I had no difficulty in answering the various questions which Doctor Gennaro addressed to me, but I was surprised, and even displeased2, at the constant peals3 of laughter with which he received my answers. The piteous description of miserable4 Calabria, and the picture of the sad situation of the Bishop5 of Martorano, appeared to me more likely to call forth6 tears than to excite hilarity7, and, suspecting that some mystification was being played upon me, I was very near getting angry when, becoming more composed, he told me with feeling that I must kindly8 excuse him; that his laughter was a disease which seemed to be endemic in his family, for one of his uncles died of it.
“What! “I exclaimed, “died of laughing!”
“Yes. This disease, which was not known to Hippocrates, is called li flati.”
“What do you mean? Does an hypochondriac affection, which causes sadness and lowness in all those who suffer from it, render you cheerful?”
“Yes, because, most likely, my flati, instead of influencing the hypochondrium, affects my spleen, which my physician asserts to be the organ of laughter. It is quite a discovery.”
“You are mistaken; it is a very ancient notion, and it is the only function which is ascribed to the spleen in our animal organization.”
“Well, we must discuss the matter at length, for I hope you will remain with us a few weeks.”
“I wish I could, but I must leave Naples to-morrow or the day after.”
“Have you got any money?”
“I rely upon the sixty ducats you have to give me.”
At these words, his peals of laughter began again, and as he could see that I was annoyed, he said, “I am amused at the idea that I can keep you here as long as I like. But be good enough to see my son; he writes pretty verses enough.”
And truly his son, although only fourteen, was already a great poet.
A servant took me to the apartment of the young man whom I found possessed9 of a pleasing countenance10 and engaging manners. He gave me a polite welcome, and begged to be excused if he could not attend to me altogether for the present, as he had to finish a song which he was composing for a relative of the Duchess de Rovino, who was taking the veil at the Convent of St. Claire, and the printer was waiting for the manuscript. I told him that his excuse was a very good one, and I offered to assist him. He then read his song, and I found it so full of enthusiasm, and so truly in the style of Guidi, that I advised him to call it an ode; but as I had praised all the truly beautiful passages, I thought I could venture to point out the weak ones, and I replaced them by verses of my own composition. He was delighted, and thanked me warmly, inquiring whether I was Apollo. As he was writing his ode, I composed a sonnet11 on the same subject, and, expressing his admiration12 for it he begged me to sign it, and to allow him to send it with his poetry.
While I was correcting and recopying my manuscript, he went to his father to find out who I was, which made the old man laugh until supper-time. In the evening, I had the pleasure of seeing that my bed had been prepared in the young man’s chamber13.
Doctor Gennaro’s family was composed of this son and of a daughter unfortunately very plain, of his wife and of two elderly, devout14 sisters. Amongst the guests at the supper-table I met several literary men, and the Marquis Galiani, who was at that time annotating15 Vitruvius. He had a brother, an abbe whose acquaintance I made twenty years after, in Paris, when he was secretary of embassy to Count Cantillana. The next day, at supper, I was presented to the celebrated16 Genovesi; I had already sent him the letter of the Archbishop of Cosenza. He spoke17 to me of Apostolo Zeno and of the Abbe Conti. He remarked that it was considered a very venial18 sin for a regular priest to say two masses in one day for the sake of earning two carlini more, but that for the same sin a secular19 priest would deserve to be burnt at the stake.
The nun20 took the veil on the following day, and Gennaro’s ode and my sonnet had the greatest success. A Neapolitan gentleman, whose name was the same as mine, expressed a wish to know me, and, hearing that I resided at the doctor’s, he called to congratulate him on the occasion of his feast-day, which happened to fall on the day following the ceremony at Sainte-Claire.
Don Antonio Casanova, informing me of his name, enquired21 whether my family was originally from Venice.
“I am, sir,” I answered modestly, “the great-grandson of the unfortunate Marco Antonio Casanova, secretary to Cardinal Pompeo Colonna, who died of the plague in Rome, in the year 1528, under the pontificate of Clement23 VII.” The words were scarcely out of my lips when he embraced me, calling me his cousin, but we all thought that Doctor Gennaro would actually die with laughter, for it seemed impossible to laugh so immoderately without risk of life. Madame Gennaro was very angry and told my newly-found cousin that he might have avoided enacting24 such a scene before her husband, knowing his disease, but he answered that he never thought the circumstance likely to provoke mirth. I said nothing, for, in reality, I felt that the recognition was very comic. Our poor laugher having recovered his composure, Casanova, who had remained very serious, invited me to dinner for the next day with my young friend Paul Gennaro, who had already become my alter ego25.
When we called at his house, my worthy26 cousin showed me his family tree, beginning with a Don Francisco, brother of Don Juan. In my pedigree, which I knew by heart, Don Juan, my direct ancestor, was a posthumous27 child. It was possible that there might have been a brother of Marco Antonio’s; but when he heard that my genealogy28 began with Don Francisco, from Aragon, who had lived in the fourteenth century, and that consequently all the pedigree of the illustrious house of the Casanovas of Saragossa belonged to him, his joy knew no bounds; he did not know what to do to convince me that the same blood was flowing in his veins29 and in mine.
He expressed some curiosity to know what lucky accident had brought me to Naples; I told him that, having embraced the ecclesiastical profession, I was going to Rome to seek my fortune. He then presented me to his family, and I thought that I could read on the countenance of my cousin, his dearly beloved wife, that she was not much pleased with the newly-found relationship, but his pretty daughter, and a still prettier niece of his, might very easily have given me faith in the doctrine31 that blood is thicker than water, however fabulous32 it may be.
After dinner, Don Antonio informed me that the Duchess de Bovino had expressed a wish to know the Abbe Casanova who had written the sonnet in honour of her relative, and that he would be very happy to introduce me to her as his own cousin. As we were alone at that moment, I begged he would not insist on presenting me, as I was only provided with travelling suits, and had to be careful of my purse so as not to arrive in Rome without money. Delighted at my confidence, and approving my economy, he said, “I am rich, and you must not scruple35 to come with me to my tailor;” and he accompanied his offer with an assurance that the circumstance would not be known to anyone, and that he would feel deeply mortified36 if I denied him the pleasure of serving me. I shook him warmly by the hand, and answered that I was ready to do anything he pleased. We went to a tailor who took my measure, and who brought me on the following day everything necessary to the toilet of the most elegant abbe. Don Antonio called on me, and remained to dine with Don Gennaro, after which he took me and my friend Paul to the duchess. This lady, according to the Neapolitan fashion, called me thou in her very first compliment of welcome. Her daughter, then only ten or twelve years old, was very handsome, and a few years later became Duchess de Matalona. The duchess presented me with a snuff-box in pale tortoise-shell with arabesque37 incrustations in gold, and she invited us to dine with her on the morrow, promising38 to take us after dinner to the Convent of St. Claire to pay a visit to the new nun.
As we came out of the palace of the duchess, I left my friends and went alone to Panagiotti’s to claim the barrel of muscatel wine. The manager was kind enough to have the barrel divided into two smaller casks of equal capacity, and I sent one to Don Antonio, and the other to Don Gennaro. As I was leaving the shop I met the worthy Panagiotti, who was glad to see me. Was I to blush at the sight of the good man I had at first deceived? No, for in his opinion I had acted very nobly towards him.
Don Gennaro, as I returned home, managed to thank me for my handsome present without laughing, and the next day Don Antonio, to make up for the muscatel wine I had sent him, offered me a gold-headed cane39, worth at least fifteen ounces, and his tailor brought me a travelling suit and a blue great coat, with the buttonholes in gold lace. I therefore found myself splendidly equipped.
At the Duchess de Bovino’s dinner I made the acquaintance of the wisest and most learned man in Naples, the illustrious Don Lelio Caraffa, who belonged to the ducal family of Matalona, and whom King Carlos honoured with the title of friend.
I spent two delightful40 hours in the convent parlour, coping successfully with the curiosity of all the nuns41 who were pressing against the grating. Had destiny allowed me to remain in Naples my fortune would have been made; but, although I had no fixed42 plan, the voice of fate summoned me to Rome, and therefore I resisted all the entreaties44 of my cousin Antonio to accept the honourable45 position of tutor in several houses of the highest order.
Don Antonio gave a splendid dinner in my honour, but he was annoyed and angry because he saw that his wife looked daggers46 at her new cousin. I thought that, more than once, she cast a glance at my new costume, and then whispered to the guest next to her. Very likely she knew what had taken place. There are some positions in life to which I could never be reconciled. If, in the most brilliant circle, there is one person who affects to stare at me I lose all presence of mind. Self-dignity feels outraged47, my wit dies away, and I play the part of a dolt48. It is a weakness on my part, but a weakness I cannot overcome.
Don Lelio Caraffa offered me a very liberal salary if I would undertake the education of his nephew, the Duke de Matalona, then ten years of age. I expressed my gratitude49, and begged him to be my true benefactor50 in a different manner — namely, by giving me a few good letters of introduction for Rome, a favour which he granted at once. He gave me one for Cardinal Acquaviva, and another for Father Georgi.
I found out that the interest felt towards me by my friends had induced them to obtain for me the honour of kissing the hand of Her Majesty51 the Queen, and I hastened my preparations to leave Naples, for the queen would certainly have asked me some questions, and I could not have avoided telling her that I had just left Martorano and the poor bishop whom she had sent there. The queen likewise knew my mother; she would very likely have alluded52 to my mother’s profession in Dresden; it would have mortified Don Antonio, and my pedigree would have been covered with ridicule54. I knew the force of prejudice! I should have been ruined, and I felt I should do well to withdraw in good time. As I took leave of him, Don Antonio presented me with a fine gold watch and gave me a letter for Don Gaspar Vidaldi, whom he called his best friend. Don Gennaro paid me the sixty ducats, and his son, swearing eternal friendship, asked me to write to him. They all accompanied me to the coach, blending their tears with mine, and loading me with good wishes and blessings55.
From my landing in Chiozza up to my arrival in Naples, fortune had seemed bent56 upon frowning on me; in Naples it began to shew itself less adverse57, and on my return to that city it entirely58 smiled upon me. Naples has always been a fortunate place for me, as the reader of my memoirs59 will discover. My readers must not forget that in Portici I was on the point of disgracing myself, and there is no remedy against the degradation60 of the mind, for nothing can restore it to its former standard. It is a case of disheartening atony for which there is no possible cure.
