Lucia aroused herself, on feeling the carriage stop, and, awaking from a kind of lethargy, was seized with renewed terror, as she wildly gazed around her. Nibbio had pushed himself back on the seat, and the old woman, with her chin resting on the door, was looking at Lucia, and saying, ‘Come, my good girl; come, you poor thing; come with me, for I have orders to treat you well, and try to comfort you.’
At the sound of a female voice, the poor girl felt a ray of comfort — a momentary2 flash of courage; but she quickly relapsed into still more terrible fears. ‘Who are you?’ asked she, in a trembling voice, fixing her astonished gaze on the old woman’s face.
‘Come, come, you poor creature,’ was the unvaried answer she received. Nibbio, and his two companions, gathering3 from the words, and the unusually softened4 tones of the old hag, what were intentions of their lord, endeavoured, by kind and soothing5 words, to persuade the unhappy girl to obey. She only continued, however, to stare wildly around; and though the unknown and savage6 character of the place, and the close guardianship7 of her keepers, forbade her indulging a hope of relief, she nevertheless, attempted to cry out; but seeing Nibbio cast a glance towards the handkerchief, she stopped, trembled, gave a momentary shudder9, and was then seized, and placed in the litter. The old woman entered after her;333 Nibbio left the other two villains10 to follow behind as an escort, while he himself took the shortest ascent11 to attend to the call of his master.
‘Who are you?’ anxiously demanded Lucia of her unknown and ugly-visaged companion: ‘Why am I with you? Where am I? Where are you taking me?’
‘To one who wishes to do you good,’ replied the aged12 dame13; ‘to a great . . . Happy are they to whom he wishes good! You are very lucky, I can tell you. Don’t be afraid — be cheerful; he bid me try to encourage you. You’ll tell him, won’t you, that I tried to comfort you?’
‘Who is he? — why? — what does he want with me? I don’t belong to him! Tell me where I am! let me go! bid these people let me go — bid them carry me to some church. Oh! you who are a woman, in the name of Mary the Virgin15! . . . ’
This holy and soothing name, once repeated with veneration16 in her early years, and now for so long a time uninvoked, and, perhaps, unheard, produced in the mind of the unhappy creature, on again reaching her ear, a strange, confused, and distant recollection, like the remembrance of light and form in an aged person, who has been blind from infancy17.
In the meanwhile, the Unnamed, standing18 at the door of his castle, was looking downwards19, and watching the litter, as before he had watched the carriage, while it slowly ascended20, step by step; Nibbio rapidly advancing before it at a distance which every moment became greater. When he had at length attained21 the summit, ‘Come this way,’ cried the Signor; and taking the lead, he entered the castle, and went into one of the apartments.
‘Well?’ said he, making a stand.
‘Everything exactly right,’ replied Nibbio, with a profound obeisance22; ‘the intelligence in time, the girl in time, nobody on the spot, only one scream, nobody attracted by it, the coachman ready, the horses swift, nobody met with: but . . . ’
‘But what?’
‘But . . . I will tell the truth; I would rather have been commanded to shoot her in the back, without hearing her speak — without seeing her face.’
‘What? . . . what? . . . what do you mean?’
‘I mean that all this time . . . all this time . . . I have felt too much compassion23 for her.’
‘Compassion! What do you know of compassion? What is compassion?’
‘I never understood so well what it was as this time; it is something that rather resembles fear; let it once take possession of you, and you are no longer a man.’
‘Let me hear a little of what she did to excite your compassion.’
‘O, most noble Signor! such a time! . . . weeping, praying, and looking at one with such eyes! and becoming pale as death! and then sobbing24, and praying again, and certain words . . . ’
— I won’t have this creature in my house — thought the Unnamed, meanwhile, to himself. — In an evil hour, I engaged to do it; but I’ve promised — I’ve promised. When she’s far away . . . And raising his face with an imperious air towards Nibbio, ‘Now, said he, ‘you must lay aside compassion, mount your horse, take a companion — two, if you like — and ride away, till you get to the palace of this Don Rodrigo, you know. Tell him to send immediately . . . immediately, or else . . . ’
But another internal no, more imperative25 than the first, prohibited his finishing. ‘No,’ said he, in a resolute26 tone, almost, as it were, to express to himself the command of this secret voice. ‘No: go and take some rest; and to-morrow morning . . . you shall do as I will tell you.’
— This girl must have some demon27 of her own — thought he, when left alone, standing with his arms crossed on his breast, and his gaze fixed28 upon a spot on the floor, where the rays of the moon, entering through a lofty window, traced out a square of pale light, chequered like a draught-board by the massive iron bars, and more minutely divided into smaller compartments29 by the little panes30 of glass. — Some demon, or . . . some angel who protects her . . . Compassion in Nibbio! . . . To-morrow morning — to-morrow morning, early she must be off from this; she must go to her place of destination; and she shall not be spoken of again, and — continued he to himself, with the resolution with which one gives a command to a rebellious32 child, knowing that it will not be obeyed — and she shall not be thought of again, either. That animal of a Don Rodrigo must not come to pester33 me with thanks; for . . . I don’t want to hear her spoken of any more. I have served him because . . . because I promised; and I promised, because . . . it was my destiny. But I’m determined34 the fellow shall pay me well for this piece of service. Let me see a little . . . —
And he tried to devise some intricate undertaking36, to impose upon Don Rodrigo by way of compensation, and almost as a punishment; but the words again shot across his mind — Compassion in Nibbio! — What can this girl have done? — continued he, following out the thought; — I must see her. Yet no — yes, I will see her. —
He went from one room to another, came to the foot of a flight of stairs, and irresolutely37 ascending38, proceeded to the old woman’s apartment; here he knocked with his foot at the door.
