I found myself again in my native country with that feeling of delight which is experienced by all true-hearted men, when they see again the place in which they have received the first lasting1 impressions. I had acquired some experience; I knew the laws of honour and politeness; in one word, I felt myself superior to most of my equals, and I longed to resume my old habits and pursuits; but I intended to adopt a more regular and more reserved line of conduct.
I saw with great pleasure, as I entered my study, the perfect ‘statu quo’ which had been preserved there. My papers, covered with a thick layer of dust, testified well enough that no strange hand had ever meddled2 with them.
Two days after my arrival, as I was getting ready to accompany the Bucentoro, on which the Doge was going, as usual, to wed3 the Adriatic, the widow of so many husbands, and yet as young as on the first day of her creation, a gondolier brought me a letter. It was from M. Giovanni Grimani, a young nobleman, who, well aware that he had no right to command me, begged me in the most polite manner to call at his house to receive a letter which had been entrusted4 to him for delivery in my own hands. I went to him immediately, and after the usual compliments he handed me a letter with a flying seal, which he had received the day before.
Here are the contents:
“Sir, having made a useless search for my portrait after you left, and not being in the habit of receiving thieves in my apartment, I feel satisfied that it must be in your possession. I request you to deliver it to the person who will hand you this letter.
“FOGLIAZZI.”
Happening to have the portrait with me, I took it out of my pocket, and gave it at once to M. Grimani, who received it with a mixture of satisfaction and surprise for he had evidently thought that the commission entrusted to him would be more difficult to fulfil, and he remarked,
“Love has most likely made a thief of you but I congratulate you, for your passion cannot be a very ardent5 one.”
“How can you judge of that?”
“From the readiness with which you give up this portrait.”
“I would not have given it up so easily to anybody else.”
“I thank you; and as a compensation I beg you to accept my friendship.”
“I place it in my estimation infinitely6 above the portrait, and even above the original. May I ask you to forward my answer?”
“I promise you to send it. Here is some paper, write your letter; you need not seal it.”
I wrote the following words:
“In getting rid of the portrait, Casanova experiences a satisfaction by far superior to that which he felt when, owing to a stupid fancy, he was foolish enough to put it in his pocket.”
Bad weather having compelled the authorities to postpone7 the wonderful wedding until the following Sunday, I accompanied M. de Bragadin, who was going to Padua. The amiable8 old man ran away from, the noisy pleasures which no longer suited his age, and he was going to spend in peace the few days which the public rejoicings would have rendered unpleasant for him in Venice. On the following Saturday, after dinner, I bade him farewell, and got into the post-chaise to return to Venice. If I had left Padua two minutes sooner or later, the whole course of my life would have been altered, and my destiny, if destiny is truly shaped by fatal combinations, would have been very different. But the reader can judge for himself.
Having, therefore, left Padua at the very instant marked by fatality10, I met at Oriago a cabriolet, drawn11 at full speed by two post-horses, containing a very pretty woman and a man wearing a German uniform. Within a few yards from me the vehicle was suddenly upset on the side of the river, and the woman, falling over the officer, was in great danger of rolling into the Brenta. I jumped out of my chaise without even stopping my postillion, and rushing to the assistance of the lady I remedied with a chaste12 hand the disorder13 caused to her toilet by her fall.
Her companion, who had picked himself up without any injury, hastened towards us, and there was the lovely creature sitting on the ground thoroughly14 amazed, and less confused from her fall than from the indiscretion of her petticoats, which had exposed in all their nakedness certain parts which an honest woman never shews to a stranger. In the warmth of her thanks, which lasted until her postillion and mine had righted the cabriolet, she often called me her saviour15, her guardian16 angel.
The vehicle being all right, the lady continued her journey towards Padua, and I resumed mine towards Venice, which I reached just in time to dress for the opera.
The next day I masked myself early to accompany the Bucentoro, which, favoured by fine weather, was to be taken to the Lido for the great and ridiculous ceremony. The whole affair is under the responsibility of the admiral of the arsenal17, who answers for the weather remaining fine, under penalty of his head, for the slightest contrary wind might capsize the ship and drown the Doge, with all the most serene18 noblemen, the ambassadors, and the Pope’s nuncio, who is the sponsor of that burlesque19 wedding which the Venetians respect even to superstition20. To crown the misfortune of such an accident it would make the whole of Europe laugh, and people would not fail to say that the Doge of Venice had gone at last to consumate his marriage.