I was not ungrateful to the good Bishop of Martorano, for, if he had unwittingly injured me by summoning me to his diocese, I felt that to his letter for M. Gennaro I was indebted for all the good fortune which had just befallen me. I wrote to him from Rome.
I was wholly engaged in drying my tears as we were driving through the beautiful street of Toledo, and it was only after we had left Naples that I could find time to examine the countenance of my travelling companions. Next to me, I saw a man of from forty to fifty, with a pleasing face and a lively air, but, opposite to me, two charming faces delighted my eyes. They belonged to two ladies, young and pretty, very well dressed, with a look of candour and modesty61. This discovery was most agreeable, but I felt sad and I wanted calm and silence. We reached Avessa without one word being exchanged, and as the vetturino stopped there only to water his mules62, we did not get out of the coach. From Avessa to Capua my companions conversed64 almost without interruption, and, wonderful to relate! I did not open my lips once. I was amused by the Neapolitan jargon65 of the gentleman, and by the pretty accent of the ladies, who were evidently Romans. It was a most wonderful feat66 for me to remain five hours before two charming women without addressing one word to them, without paying them one compliment.
At Capua, where we were to spend the night, we put up at an inn, and were shown into a room with two beds — a very usual thing in Italy. The Neapolitan, addressing himself to me, said,
“Am I to have the honour of sleeping with the reverend gentleman?”
I answered in a very serious tone that it was for him to choose or to arrange it otherwise, if he liked. The answer made the two ladies smile, particularly the one whom I preferred, and it seemed to me a good omen33.
We were five at supper, for it is usual for the vetturino to supply his travellers with their meals, unless some private agreement is made otherwise, and to sit down at table with them. In the desultory67 talk which went on during the supper, I found in my travelling companions decorum, propriety68, wit, and the manners of persons accustomed to good society. I became curious to know who they were, and going down with the driver after supper, I asked him.
“The gentleman,” he told me, “is an advocate, and one of the ladies is his wife, but I do not know which of the two.”
I went back to our room, and I was polite enough to go to bed first, in order to make it easier for the ladies to undress themselves with freedom; I likewise got up first in the morning, left the room, and only returned when I was called for breakfast. The coffee was delicious. I praised it highly, and the lady, the one who was my favourite, promised that I should have the same every morning during our journey. The barber came in after breakfast; the advocate was shaved, and the barber offered me his services, which I declined, but the rogue69 declared that it was slovenly70 to wear one’s beard.
When we had resumed our seats in the coach, the advocate made some remark upon the impudence71 of barbers in general.
“But we ought to decide first,” said the lady, “whether or not it is slovenly to go bearded.”
“Of course it is,” said the advocate. “Beard is nothing but a dirty excrescence.”
“You may think so,” I answered, “but everybody does not share your opinion. Do we consider as a dirty excrescence the hair of which we take so much care, and which is of the same nature as the beard? Far from it; we admire the length and the beauty of the hair.”
“Then,” remarked the lady, “the barber is a fool.”
“But after all,” I asked, “have I any beard?”
“I thought you had,” she answered.
“In that case, I will begin to shave as soon as I reach Rome, for this is the first time that I have been convicted of having a beard.”
“My dear wife,” exclaimed the advocate, “you should have held your tongue; perhaps the reverend abbe is going to Rome with the intention of becoming a Capuchin friar.”
The pleasantry made me laugh, but, unwilling72 that he should have the last word, I answered that he had guessed rightly, that such had been my intention, but that I had entirely altered my mind since I had seen his wife.
“Oh! you are wrong,” said the joyous73 Neapolitan, “for my wife is very fond of Capuchins, and if you wish to please her, you had better follow your original vocation74.” Our conversation continued in the same tone of pleasantry, and the day passed off in an agreeable manner; in the evening we had a very poor supper at Garillan, but we made up for it by cheerfulness and witty75 conversation. My dawning inclination76 for the advocate’s wife borrowed strength from the affectionate manner she displayed towards me.
The next day she asked me, after we had resumed our journey, whether I intended to make a long stay in Rome before returning to Venice. I answered that, having no acquaintances in Rome, I was afraid my life there would be very dull.
“Strangers are liked in Rome,” she said, “I feel certain that you will be pleased with your residence in that city.”
“May I hope, madam, that you will allow me to pay you my respects?”
“We shall be honoured by your calling on us,” said the advocate.
My eyes were fixed upon his charming wife. She blushed, but I did not appear to notice it. I kept up the conversation, and the day passed as pleasantly as the previous one. We stopped at Terracina, where they gave us a room with three beds, two single beds and a large one between the two others. It was natural that the two sisters should take the large bed; they did so, and undressed themselves while the advocate and I went on talking at the table, with our backs turned to them. As soon as they had gone to rest, the advocate took the bed on which he found his nightcap, and I the other, which was only about one foot distant from the large bed. I remarked that the lady by whom I was captivated was on the side nearest my couch, and, without much vanity, I could suppose that it was not owing only to chance.
I put the light out and laid down, revolving77 in my mind a project which I could not abandon, and yet durst not execute. In vain did I court sleep. A very faint light enabled me to perceive the bed in which the pretty woman was lying, and my eyes would, in spite of myself, remain open. It would be difficult to guess what I might have done at last (I had already fought a hard battle with myself for more than an hour), when I saw her rise, get out of her bed, and go and lay herself down near her husband, who, most likely, did not wake up, and continued to sleep in peace, for I did not hear any noise.
Vexed78, disgusted. . . . I tried to compose myself to sleep, and I woke only at day-break. Seeing the beautiful wandering star in her own bed, I got up, dressed myself in haste, and went out, leaving all my companions fast asleep. I returned to the inn only at the time fixed for our departure, and I found the advocate and the two ladies already in the coach, waiting for me.
The lady complained, in a very obliging manner, of my not having cared for her coffee; I pleaded as an excuse a desire for an early walk, and I took care not to honour her even with a look; I feigned79 to be suffering from the toothache, and remained in my corner dull and silent. At Piperno she managed to whisper to me that my toothache was all sham80; I was pleased with the reproach, because it heralded81 an explanation which I craved82 for, in spite of my vexation.
During the afternoon I continued my policy of the morning. I was morose83 and silent until we reached Serinonetta, where we were to pass the night. We arrived early, and the weather being fine, the lady said that she could enjoy a walk, and asked me politely to offer her my arm. I did so, for it would have been rude to refuse; besides I had had enough of my sulking fit. An explanation could alone bring matters back to their original standing84, but I did not know how to force it upon the lady. Her husband followed us at some distance with the sister.
When we were far enough in advance, I ventured to ask her why she had supposed my toothache to have been feigned.
“I am very candid,” she said; “it is because the difference in your manner was so marked, and because you were so careful to avoid looking at me through the whole day. A toothache would not have prevented you from being polite, and therefore I thought it had been feigned for some purpose. But I am certain that not one of us can possibly have given you any grounds for such a rapid change in your manner.”
“Yet something must have caused the change, and you, madam, are only half sincere.”
“You are mistaken, sir, I am entirely sincere; and if I have given you any motive85 for anger, I am, and must remain, ignorant of it. Be good enough to tell me what I have done.”
“Nothing, for I have no right to complain.”
“Yes, you have; you have a right, the same that I have myself; the right which good society grants to every one of its members. Speak, and shew yourself as sincere as I am.”
“You are certainly bound not to know, or to pretend not to know the real cause, but you must acknowledge that my duty is to remain silent.”
“Very well; now it is all over; but if your duty bids you to conceal86 the cause of your bad humour, it also bids you not to shew it. Delicacy87 sometimes enforces upon a polite gentleman the necessity of concealing88 certain feelings which might implicate89 either himself or others; it is a restraint for the mind, I confess, but it has some advantage when its effect is to render more amiable90 the man who forces himself to accept that restraint.” Her close argument made me blush for shame, and carrying her beautiful hand to my lips, I confessed my self in the wrong.
“You would see me at your feet,” I exclaimed, “in token of my repentance91, were I not afraid of injuring you —-”
“Do not let us allude53 to the matter any more,” she answered.
And, pleased with my repentance, she gave me a look so expressive92 of forgiveness that, without being afraid of augmenting93 my guilt94, I took my lips off her hand and I raised them to her half-open, smiling mouth. Intoxicated95 with rapture96, I passed so rapidly from a state of sadness to one of overwhelming cheerfulness that during our supper the advocate enjoyed a thousand jokes upon my toothache, so quickly cured by the simple remedy of a walk. On the following day we dined at Velletri and slept in Marino, where, although the town was full of troops, we had two small rooms and a good supper. I could not have been on better terms with my charming Roman; for, although I had received but a rapid proof of her regard, it had been such a true one — such a tender one! In the coach our eyes could not say much; but I was opposite to her, and our feet spoke a very eloquent97 language.
The advocate had told me that he was going to Rome on some ecclesiastical business, and that he intended to reside in the house of his mother-in-law, whom his wife had not seen since her marriage, two years ago, and her sister hoped to remain in Rome, where she expected to marry a clerk at the Spirito Santo Bank. He gave me their address, with a pressing invitation to call upon them, and I promised to devote all my spare time to them.
We were enjoying our dessert, when my beautiful lady-love, admiring my snuff-box, told her husband that she wished she had one like it.
“I will buy you one, dear.”
“Then buy mine,” I said; “I will let you have it for twenty ounces, and you can give me a note of hand payable98 to bearer in payment. I owe that amount to an Englishman, and I will give it him to redeem99 my debt.”
“Your snuff-box, my dear abbe, is worth twenty ounces, but I cannot buy it unless you agree to receive payment in cash; I should be delighted to see it in my wife’s possession, and she would keep it as a remembrance of you.”
His wife, thinking that I would not accept his offer, said that she had no objection to give me the note of hand.
“But,” exclaimed the advocate, “can you not guess the Englishman exists only in our friend’s imagination? He would never enter an appearance, and we would have the snuff-box for nothing. Do not trust the abbe, my dear, he is a great cheat.”