‘Who’s there?’
‘Open the door.’
The old woman made three bounds at the sound of his voice; the bolt was quickly heard grating harshly in the staples39, and the door was thrown wide open. The Unnamed cast a glance round the room, as he paused in the doorway41; and by the light of a lamp which stood on a three-legged table, discovered Lucia crouched42 down on the floor, in the corner farthest from the entrance.
‘Who bid you throw her there, like a bag of rags, you uncivil old beldame?’ said he to the aged matron, with an angry frown.
‘She chose it herself,’ replied she, in an humble43 tone. ‘I’ve done my best to encourage her; she can tell you so herself; but she won’t mind me.’
Get up,’ said he to Lucia, approaching her. But she, whose already terrified mind had experienced a fresh and mysterious addition to her terror at the knocking, the opening of the door, his footstep, and his voice, only gathered herself still closer into the corner, and, with her face buried in her hands, remained perfectly44 motionless, excepting that she trembled from head to foot.
‘Get up,’ I will do you no harm . . . and I can do you some good,’ repeated the Signor . . . ‘Get up!’ thundered he forth45 at last, irritated at having twice commanded in vain.
As if invigorated by fear, the unhappy girl instantly raised herself upon her knees, and joining her hands, as she would have knelt before a sacred image, lifted her eyes to the face of the Unnamed, and instantly dropping them said: `Here I am, kill me if you will.’
`I have told you I would do you no harm,’ replied the Unnamed, in a softened tone, gazing at her agonized46 features of grief and terror.
‘Courage, courage,’ said the old woman; ‘if he himself tells you he will do you no harm . . . ’
‘And why,’ rejoined Lucia, with a voice in which the daringness of despairing indignation was mingled47 with the tremor48 of fear, ‘why make me suffer the agonies of hell? What have I done to you? . . . ’
‘Perhaps they have treated you badly? Tell me . . . ’
‘Treated me badly! They have seized me by treachery — by force! Why — why have they seized me? Why am I here? Where am I? I am a poor harmless girl. What have I done to you? In the name of God . . . ’
‘God, God!’ interrupted the Unnamed, ‘always God! They who cannot defend themselves — who have not the strength to do it, must always bring forward this God, as if they had spoken to him. What do you expect by this word? To make me? . . . ’ and he left the sentence unfinished.
‘O Signor, expect! What can a poor girl like me expect, except that you should have mercy upon me? God pardons so many sins for one deed of mercy. Let me go; for charity’s sake, let me go. It will do no good to one who must die, to make a poor creature suffer thus. Oh! you who can give the command, bid them let me go! They brought me here by force. Bid them send me again with this woman, and take me to . . ., where my mother is. Oh! most holy Virgin! My mother! my mother! — for pity’s sake, my mother. Perhaps she is not far from here . . . I saw my mountains. Why do you give me all this suffering? Bid them take me to a church; I will pray for you all my life. What will it cost you to say one word? Oh, see! you are moved to pity: say one word, oh say it! God pardons so many sins for one deed of mercy!’
— Oh, why isn’t she the daughter of one of the rascally49 dogs that outlawed50 me! — thought the Unnamed; — of one of the villains who wish me dead; then I should enjoy her sufferings; but instead . . . —
‘Don’t drive away a good inspiration!’ continued Lucia, earnestly, reanimated by seeing a certain air of hesitation51 in the countenance52 and behaviour of her oppressor. ‘If you don’t grant me this mercy, the Lord will do it for me. I shall die, and all will be over with me; but you . . . Perhaps, some day, even you . . . But no, no; I will always pray the Lord to keep you from every evil. What will it cost you to say one word? If you knew what it was to suffer this agony! . . . ’
‘Come, take courage’ interrupted the Unnamed, with a gentleness that astonished the old woman. ‘Have I done you any harm? Have I threatened you?’
‘Oh no! I see that you have a kind heart, and feel some pity for an unhappy creature. If you chose, you could terrify me more than all the others: you could kill me with fear; but instead of that, you have . . . rather lightened my heart; God will reward you for it. Finish your deed of mercy; set me free, set me free.’
‘To-morrow morning . . . ’
‘Oh! set me free now — now . . .
‘To-morrow morning, I will see you again, I say. Come, in the mean while, be of good courage. Take a little rest; you must want something to eat. They shall bring you something directly.’
‘No, no; I shall die, if anybody comes here; I shall die! Take me to a church . . . God will reward you for that step.’
