One seemed to say: “My beauty has power to rekindle9 the frozen heart of age.” Another: “I love to repose10 on soft cushions and think with rapture11 of my adorers.” A third, a novice12 at these fêtes, was inclined to blush. “At the bottom of my heart I feel compunction,” she seemed to say. “I am a Catholic and I fear hell; but I love you so—ah, so dearly—that I would sacrifice eternity13 to you!” The fourth, emptying a cup of Chian wine, cried: “Hurrah, for pleasure! I begin a new existence with each dawn. Forgetful of the past, still intoxicated14 with the violence of yesterday’s pleasures, I embrace a new life of happiness, a life filled with love.”
The woman sitting next to Belvidéro looked at him with flashing eyes. She was silent. “I should have no need to call on a bravo to kill my lover if he abandoned me.” Then she had laughed; but a comfit dish of marvelous workmanship was shattered between her nervous fingers.
“When are you to be grand duke?” asked the sixth of the prince, with an expression of murderous glee on her lips and a look of Bacchanalian15 frenzy16 in her eyes.
“And when is your father going to die?” said the seventh, laughing and throwing her bouquet17 to Don Juan with maddening coquetry. She was an innocent young girl who was accustomed to play with sacred things.
“Oh, don’t speak of it!” cried the young and handsome Don Juan. “There is only one immortal18 father in the world, and unfortunately he is mine!”
The seven women of Ferrara, the friends of Don Juan, and the prince himself gave an exclamation19 of horror. Two hundred years later, under Louis XV, well-bred persons would have laughed at this sally. But perhaps at the beginning of an orgy the mind had still an unusual degree of lucidity20. Despite the heat of the candles, the intensity21 of the emotions, the gold and silver vases, the fumes22 of wine, despite the vision of ravishing women, perhaps there still lurked23 in the depths of the heart a little of that respect for things human and divine which struggles until the revel24 has drowned it in floods of sparkling wine. Nevertheless, the flowers were already crushed, the eyes were steeped with drink, and intoxication25, to quote Rabelais, had reached even to the sandals. In the pause that followed a door opened, and, as at the feast of Balthazar, God manifested himself. He seemed to command recognition now in the person of an old, white-haired servant with unsteady gait and drawn26 brows; he entered with gloomy mien27 and his look seemed to blight28 the garlands, the ruby29 cups, the pyramids of fruits, the brightness of the feast, the glow of the astonished faces and the colors of the cushions dented30 by the white arms of the women; then he cast a pall31 over this folly32 by saying, in a hollow voice, the solemn words: “Sir, your father is dying!”
Don Juan rose, making a gesture to his guests, which might be translated: “Excuse me, this does not happen every day.”
Does not the death of a parent often overtake young people thus in the fulness of life, in the wild enjoyment33 of an orgy? Death is as unexpected in her caprices as a woman in her fancies, but more faithful—Death has never duped any one.
When Don Juan had closed the door of the banquet hall and walked down the long corridor, which was both cold and dark, he compelled himself to assume a mask, for, in thinking of his rôle of son, he had cast off his merriment as he threw down his napkin. The night was black. The silent servant who conducted the young man to the death chamber34, lighted the way so insufficiently35 that Death, aided by the cold, the silence, the gloom, perhaps by a reaction of intoxication, was able to force some reflections into the soul of the spendthrift; he examined his life, and became thoughtful, like a man involved in a lawsuit36 when he sets out for the court of justice.
Bartholomeo Belvidéro, the father of Don Juan, was an old man of ninety, who had devoted37 the greater part of his life to business. Having traveled much in Oriental countries he had acquired there great wealth and learning more precious, he said, than gold or diamonds, to which he no longer gave more than a passing thought. “I value a tooth more than a ruby,” he used to say, smiling, “and power more than knowledge.” This good father loved to hear Don Juan relate his youthful adventures, and would say, banteringly, as he lavished38 money upon him: “Only amuse yourself, my dear child!” Never did an old man find such pleasure in watching a young man. Paternal40 love robbed age of its terrors in the delight of contemplating41 so brilliant a life.
At the age of sixty, Belvidéro had become enamored of an angel of peace and beauty. Don Juan was the sole fruit of this late love. For fifteen years the good man had mourned the loss of his dear Juana. His many servants and his son attributed the strange habits he had contracted to this grief. Bartholomeo lodged42 himself in the most uncomfortable wing of his palace and rarely went out, and even Don Juan could not intrude43 into his father’s apartment without first obtaining permission. If this voluntary recluse44 came or went in the palace or in the streets of Ferrara he seemed to be searching for something which he could not find. He walked dreamily, undecidedly, preoccupied45 like a man battling with an idea or with a memory. While the young man gave magnificent entertainments and the palace re-echoed his mirth, while the horses pawed the ground in the courtyard and the pages quarreled at their game of dice46 on the stairs, Bartholomeo ate seven ounces of bread a day and drank water. If he asked for a little poultry47 it was merely that he might give the bones to a black spaniel, his faithful companion. He never complained of the noise. During his illness if the blast of horns or the barking of dogs interrupted his sleep, he only said: “Ah, Don Juan has come home.” Never before was so untroublesome and indulgent a father to be found on this earth; consequently young Belvidéro, accustomed to treat him without ceremony, had all the faults of a spoiled child. His attitude toward Bartholomeo was like that of a capricious woman toward an elderly lover, passing off an impertinence with a smile, selling his good humor and submitting to be loved. In calling up the picture of his youth, Don Juan recognized that it would be difficult to find an instance in which his father’s goodness had failed him. He felt a newborn remorse49 while he traversed the corridor, and he very nearly forgave his father for having lived so long. He reverted51 to feelings of filial piety52, as a thief returns to honesty in the prospect54 of enjoying a well-stolen million.
Soon the young man passed into the high, chill rooms of his father’s apartment. After feeling a moist atmosphere and breathing the heavy air and the musty odor which is given forth55 by old tapestries56 and furniture covered with dust, he found himself in the antique room of the old man, in front of a sick bed and near a dying fire. A lamp standing57 on a table of Gothic shape shed its streams of uneven58 light sometimes more, sometimes less strongly upon the bed and showed the form of the old man in ever-varying aspects. The cold air whistled through the insecure windows, and the snow beat with a dull sound against the panes59.
This scene formed so striking a contrast to the one which Don Juan had just left that he could not help shuddering60. He felt cold when, on approaching the bed, a sudden flare61 of light, caused by a gust62 of wind, illumined his father’s face. The features were distorted; the skin, clinging tightly to the bones, had a greenish tint63, which was made the more horrible by the whiteness of the pillows on which the old man rested; drawn with pain, the mouth, gaping64 and toothless, gave breath to sighs which the howling of the tempest took up and drew out into a dismal65 wail66. In spite of these signs of dissolution an incredible expression of power shone in the face. The eyes, hallowed by disease, retained a singular steadiness. A superior spirit was fighting there with death. It seemed as if Bartholomeo sought to kill with his dying look some enemy seated at the foot of his bed. This gaze, fixed67 and cold, was made the more appalling68 by the immobility of the head, which was like a skull69 standing on a doctor’s table. The body, clearly outlined by the coverlet, showed that the dying man’s limbs preserved the same rigidity70. All was dead, except the eyes. There was something mechanical in the sounds which came from the mouth. Don Juan felt a certain shame at having come to the deathbed of his father with a courtesan’s bouquet on his breast, bringing with him the odors of a banquet and the fumes of wine.
