My former partner was, as I have said before, a skilful6 and experienced hand at securing the favours of Fortune; he was driving a good trade in Venice, and as he was amiable7, and what is called in society a gentleman, he might have held that excellent footing for a long time, if he had been satisfied with gambling8; for the State Inquisitors would have too much to attend to if they wished to compel fools to spare their fortunes, dupes to be prudent9, and cheats not to dupe the fools; but, whether through the folly10 of youth or through a vicious disposition11, the cause of his exile was of an extraordinary and disgusting nature.
A Venetian nobleman, noble by birth, but very ignoble12 in his propensities13, called Sgombro, and belonging to the Gritti family, fell deeply in love with him, and Croce, either for fun or from taste, shewed himself very compliant14. Unfortunately the reserve commanded by common decency15 was not a guest at their amorous feats16, and the scandal became so notorious that the Government was compelled to notify to Croce the order to quit the city, and to seek his fortune in some other place.
Some time afterwards the infamous17 Sgombro seduced18 his own two sons, who were both very young, and, unfortunately for him, he put the youngest in such a state as to render necessary an application to a surgeon. The infamous deed became publicly known, and the poor child confessed that he had not had the courage to refuse obedience19 to his father. Such obedience was, as a matter of course, not considered as forming a part of the duties which a son owes to his father, and the State Inquisitors sent the disgusting wretch20 to the citadel21 of Cataro, where he died after one year of confinement22.
It is well known that the air of Cataro is deadly, and that the Tribunal sentences to inhale23 it only such criminals as are not judged publicly for fear of exciting too deeply the general horror by the publication of the trial.
It was to Cataro that the Council of Ten sent, fifteen years ago, the celebrated24 advocate Cantarini, a Venetian nobleman, who by his eloquence25 had made himself master of the great Council, and was on the point of changing the constitution of the State. He died there at the end of the year. As for his accomplices26, the Tribunal thought that it was enough to punish the four or five leaders, and to pretend not to know the others, who through fear of punishment returned silently to their allegiance.
That Sgombro, of whom I spoke27 before, had a charming wife who is still alive, I believe. Her name was Cornelia Gitti; she was as celebrated by her wit as by her beauty, which she kept in spite of her years. Having recovered her liberty through the death of her husband, she knew better than to make herself a second time the prisoner of the Hymenean god; she loved her independence too much; but as she loved pleasure too, she accepted the homage28 of the lovers who pleased her taste.
One Monday, towards the end of July, my servant woke me at day-break to tell me that Laura wished to speak to me. I foresaw some misfortune, and ordered the servant to shew her in immediately. These are the contents of the letter which she handed to me:
“My dearest, a misfortune has befallen me last evening, and it makes me very miserable29 because I must keep it a secret from everyone in the convent. I am suffering from a very severe loss of blood, and I do not know what to do, having but very little linen30. Laura tells me I shall require a great deal of it if the flow of blood continues. I can take no one into my confidence but you, and I entreat31 you to send me as much linen as you can. You see that I have been compelled to make a confidante of Laura, who is the only person allowed to enter my room at all times. If I should die, my dear husband, everybody in the convent would, of course, know the cause of my death; but I think of you, and I shudder32. What will you do in your grief? Ah, darling love! what a pity!”
I dressed myself hurriedly, plying33 Laura with questions all the time. She told me plainly that it was a miscarriage34, and that it was necessary to act with great discretion35 in order to save the reputation of my young friend; that after all she required nothing but plenty of linen, and that it would be nothing. Commonplace words of consolation36, which did not allay37 the fearful anxiety under which I was labouring. I went out with Laura, called on a Jew from whom I bought a quantity of sheets and two hundred napkins, and, putting it all in a large bag, I repaired with her to Muran. On our way there I wrote in pencil to my sweetheart, telling her to have entire confidence in Laura, and assuring her that I would not leave Muran until all danger had passed. Before we landed, Laura told me that, in order not to be remarked, I had better conceal38 myself in her house. At any other time it would have been shutting up the wolf in the sheep-fold. She left me in a miserable-looking small room on the ground floor, and concealing39 about herself as much linen as she could she hurried to her patient, whom she had not seen since the previous evening. I was in hopes that she would find her out of danger, and I longed to see her come back with that good news.