‘A woman shall bring you something to eat,’ said the Unnamed; and having said so, he stood wondering at himself how such a remedy had entered his mind, and how the wish had arisen to seek a remedy for the sorrows of a poor humble villager.
‘And you,’ resumed he hastily, turning to the aged matron, ‘persuade her to eat something, and let her lie down to rest on this bed; and if she is willing to have you as a companion, well; if not, you can sleep well enough for one night on the floor. Encourage her, I say, and keep her cheerful. Beware that she has no cause to complain of you.’
So saying, he moved quickly towards the door. Lucia sprang up, and ran to detain him, and renew her entreaties53, but he was gone.
‘Oh, poor me! Shut the door quickly.’ And having heard the door closed, and the bolt again drawn54, she returned to seat herself in her corner. “Oh, poor me!’ repeated she, sobbing; ‘whom shall I implore55 now? Where am I? Do you tell me — tell me, for pity’s sake, who is this Signor . . . he who has been speaking to me?’
‘Who is he, eh? — who is he? Do you think I may tell you? Wait till he tells you himself. You are proud, because he protects you; and you want to be satisfied, and make me your go-between. Ask him yourself. If I were to tell you this, I shouldn’t get the good words he has just given you. I am an old woman, an old woman,’ continued she, muttering between her teeth. ‘Hang these young folks, who may make a fine show of either laughing or crying, just as they like, and yet are always in the right.’ But hearing Lucia’s sobs56 and the commands of her master returning in a threatening manner to her memory, she stooped toward the poor crouching57 girl, and, in a gentler and more humane58 tone, resumed: ‘Come, I have said no harm to you; be cheerful. Don’t ask me questions which I’ve no business to answer; but pluck up heart, my good girl. Ah! if you knew how many people would be glad to hear him speak, as he has spoken to you! Be cheerful, for he will send you something to eat just now; and I know . . . by the way he spoke31, I’m sure it will be something good. And then you lie down, and . . . you will leave just a little corner for me,’ added she, with an accent of suppressed rancour.
‘I don’t want to eat, I don’t want to sleep. Let me alone; don’t come near me; but you won’t leave the room?’
‘No, no, not I,’ said the old woman, drawing back, and seating herself on an old arm-chair, whence she cast sundry59 glances of alarm, and at the same time of envy, towards the poor girl. Then she looked at the bed, vexed60 at the idea of being, perhaps, excluded from it for the whole night, and grumbling61 at the cold. But she comforted herself with the thoughts of supper, and with the hope that there might be some to spare for her. Lucia was sensible of neither cold nor hunger, and, almost as if deprived of her senses, had but a confused idea of her very grief and terror, like the undefined objects seen by a delirious62 patient.
She roused herself, when she heard a knocking at the door; and raising her head, exclaimed, in much alarm, ‘Who’s there? — who’s there? Don’t let any one in!’
‘Nobody, nobody; good news!’ said the old woman; ‘it’s Martha bringing something to eat.’
‘Shut the door, shut the door!’ cried Lucia.
‘Ay, directly,’ replied the old woman; and taking a basket out of Martha’s hand, she hastily nodded to her, shut the door, and came and set the basket on a table, in the middle of the room. She then repeatedly invited Lucia to come and partake of the tempting63 repast, and employing words, which, according to her ideas, were most likely to be efficacious in restoring the poor girl’s appetite, broke forth into exclamations64 on the excellence65 of the food; —‘Morsels which, when common people have once got a taste, they don’t forget in a hurry! Wine, which her master drank with his friends . . . when any of them happened to arrive . . . and they wanted to be merry! Hem14!’ But seeing that all these charms produced no effect —‘It is you who won’t eat,’ said she. ‘Don’t you be saying to-morrow that I didn’t try to persuade you. I’ll eat something, however; and then there’ll be more than enough left for you, when you come to your senses, and are willing to do you as are bid.’ So saying, she applied66 herself with avidity to the refreshments67. When she had satisfied herself, she rose, advanced towards the corner, and bending over Lucia, again invited her to take something, and then lie down.
‘No, no, I don’t want anything,’ replied she, with a feeble and almost drowsy68 voice. Then with more energy she continued; ‘Is the door locked? — is it well secured?’ And having looked around, she rose, and feeling with her hands, walked with a suspicious step towards the door.
The old woman sprang thither69 before her, stretched out her hand to the lock, seized the handle, shook it, rattled70 the bolt, and made it grate against the staple40 that received and secured it. ‘Do you hear? — do you see? — is it well locked? Are you content now?’
‘Oh, content! I content here!’ said Lucia, again arranging herself in her corner. ‘But the Lord knows I’m here!’
‘Come to bed; what would you do there, crouching like a dog? Did ever anybody see a person refuse comforts, when he could get them?’
‘No, no; let me alone.’
‘Well, it’s your own wish. See, I’ll leave you the best place; I’m lying here on the very edge; I shall be uncomfortable enough, for your sake. If you want to come to bed, you know what you have to do. Remember, I’ve asked you very often.’ So saying, she crept, dressed as she was, under the counterpane, and soon all was silent.