“You were enjoying yourself!” cried the old man, on seeing his son.
At the same moment the pure, high voice of a singer who entertained the guests, strengthened by the chords of the viol by which she was accompanied, rose above the roar of the storm and penetrated71 the chamber of death. Don Juan would gladly have shut out this barbarous confirmation72 of his father’s words.
These words, full of tenderness, pained Don Juan, who could not forgive his father for such goodness.
“What, sorrow for me, father!” he cried.
“Poor Juanino,” answered the dying man, “I have always been so gentle toward you that you could not wish for my death?”
“Oh!” cried Don Juan, “if it were possible to preserve your life by giving you a part of mine!” (“One can always say such things,” thought the spendthrift; “it is as if I offered the world to my mistress.”)
The thought had scarcely passed through his mind when the old spaniel whined74. This intelligent voice made Don Juan tremble. He believed that the dog understood him.
“I knew that I could count on you, my son,” said the dying man. “There, you shall be satisfied. I shall live, but without depriving you of a single day of your life.”
“He raves,” said Don Juan to himself.
Then he said, aloud: “Yes, my dearest father, you will indeed live as long as I do, for your image will be always in my heart.”
“It is not a question of that sort of life,” said the old nobleman, gathering75 all his strength to raise himself to a sitting posture76, for he was stirred by one of those suspicions which are only born at the bedside of the dying. “Listen, my son,” he continued in a voice weakened by this last effort. “I have no more desire to die than you have to give up your lady loves, wine, horses, falcons77, hounds and money——”
“I can well believe it,” thought his son, kneeling beside the pillow and kissing one of Bartholomeo’s cadaverous hands. “But, father,” he said aloud, “my dear father, we must submit to the will of God!”
“Do not blaspheme!” cried the young man, seeing the menacing expression which was overspreading his father’s features. “Be careful what you say, for you have received extreme unction and I should never be consoled if you were to die in a state of sin.”
Don Juan held his peace. A horrible silence reigned80. Through the dull wail of the snowstorm came again the melody of the viol and the heavenly voice, faint as the dawning day.
The dying man smiled.
“I thank you for having brought singers and music! A banquet, young and beautiful women, with dark locks, all the pleasures of life. Let them remain. I am about to be born again.”
“I have discovered a means of resuscitation82. There, look in the drawer of the table—you open it by pressing a hidden spring near the griffin.”
“I have it, father.”
“Here it is.”
“I have spent twenty years in——”
At this point the old man felt his end approaching, and collected all his energy to say:
“As soon as I have drawn my last breath rub me with this water and I shall come to life again.”
“There is very little of it,” replied the young man.
Bartholomeo was no longer able to speak, but he could still hear and see. At these words he turned his head toward Don Juan with a violent wrench84. His neck remained twisted like that of a marble statue doomed85 by the sculptor’s whim86 to look forever sideways, his staring eyes assumed a hideous87 fixity. He was dead, dead in the act of losing his only, his last illusion. In seeking a shelter in his son’s heart he had found a tomb more hollow than those which men dig for their dead. His hair, too, had risen with horror and his tense gaze seemed still to speak. It was a father rising in wrath88 from his sepulchre to demand vengeance89 of God.
“There, the good man is done for!” exclaimed Don Juan.
Intent upon taking the magic crystal to the light of the lamp, as a drinker examines his bottle at the end of a repast, he had not seen his father’s eye pale. The cowering90 dog looked alternately at his dead master and at the elixir91, as Don Juan regarded by turns his father and the phial. The lamp threw out fitful waves of light. The silence was profound, the viol was mute. Belvidéro thought he saw his father move, and he trembled. Frightened by the tense expression of the accusing eyes, he closed them, just as he would have pushed down a window-blind on an autumn night. He stood motionless, lost in a world of thought.
Suddenly a sharp creak, like that of a rusty92 spring, broke the silence. Don Juan, in his surprise, almost dropped the flask. A perspiration93, colder than the steel of a dagger94, oozed95 out from his pores. A cock of painted wood came forth from a clock and crowed three times. It was one of those ingenious inventions by which the savants of that time were awakened96 at the hour fixed for their work. Already the daybreak reddened the casement97. The old timepiece was more faithful in its master’s service than Don Juan had been in his duty to Bartholomeo. This instrument was composed of wood, pulleys, cords and wheels, while he had that mechanism98 peculiar99 to man, called a heart.
In order to run no further risk of losing the mysterious liquid the skeptical100 Don Juan replaced it in the drawer of the little Gothic table. At this solemn moment he heard a tumult101 in the corridor. There were confused voices, stifled102 laughter, light footsteps, the rustle103 of silk, in short, the noise of a merry troop trying to collect itself in some sort of order. The door opened and the prince, the seven women, the friends of Don Juan and the singers, appeared, in the fantastic disorder104 of dancers overtaken by the morning, when the sun disputes the paling light of the candles. They came to offer the young heir the conventional condolences.
“Oh, oh, is poor Don Juan really taking this death seriously?” said the prince in la Brambilla’s ear.
“Well, his father was a very good man,” she replied.
Nevertheless, Don Juan’s nocturnal meditations105 had printed so striking an expression upon his face that it commanded silence. The men stopped, motionless. The women, whose lips had been parched106 with wine, threw themselves on their knees and began to pray. Don Juan could not help shuddering as he saw this splendor107, this joy, laughter, song, beauty, life personified, doing homage108 thus to Death. But in this adorable Italy religion and revelry were on such good terms that religion was a sort of debauch109 and debauch religion. The prince pressed Don Juan’s hand affectionately, then all the figures having given expression to the same look, half-sympathy, half-indifference, the phantasmagoria disappeared, leaving the chamber empty. It was, indeed, a faithful image of life! Going down the stairs the prince said to la Rivabarella:
“Heigho! who would have thought Don Juan a mere48 boaster of impiety110? He loved his father, after all!”
“Did you notice the black dog?” asked la Brambilla.
“He is immensely rich now,” sighed Bianca Cavatolini.
“What is that to me?” cried the proud Veronese, she who had broken the comfit dish.
“What is that to you?” exclaimed the duke. “With his ducats he is as much a prince as I am!”
At first Don Juan, swayed by a thousand thoughts, wavered toward many different resolutions. After having ascertained111 the amount of the wealth amassed112 by his father, he returned in the evening to the death chamber, his soul puffed113 up with a horrible egoism. In the apartment he found all the servants of the household busied in collecting the ornaments114 for the bed of state on which “feu monseigneur” would lie to-morrow—a curious spectacle which all Ferrara would come to admire. Don Juan made a sign and the servants stopped at once, speechless and trembling.
“Leave me alone,” he said in an altered voice, “and do not return until I go out again.”
When the steps of the old servant, who was the last to leave, had died away on the stone flooring, Don Juan locked the door hastily, and, sure that he was alone, exclaimed:
“Now, let us try!”