“I had no idea,” answered his wife, looking at me, “that the world contained rogues100 of this species.”
I affected101 a melancholy102 air, and said that I only wished myself rich enough to be often guilty of such cheating.
When a man is in love very little is enough to throw him into despair, and as little to enhance his joy to the utmost. There was but one bed in the room where supper had been served, and another in a small closet leading out of the room, but without a door. The ladies chose the closet, and the advocate retired103 to rest before me. I bid the ladies good night as soon as they had gone to bed; I looked at my dear mistress, and after undressing myself I went to bed, intending not to sleep through the night. But the reader may imagine my rage when I found, as I got into the bed, that it creaked loud enough to wake the dead. I waited, however, quite motionless, until my companion should be fast asleep, and as soon as his snoring told me that he was entirely under the influence of Morpheus, I tried to slip out of the bed; but the infernal creaking which took place whenever I moved, woke my companion, who felt about with his hand, and, finding me near him, went to sleep again. Half an hour after, I tried a second time, but with the same result. I had to give it up in despair.
Love is the most cunning of gods; in the midst of obstacles he seems to be in his own element, but as his very existence depends upon the enjoyment104 of those who ardently105 worship him, the shrewd, all-seeing, little blind god contrives107 to bring success out of the most desperate case.
I had given up all hope for the night, and had nearly gone to sleep, when suddenly we hear a dreadful noise. Guns are fired in the street, people, screaming and howling, are running up and down the stairs; at last there is a loud knocking at our door. The advocate, frightened out of his slumbers108, asks me what it can all mean; I pretend to be very indifferent, and beg to be allowed to sleep. But the ladies are trembling with fear, and loudly calling for a light. I remain very quiet, the advocate jumps out of bed, and runs out of the room to obtain a candle; I rise at once, I follow him to shut the door, but I slam it rather too hard, the double spring of the lock gives way, and the door cannot be reopened without the key.
I approach the ladies in order to calm their anxiety, telling them that the advocate would soon return with a light, and that we should then know the cause of the tumult109, but I am not losing my time, and am at work while I am speaking. I meet with very little opposition110, but, leaning rather too heavily upon my fair lady, I break through the bottom of the bedstead, and we suddenly find ourselves, the two ladies and myself, all together in a heap on the floor. The advocate comes back and knocks at the door; the sister gets up, I obey the prayers of my charming friend, and, feeling my way, reach the door, and tell the advocate that I cannot open it, and that he must get the key. The two sisters are behind me. I extend my hand; but I am abruptly111 repulsed112, and judge that I have addressed myself to the wrong quarter; I go to the other side, and there I am better received. But the husband returns, the noise of the key in the lock announces that the door is going to be opened, and we return to our respective beds.
The advocate hurries to the bed of the two frightened ladies, thinking of relieving their anxiety, but, when he sees them buried in their broken-down bedstead, he bursts into a loud laugh. He tells me to come and have a look at them, but I am very modest, and decline the invitation. He then tells us that the alarm has been caused by a German detachment attacking suddenly the Spanish troops in the city, and that the Spaniards are running away. In a quarter of an hour the noise has ceased, and quiet is entirely re-established.
The advocate complimented me upon my coolness, got into bed again, and was soon asleep. As for me, I was careful not to close my eyes, and as soon as I saw daylight I got up in order to perform certain ablutions and to change my shirt; it was an absolute necessity.
I returned for breakfast, and while we were drinking the delicious coffee which Donna Lucrezia had made, as I thought, better than ever, I remarked that her sister frowned on me. But how little I cared for her anger when I saw the cheerful, happy countenance, and the approving looks of my adored Lucrezia! I felt a delightful sensation run through the whole of my body.
We reached Rome very early. We had taken breakfast at the Tour, and the advocate being in a very gay mood I assumed the same tone, loading him with compliments, and predicting that a son would be born to him, I compelled his wife to promise it should be so. I did not forget the sister of my charming Lucrezia, and to make her change her hostile attitude towards me I addressed to her so many pretty compliments, and behaved in such a friendly manner, that she was compelled to forgive the fall of the bed. As I took leave of them, I promised to give them a call on the following day.
I was in Rome! with a good wardrobe, pretty well supplied with money and jewellery, not wanting in experience, and with excellent letters of introduction. I was free, my own master, and just reaching the age in which a man can have faith in his own fortune, provided he is not deficient113 in courage, and is blessed with a face likely to attract the sympathy of those he mixes with. I was not handsome, but I had something better than beauty — a striking expression which almost compelled a kind interest in my favour, and I felt myself ready for anything. I knew that Rome is the one city in which a man can begin from the lowest rung, and reach the very top of the social ladder. This knowledge increased my courage, and I must confess that a most inveterate114 feeling of self-esteem115 which, on account of my inexperience, I could not distrust, enhanced wonderfully my confidence in myself.
The man who intends to make his fortune in this ancient capital of the world must be a chameleon116 susceptible117 of reflecting all the colours of the atmosphere that surrounds him — a Proteus apt to assume every form, every shape. He must be supple118, flexible, insinuating119; close, inscrutable, often base, sometimes sincere, some times perfidious120, always concealing a part of his knowledge, indulging in one tone of voice, patient, a perfect master of his own countenance. as cold as ice when any other man would be all fire; and if unfortunately he is not religious at heart — a very common occurrence for a soul possessing the above requisites121 — he must have religion in his mind, that is to say, on his face, on his lips, in his manners; he must suffer quietly, if he be an honest man the necessity of knowing himself an arrant122 hypocrite. The man whose soul would loathe123 such a life should leave Rome and seek his fortune elsewhere. I do not know whether I am praising or excusing myself, but of all those qualities I possessed but one — namely, flexibility124; for the rest, I was only an interesting, heedless young fellow, a pretty good blood horse, but not broken, or rather badly broken; and that is much worse.
I began by delivering the letter I had received from Don Lelio for Father Georgi. The learned monk125 enjoyed the esteem of everyone in Rome, and the Pope himself had a great consideration for him, because he disliked the Jesuits, and did not put a mask on to tear the mask from their faces, although they deemed themselves powerful enough to despise him.
He read the letter with great attention, and expressed himself disposed to be my adviser126; and that consequently I might make him responsible for any evil which might befall me, as misfortune is not to be feared by a man who acts rightly. He asked me what I intended to do in Rome, and I answered that I wished him to tell me what to do.
“Perhaps I may; but in that case you must come and see me often, and never conceal from me anything, you understand, not anything, of what interests you, or of what happens to you.”
“Don Lelio has likewise given me a letter for the Cardinal Acquaviva.”
“I congratulate you; the cardinal’s influence in Rome is greater even than that of the Pope.”
“Must I deliver the letter at once?”
“No; I will see him this evening, and prepare him for your visit. Call on me to-morrow morning, and I will then tell you where and when you are to deliver your letter to the cardinal. Have you any money?”
“Enough for all my wants during one year.”
“That is well. Have you any acquaintances?”
“Not one.”
“Do not make any without first consulting me, and, above all, avoid coffee-houses and ordinaries, but if you should happen to frequent such places, listen and never speak. Be careful to form your judgment127 upon those who ask any questions from you, and if common civility obliges you to give an answer, give only an evasive one, if any other is likely to commit you. Do you speak French?”
“Not one word.”
“I am sorry for that; you must learn French. Have you been a student?”
“A poor one, but I have a sufficient smattering to converse63 with ordinary company.”
“That is enough; but be very prudent128, for Rome is the city in which smatterers unmask each other, and are always at war amongst themselves. I hope you will take your letter to the cardinal, dressed like a modest abbe, and not in this elegant costume which is not likely to conjure129 fortune. Adieu, let me see you to-morrow.”
Highly pleased with the welcome I had received at his hands, and with all he had said to me, I left his house and proceeded towards Campo- di-Fiore to deliver the letter of my cousin Antonio to Don Gaspar Vivaldi, who received me in his library, where I met two respectable- looking priests. He gave me the most friendly welcome, asked for my address, and invited me to dinner for the next day. He praised Father Georgi most highly, and, accompanying me as far as the stairs, he told me that he would give me on the morrow the amount his friend Don Antonio requested him to hand me.
More money which my generous cousin was bestowing130 on me! It is easy enough to give away when one possesses sufficient means to do it, but it is not every man who knows how to give. I found the proceeding131 of Don Antonio more delicate even than generous; I could not refuse his present; it was my duty to prove my gratitude by accepting it.
Just after I had left M. Vivaldi’s house I found myself face to face with Stephano, and this extraordinary original loaded me with friendly caresses132. I inwardly despised him, yet I could not feel hatred133 for him; I looked upon him as the instrument which Providence134 had been pleased to employ in order to save me from ruin. After telling me that he had obtained from the Pope all he wished, he advised me to avoid meeting the fatal constable135 who had advanced me two sequins in Seraval, because he had found out that I had deceived him, and had sworn revenge against me. I asked Stephano to induce the man to leave my acknowledgement of the debt in the hands of a certain merchant whom we both knew, and that I would call there to discharge the amount. This was done, and it ended the affair.
That evening I dined at the ordinary, which was frequented by Romans and foreigners; but I carefully followed the advice of Father Georgi. I heard a great deal of harsh language used against the Pope and against the Cardinal Minister, who had caused the Papal States to be inundated136 by eighty thousand men, Germans as well as Spaniards. But I was much surprised when I saw that everybody was eating meat, although it was Saturday. But a stranger during the first few days after his arrival in Rome is surrounded with many things which at first cause surprise, and to which he soon gets accustomed. There is not a Catholic city in the world in which a man is half so free on religious matters as in Rome. The inhabitants of Rome are like the men employed at the Government tobacco works, who are allowed to take gratis137 as much tobacco as they want for their own use. One can live in Rome with the most complete freedom, except that the ‘ordini santissimi’ are as much to be dreaded138 as the famous Lettres-de-cachet before the Revolution came and destroyed them, and shewed the whole world the general character of the French nation.
The next day, the 1st of October, 1743, I made up my mind to be shaved. The down on my chin had become a beard, and I judged that it was time to renounce139 some of the privileges enjoyed by adolescence140. I dressed myself completely in the Roman fashion, and Father Georgi was highly pleased when he saw me in that costume, which had been made by the tailor of my dear cousin, Don Antonio.