Lucia remained motionless, shrunk up into the corner, her knees drawn close to her breast, her hands resting on her knees, and her face buried in her hands. She was neither asleep nor awake, but worn out with a rapid succession — a tumultuous alternation, of thoughts, anticipations71, and heart-throbbings. Recalled, in some degree, to consciousness, and recollecting72 more distinctly the horrors she had seen and suffered that terrible day, she would now dwell mournfully on the dark and formidable realities in which she found herself involved; then, her mind being carried onward74 into a still more obscure region, she had to struggle against the phantoms75 conjured76 up by uncertainty77 and terror. In this distressing78 state she continued for a long time, which we would here prefer to pass over rapidly; but at length, exhausted79 and overcome, she relaxed her hold on her benumbed limbs, and sinking at full length upon the floor, remained for some time in a state closely resembling real sleep. But suddenly awaking, as at some inward call, she tried to arouse herself completely, to regain80 her scattered81 senses, and to remember where she was, and how, and why. She listened to some sound that caught her ear; it was the slow, deep breathing of the old woman. She opened her eyes, and saw a faint light, now glimmering82 for a moment, and then again dying away: it was the wick of the lamp, which, almost ready to expire, emitted a tremulous gleam, and quickly drew it back, so to say, like the ebb83 and flow of a wave on the sea-shore; and thus, withdrawing from the surrounding objects ere there was time to display them in distinct colouring and relief, it merely presented to the eye a succession of confused and indistinct glimpses. But the recent impressions she had received quickly returned to her mind, and assisted her in distinguishing what appeared so disorderly to her visual-organs. When fully73 aroused, the unhappy girl recognized her prison; all the recollections of the hor-rible day that was fled, all the uncertain terrors of the future, rushed at once upon her mind: the very calm in which she now found herself after so much agitation84, the sort of repose85 she had just tasted, the desertion in which she was left, all combined to inspire her with new dread86, till, overcome by alarm, she earnestly longed for death. But at this juncture87, she remembered that she could still pray; and with that thought there seemed to shine forth a sudden ray of comfort. She once more took out her rosary, and began to repeat the prayers; and in proportion as the words fell from her trembling lips she felt an indefinite confiding88 faith taking possession of her heart. Suddenly another thought rushed into her mind, that her prayer might, perhaps, be more readily accepted, and more certainly heard, if she were to make some offering in her desolate89 condition. She tried to remember what she most prized, or rather, what she had once most prized; for at this moment her heart could feel no other affection than that of fear, nor conceive any other desire than that of deliverance. She did remember it, and resolved at once to make the sacrifice. Rising upon her knees, and clasping her hands, from whence the rosary was suspended before her breast, she raised her face and eyes to heaven, and said, ‘O most holy Virgin! thou to whom I have so often recommended myself, and who hast so often comforted me! — thou who hast borne so many sorrows, and art now so glorious! — thou who hast wrought90 so many miracles for the poor and afflicted91, help me! Bring me out of this danger; bring me safely to my mother, O Mother of our Lord; and I vow92 unto thee to continue a virgin! I renounce93 for ever my unfortunate betrothed94, that from henceforth I may belong only to thee!’
Having uttered these words, show bowed her head, and placed the beads95 around her neck, almost as a token of her consecration96, and, at the same time, as a safeguard, a part of the armour97 for the new warfare98 to which she had devoted99 herself. Seating herself again on the floor, a king of tranquillity100, a more childlike reliance, gradually diffused101 themselves over her soul. The to-morrow morning, repeated by the unknown nobleman, came to her mind, and seemed to her ear to convey a promise of deliverance. Her senses, wearied by such struggles, gradually gave way before these soothing thoughts; until at length, towards day-break, and with the name of her pro-tectress upon her lips, Lucia sank into a profound and unbroken sleep.