The body of Bartholomeo lay on a long table. To hide the revolting spectacle of a corpse115 whose extreme decrepitude116 and thinness made it look like a skeleton, the embalmers had drawn a sheet over the body, which covered all but the head. This mummy-like figure was laid out in the middle of the room, and the linen117, naturally clinging, outlined the form vaguely118, but showing its stiff, bony thinness. The face already had large purple spots, which showed the urgency of completing the embalming119. Despite the skepticism with which Don Juan was armed, he trembled as he uncorked the magic phial of crystal. When he stood close to the head he shook so that he was obliged to pause for a moment. But this young man had allowed himself to be corrupted120 by the customs of a dissolute court. An idea worthy121 of the Duke of Urbino came to him, and gave him a courage which was spurred on by lively curiosity. It seemed as if the demon122 had whispered the words which resounded123 in his heart: “Bathe an eye!” He took a piece of linen and, after having moistened it sparingly with the precious liquid, he passed it gently over the right eyelid124 of the corpse. The eye opened!
“Ah!” said Don Juan, gripping the flask in his hand as we clutch in our dreams the branch by which we are suspended over a precipice125.
He saw an eye full of life, a child’s eye in a death’s head, the liquid eye of youth, in which the light trembled. Protected by beautiful black lashes126, it scintillated127 like one of those solitary128 lights which travelers see in lonely places on winter evenings. It seemed as if the glowing eye would pierce Don Juan. It thought, accused, condemned129, threatened, judged, spoke—it cried, it snapped at him! There was the most tender supplication130, a royal anger, then the love of a young girl imploring131 mercy of her executioners. Finally, the awful look that a man casts upon his fellow-men on his way to the scaffold. So much life shone in this fragment of life that Don Juan recoiled132 in terror. He walked up and down the room, not daring to look at the eye, which stared back at him from the ceiling and from the hangings. The room was sown with points full of fire, of life, of intelligence. Everywhere gleamed eyes which shrieked133 at him.
“He might have lived a hundred years longer!” he cried involuntarily when, led in front of his father by some diabolical135 influence, he contemplated136 the luminous137 spark.
Suddenly the intelligent eye closed, and then opened again abruptly138, as if assenting139. If a voice had cried, “Yes,” Don Juan could not have been more startled.
“What is to be done?” he thought
He had the courage to try to close this white eyelid, but his efforts were in vain.
“Ah!” cried Don Juan, “there is sorcery in it!”
He approached the eye to crush it. A large tear rolled down the hollow cheek of the corpse and fell on Belvidéro’s hand.
“It is scalding!” he cried, sitting down.
At last he arose, saying: “So long as there is no blood—”
Then, collecting all the courage needed for the cowardly act, he crushed out the eye, pressing it in with the linen without looking at it. A deep moan, startling and terrible, was heard. It was the poor spaniel, who died with a howl.
“Could he have been in the secret?” Don Juan wondered, surveying the faithful animal.
Don Juan was considered a dutiful son. He raised a monument of white marble over his father’s tomb, and employed the most prominent artists of the time to carve the figures. He was not altogether at ease until the statue of his father, kneeling before Religion, imposed its enormous weight on the grave, in which he had buried the only regret that had ever touched his heart, and that only in moments of physical depression.
On making an inventory144 of the immense wealth amassed by the old Orientalist, Don Juan became avaricious145. Had he not two human lives in which he should need money? His deep, searching gaze penetrated the principles of social life, and he understood the world all the better because he viewed it across a tomb. He analyzed146 men and things that he might have done at once with the past, represented by history, with the present, expressed by the law, and with the future revealed by religion. He took soul and matter, threw them into a crucible147, and found nothing there, and from that time forth he became Don Juan.
Master of the illusions of life he threw himself—young and beautiful—into life; despising the world, but seizing the world. His happiness could never be of that bourgeois148 type which is satisfied by boiled beef, by a welcome warming-pan in winter, a lamp at night and new slippers149 at each quarter. He grasped existence as a monkey seizes a nut, peeling off the coarse shell to enjoy the savory151 kernel152. The poetry and sublime153 transports of human passion touched no higher than his instep. He never made the mistake of those strong men who, imagining that little Souls believe in the great, venture to exchange noble thoughts of the future for the small coin of our ideas of life. He might, like them, have walked with his feet on earth and his head among the clouds, but he preferred to sit at his ease and sear with his kisses the lips of more than one tender, fresh and sweet woman. Like Death, wherever he passed, he devoured154 all without scruple155, demanding a passionate156, Oriental love and easily won pleasure. Loving only woman in women, his soul found its natural trend in irony157.
When his inamoratas mounted to the skies in an ecstasy158 of bliss159, Don Juan followed, serious, unreserved, sincere as a German student. But he said “I” while his lady love, in her folly, said “we.” He knew admirably how to yield himself to a woman’s influence. He was always clever enough to make her believe that he trembled like a college youth who asks his first partner at a ball: “Do you like dancing?” But he could also be terrible when necessary; he could draw his sword and destroy skilled soldiers. There was banter8 in his simplicity160 and laughter in his tears, for he could weep as well as any woman who says to her husband: “Give me a carriage or I shall pine to death.”
For merchants the world means a bale of goods or a quantity of circulating notes; for most young men it is a woman; for some women it is a man; for certain natures it is society, a set of people, a position, a city; for Don Juan the universe was himself! Noble, fascinating and a model of grace, he fastened his bark to every bank; but he allowed himself to be carried only where he wished to go. The more he saw the more skeptical he became. Probing human nature he soon guessed that courage was rashness; prudence161, cowardice162; generosity163, shrewd calculation; justice, a crime; delicacy164, pusillanimity165; honesty, policy; and by a singular fatality166 he perceived that the persons who were really honest, delicate, just, generous, prudent167 and courageous168 received no consideration at the hands of their fellows.
“What a cheerless jest!” he cried. “It does not come from a god!”
And then, renouncing169 a better world, he showed no mark of respect to holy things and regarded the marble saints in the churches merely as works of art. He understood the mechanism of human society, and never offended too much against the current prejudices, for the executioners had more power than he; but he bent170 the social laws to his will with the grace and wit that are so well displayed in his scene with M. Dimanche. He was, in short, the embodiment of Molière’s Don Juan, Goethe’s Faust, Byron’s Manfred, and Maturin’s Melmoth—grand pictures drawn by the greatest geniuses of Europe, and to which neither the harmonies of Mozart nor the lyric171 strains of Rossini are lacking. Terrible pictures in which the power of evil existing in man is immortalized, and which are repeated from one century to another, whether the type come to parley172 with mankind by incarnating173 itself in Mirabeau, or be content to work in silence, like Bonaparte; or to goad174 on the universe by sarcasm175, like the divine Rabelais; or again, to laugh at men instead of insulting things, like Maréchal de Richelieu; or, still better, perhaps, if it mock both men and things, like our most celebrated176 ambassador.
But the deep genius of Don Juan incorporated in advance all these. He played with everything. His life was a mockery, which embraced men, things, institutions, ideas. As for eternity, he had chatted for half an hour with Pope Julius II., and at the end of the conversation he said, laughing:
“If it were absolutely necessary to choose, I should rather believe in God than in the devil; power combined with goodness has always more possibilities than the spirit of evil.”
“Are you always thinking of your indulgences?” replied Belvidéro. “Well, I have a whole existence in reserve to repent178 the faults of my first life.”