Father Georgi invited me to take a cup of chocolate with him, and informed me that the cardinal had been apprised141 of my arrival by a letter from Don Lelio, and that his eminence142 would receive me at noon at the Villa143 Negroni, where he would be taking a walk. I told Father Georgi that I had been invited to dinner by M. Vivaldi, and he advised me to cultivate his acquaintance.
I proceeded to the Villa Negroni; the moment he saw me the cardinal stopped to receive my letter, allowing two persons who accompanied him to walk forward. He put the letter in his pocket without reading it, examined me for one or two minutes, and enquired whether I felt any taste for politics. I answered that, until now, I had not felt in me any but frivolous144 tastes, but that I would make bold to answer for my readiness to execute all the orders which his eminence might be pleased to lay upon me, if he should judge me worthy of entering his service.
“Come to my office to-morrow morning,” said the cardinal, “and ask for the Abbe Gama, to whom I will give my instructions. You must apply yourself diligently145 to the study of the French language; it is indispensable.” He then enquired after Don Leilo’s health, and after kissing his hand I took my leave.
I hastened to the house of M. Gaspar Vivaldi, where I dined amongst a well-chosen party of guests. M. Vivaldi was not married; literature was his only passion. He loved Latin poetry even better than Italian, and Horace, whom I knew by heart, was his favourite poet. After dinner, we repaired to his study, and he handed me one hundred Roman crowns, and Don Antonio’s present, and assured me that I would be most welcome whenever I would call to take a cup of chocolate with him.
After I had taken leave of Don Gaspar, I proceeded towards the Minerva, for I longed to enjoy the surprise of my dear Lucrezia and of her sister; I inquired for Donna Cecilia Monti, their mother, and I saw, to my great astonishment146, a young widow who looked like the sister of her two charming daughters. There was no need for me to give her my name; I had been announced, and she expected me. Her daughters soon came in, and their greeting caused me some amusement, for I did not appear to them to be the same individual. Donna Lucrezia presented me to her youngest sister, only eleven years of age, and to her brother, an abbe of fifteen, of charming appearance. I took care to behave so as to please the mother; I was modest, respectful, and shewed a deep interest in everything I saw. The good advocate arrived, and was surprised at the change in my appearance. He launched out in his usual jokes, and I followed him on that ground, yet I was careful not to give to my conversation the tone of levity147 which used to cause so much mirth in our travelling coach; so that, to, pay me a compliment, he told nee that, if I had had the sign of manhood shaved from my face, I had certainly transferred it to my mind. Donna Lucrezia did not know what to think of the change in my manners.
Towards evening I saw, coming in rapid succession, five or six ordinary-looking ladies, and as many abbes, who appeared to me some of the volumes with which I was to begin my Roman education. They all listened attentively148 to the most insignificant149 word I uttered, and I was very careful to let them enjoy their conjectures150 about me. Donna Cecilia told the advocate that he was but a poor painter, and that his portraits were not like the originals; he answered that she could not judge, because the original was shewing under a mask, and I pretended to be mortified by his answer. Donna Lucrezia said that she found me exactly the same, and her sister was of opinion that the air of Rome gave strangers a peculiar151 appearance. Everybody applauded, and Angelique turned red with satisfaction. After a visit of four hours I bowed myself out, and the advocate, following me, told me that his mother-in-law begged me to consider myself as a friend of the family, and to be certain of a welcome at any hour I liked to call. I thanked him gratefully and took my leave, trusting that I had pleased this amiable society as much as it had pleased me.
The next day I presented myself to the Abbe Gama. He was a Portuguese152, about forty years old, handsome, and with a countenance full of candour, wit, and good temper. His affability claimed and obtained confidence. His manners and accent were quite Roman. He informed me, in the blandest153 manner, that his eminence had himself given his instructions about me to his majordomo, that I would have a lodging154 in the cardinal’s palace, that I would have my meals at the secretaries’ table, and that, until I learned French, I would have nothing to do but make extracts from letters that he would supply me with. He then gave me the address of the French teacher to whom he had already spoken in my behalf. He was a Roman advocate, Dalacqua by name, residing precisely155 opposite the palace.
After this short explanation, and an assurance that I could at all times rely upon his friendship, he had me taken to the major-domo, who made me sign my name at the bottom of a page in a large book, already filled with other names, and counted out sixty Roman crowns which he paid me for three months salary in advance. After this he accompanied me, followed by a ‘staffiere’ to my apartment on the third floor, which I found very comfortably furnished. The servant handed me the key, saying that he would come every morning to attend upon me, and the major-domo accompanied me to the gate to make me known to the gate-keeper. I immediately repaired to my inn, sent my luggage to the palace, and found myself established in a place in which a great fortune awaited me, if I had only been able to lead a wise and prudent life, but unfortunately it was not in my nature. ‘Volentem ducit, nolentem trahit.’
I naturally felt it my duty to call upon my mentor156, Father Georgi, to whom I gave all my good news. He said I was on the right road, and that my fortune was in my hands.
“Recollect157,” added the good father, “that to lead a blameless life you must curb158 your passions, and that whatever misfortune may befall you it cannot be ascribed by any one to a want of good luck, or attributed to fate; those words are devoid159 of sense, and all the fault will rightly fall on your own head.”
“I foresee, reverend father, that my youth and my want of experience will often make it necessary for me to disturb you. I am afraid of proving myself too heavy a charge for you, but you will find me docile160 and obedient.”
“I suppose you will often think me rather too severe; but you are not likely to confide34 everything to me.”
“Everything, without any exception.”
“Allow me to feel somewhat doubtful; you have not told me where you spent four hours yesterday.”
“Because I did not think it was worth mentioning. I made the acquaintance of those persons during my journey; I believe them to be worthy and respectable, and the right sort of people for me to visit, unless you should be of a different opinion.”
“God forbid! It is a very respectable house, frequented by honest people. They are delighted at having made your acquaintance; you are much liked by everybody, and they hope to retain you as a friend; I have heard all about it this morning; but you must not go there too often and as a regular guest.”
“Must I cease my visits at once, and without cause?”
“No, it would be a want of politeness on your part. You may go there once or twice every week, but do not be a constant visitor. You are sighing, my son?”
“No, I assure you not. I will obey you.”
“I hope it may not be only a matter of obedience161, and I trust your heart will not feel it a hardship, but, if necessary, your heart must be conquered. Recollect that the heart is the greatest enemy of reason.”
“Yet they can be made to agree.”
“We often imagine so; but distrust the animism of your dear Horace. You know that there is no middle course with it: ‘nisi paret, imperat’.”
“I know it, but in the family of which we were speaking there is no danger for my heart.”
“I am glad of it, because in that case it will be all the easier for you to abstain162 from frequent visits. Remember that I shall trust you.”
“And I, reverend father; will listen to and follow your good advice. I will visit Donna Cecilia only now and then.” Feeling most unhappy, I took his hand to press it against my lips, but he folded me in his arms as a father might have done, and turned himself round so as not to let me see that he was weeping.
I dined at the cardinal’s palace and sat near the Abbe Gama; the table was laid for twelve persons, who all wore the costume of priests, for in Rome everyone is a priest or wishes to be thought a priest and as there is no law to forbid anyone to dress like an ecclesiastic30 that dress is adopted by all those who wish to be respected (noblemen excepted) even if they are not in the ecclesiastical profession.
I felt very miserable, and did not utter a word during the dinner; my silence was construed163 into a proof of my sagacity. As we rose from the table, the Abbe Gama invited me to spend the day with him, but I declined under pretence164 of letters to be written, and I truly did so for seven hours. I wrote to Don Lelio, to Don Antonio, to my young friend Paul, and to the worthy Bishop of Martorano, who answered that he heartily165 wished himself in my place.
Deeply enamoured of Lucrezia and happy in my love, to give her up appeared to me a shameful166 action. In order to insure the happiness of my future life, I was beginning to be the executioner of my present felicity, and the tormentor167 of my heart. I revolted against such a necessity which I judged fictitious168, and which I could not admit unless I stood guilty of vileness169 before the tribunal of my own reason. I thought that Father Georgi, if he wished to forbid my visiting that family, ought not to have said that it was worthy of respect; my sorrow would not have been so intense. The day and the whole of the night were spent in painful thoughts.
In the morning the Abbe Gama brought me a great book filled with ministerial letters from which I was to compile for my amusement. After a short time devoted170 to that occupation, I went out to take my first French lesson, after which I walked towards the Strada- Condotta. I intended to take a long walk, when I heard myself called by my name. I saw the Abbe Gama in front of a coffee-house. I whispered to him that Minerva had forbidden me the coffee-rooms of Rome. “Minerva,” he answered, “desires you to form some idea of such places. Sit down by me.”
I heard a young abbe telling aloud, but without bitterness, a story, which attacked in a most direct manner the justice of His Holiness. Everybody was laughing and echoing the story. Another, being asked why he had left the services of Cardinal B., answered that it was because his eminence did not think himself called upon to pay him apart for certain private services, and everybody laughed outright171. Another came to the Abbe Gama, and told him that, if he felt any inclination to spend the afternoon at the Villa Medicis, he would find him there with two young Roman girls who were satisfied with a ‘quartino’, a gold coin worth one-fourth of a sequin. Another abbe read an incendiary sonnet against the government, and several took a copy of it. Another read a satire172 of his own composition, in which he tore to pieces the honour of a family. In the middle of all that confusion, I saw a priest with a very attractive countenance come in. The size of his hips173 made me take him for a woman dressed in men’s clothes, and I said so to Gama, who told me that he was the celebrated castrato, Bepino delta174 Mamana. The abbe called him to us, and told him with a laugh that I had taken him for a girl. The impudent175 fellow looked me full in the face, and said that, if I liked, he would shew me whether I had been right or wrong.
At the dinner-table everyone spoke to me, and I fancied I had given proper answers to all, but, when the repast was over, the Abbe Gama invited me to take coffee in his own apartment. The moment we were alone, he told me that all the guests I had met were worthy and honest men, and he asked me whether I believed that I had succeeded in pleasing the company.
“I flatter myself I have,” I answered.