But in this same castle there was one who would willingly have followed her example, yet who tried in vain. After departing, or rather escaping, from Lucia, giving orders for her supper, and paying his customary visits to several posts in his castle, with her image ever vividly102 before his eyes, and her words resounding103 in his ears, the nobleman had hastily retired104 to his chamber105, impetuously shut the door behind him, and hurriedly undressing, had lain down. But that image, which now more closely than ever haunted his mind, seemed at that moment to say: ‘Thou shalt not sleep!’— What absurd womanly curiosity tempted8 me to go see her? — thought he. — That fool of a Nibbio was right: one is no longer a man; yes, one is no longer a man! . . . I? . . . am I no longer a man? What has happened? What devil has got possession of me? What is there new in all this? Didn’t I know, before now, that women always weep and implore? Even men do sometimes, when they have not the power to rebel. What the ——! have I never heard women cry before? —
And here, without giving himself much trouble to task his memory, it suggested to him, of its own accord, more than one instance in which neither entreaties nor lamentations availed to deter35 him from the completion of enterprises upon which he had once resolved. But these remembrances, instead of inspiring him with the courage he now needed to prosecute106 his present design as it would seem he expected and wished they might, instead of helping107 to dispel108 his feelings of compassion, only added to them those of terror and consternation109, until they compelled him to return to that first image of Lucia, against which he had been seeking to fortify110 his courage. — She still lives — said he:— She is here; I am in time; I can yet say to her, Go, and be happy; I can yet see that countenance change; I can even say, Forgive me . . . Forgive me? I ask forgiveness? And of a woman, too? I? . . . Ah, however! if one word, one such word could do me good, could rid me of the demon that now possesses me, I would say it; yes, I feel that I would say it. To what am I reduced! I’m no longer a man; surely, no longer a man! . . . Away! — said he, turning himself with impetuosity on the couch which had now become so hard, under the covering which had now be-come so intolerable a weight:— Away! these are fooleries which have many a time passed through my head. This will take its flight too. —
And to effect such a riddance, he began seeking some important subject, some of the many which often so busily occupied his mind, in hopes he might be entirely111 engrossed112 by it; but he sought in vain. All appeared changed: that which once most urgently stimulated113 his desires, now no longer possessed114 any charms for him: his passions, like a steed suddenly become restive115 at the sight of a shadow, refused to carry him any further. In reflecting on enterprises engaged in, and not yet concluded, instead of animating116 himself to their completion, and feeling irritated at the obstacles interposed, (for anger at this moment would have been sweet to him,) he felt regret, nay117, almost consternation, at the steps already taken. His life presented itself to his mind devoid118 of all interest, deprived of all will, divested119 of every action, and only laden120 with insupportable recollections; every hour resembling that which now rolled so slowly and heavily over his head. He drew out before his fancy all his ruffians in a kind of battle-array, and could contrive121 nothing of importance in which to employ one of them; nay, the very idea of seeing them again, and mixing among them, was an additional weight, a fresh object of annoyance122 and detestation. And when he sought an occupation for the morrow, a feasible employment, he could only remember that on the morrow, he might liberate123 his unfortunate prisoner.
— I will set her free; yes, I will. I will fly to her by day-break, and bid her depart safely. She shall be accompanied by . . . And my promise? My engagement? Don Rodrigo? . . . Who is Don Rodrigo? —
Like one suddenly surprised by an unexpected and embarrassing question from a superior, the Unnamed hastily sought for an answer to the query124 he had just put to himself, or rather which had been suggested to him by that new voice which had all at once made itself heard, and sprung up to be, as it were, a judge of his former self. He tried to imagine any reasons which could have induced him, almost before being requested, to engage in inflicting125 so much suffering, without any incentives126 of hatred127 or fear, on a poor un-known creature, only to render a service to this man; but instead of succeeding in discovering such motives128 as he would now have deemed sufficient to excuse the deed, he could not even imagine how he had ever been induced to undertake it. The willingness, rather than the determination to do so, had been the instantaneous impulse of a mind obedient to its old and habitual129 feelings, the consequence of a thousand antecedent actions; and to account for this one deed, the unhappy self-examiner found himself involved in an examination of his whole life. Backwards130 from year to year, from engagement to engagement, from bloodshed to bloodshed, from crime to crime, each one stood before his conscience-stricken soul, divested of the feelings which had induced him to will and commit it, and therefore appearing in all its monstrousness131, which those feelings had, at the time, prevented his perceiving. They were all his own, they made up himself; and the horror of this thought, renewed with each fresh remembrance, and cleaving132 to all, increased at last to desperation. He sprang up impetuously in his bed, eagerly stretched out his hand towards the wall at his side, touched a pistol, grasped it, reached it down, and . . . at the moment of finishing a life which had become insupportable, his thoughts, seized with terror and a (so to say) superstitious133 dread, rushed forward to the time which would still continue to flow on after his end. He pictured with horror his disfigured corpse134, lying motionless, and in the power of his vilest135 survivor136; the astonishment137, the confusion of the castle in the morning: everything turned upside down; and he, powerless and voiceless, thrown aside, he knew not whither. He fancied the reports that would be spread, the conversations to which it would give rise, both in the castle, the neighbourhood, and at a distance, together with the rejoicings of his enemies. The darkness and silence around him presented death in a still more mournful and frightful138 aspect; it seemed to him that he would not have hesitated in open day, out of doors, and in the presence of spectators, to throw himself into the water, and vanish. Absorbed in such tormenting139 reflections, he continued alternately snapping and unsnapping the cock of his pistol with a convulsive movement of his thumb, when another thought flashed across his mind. — If this other life, of which they told me when I was a boy, of which everybody talks now, as if it were a certain thing, if there be not such a thing, if it be an invention of the priests; what am I doing? why should I die? what matters all that I have done? what matters it? It is an absurdity140, my . . . But if there really be another life! . . . —