“Oh, if that is your idea of old age,” cried the Pope, “you are in danger of being canonized.”
And then they went to watch the workmen engaged in building the huge basilica consecrated180 to St. Peter.
“St. Peter is the genius who gave us our double power,” said the Pope to Don Juan, “and he deserves this monument. But sometimes at night I fancy that a deluge181 will pass a sponge over all this, and it will need to be begun over again.”
Don Juan and the Pope laughed. They understood each other. A fool would have gone next day to amuse himself with Julius II at Raphael’s house or in the delightful182 Villa183 Madama; but Belvidéro went to see him officiate in his pontifical184 capacity, in order to convince himself of his suspicions. Under the influence of wine della Rovere would have been capable of forgetting himself and criticising the Apocalypse.
When Don Juan reached the age of sixty he went to live in Spain. There, in his old age, he married a young and charming Andalusian. But he was intentionally185 neither a good father nor a good husband. He had observed that we are never so tenderly loved as by the women to whom we scarcely give a thought. Doña Elvira, piously187 reared by an old aunt in the heart of Andalusia in a castle several leagues from San Lucas, was all devotion and meekness188. Don Juan saw that this young girl was a woman to make a long fight with a passion before yielding to it, so he hoped to keep from her any love but his until after his death. It was a serious jest, a game of chess which he had reserved for his old age.
Warned by his father’s mistakes, he determined189 to make the most trifling190 acts of his old age contribute to the success of the drama which was to take place at his deathbed. Therefore, the greater part of his wealth lay buried in the cellars of his palace at Ferrara, whither he seldom went. The rest of his fortune was invested in a life annuity191, so that his wife and children might be interested in keeping him alive. This was a species of cleverness which his father should have practiced; but this Machiavellian192 scheme was unnecessary in his case. Young Philippe Belvidéro, his son, grew up a Spaniard as conscientiously193 religious as his father was impious, on the principle of the proverb: “A miserly father, a spendthrift son.”
The Abbot of San Lucas was selected by Don Juan to direct the consciences of the Duchess of Belvidéro and of Philippe. This ecclesiastic194 was a holy man, of fine carriage, well proportioned, with beautiful black eyes and a head like Tiberius. He was wearied with fasting, pale and worn, and continually battling with temptation, like all recluses195. The old nobleman still hoped perhaps to be able to kill a monk150 before finishing his first lease of life. But, whether the Abbot was as clever as Don Juan, or whether Doña Elvira had more prudence or virtue196 than Spain usually accords to women, Don Juan was obliged to pass his last days like a country parson, without scandal. Sometimes he took pleasure in finding his wife and son remiss197 in their religious duties, and insisted imperiously that they should fulfil all the obligations imposed upon the faithful by the court of Rome. He was never so happy as when listening to the gallant198 Abbot of San Lucas, Doña Elvira and Philippe engaged in arguing a case of conscience.
Nevertheless, despite the great care which the lord of Belvidéro bestowed199 upon his person, the days of decrepitude arrived. With this age of pain came cries of helplessness, cries made the more piteous by the remembrance of his impetuous youth and his ripe maturity200. This man, for whom the last jest in the farce201 was to make others believe in the laws and principles at which he scoffed202, was compelled to close his eyes at night upon an uncertainty203. This model of good breeding, this duke spirited in an orgy, this brilliant courtier, gracious toward women, whose hearts he had wrung204 as a peasant bends a willow205 wand, this man of genius, had an obstinate206 cough, a troublesome sciatica and a cruel gout. He saw his teeth leave him, as, at the end of an evening, the fairest, best dressed women depart one by one, leaving the ballroom207 deserted208 and empty. His bold hands trembled, his graceful209 limbs tottered210, and then one night apoplexy turned its hooked and icy fingers around his throat. From this fateful day he became morose211 and harsh. He accused his wife and son of being insincere in their devotion, charging that their touching212 and gentle care was showered upon him so tenderly only because his money was all invested. Elvira and Philippe shed bitter tears, and redoubled their caresses213 to this malicious214 old man, whose broken voice would become affectionate to say:
“My friends, my dear wife, you will forgive me, will you not? I torment215 you sometimes. Ah, great God, how canst Thou make use of me thus to prove these two angelic creatures! I, who should be their joy, am their bane!”
It was thus that he held them at his bedside, making them forget whole months of impatience216 and cruelty by one hour in which he displayed to them the new treasures of his favor and a false tenderness. It was a paternal system which succeeded infinitely217 better than that which his father had formerly218 employed toward him. Finally he reached such a state of illness that manoeuvres like those of a small boat entering a dangerous canal were necessary in order to put him to bed.
Then the day of death came. This brilliant and skeptical man, whose intellect only was left unimpaired by the general decay, lived between a doctor and a confessor, his two antipathies219. But he was jovial220 with them. Was there not a bright light burning for him behind the veil of the future? Over this veil, leaden and impenetrable to others, transparent221 to him, the delicate and bewitching delights of youth played like shadows.
It was on a beautiful summer evening that Don Juan felt the approach of death. The Spanish sky was gloriously clear, the orange trees perfumed the air and the stars cast a fresh glowing light. Nature seemed to give pledges of his resurrection. A pious186 and obedient son regarded him with love and respect. About eleven o’clock he signified his wish to be left alone with this sincere being.
“Philippe,” he began, in a voice so tender and affectionate that the young man trembled and wept with happiness, for his father had never said “Philippe” like this before. “Listen to me, my son,” continued the dying man. “I have been a great sinner, and all my life I have thought about death. Formerly I was the friend of the great Pope Julius II. This illustrious pontiff feared that the excessive excitability of my feelings would cause me to commit some deadly sin at the moment of my death, after I had received the blessed ointment222. He made me a present of a flask of holy water that gushed223 forth from a rock in the desert. I kept the secret of the theft of the Church’s treasure, but I am authorized224 to reveal the mystery to my son ‘in articulo mortis.’ You will find the flask in the drawer of the Gothic table which always stands at my bedside. The precious crystals may be of service to you also, my dearest Philippe. Will you swear to me by your eternal salvation225 that you will carry out my orders faithfully?”
Philippe looked at his father. Don Juan was too well versed50 in human expression not to know that he could die peacefully in perfect faith in such a look, as his father had died in despair at his own expression.
“You deserve a different father,” continued Don Juan. “I must acknowledge that when the estimable Abbot of San Lucas was administering the viaticum’ I was thinking of the incompatibility226 of two so wide-spreading powers as that of the devil and that of God.”
“Oh, father!”
“And I said to myself that when Satan makes his peace he will be a great idiot if he does not bargain for the pardon of his followers227. This thought haunted me. So, my child, I shall go to hell if you do not carry out my wishes.”
“Oh, tell them to me at once, father!”
“As soon as I have closed my eyes,” replied Don Juan, “and that may be in a few minutes, you must take my body, still warm, and lay it on a table in the middle of the room. Then put out the lamp—the light of the stars will be sufficient. You must take off my clothes, and while you recite ‘Paters’ and ‘Aves’ and uplift your soul to God, you must moisten my eyes, my lips, all my head first, and then my body, with this holy water. But, my dear son, the power of God is great. You must not be astonished at anything.”