She was absent about one hour, and when she returned her looks were sad. She told me that my poor friend, having lost a great deal of blood during the night, was in bed in a very weak state, and that all we could do was to pray to God for her, because, if the flooding of the blood did not stop soon, she could not possibly live twenty-four hours.
When I saw the linen which she had concealed40 under her clothes to bring it out, I could not disguise my horror, and I thought the sight would kill me. I fancied myself in a slaughter-house! Laura, thinking of consoling me, told me that I could rely upon the secret being well kept.
“Ah! what do I care!” I exclaimed. “Provided she lives, let the whole world know that she is my wife!”
At any other time, the foolishness of poor Laura would have made me laugh; but in such a sad moment I had neither the inclination41 nor the courage to be merry.
“Our dear patient,” added Laura, “smiled as she was reading your letter, and she said that, with you so near her, she was certain not to die.”
Those words did me good, but a man needs so little to console him or to soothe42 his grief.
“When the nuns43 are at their dinner,” said Laura, “I will go back to the convent with as much linen as I can conceal about me, and in the mean time I am going to wash all this.”
“Has she had any visitors?”
“Oh, yes! all the convent; but no one has any suspicion of the truth.”
“But in such hot weather as this she can have only a very light blanket over her, and her visitors must remark the great bulk of the napkins.”
“There is no fear of that, because she is sitting up in her bed.”
“What does she eat?”
“Nothing, for she must not eat.”
Soon afterwards Laura went out, and I followed her. I called upon a physician, where I wasted my time and my money, in order to get from him a long prescription44 which was useless, for it would have put all the convent in possession of the secret, or, to speak more truly, her secret would have been known to the whole world, for a secret known to a nun soon escapes out of the convent’s walls. Besides, the physician of the convent himself would most likely have betrayed it through a spirit of revenge.
I returned sadly to my miserable hole in Laura’s house. Half an hour afterwards she came to me, crying bitterly, and she placed in my hands this letter, which was scarcely legible:
“I have not strength enough to write to you, my darling; I am getting weaker and weaker; I am losing all my blood, and I am afraid there is no remedy. I abandon myself to the will of God, and I thank Him for having saved me from dishonour45. Do not make yourself unhappy. My only consolation is to know that you are near me. Alas46! if I could see you but for one moment I would die happy.”
The sight of a dozen napkins brought by Laura made me shudder, and the good woman imagined that she afforded me some consolation by telling me that as much linen could be soaked with a bottle of blood. My mind was not disposed to taste such consolation; I was in despair, and I addressed to myself the fiercest reproaches, upbraiding47 myself as the cause of the death of that adorable creature. I threw myself on the bed, and remained there, almost stunned48, for more than six hours, until Laura’s return from the convent with twenty napkins entirely49 soaked. Night had come on, and she could not go back to her patient until morning. I passed a fearful night without food, without sleep, looking upon myself with horror, and refusing all the kind attentions that Laura’s daughters tried to shew me.
It was barely daylight when Laura same to announce to me, in the saddest tone, that my poor friend did not bleed any more. I thought she was dead, and I screamed loudly,
“Oh! she is no more!”
“She is still breathing, sir; but I fear she will not outlive this day, for she is worn out. She can hardly open her eyes, and her pulse is scarcely to be felt.”
A weight was taken off me; I was instinctively50 certain that my darling was saved.
“Laura,” I said, “this is not bad news; provided the flooding has ceased entirely, all that is necessary is to give her some light food.”
“A physician has been sent for. He will prescribe whatever is right, but to tell you the truth I have not much hope.”
“Only give me the assurance that she is still alive.”
“Yes, she is, I assure you; but you understand very well that she will not tell the truth to the doctor, and God knows what he will order. I whispered to her not to take anything, and she understood me.”
“You are the best of women. Yes, if she does not die from weakness before to-morrow, she is saved; nature and love will have been her doctors.”
“May God hear you! I shall be back by twelve.”
“Why not before?”
“Because her room will be full of people.”
Feeling the need of hope, and almost dead for want of food, I ordered some dinner, and prepared a long letter for my beloved mistress, to be delivered to her when she was well enough to read it. The instants given to repentance51 are very sad, and I was truly a fit subject for pity. I longed to see Laura again, so as to hear what the doctor had said. I had very good cause for laughing at all sorts of oracles53, yet through some unaccountable weakness I longed for that of the doctor; I wanted, before all, to find it a propitious54 one.