I had removed my mask, and was drinking some coffee under the ‘procuraties’ of St. Mark’s Square, when a fine-looking female mask struck me gallantly21 on the shoulder with her fan. As I did not know who she was I did not take much notice of it, and after I had finished my coffee I put on my mask and walked towards the Spiaggia del Sepulcro, where M. de Bragadin’s gondola23 was waiting for me. As I was getting near the Ponte del Paglia I saw the same masked woman attentively24 looking at some wonderful monster shewn for a few pence. I went up to her; and asked her why she had struck me with her fan.
“To punish you for not knowing me again after having saved my life.” I guessed that she was the person I had rescued the day before on the banks of the Brenta, and after paying her some compliments I enquired25 whether she intended to follow the Bucentoro.
“I should like it,” she said, “if I had a safe gondola.”
I offered her mine, which was one of the largest, and, after consulting a masked person who accompanied her, she accepted. Before stepping in I invited them to take off their masks, but they told me that they wished to remain unknown. I then begged them to tell me if they belonged to the suite9 of some ambassador, because in that case I should be compelled, much to my regret, to withdraw my invitation; but they assured me that they were both Venetians. The gondola belonging to a patrician27, I might have committed myself with the State Inquisitors-a thing which I wished particularly to avoid. We were following the Bucentoro, and seated near the lady I allowed myself a few slight liberties, but she foiled my intentions by changing her seat. After the ceremony we returned to Venice, and the officer who accompanied the lady told me that I would oblige them by dining in their company at “The Savage28.” I accepted, for I felt somewhat curious about the woman. What I had seen of her at the time of her fall warranted my curiosity. The officer left me alone with her, and went before us to order dinner.
As soon as I was alone with her, emboldened29 by the mask, I told her that I was in love with her, that I had a box at the opera, which I placed entirely30 at her disposal, and that, if she would only give me the hope that I was not wasting my time and my attentions, I would remain her humble31 servant during the carnival32.
“If you mean to be cruel,” I added, “pray say so candidly33.”
“I must ask you to tell me what sort of a woman you take me for?”
“For a very charming one, whether a princess or a maid of low degree. Therefore, I hope that you will give me, this very day, some marks of your kindness, or I must part with you immediately after dinner.”
“You will do as you please; but I trust that after dinner you will have changed your opinion and your language, for your way of speaking is not pleasant. It seems to me that, before venturing upon such an explanation, it is necessary to know one another. Do you not think so?”
“Yes, I do; but I am afraid of being deceived.”
“How very strange! And that fear makes you begin by what ought to be the end?”
“I only beg to-day for one encouraging word. Give it to me and I will at once be modest, obedient and discreet35.”
“Pray calm yourself.”
We found the officer waiting for us before the door of “The Savage,” and went upstairs. The moment we were in the room, she took off her mask, and I thought her more beautiful than the day before. I wanted only to ascertain36, for the sake of form and etiquette37, whether the officer was her husband, her lover, a relative or a protector, because, used as I was to gallant22 adventures, I wished to know the nature of the one in which I was embarking38.
We sat down to dinner, and the manners of the gentleman and of the lady made it necessary for me to be careful. It was to him that I offered my box, and it was accepted; but as I had none, I went out after dinner under pretence39 of some engagement, in order to get one at the opera-buffa, where Petrici and Lasqui were then the shining stars. After the opera I gave them a good supper at an inn, and I took them to their house in my gondola. Thanks to the darkness of the night, I obtained from the pretty woman all the favours which can be granted by the side of a third person who has to be treated with caution. As we parted company, the officer said,
“You shall hear from me to-morrow.”
“Where, and how?”
“Never mind that.”