At this point Don Juan, feeling the approach of death, added in a terrible voice: “Be careful of the flask!”
Then he died gently in the arms of his son, whose tears fell upon his ironical and sallow face.
It was nearly midnight when Don Philippe Belvidéro placed his father’s corpse on the table. After kissing the stern forehead and the gray hair he put out the lamp. The soft rays of the moonlight which cast fantastic reflections over the scenery allowed the pious Philippe to discern his father’s body dimly, as something white in the midst of the darkness. The young man moistened a cloth in the liquid and then, deep in prayer, he faithfully anointed the revered228 head. The silence was intense. Then he heard indescribable rustlings, but he attributed them to the wind among the tree-tops. When he had bathed the right arm he felt himself rudely seized at the back of the neck by an arm, young and vigorous—the arm of his father! He gave a piercing cry, and dropped the phial, which fell on the floor and broke. The liquid flowed out.
The whole household rushed in, bearing torches. The cry had aroused and frightened them as if the trumpet229 of the last judgment230 had shaken the world. The room was crowded with people. The trembling throng231 saw Don Philippe, fainting, but held up by the powerful arm of his father, which clutched his neck. Then they saw a supernatural sight, the head of Don Juan, young and beautiful as an Antinoüs, a head with black hair, brilliant eyes and crimson232 lips, a head that moved in a blood-curdling manner without being able to stir the skeleton to which it belonged.
An old servant cried: “A miracle!”
And all the Spaniards repeated: “A miracle!”
Too pious to admit the possibility of magic, Doña Elvira sent for the Abbot of San Lucas. When the priest saw the miracle with his own eyes he resolved to profit by it, like a man of sense, and like an abbot who asked nothing better than to increase his revenues. Declaring that Don Juan must inevitably233 be canonized, he appointed his monastery234 for the ceremony of the apotheosis235. The monastery, he said, should henceforth be called “San Juan de Lucas.” At these words the head made a facetious236 grimace237.
The taste of the Spaniards for this sort of solemnities is so well known that it should not be difficult to imagine the religious spectacle with which the abbey of San Lucas celebrated the translation of “the blessed Don Juan Belvidéro” in its church. A few days after the death of this illustrious nobleman, the miracle of his partial resurrection had been so thoroughly238 spread from village to village throughout a circle of more than fifty leagues round San Lucas that it was as good as a play to see the curious people on the road. They came from all sides, drawn by the prospect of a “Te Deum” chanted by the light of burning torches. The ancient mosque239 of the monastery of San Lucas, a wonderful building, erected240 by the Moors241, which for three hundred years had resounded with the name of Jesus Christ instead of Allah, could not hold the crowd which was gathered to view the ceremony. Packed together like ants, the hidalgos in velvet242 mantles243 and armed with their good swords stood round the pillars, unable to find room to bend their knees, which they never bent elsewhere. Charming peasant women, whose dresses set off the beautiful lines of their figures, gave their arms to white-haired old men. Youths with glowing eyes found themselves beside old women decked out in gala dress. There were couples trembling with pleasure, curious-fiancées, led thither244 by their sweethearts, newly married couples and frightened children, holding one another by the hand. All this throng was there, rich in colors, brilliant in contrast, laden with flowers, making a soft tumult in the silence of the night. The great doors of the church opened.
Those who, having come too late, were obliged to stay outside, saw in the distance, through the three open doors, a scene of which the tawdry decorations of our modern operas can give but a faint idea. Devotees and sinners, intent upon winning the favor of a new saint, lighted thousands of candles in his honor inside the vast church, and these scintillating245 lights gave a magical aspect to the edifice246. The black arcades247, the columns with their capitals, the recessed248 chapels249 glittering with gold and silver, the galleries, the Moorish250 fretwork, the most delicate features of this delicate carving251, were all revealed in the dazzling brightness like the fantastic figures which are formed in a glowing fire. It was a sea of light, surmounted252 at the end of the church by the gilded253 choir254, where the high altar rose in glory, which rivaled the rising sun. But the magnificence of the golden lamps, the silver candlesticks, the banners, the tassels255, the saints and the “ex voto” paled before the reliquary in which Don Juan lay. The body of the blasphemer was resplendent with gems, flowers, crystals, diamonds, gold, and plumes256 as white as the wings of a seraphim257; it replaced a picture of Christ on the altar. Around him burned wax candles, which threw out waves of light. The good Abbot of San Lucas, clad in his pontifical robes, with his jeweled mitre, his surplice and his golden crozier reclined, king of the choir, in a large armchair, amid all his clergy258, who were impassive men with silver hair, and who surrounded him like the confessing saints whom the painters group round the Lord. The precentor and the dignitaries of the order, decorated with the glittering insignia of their ecclesiastical vanities, came and went among the clouds of incense259 like planets revolving260 in the firmament261.
When the hour of triumph was come the chimes awoke the echoes of the countryside, and this immense assembly raised its voice to God in the first cry of praise which begins the “Te Deum.”
Sublime exultation262! There were voices pure and high, ecstatic women’s voices, blended with the deep sonorous263 tones of the men, thousands of voices so powerful that they drowned the organ in spite of the bellowing264 of its pipes. The shrill265 notes of the choir-boys and the powerful rhythm of the basses266 inspired pretty thoughts of the combination of childhood and strength in this delightful concert of human voices blended in an outpouring of love.
“Te Deum laudamus!”
In the midst of this cathedral, black with kneeling men and women, the chant burst forth like a light which gleams suddenly in the night, and the silence was broken as by a peal267 of thunder. The voices rose with the clouds of incense which threw diaphanous268, bluish veils over the quaint269 marvels270 of the architecture. All was richness, perfume, light and melody.
At the moment at which this symphony of love and gratitude271 rolled toward the altar, Don Juan, too polite not to express his thanks and too witty272 not to appreciate a jest, responded by a frightful273 laugh, and straightened up in his reliquary. But, the devil having given him a hint of the danger he ran of being taken for an ordinary man, for a saint, a Boniface or a Pantaléon, he interrupted this harmony of love by a shriek134 in which the thousand voices of hell joined. Earth lauded274, heaven condemned. The church trembled on its ancient foundations.
“Te Deum laudamus!” sang the crowd.
“Go to the devil, brute275 beasts that you are! ‘Carajos demonios!’ Beasts! what idiots you are with your God!”
And a torrent276 of curses rolled forth like a stream of burning lava277 at an eruption278 of Vesuvius.
“‘Deus sabaoth! sabaoth’!” cried the Christians279.
Then the living arm was thrust out of the reliquary and waved threateningly over the assembly with a gesture full of despair and irony.
It is thus that we are often deceived in our adorations. The superior man mocks those who compliment him, and compliments those whom he mocks in the depths of his heart.
When the Abbot, bowing low before the altar, chanted: “‘Sancte Johannes, ora pro53 nobis’!” he heard distinctly: “‘O coglione’!”
“What is happening up there?” cried the superior, seeing the reliquary move.
“The saint is playing devil!” replied the Abbot.
At this the living head tore itself violently away from the dead body and fell upon the yellow pate39 of the priest.
“Remember, Doña Elvira!” cried the head, fastening its teeth in the head of the Abbot.