Laura’s young daughters waited upon me at dinner; I could not manage to swallow a mouthful, but it amused me to see the three sisters devour55 my dinner at the first invitation I gave them. The eldest56 sister, a very fine girl, never raised her large eyes once towards me. The two younger ones seemed to me disposed to be amiable, but if I looked at them it was only to feed my despair and the cruel pangs57 of repentance.
At last Laura, whom I expected anxiously, came back; she told me that the dear patient remained in the same state of debility; the doctor had been greatly puzzled by her extreme weakness because he did not know to what cause to attribute it. Laura added,
“He has ordered some restoratives and a small quantity of light broth58; if she can sleep, he answers for her life. He has likewise desired her to have someone to watch her at night, and she immediately pointed59 her finger at me, as if she wished me to undertake that office. Now, I promise you never to leave her either night or day, except to bring you news.”
I thanked her, assuring her that I would reward her generously. I heard with great pleasure that her mother had paid her a visit, and that she had no suspicion of the real state of things, for she had lavished60 on her the most tender caresses61.
Feeling more at ease I gave six sequins to Laura, one to each of her daughters, and ate something for my supper: I then laid myself down on one of the wretched beds in the room. As soon as the two younger sisters saw me in bed, they undressed themselves without ceremony, and took possession of the second bed which was close by mine. Their innocent confidence pleased me. The eldest sister, who most likely had more practical experience, retired62 to the adjoining room; she had a lover to whom she was soon to be married. This time, however, I was not possessed63 with the evil spirit of concupiscence, and I allowed innocence64 to sleep peacefully without attempting anything against it.
Early the next morning Laura was the bearer of good news. She came in with a cheerful air to announce that the beloved patient had slept well, and that she was going back soon to give her some soup. I felt an almost maddening joy in listening to her, and I thought the oracle52 of AEsculapius a thousand times more reliable than that of Apollo. But it was not yet time to exult66 in our victory, for my poor little friend had to recover her strength and to make up for all the blood she had lost; that could be done only by time and careful nursing. I remained another week at Laura’s house, which I left only after my dear C—— C—— had requested me to do so in a letter of four pages. Laura, when I left, wept for joy in seeing herself rewarded by the gift of all the fine linen I had bought for my C—— C— — and her daughters were weeping likewise, most probably because, during the ten days I had spent near them, they had not obtained a single kiss from me.
After my return to Venice, I resumed my usual habits; but with a nature like mine how could I possibly remain satisfied without positive love? My only pleasure was to receive a letter from my dear recluse67 every Wednesday, who advised me to wait patiently rather than to attempt carrying her off. Laura assured me that she had become more lovely than ever, and I longed to see her. An opportunity of gratifying my wishes soon offered itself, and I did not allow it to escape. There was to be a taking of the veil — a ceremony which always attracts a large number of persons. On those occasions the nuns always received a great many visitors, and I thought that the boarders were likely to be in the parlour on such an occasion. I ran no risk of being remarked any more than any other person, for I would mingle68 with the crowd. I therefore went without saying anything about it to Laura, and without acquainting my dear little wife of my intentions. I thought I would fall, so great was my emotion, when I saw her within four yards from me, and looking at me as if she had been in an ecstatic state. I thought her taller and more womanly, and she certainly seemed to me more beautiful than before. I saw no one but her; she never took her eyes off me, and I was the last to leave that place which on that day struck me as being the temple of happiness.
Three days afterwards I received a letter from her. She painted with such vivid colours the happiness she had felt in seeing me, that I made up my mind to give her that pleasure as often as I could. I answered at once that I would attend mass every Sunday at the church of her convent. It cost me nothing: I could not see her, but I knew that she saw me herself, and her happiness made me perfectly69 happy. I had nothing to fear, for it was almost impossible that anyone could recognize me in the church which was attended only by the people of Muran.
After hearing two or three masses, I used to take a gondola70, the gondolier of which could not feel any curiosity about me. Yet I kept on my guard, for I knew that the father of C—— C—— wanted her to forget me, and I had no doubt he would have taken her away, God knew where if he had had the slightest suspicion of my being acquainted with the place where he had confined her.