The next morning the servant announced an officer; it was my man. After we had exchanged the usual compliments, after I had thanked him for the honour he had done me the day before, I asked him to tell me his name. He answered me in the following manner, speaking with great fluency40, but without looking at me:
“My name is P—— C——. My father is rich, and enjoys great consideration at the exchange; but we are not on friendly terms at present. I reside in St. Mark’s Square. The lady you saw with me was a Mdlle. O——; she is the wife of the broker41 C— — and her sister married the patrician P—— M——. But Madame C—— is at variance42 with her husband on my account, as she is the cause of my quarrel with my father.
“I wear this uniform in virtue43 of a captaincy in the Austrian service, but I have never served in reality. I have the contract for the supply of oxen to the City of Venice, and I get the cattle from Styria and Hungary. This contract gives me a net profit of ten thousand florins a year; but an unforeseen embarrassment44, which I must remedy; a fraudulent bankruptcy45, and some extraordinary expenditure46, place me for the present in monetary47 difficulties. Four years ago I heard a great deal about you, and wished very much to make your acquaintance; I firmly believe that it was through the interference of Heaven that we became acquainted the day before yesterday. I have no hesitation48 in claiming from you an important service which will unite us by the ties of the warmest friendship. Come to my assistance without running any risk yourself; back these three bills of exchange. You need not be afraid of having to pay them, for I will leave in your hands these three other bills which fall due before the first. Besides, I will give you a mortgage upon the proceeds of my contract during the whole year, so that, should I fail to take up these bills, you could seize my cattle in Trieste, which is the only road through which they can come.”
Astonished at his speech and at his proposal, which seemed to me a lure49 and made me fear a world of trouble which I always abhorred50, struck by the strange idea of that man who, thinking that I would easily fall into the snare51, gave me the preference over so many other persons whom he certainly knew better than me, I did not hesitate to tell him that I would never accept his offer. He then had recourse to all his eloquence52 to persuade me, but I embarrassed him greatly by telling him how surprised I was at his giving me the preference over all his other acquaintances, when I had had the honour to know him only for two days.
“Sir” he said, with barefaced53 impudence54, “having recognised in you a man of great intelligence, I felt certain that you would at once see the advantages of my offer, and that you would not raise any objection.”
“You must see your mistake by this time, and most likely you will take me for a fool now you see that I should believe myself a dupe if I accepted.”
He left me with an apology for having troubled me, and saying that he hoped to see me in the evening at St. Mark’s Square, where he would be with Madame C— — he gave me his address, telling me that he had retained possession of his apartment unknown to his father. This was as much as to say that he expected me to return his visit, but if I had been prudent55 I should not have done so.
Disgusted at the manner in which that man had attempted to get hold of me, I no longer felt any inclination56 to try my fortune with his mistress, for it seemed evident that they were conspiring57 together to make a dupe of me, and as I had no wish to afford them that gratification I avoided them in the evening. It would have been wise to keep to that line of conduct; but the next day, obeying my evil genius, and thinking that a polite call could not have any consequences, I called upon him.
A servant having taken me to his room, he gave me the most friendly welcome, and reproached me in a friendly manner for not having shewn myself the evening before. After that, he spoke58 again of his affairs, and made me look at a heap of papers and documents; I found it very wearisome.
“If you make up your mind to sign the three bills of exchange,” he said, “I will take you as a partner in my contract.”
By this extraordinary mark of friendship, he was offering me — at least he said so — an income of five thousand florins a year; but my only answer was to beg that the matter should never be mentioned again. I was going to take leave of him, when he said that he wished to introduce me to his mother and sister.
He left the room, and came back with them. The mother was a respectable, simple-looking woman, but the daughter was a perfect beauty; she literally59 dazzled me. After a few minutes, the over- trustful mother begged leave to retire, and her daughter remained. In less than half an hour I was captivated; her perfection delighted me; her lively wit, her artless reasoning, her candour, her ingenuousness60, her natural and noble feelings, her cheerful and innocent quickness, that harmony which arises from beauty, wit, and innocence61, and which had always the most powerful influence over me — everything in fact conspired62 to make me the slave of the most perfect woman that the wildest dreams could imagine.