“You are wrong,” said the abbe, “you are flattering yourself. You have so conspicuously176 avoided the questions put to you that everybody in the room noticed your extreme reserve. In the future no one will ask you any questions.”
“I should be sorry if it should turn out so, but was I to expose my own concerns?”
“No, but there is a medium in all things.”
“Yes, the medium of Horace, but it is often a matter of great difficulty to hit it exactly.”
“A man ought to know how to obtain affection and esteem at the same time.”
“That is the very wish nearest to my heart.”
“To-day you have tried for the esteem much more than for the affection of your fellow-creatures. It may be a noble aspiration177, but you must prepare yourself to fight jealousy178 and her daughter, calumny179; if those two monsters do not succeed in destroying you, the victory must be yours. Now, for instance, you thoroughly180 refuted Salicetti to-day. Well, he is a physician, and what is more a Corsican; he must feel badly towards you.”
“Could I grant that the longings181 of women during their pregnancy183 have no influence whatever on the skin of the foetus, when I know the reverse to be the case? Are you not of my opinion?”
“I am for neither party; I have seen many children with some such marks, but I have no means of knowing with certainty whether those marks have their origin in some longing182 experienced by the mother while she was pregnant.”
“But I can swear it is so.”
“All the better for you if your conviction is based upon such evidence, and all the worse for Salicetti if he denies the possibility of the thing without certain authority. But let him remain in error; it is better thus than to prove him in the wrong and to make a bitter enemy of him.”
In the evening I called upon Lucrezia. The family knew my success, and warmly congratulated me. Lucrezia told me that I looked sad, and I answered that I was assisting at the funeral of my liberty, for I was no longer my own master. Her husband, always fond of a joke, told her that I was in love with her, and his mother-in-law advised him not to show so much intrepidity184. I only remained an hour with those charming persons, and then took leave of them, but the very air around me was heated by the flame within my breast. When I reached my room I began to write, and spent the night in composing an ode which I sent the next day to the advocate. I was certain that he would shew it to his wife, who loved poetry, and who did not yet know that I was a poet. I abstained185 from seeing her again for three or four days. I was learning French, and making extracts from ministerial letters.
His eminence was in the habit of receiving every evening, and his rooms were thronged186 with the highest nobility of Rome; I had never attended these receptions. The Abbe Gama told me that I ought to do so as well as he did, without any pretension187. I followed his advice and went; nobody spoke to me, but as I was unknown everyone looked at me and enquired who I was. The Abbe Gama asked me which was the lady who appeared to me the most amiable, and I shewed one to him; but I regretted having done so, for the courtier went to her, and of course informed her of what I had said. Soon afterwards I saw her look at me through her eye-glass and smile kindly upon me. She was the Marchioness G— — whose ‘cicisbeo’ was Cardinal S—— C——.
On the very day I had fixed to spend the evening with Donna Lucrezia the worthy advocate called upon me. He told me that if I thought I was going to prove I was not in love with his wife by staying away I was very much mistaken, and he invited me to accompany all the family to Testaccio, where they intended to have luncheon188 on the following Thursday. He added that his wife knew my ode by heart, and that she had read it to the intended husband of Angelique, who had a great wish to make my acquaintance. That gentleman was likewise a poet, and would be one of the party to Testaccio. I promised the advocate I would come to his house on the Thursday with a carriage for two.
At that time every Thursday in the month of October was a festival day in Rome. I went to see Donna Cecilia in the evening, and we talked about the excursion the whole time. I felt certain that Donna Lucrezia looked forward to it with as much pleasure as I did myself. We had no fixed plan, we could not have any, but we trusted to the god of love, and tacitly placed our confidence in his protection.
I took care that Father Georgi should not hear of that excursion before I mentioned it to him myself, and I hastened to him in order to obtain his permission to go. I confess that, to obtain his leave, I professed189 the most complete indifference190 about it, and the consequence was that the good man insisted upon my going, saying that it was a family party, and that it was quite right for me to visit the environs of Rome and to enjoy myself in a respectable way.
I went to Donna Cecilia’s in a carriage which I hired from a certain Roland, a native of Avignon, and if I insist here upon his name it is because my readers will meet him again in eighteen years, his acquaintance with me having had very important results. The charming widow introduced me to Don Francisco, her intended son-in-law, whom she represented as a great friend of literary men, and very deeply learned himself. I accepted it as gospel, and behaved accordingly; yet I thought he looked rather heavy and not sufficiently191 elated for a young man on the point of marrying such a pretty girl as Angelique. But he had plenty of good-nature and plenty of money, and these are better than learning and gallantry.
As we were ready to get into the carriages, the advocate told me that he would ride with me in my carriage, and that the three ladies would go with Don Francisco in the other. I answered at once that he ought to keep Don Francisco company, and that I claimed the privilege of taking care of Donna Cecilia, adding that I should feel dishonoured192 if things were arranged differently. Thereupon I offered my arm to the handsome widow, who thought the arrangement according to the rules of etiquette193 and good breeding, and an approving look of my Lucrezia gave me the most agreeable sensation. Yet the proposal of the advocate struck me somewhat unpleasantly, because it was in contradiction with his former behaviour, and especially with what he had said to me in my room a few days before. “Has he become jealous?” I said to myself; that would have made me almost angry, but the hope of bringing him round during our stay at Testaccio cleared away the dark cloud on my mind, and I was very amiable to Donna Cecilia. What with lunching and walking we contrived194 to pass the afternoon very pleasantly; I was very gay, and my love for Lucrezia was not once mentioned; I was all attention to her mother. I occasionally addressed myself to Lucrezia, but not once to the advocate, feeling this the best way to shew him that he had insulted me.
As we prepared to return, the advocate carried off Donna Cecilia and went with her to the carriage in which were already seated Angelique and Don Francisco. Scarcely able to control my delight, I offered my arm to Donna Lucrezia, paying her some absurd compliment, while the advocate laughed outright, and seemed to enjoy the trick he imagined he had played me.
How many things we might have said to each other before giving ourselves up to the material enjoyment of our love, had not the instants been so precious! But, aware that we had only half an hour before us, we were sparing of the minutes. We were absorbed in voluptuous195 pleasure when suddenly Lucrezia exclaims — -
“Oh! dear, how unhappy we are!”
She pushes me back, composes herself, the carriage stops, and the servant opens the door. “What is the matter?” I enquire22. “We are at home.” Whenever I recollect the circumstance, it seems to me fabulous, for it is not possible to annihilate196 time, and the horses were regular old screws. But we were lucky all through. The night was dark, and my beloved angel happened to be on the right side to get out of the carriage first, so that, although the advocate was at the door of the brougham as soon as the footman, everything went right, owing to the slow manner in which Lucrezia alighted. I remained at Donna Cecilia’s until midnight.
When I got home again, I went to bed; but how could I sleep? I felt burning in me the flame which I had not been able to restore to its original source in the too short distance from Testaccio to Rome. It was consuming me. Oh! unhappy are those who believe that the pleasures of Cythera are worth having, unless they are enjoyed in the most perfect accord by two hearts overflowing197 with love!
I only rose in time for my French lesson. My teacher had a pretty daughter, named Barbara, who was always present during my lessons, and who sometimes taught me herself with even more exactitude than her father. A good-looking young man, who likewise took lessons, was courting her, and I soon perceived that she loved him. This young man called often upon me, and I liked him, especially on account of his reserve, for, although I made him confess his love for Barbara, he always changed the subject, if I mentioned it in our conversation.
I had made up my mind to respect his reserve, and had not alluded to his affection for several days. But all at once I remarked that he had ceased his visits both to me and to his teacher, and at the same time I observed that the young girl was no longer present at my lessons; I felt some curiosity to know what had happened, although it was not, after all, any concern of mine.
A few days after, as I was returning from church, I met the young man, and reproached him for keeping away from us all. He told me that great sorrow had befallen him, which had fairly turned his brain, and that he was a prey198 to the most intense despair. His eyes were wet with tears. As I was leaving him, he held me back, and I told him that I would no longer be his friend unless he opened his heart to me. He took me to one of the cloisters199, and he spoke thus:
“I have loved Barbara for the last six months, and for three months she has given me indisputable proofs of her affection. Five days ago, we were betrayed by the servant, and the father caught us in a rather delicate position. He left the room without saying one word, and I followed him, thinking of throwing myself at his feet; but, as I appeared before him, he took hold of me by the arm, pushed me roughly to the door, and forbade me ever to present myself again at his house. I cannot claim her hand in marriage, because one of my brothers is married, and my father is not rich; I have no profession, and my mistress has nothing. Alas200, now that I have confessed all to you, tell me, I entreat43 you, how she is. I am certain that she is as miserable as I am myself. I cannot manage to get a letter delivered to her, for she does not leave the house, even to attend church. Unhappy wretch201! What shall I do?”
I could but pity him, for, as a man of honour, it was impossible for me to interfere202 in such a business. I told him that I had not seen Barbara for five days, and, not knowing what to say, I gave him the advice which is tendered by all fools under similar circumstances; I advised him to forget his mistress.
We had then reached the quay203 of Ripetta, and, observing that he was casting dark looks towards the Tiber, I feared his despair might lead him to commit some foolish attempt against his own life, and, in order to calm his excited feelings, I promised to make some enquiries from the father about his mistress, and to inform him of all I heard. He felt quieted by my promise, and entreated204 me not to forget him.
In spite of the fire which had been raging through my veins ever since the excursion to Testaccio, I had not seen my Lucrezia for four days. I dreaded Father Georgi’s suave205 manner, and I was still more afraid of finding he had made up his mind to give me no more advice. But, unable to resist my desires, I called upon Lucrezia after my French lesson, and found her alone, sad and dispirited.
“Ah!” she exclaimed, as soon as I was by her side, “I think you might find time to come and see me!”
“My beloved one, it is not that I cannot find time, but I am so jealous of my love that I would rather die than let it be known publicly. I have been thinking of inviting206 you all to dine with me at Frascati. I will send you a phaeton, and I trust that some lucky accident will smile upon our love.”