Thus I was reasoning in my fear to lose all opportunity of corresponding with my dear C—— C— — but I did not yet know the disposition and the shrewdness of the sainted daughters of the Lord. I did not suppose that there was anything remarkable71 in my person, at least for the inmates72 of a convent; but I was yet a novice73 respecting the curiosity of women, and particularly of unoccupied hearts; I had soon occasion to be convinced.
I had executed my Sunday manoeuvering only for a month or five weeks, when my dear C—— C—— wrote me jestingly that I had become a living enigma74 for all the convent, boarders and nuns, not even excepting the old ones. They all expected me anxiously; they warned each other of my arrival, and watched me taking the holy water. They remarked that I never cast a glance toward the grating, behind which were all the inmates of the convent; that I never looked at any of the women coming in or going out of the church. The old nuns said that I was certainly labouring under some deep sorrow, of which I had no hope to be cured except through the protection of the Holy Virgin75, and the young ones asserted that I was either melancholy76 or misanthropic77.
My dear wife, who knew better than the others, and had no occasion to lose herself in suppositions, was much amused, and she entertained me by sending me a faithful report of it all. I wrote to her that, if she had any fear of my being recognized I would cease my Sunday visits to the church. She answered that I could not impose upon her a more cruel privation, and she entreated78 me to continue my visits. I thought it would be prudent, however, to abstain79 from calling at Laura’s house, for fear of the chattering80 nuns contriving81 to know it, and discovering in that manner a great deal more than I wished them to find out. But that existence was literally82 consuming me by slow degrees, and could not last long. Besides, I was made to have a mistress, and to live happily with her. Not knowing what to do with myself, I would gamble, and I almost invariably won; but, in spite of that, weariness had got hold of me and I was getting thinner every day.
With the five thousand sequins which my partner Croce had won for me in Padua I had followed M. Bragadin’s advice. I had hired a casino where I held a faro bank in partnership83 with a matador84, who secured me against the frauds of certain noblemen — tyrants85, with whom a private citizen is always sure to be in the wrong in my dear country.
On All Saints’ Day, in the year 1753, just as, after hearing mass, I was going to step into a gondola to return to Venice, I saw a woman, somewhat in Laura’s style who, passing near me, looked at me and dropped a letter. I picked it up, and the woman, seeing me in possession of the epistle, quietly went on. The letter had no address, and the seal represented a running knot. I stepped hurriedly into the gondola, and as soon as we were in the offing I broke the seal. I read the following words.
“A nun, who for the last two months and a half has seen you every Sunday in the church of her convent, wishes to become acquainted with you. A pamphlet which you have lost, and which chance has thrown into her hands, makes her believe that you speak French; but, if you like it better, you can answer in Italian, because what she wants above all is a clear and precise answer. She does not invite you to call for her at the parlour of the convent, because, before you place yourself under the necessity of speaking to her, she wishes you to see her, and for that purpose she will name a lady whom you can accompany to the parlour. That lady shall not know you and need not therefore introduce you, in case you should not wish to be known.
“Should you not approve of that way to become acquainted, the nun will appoint a certain casino in Muran, in which you will find her alone, in the evening, any night you may choose. You will then be at liberty either to sup with her, or to retire after an interview of a quarter of an hour, if you have any other engagements.
“Would you rather offer her a supper in Venice? Name the night, the hour, the place of appointment, and you will see her come out of a gondola. Only be careful to be there alone, masked and with a lantern.
“I feel certain that you will answer me, and that you will guess how impatiently I am waiting for your letter. I entreat you, therefore, to give it to-morrow to the same woman through whom you will receive mine! you will find her one hour before noon in the church of St. Cancian, near the first altar on the right.
“Recollect that, if I did not suppose you endowed with a noble soul and a high mind, I could never have resolved on taking a step which might give you an unfavorable opinion of my character”
The tone of that letter, which I have copied word by word, surprised me even more than the offer it contained. I had business to attend to, but I gave up all engagements to lock myself in my room in order to answer it. Such an application betokened86 an extravagant87 mind, but there was in it a certain dignity, a singularity, which attracted me. I had an idea that the writer might be the same nun who taught French to C—— C——. She had represented her friend in her letters as handsome, rich, gallant88, and generous. My dear wife had, perhaps, been guilty of some indiscretion. A thousand fancies whirled through my brain, but I would entertain only those which were favourable89 to a scheme highly pleasing to me. Besides, my young friend had informed me that the nun who had given her French lessons was not the only one in the convent who spoke that language. I had no reason to suppose that, if C—— C—— had made a confidante of her friend, she would have made a mystery of it to me. But, for all that, the nun who had written to me might be the beautiful friend of my dear little wife, and she might also turn out to be a different person; I felt somewhat puzzled. Here is, however, the letter which I thought I could write without implicating90 myself:
“I answer in French, madam, in the hope that my letter will have the clearness and the precision of which you give me the example in yours.