Mdlle. C—— C—— never went out without her mother who, although very pious63, was full of kind indulgence. She read no books but her father’s — a serious man who had no novels in his library, and she was longing26 to read some tales of romance. She had likewise a great wish to know Venice, and as no one visited the family she had never been told that she was truly a prodigy64 of beauty. Her brother was writing while I conversed65 with her, or rather answered all the questions which she addressed to me, and which I could only satisfy by developing the ideas that she already had, and that she was herself amazed to find in her own mind, for her soul had until then been unconscious of its own powers. Yet I did not tell her that she was lovely and that she interested me in the highest degree, because I had so often said the same to other women, and without truth, that I was afraid of raising her suspicions.
I left the house with a sensation of dreamy sadness; feeling deeply moved by the rare qualities I had discovered in that charming girl, I promised myself not to see her again, for I hardly thought myself the man to sacrifice my liberty entirely and to ask her in marriage, although I certainly believed her endowed with all the qualities necessary to minister to my happiness.
I had not seen Madame Manzoni since my return to Venice, and I went to pay her a visit. I found the worthy66 woman the same as she had always been towards me, and she gave me the most affectionate welcome. She told me that Therese Imer, that pretty girl who had caused M. de Malipiero to strike me thirteen years before, had just returned from Bayreuth, where the margrave had made her fortune. As she lived in the house opposite, Madame Manzoni, who wanted to enjoy her surprise, sent her word to come over. She came almost immediately, holding by the hand a little boy of eight years — a lovely child — and the only one she had given to her husband, who was a dancer in Bayreuth. Our surprise at seeing one another again was equal to the pleasure we experienced in recollecting67 what had occurred in our young days; it is true that we had but trifles to recollect68. I congratulated her upon her good fortune, and judging of my position from external appearances, she thought it right to congratulate me, but her fortune would have been established on a firmer basis than mine if she had followed a prudent line of conduct. She unfortunately indulged in numerous caprices with which my readers will become acquainted. She was an excellent musician, but her fortune was not altogether owing to her talent; her charms had done more for her than anything else. She told me her adventures, very likely with some restrictions69, and we parted after a conversation of two hours. She invited me to breakfast for the following day. She told me that the margrave had her narrowly watched, but being an old acquaintance I was not likely to give rise to any suspicion; that is the aphorism70 of all women addicted71 to gallantry. She added that I could, if I liked, see her that same evening in her box, and that M. Papafava, who was her god-father, would be glad to see me. I called at her house early the next morning, and I found her in bed with her son, who, thanks to the principles in which he had been educated, got up and left the room as soon as he saw me seated near his mother’s bed. I spent three hours with her, and I recollect that the last was delightful72; the reader will know the consequence of that pleasant hour later. I saw her a second time during the fortnight she passed in Venice, and when she left I promised to pay her a visit in Bayreuth, but I never kept my promise.
I had at that time to attend to the affairs of my posthumous73 brother, who had, as he said, a call from Heaven to the priesthood, but he wanted a patrimony74. Although he was ignorant and devoid75 of any merit save a handsome face, he thought that an ecclesiastical career would insure his happiness, and he depended a great deal upon his preaching, for which, according to the opinion of the women with whom he was acquainted, he had a decided76 talent. I took everything into my hands, and I succeeded in obtaining for him a patrimony from M. Grimani, who still owed us the value of the furniture in my father’s house, of which he had never rendered any account. He transferred to him a life-interest in a house in Venice, and two years afterwards my brother was ordained77. But the patrimony was only fictitious78, the house being already mortgaged; the Abbe Grimani was, however, a kind Jesuit, and those sainted servants of God think that all is well that ends well and profitably to themselves. I shall speak again of my unhappy brother whose destiny became involved with mine.
Two days had passed since I had paid my visit to P—— C— — when I met him in the street. He told me that his sister was constantly speaking of me, that she quoted a great many things which I had told her, and that his mother was much pleased at her daughter having made my acquaintance. “She would be a good match for you,” he added, “for she will have a dowry of ten thousand ducats. If you will call on me to-morrow, we will take coffee with my mother and sister.”
I had promised myself never again to enter his house, but I broke my word. It is easy enough for a man to forget his promises under such circumstances.
I spent three hours in conversation with the charming girl and when I left her I was deeply in love. As I went away, I told her that I envied the destiny of the man who would have her for his wife, and my compliment, the first she had ever received, made her blush.
