentlemen?" asked Madame-Récamier, in her soft and charming voice.
"Why, madame," replied Boissy d'Anglas, "we intend to emulate93 the Roman senators when the Gauls invaded the Capitol; we shall die at our posts."
"Would it be possible to see that?" asked M. Récamier with the utmost self-possession. "I have seen the Conven[Pg 305]tion massacred by piecemeal94, and I should like to see it done in a body."
"Be there to-morrow about one o'clock," replied Boissy d'Anglas, with the same imperturbable95 calm. "That is probably when the struggle will begin."
"Oh, not at all," cried a new arrival; "you will not secure the glory of martyrdom for yourselves, you are saved."
"Come, no pleasantries, Saint-Victor," said Madame de Sta?l to the last speaker.
"Madame, I never jest," said Coster de Saint-Victor, greeting Madame de Sta?l, Madame de Krüdener, and Madame Récamier with a comprehensive bow.
"The news, ladies and gentlemen—I beg pardon, citizens and citizenesses—is that, in accordance with a proposition of the citizen Merlin of Douai, the National Convention has just decreed that Brigadier-General Barras is to be appointed commander of the armed forces, in reward for his services in Thermidor. It is true he cannot make long speeches, but he excels in the construction of short, but vehement97 and energetic phrases. Do you not see that since General Barras is to defend the Convention, the Convention is saved? And now that I have done my duty in reassuring98 you, baroness, I am going home to make my preparations."
"For what?" asked Madame de Sta?l.
"To fight against him to-morrow, madame, and right willingly too."
"Then you are a royalist, Coster?"
"Why, yes," replied the young man; "I find that there are more pretty women in that party than in the others. And then—and then—then I have other reasons which are known only to myself."
And bowing a second time with his accustomed elegance99, he went out, leaving everybody to comment upon the news he had brought, and which, it is needless to say, did not[Pg 306] completely reassure100 them, Coster de Saint-Victor notwithstanding.
But as the tocsin was ringing ever louder and louder, as the drums continued to beat, and the rain was still falling, there was no hope of further news, and as the bronze clock representing Marius among the ruins of Carthage was chiming the hour of four, they called their carriages, and went away, secretly uneasy, but outwardly confident.
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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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rue
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| n.懊悔，芸香，后悔；v.后悔，悲伤，懊悔 | |
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dwelling
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| n.住宅，住所，寓所 | |
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celebrated
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| adj.有名的，声誉卓著的 | |
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baron
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| n.男爵；(商业界等)巨头，大王 | |
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superfluous
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| adj.过多的，过剩的，多余的 | |
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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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mediocre
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| adj.平常的，普通的 | |
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gutter
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| n.沟，街沟，水槽，檐槽，贫民窟 | |
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espouse
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| v.支持，赞成，嫁娶 | |
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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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erased
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| v.擦掉( erase的过去式和过去分词 )；抹去；清除 | |
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proscribed
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| v.正式宣布（某事物）有危险或被禁止( proscribe的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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monarchy
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| n.君主，最高统治者；君主政体，君主国 | |
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uproar
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| n.骚动，喧嚣，鼎沸 | |
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gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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regained
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| 复得( regain的过去式和过去分词 )； 赢回； 重回； 复至某地 | |
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curtailed
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| v.截断，缩短( curtail的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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witty
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| adj.机智的，风趣的 | |
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solitude
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| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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saga
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| n.(尤指中世纪北欧海盗的)故事，英雄传奇 | |
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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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ecstasy
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| n.狂喜，心醉神怡，入迷 | |
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deign
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| v. 屈尊, 惠允 ( 做某事) | |
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latitudes
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| 纬度 | |
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rigidity
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| adj.钢性，坚硬 | |
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disciples
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| n.信徒( disciple的名词复数 )；门徒；耶稣的信徒；（尤指）耶稣十二门徒之一 | |
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forerunner
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| n.前身，先驱（者），预兆，祖先 | |
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contented
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| adj.满意的，安心的，知足的 | |
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derived
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| vi.起源；由来；衍生；导出v.得到( derive的过去式和过去分词 )；（从…中）得到获得；源于；（从…中）提取 | |
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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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complexion
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| n.肤色；情况，局面；气质，性格 | |
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pecuniarily
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| adv.在金钱上，在金钱方面 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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paternal
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| adj.父亲的，像父亲的，父系的，父方的 | |
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sterile
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| adj.不毛的，不孕的，无菌的，枯燥的，贫瘠的 | |
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remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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splendor
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| n.光彩；壮丽，华丽；显赫，辉煌 | |
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supple
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| adj.柔软的，易弯的，逢迎的，顺从的，灵活的；vt.使柔软，使柔顺，使顺从；vi.变柔软，变柔顺 | |
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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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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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exquisitely