“The subject is highly interesting and of the highest importance, considering all the circumstances. As I must answer without knowing the person to whom I am writing, you must feel, madam, that, unless I should possess a large dose of vanity, I must fear some mystification, and my honour requires that I should keep on my guard.
“If it is true that the person who has penned that letter is a respectable woman, who renders me justice in supposing me endowed with feeling as noble as her own, she will find, I trust, that I could not answer in any other way than I am doing now.
“If you have judged me worthy91, madam, of the honour which you do me by offering me your acquaintance, although your good opinion can have been formed only from my personal appearance, I feel it my duty to obey you, even if the result be to undeceive you by proving that I had unwittingly led you into a mistaken appreciation92 of my person.
“Of the three proposals which you so kindly93 made in your letter, I dare not accept any but the first, with the restriction94 suggested by your penetrating95 mind. I will accompany to the parlour of your convent a lady who shall not know who I am, and, consequently, shall have no occasion to introduce me.
“Do not judge too severely96, madam, the specious97 reasons which compel me not to give you my name, and receive my word of honour that I shall learn yours only to render you homage. If you choose to speak to me, I will answer with the most profound respect. Permit me to hope that you will come to the parlour alone. I may mention that I am a Venetian, and perfectly free.
“The only reason which prevents me from choosing one of the two other arrangements proposed by you, either of which would have suited me better because they greatly honour me, is, allow me to repeat it, a fear of being the victim of a mystification; but these modes of meeting will not be lost when you know me and when I have seen you. I entreat you to have faith in my honour, and to measure my patience by your own. Tomorrow, at the same place and at the same hour, I shall be anxiously expecting your answer.”
I went to the place appointed, and having met the female Mercury I gave her my letter with a sequin, and I told her that I would come the next day for the answer. We were both punctual. As soon as she saw me, she handed me back the sequin which I had given her the day before, and a letter, requesting me to read it and to let her know whether she was to wait for an answer. Here is the exact copy of the letter:
“I believe, sir, that I have not been mistaken in anything. Like you, I detest98 untruth when it can lead to important consequences, but I think it a mere99 trifle when it can do no injury to anyone. Of my three proposals you have chosen the one which does the greatest honour to your intelligence, and, respecting the reasons which induce you to keep your incognito100, I have written the enclosed to the Countess of S— — which I request you to read. Be kind enough to seal it before delivery of it to her. You may call upon her whenever convenient to yourself. She will name her own hour, and you will accompany her here in her gondola. The countess will not ask you any questions, and you need not give her any explanation. There will be no presentation; but as you will be made acquainted with my name, you can afterwards call on me here, masked, whenever you please, and by using the name of the countess. In that way we shall become acquainted without the necessity of disturbing you, or of your losing at night some hours which may be precious to you. I have instructed my servant to wait for your answer in case you should be known to the countess and object to her. If you approve of the choice I have made of her, tell the messenger that there is no answer.”
As I was an entire stranger to the countess, I told the woman that I had no answer to give, and she left me.
Here are the contents of the note addressed by the nun to the countess, and which I had to deliver to her:
“I beg of you, my dear friend, to pay me a visit when you are at leisure, and to let the masked gentleman-bearer of this note know the hour, so that he can accompany you. He will be punctual. Farewell. You will much oblige your friend.”
That letter seemed to me informed by a sublime101 spirit of intrigue; there was in it an appearance of dignity which captivated me, although I felt conscious that I was playing the character of a man on whom a favour seemed to be bestowed102.