The latter gave a terrible shriek, which threw the crowd into a panic. The priests rushed to the assistance of their chief.
“Imbecile! Now say that there is a God!” cried the voice, just as the Abbot expired.
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1
sumptuous
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| adj.豪华的，奢侈的，华丽的 | |
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2
gaily
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| adv.欢乐地，高兴地 | |
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3
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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gems
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| growth； economy； management； and customer satisfaction 增长 | |
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licentious
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| adj.放纵的，淫乱的 | |
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6
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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7
bantering
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| adj.嘲弄的v.开玩笑，说笑，逗乐( banter的现在分词 )；（善意地）取笑，逗弄 | |
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8
banter
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| n.嘲弄，戏谑；v.取笑，逗弄，开玩笑 | |
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9
rekindle
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| v.使再振作；再点火 | |
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10
repose
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| v.(使)休息；n.安息 | |
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11
rapture
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| n.狂喜；全神贯注；着迷；v.使狂喜 | |
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12
novice
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| adj.新手的，生手的 | |
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13
eternity
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| n.不朽，来世；永恒，无穷 | |
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14
intoxicated
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| 喝醉的，极其兴奋的 | |
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15
bacchanalian
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| adj.闹酒狂饮的；n.发酒疯的人 | |
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16
frenzy
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| n.疯狂，狂热，极度的激动 | |
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17
bouquet
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| n.花束，酒香 | |
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18
immortal
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| adj.不朽的；永生的，不死的；神的 | |
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19
exclamation
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| n.感叹号，惊呼，惊叹词 | |
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20
lucidity
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| n.明朗，清晰，透明 | |
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21
intensity
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| n.强烈，剧烈；强度；烈度 | |
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22
fumes
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| n.(强烈而刺激的)气味，气体 | |
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23
lurked
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| vi.潜伏，埋伏（lurk的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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24
revel
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| vi.狂欢作乐，陶醉；n.作乐，狂欢 | |
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25
intoxication
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| n.wild excitement;drunkenness；poisoning | |
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26
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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27
mien
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| n.风采；态度 | |
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28
blight
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| n.枯萎病；造成破坏的因素；vt.破坏，摧残 | |
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29
ruby
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| n.红宝石，红宝石色 | |
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30
dented
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| v.使产生凹痕( dent的过去式和过去分词 )；损害；伤害；挫伤（信心、名誉等） | |
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31
pall
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| v.覆盖，使平淡无味；n.柩衣，棺罩；棺材；帷幕 | |
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32
folly
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| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
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33
enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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34
chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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35
insufficiently
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| adv.不够地，不能胜任地 | |
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36
lawsuit
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| n.诉讼，控诉 | |
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37
devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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38
lavished
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| v.过分给予，滥施( lavish的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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39
pate
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| n.头顶；光顶 | |
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40
paternal
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| adj.父亲的，像父亲的，父系的，父方的 | |
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41
contemplating
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| 深思，细想，仔细考虑( contemplate的现在分词 )； 注视，凝视； 考虑接受（发生某事的可能性）； 深思熟虑，沉思，苦思冥想 | |
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42
lodged
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| v.存放( lodge的过去式和过去分词 )；暂住；埋入；（权利、权威等）归属 | |
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43
intrude
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| vi.闯入；侵入；打扰，侵扰 | |
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44
recluse
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| n.隐居者 | |
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45
preoccupied
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| adj.全神贯注的，入神的；被抢先占有的；心事重重的v.占据（某人）思想，使对…全神贯注，使专心于( preoccupy的过去式) | |
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46
dice
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| n.骰子；vt.把（食物）切成小方块，冒险 | |
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47
poultry
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| n.家禽，禽肉 | |
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48
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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49
remorse
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| n.痛恨，悔恨，自责 | |
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50
versed
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| adj. 精通，熟练 | |
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51
reverted
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| 恢复( revert的过去式和过去分词 )； 重提； 回到…上； 归还 | |
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52
piety
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| n.虔诚，虔敬 | |
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53
pro
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| n.赞成，赞成的意见，赞成者 | |
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54
prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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55
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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56
tapestries
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| n.挂毯( tapestry的名词复数 )；绣帷，织锦v.用挂毯（或绣帷）装饰( tapestry的第三人称单数 ) | |
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57
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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58
uneven
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| adj.不平坦的，不规则的，不均匀的 | |
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59
panes
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| 窗玻璃( pane的名词复数 ) | |
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60
shuddering
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| v.战栗( shudder的现在分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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61
flare
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| v.闪耀，闪烁；n.潮红；突发 | |
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62
gust
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| n.阵风，突然一阵（雨、烟等），（感情的）迸发 | |
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63
tint
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| n.淡色，浅色；染发剂；vt.着以淡淡的颜色 | |
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64
gaping
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| adj.口的；张口的；敞口的；多洞穴的v.目瞪口呆地凝视( gape的现在分词 )；张开，张大 | |
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65
dismal
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| adj.阴沉的，凄凉的，令人忧郁的，差劲的 | |
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66
wail
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| vt./vi.大声哀号，恸哭；呼啸，尖啸 | |
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67
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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68
appalling
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| adj.骇人听闻的，令人震惊的，可怕的 | |
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69
skull
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| n.头骨；颅骨 | |
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70
rigidity
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| adj.钢性，坚硬 | |
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71
penetrated
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| adj. 击穿的，鞭辟入里的 动词penetrate的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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72
confirmation
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| n.证实，确认，批准 | |
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73
grudge
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| n.不满，怨恨，妒嫉；vt.勉强给，不情愿做 | |
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74
whined
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| v.哀号( whine的过去式和过去分词 )；哀诉，诉怨 | |
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75
gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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76
posture
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| n.姿势，姿态，心态，态度；v.作出某种姿势 | |
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77
falcons
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| n.猎鹰( falcon的名词复数 ) | |
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78
growled
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| v.（动物）发狺狺声， （雷）作隆隆声( growl的过去式和过去分词 )；低声咆哮着说 | |
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79
jaws
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| n.口部；嘴 | |
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80
reigned
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| vi.当政，统治（reign的过去式形式） | |
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81
delirium
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| n. 神智昏迷,说胡话;极度兴奋 | |
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82
resuscitation
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| n.复活 | |
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83
flask
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| n.瓶，火药筒，砂箱 | |
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84
wrench
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| v.猛拧；挣脱；使扭伤；n.扳手；痛苦，难受 | |
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85
doomed
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| 命定的 | |
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86
whim
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| n.一时的兴致，突然的念头；奇想，幻想 | |
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87
hideous
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| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
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88
wrath
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| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
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89
vengeance
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| n.报复，报仇，复仇 | |
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90
cowering
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| v.畏缩，抖缩( cower的现在分词 ) | |
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91
elixir
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| n.长生不老药，万能药 | |
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92
rusty
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| adj.生锈的；锈色的；荒废了的 | |
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93
perspiration
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| n.汗水；出汗 | |
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94
dagger
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| n.匕首，短剑，剑号 | |