“Oh! yes, do, dearest! I am sure your invitation will be accepted:”
In a quarter of an hour the rest of the family came in, and I proffered207 my invitation for the following Sunday, which happened to be the Festival of St. Ursula, patroness of Lucrezia’s youngest sister. I begged Donna Cecilia to bring her as well as her son. My proposal being readily accepted, I gave notice that the phaeton would be at Donna Cecilia’s door at seven o’clock, and that I would come myself with a carriage for two persons.
The next day I went to M. Dalacqua, and, after my lesson, I saw Barbara who, passing from one room to another, dropped a paper and earnestly looked at me. I felt bound to pick it up, because a servant, who was at hand, might have seen it and taken it. It was a letter, enclosing another addressed to her lover. The note for me ran thus: “If you think it to be a sin to deliver the enclosed to your friend, burn it. Have pity on an unfortunate girl, and be discreet208.”
The enclosed letter which was unsealed, ran as follows: “If you love me as deeply as ‘I love you, you cannot hope to be happy without me; we cannot correspond in any other way than the one I am bold enough to adopt. I am ready to do anything to unite our lives until death. Consider and decide.”
The cruel situation of the poor girl moved me almost to tears; yet I determined209 to return her letter the next day, and I enclosed it in a note in which I begged her to excuse me if I could not render her the service she required at my hands. I put it in my pocket ready for delivery. The next day I went for my lesson as usual, but, not seeing Barbara, I had no opportunity of returning her letter, and postponed210 its delivery to the following day. Unfortunately, just after I had returned to my room, the unhappy lover made his appearance. His eyes were red from weeping, his voice hoarse211; he drew such a vivid picture of his misery212, that, dreading213 some mad action counselled by despair, I could not withhold214 from him the consolation215 which I knew it was in my power to give. This was my first error in this fatal business; I was the victim of my own kindness.
The poor fellow read the letter over and over; he kissed it with transports of joy; he wept, hugged me, and thanked me for saving his life, and finally entreated me to take charge of his answer, as his beloved mistress must be longing for consolation as much as he had been himself, assuring me that his letter could not in any way implicate me, and that I was at liberty to read it.
And truly, although very long, his letter contained nothing but the assurance of everlasting216 love, and hopes which could not be realized. Yet I was wrong to accept the character of Mercury to the two young lovers. To refuse, I had only to recollect that Father Georgi would certainly have disapproved217 of my easy compliance218.
The next day I found M. Dalacqua ill in bed; his daughter gave me my lesson in his room, and I thought that perhaps she had obtained her pardon. I contrived to give her her lover’s letter, which she dextrously conveyed to her pocket, but her blushes would have easily betrayed her if her father had been looking that way. After the lesson I gave M. Dalacqua notice that I would not come on the morrow, as it was the Festival of St. Ursula, one of the eleven thousand princesses and martyr-virgins.
In the evening, at the reception of his eminence, which I attended regularly, although persons of distinction seldom spoke to me, the cardinal beckoned219 to me. He was speaking to the beautiful Marchioness G— — to whom Gama had indiscreetly confided220 that I thought her the handsomest woman amongst his eminence’s guests.
“Her grace,” said the Cardinal, “wishes to know whether you are making rapid progress in the French language, which she speaks admirably.”
I answered in Italian that I had learned a great deal, but that I was not yet bold enough to speak.
“You should be bold,” said the marchioness, “but without showing any pretension. It is the best wav to disarm221 criticism.”
My mind having almost unwittingly lent to the words “You should be bold” a meaning which had very likely been far from the idea of the marchioness, I turned very red, and the handsome speaker, observing it, changed the conversation and dismissed me.
The next morning, at seven o’clock, I was at Donna Cecilia’s door. The phaeton was there as well as the carriage for two persons, which this time was an elegant vis-a-vis, so light and well-hung that Donna Cecilia praised it highly when she took her seat.
“I shall have my turn as we return to Rome,” said Lucrezia; and I bowed to her as if in acceptance of her promise.
Lucrezia thus set suspicion at defiance222 in order to prevent suspicion arising. My happiness was assured, and I gave way to my natural flow of spirits. I ordered a splendid dinner, and we all set out towards the Villa Ludovisi. As we might have missed each other during our ramblings, we agreed to meet again at the inn at one o’clock. The discreet widow took the arm of her son-in-law, Angelique remained with her sister, and Lucrezia was my delightful share; Ursula and her brother were running about together, and in less than a quarter of an hour I had Lucrezia entirely to myself.
“Did you remark,” she said, “with what candour I secured for us two hours of delightful ‘tete-a-tete’, and a ‘tete-a-tete’ in a ‘vis-a- vis’, too! How clever Love is!”
“Yes, darling, Love has made but one of our two souls. I adore you, and if I have the courage to pass so many days without seeing you it is in order to be rewarded by the freedom of one single day like this.”
“I did not think it possible. But you have managed it all very well. You know too much for your age, dearest.”
“A month ago, my beloved, I was but an ignorant child, and you are the first woman who has initiated224 me into the mysteries of love. Your departure will kill me, for I could not find another woman like you in all Italy.”
“What! am I your first love? Alas! you will never be cured of it. Oh! why am I not entirely your own? You are also the first true love of my heart, and you will be the last. How great will be the happiness of my successor! I should not be jealous of her, but what suffering would be mine if I thought that her heart was not like mine!”
Lucrezia, seeing my eyes wet with tears, began to give way to her own, and, seating ourselves on the grass, our lips drank our tears amidst the sweetest kisses. How sweet is the nectar of the tears shed by love, when that nectar is relished225 amidst the raptures226 of mutual227 ardour! I have often tasted them — those delicious tears, and I can say knowingly that the ancient physicians were right, and that the modern are wrong.
In a moment of calm, seeing the disorder228 in which we both were, I told her that we might be surprised.
“Do not fear, my best beloved,” she said, “we are under the guardianship229 of our good angels.”
We were resting and reviving our strength by gazing into one another’s eyes, when suddenly Lucrezia, casting a glance to the right, exclaimed,
“Look there! idol231 of my heart, have I not told you so? Yes, the angels are watching over us! Ah! how he stares at us! He seems to try to give us confidence. Look at that little demon232; admire him! He must certainly be your guardian230 spirit or mine.”
I thought she was delirious233.
“What are you saying, dearest? I do not understand you. What am I to admire?”
“Do you not see that beautiful serpent with the blazing skin, which lifts its head and seems to worship us?”
I looked in the direction she indicated, and saw a serpent with changeable colours about three feet in length, which did seem to be looking at us. I was not particularly pleased at the sight, but I could not show myself less courageous234 than she was.
“What!” said I, “are you not afraid?”
“I tell you, again, that the sight is delightful to me, and I feel certain that it is a spirit with nothing but the shape, or rather the appearance, of a serpent.”
“And if the spirit came gliding235 along the grass and hissed236 at you?”
“I would hold you tighter against my bosom237, and set him at defiance. In your arms Lucrezia is safe. Look! the spirit is going away. Quick, quick! He is warning us of the approach of some profane238 person, and tells us to seek some other retreat to renew our pleasures. Let us go.”
We rose and slowly advanced towards Donna Cecilia and the advocate, who were just emerging from a neighbouring alley239. Without avoiding them, and without hurrying, just as if to meet one another was a very natural occurrence, I enquired of Donna Cecilia whether her daughter had any fear of serpents.
“In spite of all her strength of mind,” she answered, “she is dreadfully afraid of thunder, and she will scream with terror at the sight of the smallest snake. There are some here, but she need not be frightened, for they are not venomous”
I was speechless with astonishment, for I discovered that I had just witnessed a wonderful love miracle. At that moment the children came up, and, without ceremony, we again parted company.
“Tell me, wonderful being, bewitching woman, what would you have done if, instead of your pretty serpent, you had seen your husband and your mother?”
“Nothing. Do you not know that, in moments of such rapture, lovers see and feel nothing but love? Do you doubt having possessed me wholly, entirely?”
Lucrezia, in speaking thus, was not composing a poetical240 ode; she was not feigning241 fictitious sentiments; her looks, the sound of her voice, were truth itself!
“Are you certain,” I enquired, “that we are not suspected?”
“My husband does not believe us to be in love with each other, or else he does not mind such trifling242 pleasures as youth is generally wont243 to indulge in. My mother is a clever woman, and perhaps she suspects the truth, but she is aware that it is no longer any concern of hers. As to my sister, she must know everything, for she cannot have forgotten the broken-down bed; but she is prudent, and besides, she has taken it into her head to pity me. She has no conception of the nature of my feelings towards you. If I had not met you, my beloved, I should probably have gone through life without realizing such feelings myself; for what I feel for my husband. . . . well, I have for him the obedience which my position as a wife imposes upon me.”
“And yet he is most happy, and I envy him! He can clasp in his arms all your lovely person whenever he likes! There is no hateful veil to hide any of your charms from his gaze.”
“Oh! where art thou, my dear serpent? Come to us, come and protect us against the surprise of the uninitiated, and this very instant I fulfil all the wishes of him I adore!”
We passed the morning in repeating that we loved each other, and in exchanging over and over again substantial proofs of our mutual passion.
We had a delicious dinner, during which I was all attention for the amiable Donna Cecilia. My pretty tortoise-shell box, filled with excellent snuff, went more than once round the table. As it happened to be in the hands of Lucrezia who was sitting on my left, her husband told her that, if I had no objection, she might give me her ring and keep the snuff-box in exchange. Thinking that the ring was not of as much value as my box, I immediately accepted, but I found the ring of greater value. Lucrezia would not, however, listen to anything on that subject. She put the box in her pocket, and thus compelled me to keep her ring.
Dessert was nearly over, the conversation was very animated244, when suddenly the intended husband of Angelique claimed our attention for the reading of a sonnet which he had composed and dedicated245 to me. I thanked him, and placing the sonnet in my pocket promised to write one for him. This was not, however, what he wished; he expected that, stimulated246 by emulation247, I would call for paper and pen, and sacrifice to Apollo hours which it was much more to my taste to employ in worshipping another god whom his cold nature knew only by name. We drank coffee, I paid the bill, and we went about rambling223 through the labyrinthine248 alleys249 of the Villa Aldobrandini.