In her last letter, my nun, pretending not to be anxious to know who I was, approved of my choice, and feigned103 indifference104 for nocturnal meetings; but she seemed certain that after seeing her I would visit her. I knew very well what to think of it all, for the intrigue was sure to have an amorous issue. Nevertheless, her assurance, or rather confidence, increased my curiosity, and I felt that she had every reason to hope, if she were young and handsome. I might very well have delayed the affair for a few days, and have learned from C—— C—— who that nun could be; but, besides the baseness of such a proceeding105, I was afraid of spoiling the game and repenting106 it afterwards. I was told to call on the countess at my convenience, but it was because the dignity of my nun would not allow her to shew herself too impatient; and she certainly thought that I would myself hasten the adventure. She seemed to me too deeply learned in gallantry to admit the possibility of her being an inexperienced novice, and I was afraid of wasting my time; but I made up my mind to laugh at my own expense if I happened to meet a superannuated107 female. It is very certain that if I had not been actuated by curiosity I should not have gone one step further, but I wanted to see the countenance108 of a nun who had offered to come to Venice to sup with me. Besides, I was much surprised at the liberty enjoyed by those sainted virgins109, and at the facility with which they could escape out of their walls.
At three o’clock I presented myself before the countess and delivered the note, and she expressed a wish to see me the next day at the same hour. We dropped a beautiful reverence110 to one another, and parted. She was a superior woman, already going down the hill, but still very handsome.
The next morning, being Sunday, I need not say that I took care to attend mass at the convent, elegantly dressed, and already unfaithful — at least in idea — to my dear C—— C— — for I was thinking of being seen by the nun, young or old, rather than of shewing myself to my charming wife.
In the afternoon I masked myself again, and at the appointed time I repaired to the house of the countess who was waiting for me. We went in a two-oared gondola, and reached the convent without having spoken of anything but the weather. When we arrived at the gate, the countess asked for M—— M——. I was surprised by that name, for the woman to whom it belonged was celebrated. We were shewn into a small parlour, and a few minutes afterwards a nun came in, went straight to the grating, touched a spring, and made four squares of the grating revolve111, which left an opening sufficiently112 large to enable the two friends to embrace the ingenious window was afterwards carefully closed. The opening was at least eighteen inches wide, and a man of my size could easily have got through it. The countess sat opposite the nun, and I took my seat a little on one side so as to be able to observe quietly and at my ease one of the most beautiful women that it was possible to see. I had no doubt whatever of her being the person mentioned by my dear C—— C—— as teaching her French. Admiration113 kept me in a sort of ecstacy, and I never heard one word of their conversation; the beautiful nun, far from speaking to me, did not even condescend114 to honour me with one look. She was about twenty-two or twenty-three years of age, and the shape of her face was most beautiful. Her figure was much above the ordinary height, her complexion115 rather pale, her appearance noble, full of energy, but at the same time reserved and modest; her eyes, large and full, were of a lovely blue; her countenance was soft and cheerful; her fine lips seemed to breathe the most heavenly voluptuousness116, and her teeth were two rows of the most brilliant enamel117. Her head-dress did not allow me to see her hair, but if she had any I knew by the colour of her eyebrows118 that it was of a beautiful light brown. Her hand and her arm, which I could see as far as the elbow, were magnificent; the chisel119 of Praxiteles never carved anything more grace fully65 rounded and plump, I was not sorry to have refused the two rendezvous120 which had been offered to me by the beauty, for I was sure of possessing her in a few days, and it was a pleasure for me to lay my desires at her feet. I longed to find myself alone with her near that grating, and I would have considered it an insult to her if, the very next day, I had not come to tell her how fully I rendered to her charms the justice they deserved. She was faithful to her determination not to look at me once, but after all I was pleased with her reserve. All at once the two friends lowered their voices, and out of delicacy121 I withdrew further. Their private conversation lasted about a quarter of an hour, during which I pretended to be intently looking at a painting; then they kissed one another again by the same process as at the beginning of the interview; the nun closed the opening, turned her back on us, and disappeared without casting one glance in my direction.
As we were on our way back to Venice, the countess, tired perhaps of our silence, said to me, with a smile,
“M—— M—— is beautiful and very witty122.”
“I have seen her beauty, and I believe in her wit.”
“She did not address one word to you.”
“I had refused to be introduced to her, and she punished me by pretending not to know that I was present.”
The countess made no answer, and we reached her house without exchanging another word. At her door a very ceremonious curtesy, with these words, “Adieu, sir!” warned me that I was not to go any further. I had no wish to do so, and went away dreaming and wondering at the singularity of the adventure, the end of which I longed to see.