At such a doubt, at such a risk, he was seized with a blacker and deeper despair, from which even death afforded no escape. He dropped the pistol, and lay with his fingers twined among his hair, his teeth chattering141, and trembling in every limb. Suddenly the words he had heard repeated a few hours before rose to his remembrance:— God pardons so many sins for one deed of mercy! — They did not come to him with that tone of humble supplication142 in which they had been pronounced; they came with a voice of authority, which at the same time excited a distant glimmering of hope. It was a moment of relief: he raised his hands from his temples, and, in a more composed attitude, fixed his mind’s eye on her who had uttered the words; she seemed to him no longer like his prisoner and suppliant143, but in the posture144 of one who dispenses145 mercy and consolation146. He anxiously awaited the dawn of day, that he might fly to liberate her, and to hear from her lips other words of alleviation147 and life, and even thought of conducting her himself to her mother. — And then? what shall I do to-morrow for the rest of the day? What shall I do the day after to-morrow? And the day after that again? And at night? the night which will return in twelve hours? Oh, the night! no, no, the night! — And falling again into the weary void of the future, he sought in vain for some employment of time, some way of living through the days and nights. One moment he proposed leaving his castle, and going into some distant country, where he had never been known or heard of; but he felt that he should carry himself with him. Then a dark hope would arise that he should resume his former courage and inclinations148, and that this would prove only a transient delirium149. Now he dreaded150 the light which would show him to his followers151 so miserably152 changed; then he longed for it, as if it would bring light also to his gloomy thoughts. And, lo! about break of day, a few moments after Lucia had fallen asleep, while he was seated motionless in his bed, a floating and confused murmur153 reached his ear, bringing with it something joyous154 and festive155 in its sound. Assuming a listening posture, he distin-guished a distant chiming of bells; and, giving still more attention, could hear the mountain echo, every now and then, languidly repeating the harmony, and mingling156 itself with it. Immediately afterwards his ear caught another, and still nearer peal157: then another, and another. — What rejoicings are these? What are they all so merry about? What is their cause of gladness? — He sprang from his bed of thorns; and, half-dressing himself in haste, went to the window, threw up the sash, and looked out. The mountains were still wrapt in gloom; the sky was not so much cloudy, as composed of one entire lead-coloured cloud; but by the already glimmering light of day, he distinguished158 in the road, at the bottom of the valley, numbers of people passing eagerly along — some leaving their dwellings159 and moving on with the crowd, and all taking the same direction towards the outlet160 of the vale on the right of the castle; he could even distinguish the joyous bearing and holiday dress of the passengers. — What the —— is the matter with these people? What cause of merriment can there be in this cursed neighbourhood? — And calling a confidential161 bravo who slept in the adjoining room, he asked him what was the cause of this movement. The man replied that he knew no more than his master, but would go directly to make inquiry162. The Signor remained with his eyes riveted163 upon the moving spectacle, which increasing day rendered every moment more distinct. He watched crowds pass by, and new crowds constantly appear; men, women, children, in groups, in couples, or alone; one, overtaking another who was before him, walked in company with him; another, just leaving his door, accompanied the first he fell in with by the way; and so they proceeded together, like friends in a preconcerted journey. Their behaviour evidently indicated a common haste and joy; and the unharmonious, but simultaneous burst of the different chimes, some more, some less contiguous and distinct, seemed, so to say, the common voice of these gestures, and a supplement to the words which could not reach him from below. He looked and looked, till he felt more than common curiosity to know what could communicate so unanimous a will, so general a festivity, to so many different people.
点击
收听单词发音
收听单词发音 |
1
beckoned
|
|
| v.（用头或手的动作）示意，召唤( beckon的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
momentary
|
|
| adj.片刻的，瞬息的；短暂的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
gathering
|
|
| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
softened
|
|
| （使）变软( soften的过去式和过去分词 )； 缓解打击； 缓和； 安慰 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
soothing
|
|
| adj.慰藉的；使人宽心的；镇静的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
savage
|
|
| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
guardianship
|
|
| n. 监护, 保护, 守护 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
tempted
|
|
| v.怂恿（某人）干不正当的事；冒…的险（tempt的过去分词） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
shudder
|
|
| v.战粟，震动，剧烈地摇晃；n.战粟，抖动 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
villains
|
|
| n.恶棍( villain的名词复数 )；罪犯；（小说、戏剧等中的）反面人物；淘气鬼 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
ascent
|
|
| n.(声望或地位)提高；上升，升高；登高 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
aged
|
|
| adj.年老的，陈年的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
dame
|
|
| n.女士 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
hem
|
|
| n.贴边，镶边；vt.缝贴边；(in)包围，限制 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
virgin
|
|
| n.处女，未婚女子；adj.未经使用的；未经开发的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