What sweet recollections that villa has left in my memory! It seemed as if I saw my divine Lucrezia for the first time. Our looks were full of ardent106 love, our hearts were beating in concert with the most tender impatience250, and a natural instinct was leading us towards a solitary251 asylum252 which the hand of Love seemed to have prepared on purpose for the mysteries of its secret worship. There, in the middle of a long avenue, and under a canopy253 of thick foliage254, we found a wide sofa made of grass, and sheltered by a deep thicket255; from that place our eyes could range over an immense plain, and view the avenue to such a distance right and left that we were perfectly256 secure against any surprise. We did not require to exchange one word at the sight of this beautiful temple so favourable257 to our love; our hearts spoke the same language.
Without a word being spoken, our ready hands soon managed to get rid of all obstacles, and to expose in a state of nature all the beauties which are generally veiled by troublesome wearing apparel. Two whole hours were devoted to the most delightful, loving ecstasies258. At last we exclaimed together in mutual ecstasy259, “O Love, we thank thee!”
We slowly retraced260 our steps towards the carriages, revelling261 in our intense happiness. Lucrezia informed me that Angelique’s suitor was wealthy, that he owned a splendid villa at Tivoli, and that most likely he would invite us all to dine and pass the night there. “I pray the god of love,” she added, “to grant us a night as beautiful as this day has been.” Then, looking sad, she said, “But alas! the ecclesiastical lawsuit262 which has brought my husband to Rome is progressing so favourably263 that I am mortally afraid he will obtain judgment all too soon.”
The journey back to the city lasted two hours; we were alone in my vis-a-vis and we overtaxed nature, exacting264 more than it can possibly give. As we were getting near Rome we were compelled to let the curtain fall before the denouement265 of the drama which we had performed to the complete satisfaction of the actors.
I returned home rather fatigued266, but the sound sleep which was so natural at my age restored my full vigour267, and in the morning I took my French lesson at the usual hour.
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1
cardinal
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| n.(天主教的)红衣主教；adj.首要的，基本的 | |
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displeased
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| a.不快的 | |
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peals
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| n.（声音大而持续或重复的）洪亮的响声( peal的名词复数 )；隆隆声；洪亮的钟声；钟乐v.（使）（钟等）鸣响，（雷等）发出隆隆声( peal的第三人称单数 ) | |
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miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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bishop
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| n.主教，（国际象棋）象 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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hilarity
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| n.欢乐；热闹 | |
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kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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10
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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sonnet
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| n.十四行诗 | |
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admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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13
chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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14
devout
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| adj.虔诚的，虔敬的，衷心的 (n.devoutness) | |
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15
annotating
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| v.注解，注释( annotate的现在分词 ) | |
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16
celebrated
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| adj.有名的，声誉卓著的 | |
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17
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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18
venial
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| adj.可宽恕的；轻微的 | |
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19
secular
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| n.牧师，凡人；adj.世俗的，现世的，不朽的 | |
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nun
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| n.修女，尼姑 | |
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21
enquired
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| 打听( enquire的过去式和过去分词 )； 询问； 问问题； 查问 | |
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22
enquire
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| v.打听，询问；调查，查问 | |
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23
clement
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| adj.仁慈的；温和的 | |
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24
enacting
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| 制定（法律），通过（法案）( enact的现在分词 ) | |
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25
ego
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| n.自我，自己，自尊 | |
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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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27
posthumous
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| adj.遗腹的；父亡后出生的；死后的，身后的 | |
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28
genealogy
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| n.家系，宗谱 | |
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29
veins
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| n.纹理；矿脉( vein的名词复数 )；静脉；叶脉；纹理 | |
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30
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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31
doctrine
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| n.教义；主义；学说 | |
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32
fabulous
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| adj.极好的；极为巨大的；寓言中的，传说中的 | |
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33
omen
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| n.征兆，预兆；vt.预示 | |
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34
confide
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| v.向某人吐露秘密 | |
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scruple
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| n./v.顾忌，迟疑 | |
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36
mortified
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| v.使受辱( mortify的过去式和过去分词 )；伤害（人的感情）；克制；抑制（肉体、情感等） | |
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37
arabesque
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| n.阿拉伯式花饰；adj.阿拉伯式图案的 | |
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38
promising
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| adj.有希望的，有前途的 | |
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39
cane
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| n.手杖，细长的茎，藤条；v.以杖击，以藤编制的 | |
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40
delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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41
nuns
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| n.（通常指基督教的）修女， （佛教的）尼姑( nun的名词复数 ) | |
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42
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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43
entreat
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| v.恳求，恳请 | |
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44
entreaties
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| n.恳求，乞求( entreaty的名词复数 ) | |
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45
honourable
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| adj.可敬的；荣誉的，光荣的 | |
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46
daggers
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| 匕首，短剑( dagger的名词复数 ) | |
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47
outraged
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| a.震惊的，义愤填膺的 | |
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48
dolt
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| n.傻瓜 | |
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49
gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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50
benefactor
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| n. 恩人，行善的人，捐助人 | |
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51
majesty
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| n.雄伟，壮丽，庄严，威严；最高权威，王权 | |
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52
alluded
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| 提及，暗指( allude的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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53
allude
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| v.提及，暗指 | |
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54
ridicule
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| v.讥讽，挖苦；n.嘲弄 | |
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55
blessings
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| n.（上帝的）祝福( blessing的名词复数 )；好事；福分；因祸得福 | |
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56
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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57
adverse
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| adj.不利的；有害的；敌对的，不友好的 | |
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58
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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59
memoirs
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| n.回忆录；回忆录传( mem,自oir的名词复数) | |
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60
degradation
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| n.降级；低落；退化；陵削；降解；衰变 | |
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61
modesty
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| n.谦逊，虚心，端庄，稳重，羞怯，朴素 | |
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62
mules
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| 骡( mule的名词复数 )； 拖鞋； 顽固的人； 越境运毒者 | |
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63
converse
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| vi.谈话，谈天，闲聊；adv.相反的，相反 | |
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64
conversed
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| v.交谈，谈话( converse的过去式 ) | |
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65
jargon
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| n.术语，行话 | |
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66
feat
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| n.功绩；武艺，技艺；adj.灵巧的，漂亮的，合适的 | |
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67
desultory
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| adj.散漫的，无方法的 | |
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68
propriety
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| n.正当行为；正当；适当 | |
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69
rogue
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| n.流氓；v.游手好闲 | |
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70
slovenly
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| adj.懒散的，不整齐的，邋遢的 | |
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71
impudence
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| n.厚颜无耻；冒失；无礼 | |
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72
unwilling
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| adj.不情愿的 | |
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73
joyous
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| adj.充满快乐的；令人高兴的 | |
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vocation
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| n.职业，行业 | |
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75
witty
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| adj.机智的，风趣的 | |
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76
inclination
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| n.倾斜；点头；弯腰；斜坡；倾度；倾向；爱好 | |
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77
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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78
vexed
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| adj.争论不休的；（指问题等）棘手的；争论不休的问题；烦恼的v.使烦恼( vex的过去式和过去分词 )；使苦恼；使生气；详细讨论 | |
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79
feigned
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| a.假装的，不真诚的 | |
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sham
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| n./adj.假冒(的)，虚伪(的) | |
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81
heralded
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| v.预示( herald的过去式和过去分词 )；宣布（好或重要） | |
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82
craved
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| 渴望，热望( crave的过去式 )； 恳求，请求 | |
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83
morose
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| adj.脾气坏的，不高兴的 | |
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84
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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85
motive
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| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
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86
conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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delicacy
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| n.精致，细微，微妙，精良；美味，佳肴 | |
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concealing
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，遮住( conceal的现在分词 ) | |
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89
implicate
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| vt.使牵连其中，涉嫌 | |
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90
amiable
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| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
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91
repentance
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| n.懊悔 | |
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92
expressive
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| adj.表现的，表达…的，富于表情的 | |
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93
augmenting
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| 使扩张 | |
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94
guilt
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| n.犯罪；内疚；过失，罪责 | |
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95
intoxicated
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| 喝醉的，极其兴奋的 | |
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96
rapture
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| n.狂喜；全神贯注；着迷；v.使狂喜 | |
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eloquent
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| adj.雄辩的，口才流利的；明白显示出的 | |
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98
payable
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| adj.可付的，应付的，有利益的 | |
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99
redeem
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| v.买回，赎回，挽回，恢复，履行（诺言等） | |
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100
rogues
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| n.流氓( rogue的名词复数 )；无赖；调皮捣蛋的人；离群的野兽 | |
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101
affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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102
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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103
retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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104
enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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105
ardently
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| adv.热心地，热烈地 | |
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106
ardent
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，强烈的，烈性的 | |
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107
contrives
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| （不顾困难地）促成某事( contrive的第三人称单数 )； 巧妙地策划，精巧地制造（如机器）； 设法做到 | |
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108
slumbers
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| 睡眠，安眠( slumber的名词复数 ) | |
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109
tumult
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| n.喧哗；激动，混乱；吵闹 | |
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110
opposition
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| n.反对，敌对 | |
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111
abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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112
repulsed
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| v.击退( repulse的过去式和过去分词 )；驳斥；拒绝 | |
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113
deficient
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| adj.不足的，不充份的，有缺陷的 | |
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114
inveterate
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| adj.积习已深的，根深蒂固的 | |
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115
esteem
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| n.尊敬，尊重；vt.尊重，敬重；把…看作 | |
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116
chameleon
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| n.变色龙，蜥蜴；善变之人 | |
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117
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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118
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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119
insinuating
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| adj.曲意巴结的，暗示的v.暗示( insinuate的现在分词 )；巧妙或迂回地潜入；（使）缓慢进入；慢慢伸入 | |
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120
perfidious
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| adj.不忠的，背信弃义的 | |
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121
requisites
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| n.必要的事物( requisite的名词复数 ) | |
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122
arrant
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| adj.极端的；最大的 | |
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123
loathe
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| v.厌恶，嫌恶 | |
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124
flexibility
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| n.柔韧性，弹性，（光的）折射性，灵活性 | |
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125
monk
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| n.和尚，僧侣，修道士 | |
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126
adviser
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| n.劝告者，顾问 | |
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127
judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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128
prudent
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| adj.谨慎的，有远见的，精打细算的 | |
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129
conjure
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| v.恳求，祈求；变魔术，变戏法 | |
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130