After I had left her I began to examine the nature of my feelings towards her, and they frightened me, for I could neither behave towards Mdlle. C—— C—— as an honest man nor as a libertine79. I could not hope to obtain her hand, and I almost fancied I would stab anyone who advised me to seduce80 her. I felt that I wanted some diversion: I went to the gaming-table. Playing is sometimes an excellent lenitive to calm the mind, and to smother81 the ardent fire of love. I played with wonderful luck, and I was going home with plenty of gold, when in a solitary82 narrow street I met a man bent83 down less by age than by the heavy weight of misery84. As I came near him I recognized Count Bonafede, the sight of whom moved me with pity. He recognized me likewise. We talked for some time, and at last he told me the state of abject85 poverty to which he was reduced, and the great difficulty he had to keep his numerous family. “I do not blush,” he added, “in begging from you one sequin which will keep us alive for five or six days.” I immediately gave him ten, trying to prevent him from lowering himself in his anxiety to express his gratitude86, but I could not prevent him from shedding tears. As we parted, he told me that what made him most miserable87 was to see the position of his daughter, who had become a great beauty, and would rather die than make a sacrifice of her virtue. “I can neither support her in those feelings,” he said, with a sigh, “nor reward her for them.”
Thinking that I understood the wishes with which misery had inspired him, I took his address, and promised to pay him a visit. I was curious to see what had become of a virtue of which I did not entertain a very high opinion. I called the next day. I found a house almost bare of furniture, and the daughter alone — a circumstance which did not astonish me. The young countess had seen me arrive, and received me on the stairs in the most amiable manner. She was pretty well dressed, and I thought her handsome, agreeable, and lively, as she had been when I made her acquaintance in Fort St. Andre. Her father having announced my visit, she was in high spirits, and she kissed me with as much tenderness as if I had been a beloved lover. She took me to her own room, and after she had informed me that her mother was ill in bed and unable to see me, she gave way again to the transport of joy which, as she said, she felt in seeing me again. The ardour of our mutual88 kisses, given at first under the auspices89 of friendship, was not long in exciting our senses to such an extent that in less than a quarter of an hour I had nothing more to desire. When it was all over, it became us both, of course, to be, or at least to appear to be, surprised at what had taken place, and I could not honestly hesitate to assure the poor countess that it was only the first token of a constant and true love. She believed it, or she feigned90 to believe it, and perhaps I myself fancied it was true — for the moment. When we had become calm again, she told me the fearful state to which they were reduced, her brothers walking barefooted in the streets, and her father having positively91 no bread to give them.
“Then you have not any lover?”
“What? a lover! Where could I find a man courageous92 enough to be my lover in such a house as this? Am I a woman to sell myself to the first comer for the sum of thirty sous? There is not a man in Venice who would think me worth more than that, seeing me in such a place as this. Besides, I was not born for prostitution.”
Such a conversation was not very cheerful; she was weeping, and the spectacle of her sadness, joined to the picture of misery which surrounded me, was not at all the thing to excite love. I left her with a promise to call again, and I put twelve sequins in her hand. She was surprised at the amount; she had never known herself so rich before. I have always regretted I did not give her twice as much.
The next day P—— C—— called on me, and said cheerfully that his mother had given permission to her daughter to go to the opera with him, that the young girl was delighted because she had never been there before, and that, if I liked, I could wait for them at some place where they would meet me.
“But does your sister know that you intend me to join you?”
“She considers it a great pleasure.”
“Does your mother know it?”
“No; but when she knows it she will not be angry, for she has a great esteem93 for you.”
“In that case I will try to find a private box.”
“Very well; wait for us at such a place.”
The scoundrel did not speak of his letters of exchange again, and as he saw that I was no longer paying my attentions to his mistress, and that I was in love with his sister, he had formed the fine project of selling her to me. I pitied the mother and the daughter who had confidence in such a man; but I had not the courage to resist the temptation. I even went so far as to persuade myself that as I loved her it was my duty to accept the offer, in order to save her from other snares94; for if I had declined her brother might have found some other man less scrupulous95, and I could not bear the idea. I thought that in my company her innocence ran no risk.