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95
oozed
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| v.（浓液等）慢慢地冒出，渗出( ooze的过去式和过去分词 )；使（液体）缓缓流出；（浓液）渗出，慢慢流出 | |
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96
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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97
casement
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| n.竖铰链窗；窗扉 | |
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98
mechanism
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| n.机械装置；机构，结构 | |
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99
peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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100
skeptical
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| adj.怀疑的，多疑的 | |
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101
tumult
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| n.喧哗；激动，混乱；吵闹 | |
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102
stifled
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| （使）窒息， （使）窒闷( stifle的过去式和过去分词 )； 镇压，遏制； 堵 | |
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103
rustle
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| v.沙沙作响；偷盗(牛、马等)；n.沙沙声声 | |
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104
disorder
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| n.紊乱，混乱；骚动，骚乱；疾病，失调 | |
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105
meditations
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| 默想( meditation的名词复数 )； 默念； 沉思； 冥想 | |
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106
parched
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| adj.焦干的；极渴的；v.（使）焦干 | |
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107
splendor
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| n.光彩；壮丽，华丽；显赫，辉煌 | |
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108
homage
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| n.尊敬，敬意，崇敬 | |
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109
debauch
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| v.使堕落，放纵 | |
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110
impiety
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| n.不敬；不孝 | |
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111
ascertained
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| v.弄清，确定，查明( ascertain的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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112
amassed
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| v.积累，积聚( amass的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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113
puffed
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| adj.疏松的v.使喷出( puff的过去式和过去分词 )；喷着汽（或烟）移动；吹嘘；吹捧 | |
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114
ornaments
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| n.装饰( ornament的名词复数 )；点缀；装饰品；首饰v.装饰，点缀，美化( ornament的第三人称单数 ) | |
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115
corpse
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| n.尸体，死尸 | |
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116
decrepitude
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| n.衰老；破旧 | |
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117
linen
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| n.亚麻布，亚麻线，亚麻制品；adj.亚麻布制的，亚麻的 | |
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118
vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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119
embalming
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| v.保存（尸体）不腐( embalm的现在分词 )；使不被遗忘；使充满香气 | |
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120
corrupted
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| （使）败坏( corrupt的过去式和过去分词 )； （使）腐化； 引起（计算机文件等的）错误； 破坏 | |
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121
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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122
demon
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| n.魔鬼，恶魔 | |
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123
resounded
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| v.（指声音等）回荡于某处( resound的过去式和过去分词 )；产生回响；（指某处）回荡着声音 | |
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124
eyelid
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| n.眼睑，眼皮 | |
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125
precipice
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| n.悬崖，危急的处境 | |
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126
lashes
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| n.鞭挞( lash的名词复数 )；鞭子；突然猛烈的一击；急速挥动v.鞭打( lash的第三人称单数 )；煽动；紧系；怒斥 | |
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127
scintillated
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| v.（言谈举止中）焕发才智( scintillate的过去式和过去分词 )；谈笑洒脱；闪耀；闪烁 | |
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128
solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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129
condemned
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| adj. 被责难的, 被宣告有罪的 动词condemn的过去式和过去分词 | |
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130
supplication
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| n.恳求，祈愿，哀求 | |
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131
imploring
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| 恳求的，哀求的 | |
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132
recoiled
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| v.畏缩( recoil的过去式和过去分词 )；退缩；报应；返回 | |
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133
shrieked
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| v.尖叫( shriek的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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134
shriek
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| v./n.尖叫，叫喊 | |
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135
diabolical
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| adj.恶魔似的，凶暴的 | |
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136
contemplated
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| adj. 预期的 动词contemplate的过去分词形式 | |
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137
luminous
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| adj.发光的，发亮的；光明的；明白易懂的；有启发的 | |
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138
abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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139
assenting
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| 同意，赞成( assent的现在分词 ) | |
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140
parricide
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| n.杀父母；杀亲罪 | |
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141
ironical
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| adj.讽刺的，冷嘲的 | |
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142
wink
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| n.眨眼，使眼色，瞬间；v.眨眼，使眼色，闪烁 | |
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143
exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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144
inventory
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| n.详细目录，存货清单 | |
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145
avaricious
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| adj.贪婪的，贪心的 | |
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146
analyzed
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| v.分析( analyze的过去式和过去分词 )；分解；解释；对…进行心理分析 | |
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147
crucible
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| n.坩锅，严酷的考验 | |
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148
bourgeois
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| adj./n.追求物质享受的(人)；中产阶级分子 | |
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149
slippers
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| n. 拖鞋 | |
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150
monk
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| n.和尚，僧侣，修道士 | |
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151
savory
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| adj.风味极佳的，可口的，味香的 | |
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152
kernel
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| n.(果实的)核，仁；(问题)的中心，核心 | |
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153
sublime
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| adj.崇高的，伟大的；极度的，不顾后果的 | |
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154
devoured
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| 吞没( devour的过去式和过去分词 )； 耗尽； 津津有味地看； 狼吞虎咽地吃光 | |
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155
scruple
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| n./v.顾忌，迟疑 | |
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156
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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157
irony
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| n.反语，冷嘲；具有讽刺意味的事，嘲弄 | |
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158
ecstasy
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| n.狂喜，心醉神怡，入迷 | |
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159
bliss
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| n.狂喜，福佑，天赐的福 | |
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160
simplicity
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| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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161
prudence
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| n.谨慎，精明，节俭 | |
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162
cowardice
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| n.胆小，怯懦 | |
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163
generosity
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| n.大度，慷慨，慷慨的行为 | |
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164
delicacy
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| n.精致，细微，微妙，精良；美味，佳肴 | |
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165
pusillanimity
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| n.无气力，胆怯 | |
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166
fatality
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| n.不幸，灾祸，天命 | |
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167
prudent
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| adj.谨慎的，有远见的，精打细算的 | |
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168
courageous
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| adj.勇敢的，有胆量的 | |
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169
renouncing
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| v.声明放弃( renounce的现在分词 )；宣布放弃；宣布与…决裂；宣布摒弃 | |
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170
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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171
lyric
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| n.抒情诗，歌词；adj.抒情的 | |
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172
parley
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| n.谈判 | |
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173
incarnating
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| v.赋予（思想、精神等）以人的形体( incarnate的现在分词 )；使人格化；体现；使具体化 | |
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174
goad
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| n.刺棒，刺痛物；激励；vt.激励，刺激 | |
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175
sarcasm
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| n.讥讽，讽刺，嘲弄，反话 （adj.sarcastic） | |
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176
celebrated
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| adj.有名的，声誉卓著的 | |
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177
penance
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| n.（赎罪的）惩罪 | |
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178
repent
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| v.悔悟，悔改，忏悔，后悔 | |
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179
elevation
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| n.高度；海拔；高地；上升；提高 | |
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180
consecrated
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| adj.神圣的，被视为神圣的v.把…奉为神圣，给…祝圣( consecrate的过去式和过去分词 )；奉献 | |
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181
deluge
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| n./vt.洪水，暴雨，使泛滥 | |
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182
delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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183
villa
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| n.别墅，城郊小屋 | |
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184
pontifical
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| adj.自以为是的，武断的 | |
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185
intentionally
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| ad.故意地，有意地 | |
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186
pious
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| adj.虔诚的；道貌岸然的 | |
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187
piously
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| adv.虔诚地 | |
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188
meekness
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| n.温顺，柔和 | |
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189