bestowing
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| 砖窑中砖堆上层已烧透的砖 | |
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131
proceeding
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| n.行动，进行，(pl.)会议录，学报 | |
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132
caresses
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| 爱抚，抚摸( caress的名词复数 ) | |
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133
hatred
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| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
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134
providence
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| n.深谋远虑，天道，天意；远见；节约；上帝 | |
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135
constable
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| n.(英国)警察，警官 | |
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136
inundated
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| v.淹没( inundate的过去式和过去分词 )；（洪水般地）涌来；充满；给予或交予（太多事物）使难以应付 | |
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137
gratis
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| adj.免费的 | |
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138
dreaded
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| adj.令人畏惧的；害怕的v.害怕，恐惧，担心( dread的过去式和过去分词) | |
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139
renounce
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| v.放弃；拒绝承认，宣布与…断绝关系 | |
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140
adolescence
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| n.青春期，青少年 | |
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141
apprised
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| v.告知，通知( apprise的过去式和过去分词 )；评价 | |
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142
eminence
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| n.卓越，显赫；高地，高处；名家 | |
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143
villa
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| n.别墅，城郊小屋 | |
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144
frivolous
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| adj.轻薄的；轻率的 | |
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145
diligently
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| ad.industriously;carefully | |
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146
astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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147
levity
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| n.轻率，轻浮，不稳定，多变 | |
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148
attentively
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| adv.聚精会神地；周到地；谛；凝神 | |
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149
insignificant
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|
| adj.无关紧要的，可忽略的，无意义的 | |
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150
conjectures
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| 推测，猜想( conjecture的名词复数 ) | |
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151
peculiar
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|
| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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152
Portuguese
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| n.葡萄牙人；葡萄牙语 | |
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153
blandest
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| adj.（食物）淡而无味的( bland的最高级 )；平和的；温和的；无动于衷的 | |
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154
lodging
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| n.寄宿，住所；(大学生的)校外宿舍 | |
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155
precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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156
mentor
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| n.指导者，良师益友；v.指导 | |
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157
recollect
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| v.回忆，想起，记起，忆起，记得 | |
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158
curb
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| n.场外证券市场，场外交易；vt.制止，抑制 | |
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159
devoid
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| adj.全无的，缺乏的 | |
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160
docile
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| adj.驯服的，易控制的，容易教的 | |
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161
obedience
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| n.服从，顺从 | |
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162
abstain
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| v.自制，戒绝，弃权，避免 | |
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163
construed
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| v.解释（陈述、行为等）( construe的过去式和过去分词 )；翻译，作句法分析 | |
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164
pretence
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| n.假装，作假；借口，口实；虚伪；虚饰 | |
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165
heartily
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| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
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166
shameful
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| adj.可耻的，不道德的 | |
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167
tormentor
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| n. 使苦痛之人, 使苦恼之物, 侧幕 =tormenter | |
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168
fictitious
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| adj.虚构的，假设的；空头的 | |
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169
vileness
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| n.讨厌，卑劣 | |
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170
devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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171
outright
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| adv.坦率地；彻底地；立即；adj.无疑的；彻底的 | |
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172
satire
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| n.讽刺，讽刺文学，讽刺作品 | |
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173
hips
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| abbr.high impact polystyrene 高冲击强度聚苯乙烯，耐冲性聚苯乙烯n.臀部( hip的名词复数 )；[建筑学]屋脊；臀围（尺寸）；臀部…的 | |
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174
delta
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| n.（流的）角洲 | |
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175
impudent
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| adj.鲁莽的，卑鄙的，厚颜无耻的 | |
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176
conspicuously
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| ad.明显地，惹人注目地 | |
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177
aspiration
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| n.志向，志趣抱负；渴望；(语)送气音；吸出 | |
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178
jealousy
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|
| n.妒忌，嫉妒，猜忌 | |
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179
calumny
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| n.诽谤，污蔑，中伤 | |
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180
thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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181
longings
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| 渴望，盼望( longing的名词复数 ) | |
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182
longing
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| n.（for）渴望 | |
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183
pregnancy
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| n.怀孕，怀孕期 | |
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184
intrepidity
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| n.大胆，刚勇；大胆的行为 | |
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185
abstained
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| v.戒（尤指酒），戒除( abstain的过去式和过去分词 )；弃权（不投票） | |
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186
thronged
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| v.成群，挤满( throng的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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187
pretension
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| n.要求；自命，自称；自负 | |
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188
luncheon
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| n.午宴，午餐，便宴 | |
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189
professed
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| 公开声称的，伪称的，已立誓信教的 | |
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190
indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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191
sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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192
dishonoured
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| a.不光彩的，不名誉的 | |
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193
etiquette
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| n.礼仪，礼节；规矩 | |
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194
contrived
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| adj.不自然的，做作的；虚构的 | |
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195
voluptuous
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| adj.肉欲的，骄奢淫逸的 | |
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196
annihilate
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| v.使无效；毁灭；取消 | |
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197
overflowing
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| n. 溢出物,溢流 adj. 充沛的，充满的 动词overflow的现在分词形式 | |
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198
prey
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| n.被掠食者，牺牲者，掠食；v.捕食，掠夺，折磨 | |
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199
cloisters
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| n.（学院、修道院、教堂等建筑的）走廊( cloister的名词复数 )；回廊；修道院的生活；隐居v.隐退，使与世隔绝( cloister的第三人称单数 ) | |
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200
alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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201
wretch
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| n.可怜的人，不幸的人；卑鄙的人 | |
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202
interfere
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| v.(in)干涉，干预；(with)妨碍，打扰 | |
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203
quay
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| n.码头，靠岸处 | |
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204
entreated
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| 恳求，乞求( entreat的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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205
suave
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| adj.温和的；柔和的；文雅的 | |
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206
inviting
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| adj.诱人的，引人注目的 | |
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207
proffered
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| v.提供，贡献，提出( proffer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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208
discreet
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| adj.(言行)谨慎的；慎重的；有判断力的 | |
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209
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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210
postponed
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| vt.& vi.延期，缓办，（使）延迟vt.把…放在次要地位；[语]把…放在后面（或句尾）vi.（疟疾等）延缓发作（或复发） | |
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211
hoarse
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| adj.嘶哑的，沙哑的 | |
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212
misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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213
dreading
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| v.害怕，恐惧，担心( dread的现在分词 ) | |
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214
withhold
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| v.拒绝，不给；使停止，阻挡 | |
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215
consolation
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| n.安慰，慰问 | |
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216
everlasting
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| adj.永恒的，持久的，无止境的 | |
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217
disapproved
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| v.不赞成( disapprove的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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218
compliance
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| n.顺从；服从；附和；屈从 | |
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219
beckoned
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| v.（用头或手的动作）示意，召唤( beckon的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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220
confided
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| v.吐露（秘密，心事等）( confide的过去式和过去分词 )；（向某人）吐露（隐私、秘密等） | |
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221
disarm
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| v.解除武装，回复平常的编制，缓和 | |
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222
defiance
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| n.挑战，挑衅，蔑视，违抗 | |
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223
rambling
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| adj.[建]凌乱的，杂乱的 | |
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224
initiated
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| n. 创始人 adj. 新加入的 vt. 开始，创始，启蒙，介绍加入 | |
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225
relished
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| v.欣赏( relish的过去式和过去分词 )；从…获得乐趣；渴望 | |
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raptures
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| 极度欢喜( rapture的名词复数 ) | |
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mutual
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| adj.相互的，彼此的；共同的，共有的 | |
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disorder
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| n.紊乱，混乱；骚动，骚乱；疾病，失调 | |
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guardianship
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| n. 监护, 保护, 守护 | |
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guardian
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| n.监护人；守卫者，保护者 | |
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idol
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| n.偶像，红人，宠儿 | |
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demon
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| n.魔鬼，恶魔 | |
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delirious
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| adj.不省人事的，神智昏迷的 | |
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courageous
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| adj.勇敢的，有胆量的 | |
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gliding
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| v. 滑翔 adj. 滑动的 | |
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hissed
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| 发嘶嘶声( hiss的过去式和过去分词 )； 发嘘声表示反对 | |
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bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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profane
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| adj.亵神的，亵渎的；vt.亵渎，玷污 | |
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alley
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| n.小巷，胡同；小径，小路 | |
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poetical
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| adj.似诗人的；诗一般的；韵文的；富有诗意的 | |
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feigning
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| 假装，伪装( feign的现在分词 )； 捏造（借口、理由等） | |
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trifling
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| adj.微不足道的；没什么价值的 | |
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wont
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| adj.习惯于；v.习惯；n.习惯 | |
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animated
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| adj.生气勃勃的，活跃的，愉快的 | |
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dedicated
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| adj.一心一意的；献身的；热诚的 | |
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stimulated
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| a.刺激的 | |
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emulation
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| n.竞争；仿效 | |
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labyrinthine
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| adj.如迷宫的；复杂的 | |
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249
alleys
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| 胡同，小巷( alley的名词复数 )； 小径 | |
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impatience
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| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
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251
solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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asylum
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| n.避难所，庇护所，避难 | |
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canopy
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| n.天篷，遮篷 | |
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foliage
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| n.叶子，树叶，簇叶 | |
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thicket
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| n.灌木丛，树林 | |
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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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favourable
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| adj.赞成的，称赞的，有利的，良好的，顺利的 | |
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ecstasies
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| 狂喜( ecstasy的名词复数 )； 出神； 入迷； 迷幻药 | |
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ecstasy
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| n.狂喜，心醉神怡，入迷 | |
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retraced
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| v.折回( retrace的过去式和过去分词 )；回忆；回顾；追溯 | |
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revelling
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| v.作乐( revel的现在分词 )；狂欢；着迷；陶醉 | |
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lawsuit
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| n.诉讼，控诉 | |
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favourably
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| adv. 善意地，赞成地 =favorably | |
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exacting
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| adj.苛求的，要求严格的 | |
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denouement
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| n.结尾，结局 | |
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fatigued
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| adj. 疲乏的 | |
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vigour
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| （=vigor）n.智力，体力，精力 | |
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