I took a box at the St. Samuel Opera, and I was waiting for them at the appointed place long before the time. They came at last, and the sight of my young friend delighted me. She was elegantly masked, and her brother wore his uniform. In order not to expose the lovely girl to being recognized on account of her brother, I made them get into my gondola. He insisted upon being landed near the house of his mistress, who was ill, he said, and he added that he would soon join us in our box. I was astonished that C—— C—— did not shew any surprise or repugnance96 at remaining alone with me in the gondola; but I did not think the conduct of her brother extraordinary, for it was evident that it was all arranged beforehand in his mind.
I told C—— C—— that we would remain in the gondola until the opening of the theatre, and that as the heat was intense she would do well to take off her mask, which she did at once. The law I had laid upon myself to respect her, the noble confidence which was beaming on her countenance97 and in her looks, her innocent joy — everything increased the ardour of my love.
Not knowing what to say to her, for I could speak to her of nothing but love — and it was a delicate subject — I kept looking at her charming face, not daring to let my eyes rest upon two budding globes shaped by the Graces, for fear of giving the alarm to her modesty98. “Speak to me,” she said at last; “you only look at me without uttering a single word. You have sacrificed yourself for me, because my brother would have taken you with him to his lady-love, who, to judge from what he says, must be as beautiful as an angel.”
“I have seen that lady.”
“I suppose she is very witty99.”
“She may be so; but I have no opportunity of knowing, for I have never visited her, and I do not intend ever to call upon her. Do not therefore imagine, beautiful C—— C— — that I have made the slightest sacrifice for your sake.”
“I was afraid you had, because as you did not speak I thought you were sad.”
“If I do not speak to you it is because I am too deeply moved by your angelic confidence in me.”
“I am very glad it is so; but how could I not trust you? I feel much more free, much more confident with you than with my brother himself. My mother says it is impossible to be mistaken, and that you are certainly an honest man. Besides, you are not married; that is the first thing I asked my brother. Do you recollect telling me that you envied the fate of the man who would have me for his wife? Well, at that very moment I was thinking that your wife would be the happiest woman in Venice.”
These words, uttered with the most candid34 artlessness, and with that tone of sincerity100 which comes from the heart, had upon me an effect which it would be difficult to describe; I suffered because I could not imprint101 the most loving kiss upon the sweet lips which had just pronounced them, but at the same time it caused me the most delicious felicity to see that such an angel loved me.
“With such conformity102 of feelings,” I said, “we would, lovely C— — be perfectly103 happy, if we could be united for ever. But I am old enough to be your father.”
“You my father? You are joking! Do you know that I am fourteen?”
“Do you know that I am twenty-eight?”
“Well, where can you see a man of your age having a daughter of mine? If my father were like you, he would certainly never frighten me; I could not keep anything from him.”
The hour to go to the theatre had come; we landed, and the performance engrossed104 all her attention. Her brother joined us only when it was nearly over; it had certainly been a part of his calculation. I took them to an inn for supper, and the pleasure I experienced in seeing the charming girl eat with a good appetite made me forget that I had had no dinner. I hardly spoke during the supper, for love made me sick, and I was in a state of excitement which could not last long. In order to excuse my silence, I feigned to be suffering from the toothache.
After supper, P—— C—— told his sister that I was in love with her, and that I should certainly feel better if she would allow me to kiss her. The only answer of the innocent girl was to offer me her laughing lips, which seemed to call for kisses. I was burning; but my respect for that innocent and naive105 young creature was such that I only kissed her cheek, and even that in a manner very cold in appearance.
“What a kiss!” exclaimed P—— C——. “Come, come, a good lover’s kiss!”
I did not move; the impudent106 fellow annoyed me; but his sister, turning her head aside sadly, said,
“Do not press him; I am not so happy as to please him.”
That remark gave the alarm to my love; I could no longer master my feelings.
“What!” I exclaimed warmly, “what! beautiful C— — you do not condescend107 to ascribe my reserve to the feeling which you have inspired me with? You suppose that you do not please me? If a kiss is all that is needed to prove the contrary to you, oh! receive it now with all the sentiment that is burning in my heart!”