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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190
trifling
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| adj.微不足道的；没什么价值的 | |
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191
annuity
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| n.年金；养老金 | |
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192
machiavellian
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| adj.权谋的，狡诈的 | |
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193
conscientiously
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| adv.凭良心地；认真地，负责尽职地；老老实实 | |
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194
ecclesiastic
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| n.教士，基督教会；adj.神职者的，牧师的，教会的 | |
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195
recluses
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| n.隐居者，遁世者，隐士( recluse的名词复数 ) | |
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196
virtue
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| n.德行，美德；贞操；优点；功效，效力 | |
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197
remiss
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| adj.不小心的，马虎 | |
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198
gallant
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| adj.英勇的，豪侠的；(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
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199
bestowed
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| 赠给，授予( bestow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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200
maturity
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| n.成熟；完成；(支票、债券等)到期 | |
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201
farce
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| n.闹剧，笑剧，滑稽戏；胡闹 | |
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202
scoffed
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| 嘲笑，嘲弄( scoff的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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203
uncertainty
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| n.易变，靠不住，不确知，不确定的事物 | |
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204
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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205
willow
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| n.柳树 | |
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206
obstinate
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| adj.顽固的，倔强的，不易屈服的，较难治愈的 | |
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207
ballroom
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| n.舞厅 | |
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208
deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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209
graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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210
tottered
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| v.走得或动得不稳( totter的过去式和过去分词 )；踉跄；蹒跚；摇摇欲坠 | |
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211
morose
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| adj.脾气坏的，不高兴的 | |
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212
touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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213
caresses
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| 爱抚，抚摸( caress的名词复数 ) | |
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214
malicious
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| adj.有恶意的，心怀恶意的 | |
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215
torment
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| n.折磨；令人痛苦的东西(人)；vt.折磨；纠缠 | |
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216
impatience
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| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
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217
infinitely
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| adv.无限地，无穷地 | |
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218
formerly
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| adv.从前，以前 | |
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219
antipathies
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| 反感( antipathy的名词复数 )； 引起反感的事物； 憎恶的对象； （在本性、倾向等方面的）不相容 | |
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220
jovial
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| adj.快乐的，好交际的 | |
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221
transparent
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| adj.明显的，无疑的；透明的 | |
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222
ointment
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| n.药膏，油膏，软膏 | |
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223
gushed
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| v.喷，涌( gush的过去式和过去分词 )；滔滔不绝地说话 | |
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224
authorized
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| a.委任的，许可的 | |
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225
salvation
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| n.（尤指基督）救世，超度，拯救，解困 | |
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incompatibility
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| n.不兼容 | |
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227
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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228
revered
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| v.崇敬，尊崇，敬畏( revere的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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229
trumpet
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| n.喇叭，喇叭声；v.吹喇叭，吹嘘 | |
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230
judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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231
throng
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| n.人群，群众；v.拥挤，群集 | |
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232
crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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233
inevitably
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| adv.不可避免地；必然发生地 | |
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234
monastery
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| n.修道院，僧院，寺院 | |
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235
apotheosis
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| n.神圣之理想；美化；颂扬 | |
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236
facetious
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| adj.轻浮的，好开玩笑的 | |
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237
grimace
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| v.做鬼脸，面部歪扭 | |
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238
thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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239
mosque
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| n.清真寺 | |
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240
ERECTED
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| adj. 直立的，竖立的，笔直的 vt. 使 ... 直立，建立 | |
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241
moors
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| v.停泊，系泊（船只）( moor的第三人称单数 ) | |
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242
velvet
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| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
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243
mantles
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| vt.&vi.覆盖（mantle的第三人称单数形式） | |
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244
thither
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| adv.向那里；adj.在那边的，对岸的 | |
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245
scintillating
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| adj．才气横溢的,闪闪发光的; 闪烁的 | |
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246
edifice
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| n.宏伟的建筑物(如宫殿，教室) | |
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247
arcades
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| n.商场( arcade的名词复数 )；拱形走道（两旁有商店或娱乐设施）；连拱廊；拱形建筑物 | |
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248
recessed
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| v.把某物放在墙壁的凹处( recess的过去式和过去分词 )；将（墙）做成凹形，在（墙）上做壁龛；休息，休会，休庭 | |
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249
chapels
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| n.小教堂， （医院、监狱等的）附属礼拜堂( chapel的名词复数 )；（在小教堂和附属礼拜堂举行的）礼拜仪式 | |
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250
moorish
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| adj.沼地的，荒野的，生[住]在沼地的 | |
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251
carving
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| n.雕刻品，雕花 | |
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252
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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253
gilded
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| a.镀金的，富有的 | |
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254
choir
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| n.唱诗班，唱诗班的席位，合唱团，舞蹈团；v.合唱 | |
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255
tassels
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| n.穗( tassel的名词复数 )；流苏状物；（植物的）穗；玉蜀黍的穗状雄花v.抽穗， （玉米）长穗须( tassel的第三人称单数 )；使抽穗， （为了使作物茁壮生长）摘去穗状雄花；用流苏装饰 | |
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256
plumes
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| 羽毛( plume的名词复数 )； 羽毛饰； 羽毛状物； 升上空中的羽状物 | |
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257
seraphim
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| n.六翼天使(seraph的复数)；六翼天使( seraph的名词复数 ) | |
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258
clergy
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| n.[总称]牧师，神职人员 | |
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259
incense
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| v.激怒；n.香，焚香时的烟，香气 | |
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260
revolving
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| adj.旋转的，轮转式的；循环的v.（使）旋转( revolve的现在分词 )；细想 | |
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261
firmament
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| n.苍穹；最高层 | |
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262
exultation
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| n.狂喜，得意 | |
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263
sonorous
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| adj.响亮的，回响的；adv.圆润低沉地；感人地；n.感人，堂皇 | |
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264
bellowing
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| v.发出吼叫声，咆哮（尤指因痛苦）( bellow的现在分词 )；（愤怒地）说出（某事），大叫 | |
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265
shrill
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| adj.尖声的；刺耳的；v尖叫 | |
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266
basses
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| 低音歌唱家，低音乐器( bass的名词复数 ) | |
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267
peal
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| n.钟声；v.鸣响 | |
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268
diaphanous
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| adj.(布)精致的，半透明的 | |
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269
quaint
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| adj.古雅的，离奇有趣的，奇怪的 | |
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270
marvels
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| n.奇迹( marvel的名词复数 )；令人惊奇的事物（或事例）；不平凡的成果；成就v.惊奇，对…感到惊奇( marvel的第三人称单数 ) | |
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271
gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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272
witty
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| adj.机智的，风趣的 | |
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273
frightful
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| adj.可怕的；讨厌的 | |
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274
lauded
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| v.称赞，赞美( laud的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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275
brute
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| n.野兽，兽性 | |
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276
torrent
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| n.激流，洪流；爆发，(话语等的)连发 | |
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277
lava
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| n.熔岩，火山岩 | |
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278
eruption
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| n.火山爆发；（战争等）爆发；（疾病等）发作 | |
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279
Christians
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| n.基督教徒( Christian的名词复数 ) | |
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280
blessing
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| n.祈神赐福；祷告；祝福，祝愿 | |
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281
credulous
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| adj.轻信的，易信的 | |
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