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infamy
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| n.声名狼藉，出丑，恶行 | |
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anonymous
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| adj.无名的；匿名的；无特色的 | |
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nun
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| n.修女，尼姑 | |
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amorous
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| adj.多情的；有关爱情的 | |
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intrigue
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| vt.激起兴趣，迷住；vi.耍阴谋；n.阴谋，密谋 | |
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skilful
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| (=skillful)adj.灵巧的，熟练的 | |
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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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gambling
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| n.赌博；投机 | |
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prudent
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| adj.谨慎的，有远见的，精打细算的 | |
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folly
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| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
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disposition
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| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
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12
ignoble
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| adj.不光彩的，卑鄙的；可耻的 | |
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13
propensities
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| n.倾向，习性( propensity的名词复数 ) | |
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14
compliant
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| adj.服从的，顺从的 | |
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15
decency
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| n.体面，得体，合宜，正派，庄重 | |
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16
feats
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| 功绩，伟业，技艺( feat的名词复数 ) | |
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17
infamous
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| adj.声名狼藉的，臭名昭著的，邪恶的 | |
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18
seduced
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| 诱奸( seduce的过去式和过去分词 )； 勾引； 诱使堕落； 使入迷 | |
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19
obedience
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| n.服从，顺从 | |
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20
wretch
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| n.可怜的人，不幸的人；卑鄙的人 | |
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21
citadel
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| n.城堡；堡垒；避难所 | |
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22
confinement
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| n.幽禁，拘留，监禁；分娩；限制，局限 | |
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23
inhale
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| v.吸入(气体等)，吸(烟) | |
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24
celebrated
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| adj.有名的，声誉卓著的 | |
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25
eloquence
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| n.雄辩；口才，修辞 | |
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26
accomplices
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| 从犯，帮凶，同谋( accomplice的名词复数 ) | |
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27
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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28
homage
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| n.尊敬，敬意，崇敬 | |
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29
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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30
linen
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| n.亚麻布，亚麻线，亚麻制品；adj.亚麻布制的，亚麻的 | |
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31
entreat
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| v.恳求，恳请 | |
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32
shudder
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| v.战粟，震动，剧烈地摇晃；n.战粟，抖动 | |
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33
plying
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| v.使用（工具）( ply的现在分词 )；经常供应（食物、饮料）；固定往来；经营生意 | |
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34
miscarriage
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| n.失败，未达到预期的结果；流产 | |
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35
discretion
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| n.谨慎；随意处理 | |
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36
consolation
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| n.安慰，慰问 | |
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37
allay
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| v.消除，减轻(恐惧、怀疑等) | |
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38
conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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39
concealing
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，遮住( conceal的现在分词 ) | |
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40
concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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41
inclination
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| n.倾斜；点头；弯腰；斜坡；倾度；倾向；爱好 | |
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42
soothe
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| v.安慰；使平静；使减轻；缓和；奉承 | |
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43
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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44
prescription
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| n.处方，开药；指示，规定 | |
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45
dishonour
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| n./vt.拒付（支票、汇票、票据等）；vt.凌辱，使丢脸；n.不名誉，耻辱，不光彩 | |
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46
alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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47
upbraiding
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| adj.& n.谴责（的）v.责备，申斥，谴责( upbraid的现在分词 ) | |
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48
stunned
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| adj. 震惊的，惊讶的 动词stun的过去式和过去分词 | |
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49
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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50
instinctively
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| adv.本能地 | |
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51
repentance
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| n.懊悔 | |
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52
oracle
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| n.神谕，神谕处，预言 | |
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53
oracles
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| 神示所( oracle的名词复数 )； 神谕； 圣贤； 哲人 | |
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54
propitious
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| adj.吉利的；顺利的 | |
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55
devour
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| v.吞没；贪婪地注视或谛听，贪读；使着迷 | |
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56
eldest
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| adj.最年长的，最年老的 | |
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57
pangs
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| 突然的剧痛( pang的名词复数 )； 悲痛 | |
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58
broth
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| n.原(汁)汤(鱼汤、肉汤、菜汤等) | |
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59
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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60
lavished
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| v.过分给予，滥施( lavish的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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61
caresses
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| 爱抚，抚摸( caress的名词复数 ) | |
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62
retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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63
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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64
innocence
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| n.无罪；天真；无害 | |
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65
fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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66
exult
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| v.狂喜，欢腾；欢欣鼓舞 | |
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67
recluse
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| n.隐居者 | |
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68
mingle
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| vt.使混合，使相混；vi.混合起来；相交往 | |
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69
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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70
gondola
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| n.威尼斯的平底轻舟；飞船的吊船 | |
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71
remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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72
inmates
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| n.囚犯( inmate的名词复数 ) | |
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73
novice
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| adj.新手的，生手的 | |
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74
enigma
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| n.谜，谜一样的人或事 | |
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75
virgin
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| n.处女，未婚女子；adj.未经使用的；未经开发的 | |
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76
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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77
misanthropic
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| adj.厌恶人类的，憎恶（或蔑视）世人的；愤世嫉俗 | |
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78
entreated
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| 恳求，乞求( entreat的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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79
abstain
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| v.自制，戒绝，弃权，避免 | |
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80
chattering
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| n. （机器振动发出的）咔嗒声，(鸟等)鸣，啁啾 adj. 喋喋不休的，啾啾声的 动词chatter的现在分词形式 | |
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81
contriving
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| （不顾困难地）促成某事( contrive的现在分词 )； 巧妙地策划，精巧地制造（如机器）； 设法做到 | |
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82
literally
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| adv.照字面意义，逐字地；确实 | |
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83
partnership
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| n.合作关系，伙伴关系 | |
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84
matador
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| n.斗牛士 | |
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85
tyrants
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| 专制统治者( tyrant的名词复数 )； 暴君似的人； （古希腊的）僭主； 严酷的事物 | |
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86
betokened
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| v.预示，表示( betoken的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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87
extravagant
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| adj.奢侈的；过分的；(言行等)放肆的 | |
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88
gallant
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| adj.英勇的，豪侠的；(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
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89
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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90
implicating
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| vt.牵涉，涉及（implicate的现在分词形式） | |
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91
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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92
appreciation
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| n.评价；欣赏；感谢；领会，理解；价格上涨 | |
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93
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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94
restriction
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| n.限制，约束 | |
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95
penetrating
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| adj.（声音）响亮的，尖锐的adj.（气味）刺激的adj.（思想）敏锐的，有洞察力的 | |
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96
severely
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| adv.严格地；严厉地；非常恶劣地 | |
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97
specious
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| adj.似是而非的；adv.似是而非地 | |
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98
detest
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| vt.痛恨，憎恶 | |
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99
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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100
incognito
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| adv.匿名地；n.隐姓埋名；adj.化装的，用假名的，隐匿姓名身份的 | |
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101
sublime
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| adj.崇高的，伟大的；极度的，不顾后果的 | |
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102
bestowed
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| 赠给，授予( bestow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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103
feigned
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| a.假装的，不真诚的 | |
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104
indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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105
proceeding
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| n.行动，进行，(pl.)会议录，学报 | |
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106
repenting
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| 对（自己的所为）感到懊悔或忏悔( repent的现在分词 ) | |
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107
superannuated
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| adj.老朽的，退休的；v.因落后于时代而废除，勒令退学 | |
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108
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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109
virgins
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| 处女，童男( virgin的名词复数 )； 童贞玛利亚（耶稣之母） | |
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110
reverence
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| n.敬畏，尊敬，尊严；Reverence:对某些基督教神职人员的尊称；v.尊敬，敬畏，崇敬 | |
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111
revolve
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| vi.(使)旋转；循环出现 | |
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112
sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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113
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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114
condescend
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| v.俯就，屈尊；堕落，丢丑 | |
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115
complexion
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| n.肤色；情况，局面；气质，性格 | |
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116
voluptuousness
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| n.风骚，体态丰满 | |
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117
enamel
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| n.珐琅，搪瓷，瓷釉；(牙齿的)珐琅质 | |
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118
eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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119
chisel
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| n.凿子；v.用凿子刻，雕，凿 | |
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120
rendezvous
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| n.约会，约会地点，汇合点；vi.汇合，集合；vt.使汇合，使在汇合地点相遇 | |
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121
delicacy
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| n.精致，细微，微妙，精良；美味，佳肴 | |
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122
witty
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| adj.机智的，风趣的 | |
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