Then folding her in my arms, and pressing her lovingly against my breast, I imprinted108 on her mouth the long and ardent kiss which I had so much wished to give her; but the nature of that kiss made the timid dove feel that she had fallen into the vulture’s claws. She escaped from my arms, amazed at having discovered my love in such a manner. Her brother expressed his approval, while she replaced her mask over her face, in order to conceal109 her confusion. I asked her whether she had any longer any doubts as to my love.
“You have convinced me,” she answered, “but, because you have undeceived me, you must not punish me.”
I thought that this was a very delicate answer, dictated110 by true sentiment; but her brother was not pleased with it, and said it was foolish.
We put on our masks, left the inn, and after I had escorted them to their house I went home deeply in love, happy in my inmost soul, yet very sad.
The reader will learn in the following chapters the progress of my love and the adventures in which I found myself engaged.
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lasting
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| adj.永久的，永恒的；vbl.持续，维持 | |
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meddled
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| v.干涉，干预（他人事务）( meddle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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wed
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| v.娶，嫁，与…结婚 | |
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entrusted
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| v.委托，托付( entrust的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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ardent
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，强烈的，烈性的 | |
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infinitely
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postpone
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amiable
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| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
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suite
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| n.一套(家具)；套房；随从人员 | |
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fatality
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| n.不幸，灾祸，天命 | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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chaste
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| adj.贞洁的；有道德的；善良的；简朴的 | |
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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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thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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15
saviour
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| n.拯救者，救星 | |
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guardian
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| n.监护人；守卫者，保护者 | |
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arsenal
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| n.兵工厂，军械库 | |
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18
serene
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| adj. 安详的，宁静的，平静的 | |
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19
burlesque
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| v.嘲弄，戏仿；n.嘲弄，取笑，滑稽模仿 | |
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20
superstition
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| n.迷信，迷信行为 | |
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21
gallantly
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| adv. 漂亮地，勇敢地，献殷勤地 | |
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gallant
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| adj.英勇的，豪侠的；(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
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23
gondola
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| n.威尼斯的平底轻舟；飞船的吊船 | |
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attentively
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| adv.聚精会神地；周到地；谛；凝神 | |
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25
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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26
longing
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| n.（for）渴望 | |
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27
patrician
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| adj.贵族的，显贵的；n.贵族；有教养的人；罗马帝国的地方官 | |
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28
savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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29
emboldened
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| v.鼓励，使有胆量( embolden的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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30
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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31
humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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32
carnival
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| n.嘉年华会，狂欢，狂欢节，巡回表演 | |
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candidly
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| adv.坦率地，直率而诚恳地 | |
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34
candid
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| adj.公正的，正直的；坦率的 | |
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35
discreet
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| adj.(言行)谨慎的；慎重的；有判断力的 | |
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36
ascertain
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| vt.发现，确定，查明，弄清 | |
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37
etiquette
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| n.礼仪，礼节；规矩 | |
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38
embarking
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| 乘船( embark的现在分词 )； 装载； 从事 | |
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39
pretence
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| n.假装，作假；借口，口实；虚伪；虚饰 | |
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40
fluency
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| n.流畅，雄辩，善辩 | |
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41
broker
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| n.中间人，经纪人；v.作为中间人来安排 | |
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42
variance
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| n.矛盾，不同 | |
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43
virtue
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| n.德行，美德；贞操；优点；功效，效力 | |
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embarrassment
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| n.尴尬；使人为难的人(事物)；障碍；窘迫 | |
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45
bankruptcy
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| n.破产；无偿付能力 | |
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46
expenditure
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| n.(时间、劳力、金钱等)支出；使用，消耗 | |
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47
monetary
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| adj.货币的，钱的；通货的；金融的；财政的 | |
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48
hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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49
lure
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| n.吸引人的东西，诱惑物；vt.引诱，吸引 | |
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50
abhorred
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| v.憎恶( abhor的过去式和过去分词 )；（厌恶地）回避；拒绝；淘汰 | |
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51
snare
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| n.陷阱，诱惑，圈套；（去除息肉或者肿瘤的）勒除器；响弦，小军鼓；vt.以陷阱捕获，诱惑 | |
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52
eloquence
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| n.雄辩；口才，修辞 | |