veneration
|
|
| n.尊敬，崇拜 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
infancy
|
|
| n.婴儿期；幼年期；初期 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
standing
|
|
| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
downwards
|
|
| adj./adv.向下的（地），下行的（地） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
ascended
|
|
| v.上升，攀登( ascend的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
attained
|
|
| （通常经过努力）实现( attain的过去式和过去分词 )； 达到； 获得； 达到（某年龄、水平、状况） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
obeisance
|
|
| n.鞠躬，敬礼 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
compassion
|
|
| n.同情，怜悯 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
sobbing
|
|
| <主方>Ⅰ adj.湿透的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
imperative
|
|
| n.命令，需要；规则；祈使语气；adj.强制的；紧急的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
resolute
|
|
| adj.坚决的，果敢的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
demon
|
|
| n.魔鬼，恶魔 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
fixed
|
|
| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
compartments
|
|
| n.间隔( compartment的名词复数 )；（列车车厢的）隔间；（家具或设备等的）分隔间；隔层 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
panes
|
|
| 窗玻璃( pane的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
spoke
|
|
| 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 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
rebellious
|
|
| adj.造反的，反抗的，难控制的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
pester
|
|
| v.纠缠，强求 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
determined
|
|
| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
deter
|
|
| vt.阻止，使不敢，吓住 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
undertaking
|
|
| n.保证，许诺，事业 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
irresolutely
|
|
| adv.优柔寡断地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
ascending
|
|
| adj.上升的，向上的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
staples
|
|
| n.（某国的）主要产品( staple的名词复数 )；钉书钉；U 形钉；主要部份v.用钉书钉钉住( staple的第三人称单数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
staple
|
|
| n.主要产物，常用品，主要要素，原料，订书钉，钩环；adj.主要的，重要的；vt.分类 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
doorway
|
|
| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
crouched
|
|
| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
humble
|
|
| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
perfectly
|
|
| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
forth
|
|
| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
agonized
|
|
| v.使（极度）痛苦，折磨( agonize的过去式和过去分词 )；苦斗；苦苦思索；感到极度痛苦 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
mingled
|
|
| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
tremor
|
|
| n.震动，颤动，战栗，兴奋，地震 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
rascally
|
|
| adj. 无赖的，恶棍的 adv. 无赖地，卑鄙地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
outlawed
|
|
| 宣布…为不合法（outlaw的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
51
hesitation
|
|
| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
52
countenance
|
|
| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
53
entreaties
|
|
| n.恳求，乞求( entreaty的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
54
drawn
|
|
| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
55
implore
|
|
| vt.乞求，恳求，哀求 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
56
sobs
|
|
| 啜泣（声），呜咽（声）( sob的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
57
crouching
|
|
| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
58
humane
|
|
| adj.人道的，富有同情心的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
59
sundry
|
|
| adj.各式各样的，种种的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
60
vexed
|
|
| adj.争论不休的；（指问题等）棘手的；争论不休的问题；烦恼的v.使烦恼( vex的过去式和过去分词 )；使苦恼；使生气；详细讨论 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
61
grumbling
|
|
| adj. 喃喃鸣不平的, 出怨言的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
62
delirious
|
|
| adj.不省人事的，神智昏迷的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
63
tempting
|
|
| a.诱人的, 吸引人的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
64
exclamations
|
|
| n.呼喊( exclamation的名词复数 )；感叹；感叹语；感叹词 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
65
excellence
|
|
| n.优秀，杰出，(pl.)优点，美德 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
66
applied
|
|
| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
67
refreshments
|
|
| n.点心,便餐;(会议后的)简单茶点招 待 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
68
drowsy
|
|
| adj.昏昏欲睡的，令人发困的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
69
thither
|
|
| adv.向那里；adj.在那边的，对岸的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
70
rattled
|
|
| 慌乱的，恼火的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
71
anticipations
|
|
| 预期( anticipation的名词复数 )； 预测； （信托财产收益的）预支； 预期的事物 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
72
recollecting
|
|
| v.记起，想起( recollect的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
73
fully
|
|
| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
74
onward
|
|
| adj.向前的，前进的；adv.向前，前进，在先 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
75
phantoms
|
|
| n.鬼怪，幽灵( phantom的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
76
conjured
|
|
| 用魔术变出( conjure的过去式和过去分词 )； 祈求，恳求； 变戏法； （变魔术般地） 使…出现 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
77
uncertainty
|
|
| n.易变，靠不住，不确知，不确定的事物 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
78
distressing
|
|
| a.使人痛苦的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
79
exhausted
|
|
| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
80
regain
|
|
| vt.重新获得，收复，恢复 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
81
scattered
|
|
| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
82
glimmering
|
|
| n.微光，隐约的一瞥adj.薄弱地发光的v.发闪光，发微光( glimmer的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
83
ebb
|
|
| vi.衰退，减退；n.处于低潮，处于衰退状态 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
84
agitation
|
|
| n.搅动；搅拌；鼓动，煽动 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
85
repose
|
|
| v.(使)休息；n.安息 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
86
dread
|
|
| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
87
juncture
|
|
| n.时刻，关键时刻，紧要关头 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
88
confiding
|
|
| adj.相信人的，易于相信的v.吐露（秘密，心事等）( confide的现在分词 )；（向某人）吐露（隐私、秘密等） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
89
desolate
|
|
| adj.荒凉的，荒芜的；孤独的，凄凉的；v.使荒芜，使孤寂 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
90
wrought
|
|
| v.引起；以…原料制作；运转；adj.制造的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