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| adv.精致地；强烈地；剧烈地；异常地 | |
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43
chestnut
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| n.栗树，栗子 | |
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thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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45
replete
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| adj.饱满的，塞满的；n.贮蜜蚁 | |
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46
candor
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| n.坦白，率真 | |
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irresistible
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| adj.非常诱人的，无法拒绝的，无法抗拒的 | |
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insolent
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| adj.傲慢的，无理的 | |
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49
laborer
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| n.劳动者，劳工 | |
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50
furrows
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| n.犁沟( furrow的名词复数 )；（脸上的）皱纹v.犁田，开沟( furrow的第三人称单数 ) | |
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velvet
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| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
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52
nibbling
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| v.啃，一点一点地咬（吃）( nibble的现在分词 )；啃出（洞），一点一点咬出（洞）；慢慢减少；小口咬 | |
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53
eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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ardent
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，强烈的，烈性的 | |
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ardor
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| n.热情，狂热 | |
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chaste
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| adj.贞洁的；有道德的；善良的；简朴的 | |
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cavalry
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| n.骑兵；轻装甲部队 | |
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inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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magistrates
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| 地方法官，治安官( magistrate的名词复数 ) | |
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illuminated
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| adj.被照明的；受启迪的 | |
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divination
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| n.占卜，预测 | |
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pomposity
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| n.浮华；虚夸；炫耀；自负 | |
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vapidity
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| n.乏味；无滋味；无生气；无趣 | |
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outlawed
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| 宣布…为不合法（outlaw的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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patriots
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| 爱国者，爱国主义者( patriot的名词复数 ) | |
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crooked
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| adj.弯曲的；不诚实的，狡猾的，不正当的 | |
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convoked
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| v.召集，召开（会议）( convoke的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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baroness
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| n.男爵夫人，女男爵 | |
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vow
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| n.誓(言)，誓约；v.起誓，立誓 | |
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fidelity
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| n.忠诚，忠实；精确 | |
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vengeance
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| n.报复，报仇，复仇 | |
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salons
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| n.（营业性质的）店( salon的名词复数 )；厅；沙龙（旧时在上流社会女主人家的例行聚会或聚会场所）；（大宅中的）客厅 | |
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diverged
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| 分开( diverge的过去式和过去分词 )； 偏离； 分歧； 分道扬镳 | |
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avenge
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| v.为...复仇，为...报仇 | |
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vocation
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| n.职业，行业 | |
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quail
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| n.鹌鹑；vi.畏惧，颤抖 | |
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affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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estranged
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| adj.疏远的，分离的 | |
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81
estrange
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| v.使疏远，离间，使离开 | |
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82
withdrawal
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| n.取回，提款；撤退，撤军；收回，撤销 | |
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penury
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| n.贫穷，拮据 | |
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84
attained
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| （通常经过努力）实现( attain的过去式和过去分词 )； 达到； 获得； 达到（某年龄、水平、状况） | |
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85
amend
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| vt.修改，修订，改进；n.[pl.]赔罪，赔偿 | |
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86
vessel
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| n.船舶；容器，器皿；管，导管，血管 | |
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87
susceptible
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| adj.过敏的，敏感的；易动感情的，易受感动的 | |
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frankly
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| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
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89
quays
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| 码头( quay的名词复数 ) | |
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torrents
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| n.倾注；奔流( torrent的名词复数 )；急流；爆发；连续不断 | |
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lugubrious
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| adj.悲哀的，忧郁的 | |
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92
melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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93
emulate
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| v.努力赶上或超越，与…竞争；效仿 | |
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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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95
imperturbable
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| adj.镇静的 | |
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96
salvation
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| n.（尤指基督）救世，超度，拯救，解困 | |
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97
vehement
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| adj.感情强烈的；热烈的；(人)有强烈感情的 | |
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98
reassuring
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| a.使人消除恐惧和疑虑的，使人放心的 | |
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99
elegance
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| n.优雅；优美，雅致；精致，巧妙 | |
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100
reassure
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| v.使放心，使消除疑虑 | |
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