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53
barefaced
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| adj.厚颜无耻的，公然的 | |
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54
impudence
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| n.厚颜无耻；冒失；无礼 | |
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55
prudent
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| adj.谨慎的，有远见的，精打细算的 | |
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56
inclination
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| n.倾斜；点头；弯腰；斜坡；倾度；倾向；爱好 | |
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57
conspiring
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| 密谋( conspire的现在分词 )； 搞阴谋； （事件等）巧合； 共同导致 | |
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58
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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59
literally
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| adv.照字面意义，逐字地；确实 | |
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60
ingenuousness
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| n.率直；正直；老实 | |
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61
innocence
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| n.无罪；天真；无害 | |
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62
conspired
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| 密谋( conspire的过去式和过去分词 )； 搞阴谋； （事件等）巧合； 共同导致 | |
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63
pious
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| adj.虔诚的；道貌岸然的 | |
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64
prodigy
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| n.惊人的事物，奇迹，神童，天才，预兆 | |
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65
conversed
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| v.交谈，谈话( converse的过去式 ) | |
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66
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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67
recollecting
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| v.记起，想起( recollect的现在分词 ) | |
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68
recollect
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| v.回忆，想起，记起，忆起，记得 | |
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69
restrictions
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| 约束( restriction的名词复数 )； 管制； 制约因素； 带限制性的条件（或规则） | |
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70
aphorism
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| n.格言，警语 | |
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71
addicted
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| adj.沉溺于....的，对...上瘾的 | |
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72
delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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73
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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74
patrimony
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| n.世袭财产，继承物 | |
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75
devoid
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| adj.全无的，缺乏的 | |
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76
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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77
ordained
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| v.任命（某人）为牧师( ordain的过去式和过去分词 )；授予（某人）圣职；（上帝、法律等）命令；判定 | |
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78
fictitious
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| adj.虚构的，假设的；空头的 | |
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79
libertine
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| n.淫荡者；adj.放荡的，自由思想的 | |
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80
seduce
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| vt.勾引，诱奸，诱惑，引诱 | |
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81
smother
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| vt./vi.使窒息；抑制；闷死；n.浓烟；窒息 | |
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82
solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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83
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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84
misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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85
abject
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| adj.极可怜的，卑屈的 | |
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86
gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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87
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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88
mutual
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| adj.相互的，彼此的；共同的，共有的 | |
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89
auspices
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| n.资助，赞助 | |
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90
feigned
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| a.假装的，不真诚的 | |
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91
positively
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| adv.明确地，断然，坚决地；实在，确实 | |
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92
courageous
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| adj.勇敢的，有胆量的 | |
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93
esteem
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| n.尊敬，尊重；vt.尊重，敬重；把…看作 | |
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94
snares
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| n.陷阱( snare的名词复数 )；圈套；诱人遭受失败（丢脸、损失等）的东西；诱惑物v.用罗网捕捉，诱陷，陷害( snare的第三人称单数 ) | |
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95
scrupulous
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| adj.审慎的，小心翼翼的，完全的，纯粹的 | |
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96
repugnance
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| n.嫌恶 | |
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97
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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98
modesty
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| n.谦逊，虚心，端庄，稳重，羞怯，朴素 | |
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99
witty
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| adj.机智的，风趣的 | |
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100
sincerity
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| n.真诚，诚意；真实 | |
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101
imprint
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| n.印痕，痕迹；深刻的印象；vt.压印，牢记 | |
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102
conformity
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| n.一致，遵从，顺从 | |
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103
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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104
engrossed
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| adj.全神贯注的 | |
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105
naive
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| adj.幼稚的，轻信的；天真的 | |
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106
impudent
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| adj.鲁莽的，卑鄙的，厚颜无耻的 | |
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107
condescend
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| v.俯就，屈尊；堕落，丢丑 | |
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108
imprinted
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| v.盖印（imprint的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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109
conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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110
dictated
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| v.大声讲或读( dictate的过去式和过去分词 )；口授；支配；摆布 | |
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