91
afflicted
|
|
| 使受痛苦，折磨( afflict的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
92
vow
|
|
| n.誓(言)，誓约；v.起誓，立誓 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
93
renounce
|
|
| v.放弃；拒绝承认，宣布与…断绝关系 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
94
betrothed
|
|
| n. 已订婚者 动词betroth的过去式和过去分词 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
95
beads
|
|
| n.（空心）小珠子( bead的名词复数 )；水珠；珠子项链 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
96
consecration
|
|
| n.供献，奉献，献祭仪式 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
97
armour
|
|
| （=armor）n.盔甲；装甲部队 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
98
warfare
|
|
| n.战争(状态)；斗争；冲突 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
99
devoted
|
|
| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
100
tranquillity
|
|
| n. 平静, 安静 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
101
diffused
|
|
| 散布的，普及的，扩散的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
102
vividly
|
|
| adv.清楚地，鲜明地，生动地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
103
resounding
|
|
| adj. 响亮的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
104
retired
|
|
| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
105
chamber
|
|
| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
106
prosecute
|
|
| vt.告发；进行；vi.告发，起诉，作检察官 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
107
helping
|
|
| n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的，辅助的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
108
dispel
|
|
| vt.驱走，驱散，消除 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
109
consternation
|
|
| n.大为吃惊，惊骇 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
110
fortify
|
|
| v.强化防御，为…设防；加强，强化 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
111
entirely
|
|
| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
112
engrossed
|
|
| adj.全神贯注的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
113
stimulated
|
|
| a.刺激的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
114
possessed
|
|
| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
115
restive
|
|
| adj.不安宁的，不安静的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
116
animating
|
|
| v.使有生气( animate的现在分词 )；驱动；使栩栩如生地动作；赋予…以生命 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
117
nay
|
|
| adv.不；n.反对票，投反对票者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
118
devoid
|
|
| adj.全无的，缺乏的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
119
divested
|
|
| v.剥夺( divest的过去式和过去分词 )；脱去（衣服）；2。从…取去…；1。（给某人）脱衣服 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
120
laden
|
|
| adj.装满了的；充满了的；负了重担的；苦恼的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
121
contrive
|
|
| vt.谋划，策划；设法做到；设计，想出 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
122
annoyance
|
|
| n.恼怒，生气，烦恼 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
123
liberate
|
|
| v.解放，使获得自由，释出，放出；vt.解放，使获自由 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
124
query
|
|
| n.疑问，问号，质问；vt.询问，表示怀疑 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
125
inflicting
|
|
| 把…强加给，使承受，遭受( inflict的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
126
incentives
|
|
| 激励某人做某事的事物( incentive的名词复数 )； 刺激； 诱因； 动机 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
127
hatred
|
|
| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
128
motives
|
|
| n.动机，目的( motive的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
129
habitual
|
|
| adj.习惯性的；通常的，惯常的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
130
backwards
|
|
| adv.往回地，向原处，倒，相反，前后倒置地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
131
monstrousness
|
|
| 怪异 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
|
132
cleaving
|
|
| v.劈开，剁开，割开( cleave的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
133
superstitious
|
|
| adj.迷信的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
134
corpse
|
|
| n.尸体，死尸 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
135
vilest
|
|
| adj.卑鄙的( vile的最高级 )；可耻的；极坏的；非常讨厌的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
|
136
survivor
|
|
| n.生存者，残存者，幸存者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
137
astonishment
|
|
| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
138
frightful
|
|
| adj.可怕的；讨厌的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
139
tormenting
|
|
| 使痛苦的，使苦恼的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
140
absurdity
|
|
| n.荒谬，愚蠢；谬论 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
141
chattering
|
|
| 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 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
142
supplication
|
|
| n.恳求，祈愿，哀求 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
143
suppliant
|
|
| adj.哀恳的；n.恳求者，哀求者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
144
posture
|
|
| n.姿势，姿态，心态，态度；v.作出某种姿势 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
145
dispenses
|
|
| v.分配，分与；分配( dispense的第三人称单数 )；施与；配（药） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
146
consolation
|
|
| n.安慰，慰问 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
147
alleviation
|
|
| n. 减轻，缓和，解痛物 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
148
inclinations
|
|
| 倾向( inclination的名词复数 )； 倾斜； 爱好； 斜坡 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
149
delirium
|
|
| n. 神智昏迷,说胡话;极度兴奋 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
150
dreaded
|
|
| adj.令人畏惧的；害怕的v.害怕，恐惧，担心( dread的过去式和过去分词) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
151
followers
|
|
| 追随者( follower的名词复数 )； 用户； 契据的附面； 从动件 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
152
miserably
|
|
| adv.痛苦地；悲惨地；糟糕地；极度地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
153
murmur
|
|
| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
154
joyous
|
|
| adj.充满快乐的；令人高兴的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
155
festive
|
|
| adj.欢宴的，节日的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
156
mingling
|
|
| adj.混合的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
157
peal
|
|
| n.钟声；v.鸣响 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
158
distinguished
|
|
| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
159
dwellings
|
|
| n.住处，处所( dwelling的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
160
outlet
|
|
| n.出口/路；销路；批发商店；通风口；发泄 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
161
confidential
|
|
| adj.秘（机）密的，表示信任的，担任机密工作的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
162
inquiry
|
|
| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
163
riveted
|
|
| 铆接( rivet的过去式和过去分词 )； 把…固定住； 吸引； 引起某人的注意 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |