‘A strange visitor, my noble Lord — strange indeed!’
‘Who?’ asked the Cardinal.
‘No less a personage than the Signor . . . ’ replied the chaplain; and pronouncing the syllables4 with a very significant tone, he uttered the name which we cannot give to our readers. He then added: ‘He is here outside in person; and demands nothing less than to be introduced to your illustrious Grace.’
‘He!’ said the Cardinal, with an animated5 look, shutting his book, and rising from his seat; ‘let him come in! — let him come in directly!’
‘But . . . ’ rejoined the chaplain, without attempting to move, ‘your illustrious Lordship must surely be aware who he is: that outlaw6, that famous . . . ’
‘And is it not a most happy circumstance for a bishop7, that such a man should feel a wish to come and seek an interview with him?’
‘But . . . ’ insisted the chaplain, ‘we may never speak of certain things, because my Lord says that it is all nonsense: but, when it comes to the point, I think it is a duty . . . Zeal8 makes many enemies, my Lord; and we know positively9 that more than one ruffian has dared to boast that some day or other . . . ’
‘And what have they done?’ interrupted the Cardinal.
‘I say that this man is a plotter of mischief10, a desperate character, who holds correspondence with the most violent desperadoes, and who may be sent . . . ’
‘Oh, what discipline is this,’ again interrupted Federigo, smiling, ‘for the soldiers to exhort11 their general to cowardice12? then resuming a grave and thoughtful air, he continued: ‘Saint Carlo would not have deliberated whether he ought to receive such a man: he would have gone to seek him. Let him be admitted directly: he has already waited too long.’
The chaplain moved towards the door, saying in his heart:— There’s no remedy: these saints are all obstinate14. —
Having opened the door, and surveyed the room where the Signor and his companions were, he saw that the latter had crowded together on one side, where they sat whispering and cautiously peeping at their visitor, while he was left alone in one corner. The chaplain advanced towards him, eying him guardedly from head to foot, and wondering what weapons he might have hidden under that great coat; thinking, at the same time, that really, before admitting him, he ought at least to have proposed . . . but he could not resolve what to do. He approached him, saying: ‘His Grace waits for your Lordship. Will you be good enough to come with me?’ And as he preceded him through the little crowd, which instantly gave way for him, he kept casting glances on each side, which meant to say: What could I do? don’t you know yourselves that he always has his own way?
On reaching the apartment, the chaplain opened the door, and introduced the Unnamed. Federigo advanced to meet him with a happy and serene15 look, and his hand extended, as if to welcome an expected guest, at the same time making a sign to the chaplain to go out, which was immediately obeyed.
When thus left alone, they both stood for a moment silent and in suspense16, though from widely different feelings. The Unnamed, who had, as it were, been forcibly carried there by an inexplicable17 compulsion, rather than led by a determinate intention, now stood there, also as it were by compulsion, torn by two contending feelings: on the one side, a desire and confused hope of meeting with some alleviation18 of his inward torment19; on the other, a feeling of self-rebuked shame at having come thither20, like a penitent21, subdued22, and wretched, to confess himself guilty, and to make supplication23 to a man: he was at a loss for words, and, indeed, scarcely sought for them. Raising his eyes, however, to the Archbishop’s face, he became gradually filled with a feeling of veneration24, authoritative25, and at the same time soothing26; which, while it increased his confi-dence, gently subdued his haughtiness27, and, without offending his pride, compelled it to give way, and imposed silence.
The bearing of Federigo was, in fact, one which announced superiority, and, at the same time, excited love. It was naturally sedate28, and almost involuntarily commanding, his figure being not in the least bowed or wasted by age; while his solemn, yet sparkling eye, his open and thoughtful forehead, a kind of virginal floridness, which might be distinguished29 even among grey locks, paleness, and the traces of abstinence, meditation30, and labour: in short, all his features indicated that they had once possessed31 that which is most strictly32 entitled beauty. The habit of serious and benevolent33 thought, the inward peace of a long life, the love that he felt towards his fellow-creatures, and the uninterrupted enjoyment34 of an ineffable35 hope, had now substituted the beauty (so to say) of old age, which shone forth36 more attractively from the magnificent simplicity37 of the purple.
He fixed38, for a moment, on the countenance of the Unnamed, a penetrating39 look, long accustomed to gather from this index what was passing in the mind; and imagining he discovered, under that dark and troubled mien40, something every moment more corresponding with the hope he had conceived on the first announcement of such a visit, ‘Oh!’ cried he, in an animated voice, ‘what a welcome visit is this! and how thankful I ought to be to you for taking such a step, although it may convey to me a little reproof41!
‘Reproof!’ exclaimed the Signor, much surprised, but soothed42 by his words and manner, and glad that the Cardinal had broken the ice, and started some sort of conversation.
‘Certainly, it conveys to me a reproof,’ replied the Archbishop, ‘for allowing you to be beforehand with me when so often, and for so long a time, I might and ought to have come to you myself.’
‘You come to me! Do you know who I am? Did they deliver in my name rightly?’
‘And the happiness I feel, and which must surely be evident in my countenance, do you think I should feel it at the announcement and visit of a stranger? It is you who make me experience it; you, I say, whom I ought to have sought; you whom I have, at least, loved and wept over, and for whom I have so often prayed; you, among all my children, for each one I love from the bottom of my heart, whom I should most have desired to receive and embrace, if I had thought I might hope for such a thing. But God alone knows how to work wonders, and supplies the weakness and tardiness43 of His unworthy servants.’The Unnamed stood astonished at this warm reception, in language which corresponded so exactly with that which he had not yet expressed, nor, indeed, had fully45 determined46 to express; and, affected47, but exceedingly surprised, he remained silent. ‘Well! resumed Federigo, still more affectionately, ‘you have good news to tell me; and you keep me so long expecting it?’
‘Good news! I have hell in my heart; and can I tell you any good tidings? Tell me, if you know, what good news you can expect from such as I am?’
‘That God has touched your heart, and would make you His own,’ replied the Cardinal, calmly.
‘God! God! God! If I could see Him! If I could hear Him! Where is this God?’
‘Do you ask this? you? And who has Him nearer than you? Do you not feel Him in your heart, overcoming, agitating48 you, never leaving you at ease, and at the same time drawing you forward, presenting to your view a hope of tranquillity49 and consolation50, a consolation which shall be full and boundless51, as soon as you recognize Him, acknowledge, and implore52 Him?’
‘Oh, surely! there is something within that oppresses, that consumes me! But God! If this be God, if He be such as they say, what do you suppose He can do with me?’
These words were uttered with an accent of despair; but Federigo, with a solemn tone, as of calm inspiration, replied: ‘What can God do with you? What would He wish to make of you? A token of His power and goodness: He would acquire through you a glory, such as others could not give Him. The world has long cried out against you, hundreds and thousands of voices have declared their detestation of your deeds . . . ’ (The Unnamed shuddered53, and felt for a moment surprised at hearing such unusual language addressed to him, and still more surprised that he felt no anger, but rather, almost a relief.) ‘What glory,’ pursued Federigo, ‘will thus redound55 to God! They may be voices of alarm, of self-interest; of justice, perhaps — a justice so easy! so natural! Some perhaps, yea, too many, may be voices of envy of your wretched power; of your hitherto deplorable security of heart. But when you, yourself, rise up to condemn56 your past life, to become your own accuser, then! then, indeed, God will be glorified57! And you ask what God can do with you. Who am I, a poor mortal, that I can tell you what use such a Being may choose henceforth to make of you; how He can employ your impetuous will, your unwavering perseverance58, when He shall have animated and invigorated them with love, with hope, with repentance59? Who are you, weak man, that you should imagine yourself capable of devising and executing greater deeds of evil, than God can make you will and accomplish in the cause of good? What can God do with you? Pardon you! save you! finish in you the work of redemption! Are not these things noble and worthy44 of Him? Oh, just think! if I, an humble60 and feeble creature, so worthless and full of myself — I, such as I am, long so ardently61 for your salvation63, that, for its sake, I would joyfully65 give (and He is my witness!) the few days that still remain to me; oh, think what, and how great, must be the love of Him, Who inspires me with this imperfect, but ardent62 affection; how must He love you, what must He desire for you, Who has bid and enabled me to regard you with a charity that consumes me!’
While these words fell from his lips, his face, his expression, his whole manner, evinced his deep feeling of what he uttered. The countenance of his auditor66 changed, from a wild and convulsive look, first to astonishment67 and attention, and then gradually yielded to deeper and less painful emotions; his eyes, which from infancy68 had been unaccustomed to weep, became suffused69; and when the words ceased, he covered his face with his hands, and burst into a flood of tears. It was the only and most evident reply.
‘Great and good God!’ exclaimed Federigo, raising his hands and eyes to heaven, ‘what have I ever done, an unprofitable servant, an idle shepherd, that Thou shouldest call me to this banquet of grace! that Thou shouldest make me worthy of being an instrument in so joyful64 a miracle!’ So saying, he extended his hand to take that of the Unnamed.
‘No!’ cried the penitent nobleman; ‘no! keep away from me: defile70 not that innocent and beneficent hand. You don’t know all that the one you would grasp has committed.’
‘Suffer me,’ said Federigo, taking it with affectionate violence, ‘suffer me to press the hand which will repair so many wrongs, dispense71 so many benefits, comfort so many afflicted72, and be extended, disarmed73, peacefully, and humbly74, to so many enemies.’
‘It is too much!’ said the Unnamed, sobbing75, ‘leave me, my Lord; good Federigo, leave me! A crowded assembly awaits you; so many good people, so many innocent creatures, so many come from a distance, to see you for once, to hear you: and you are staying to talk . . . with whom!’
‘We will leave the ninety and nine sheep,’ replied the Cardinal; ‘they are in safety, upon the mountain: I wish to remain with that which was lost. Their minds are, perhaps, now more satisfied than if they were seeing their poor bishop. Perhaps God, Who has wrought76 in you this miracle of mercy, is diffusing77 in their hearts a joy of which they know not yet the reason. These people are, perhaps, united to us without being aware of it: perchance the Spirit may be instilling78 into their hearts an undefined feeling of charity, a petition which He will grant for you, an offering of gratitude79 of which you are, as yet, the unknown object.’ So saying, he threw his arms round the neck of the Unnamed, who, after attempting to disengage himself, and making a momentary80 resistance, yielded, completely overcome by this vehement81 expression of affection, embraced the Cardinal in his turn, and buried in his shoulder his trembling and altered face. His burning tears dropped upon the stainless82 purple of Federigo, while the guiltless hands of the holy bishop affectionately pressed those members, and touched that garment, which had been accustomed to hold the weapons of violence and treachery.
Disengaging himself, at length, from this embrace, the Unnamed again covered his eyes with his hand, and raising his face to heaven, exclaimed; ‘God is, indeed, great! God is, indeed, good! I know myself now, now I understand what I am; my sins are present before me, and I shudder54 at the thought of myself; yet! . . . yet I feel an alleviation, a joy; yes, even a joy, such as I have never before known during the whole of my horrible life!’
‘It is a little taste,’ said Federigo, ‘which God gives you, to incline you to His service, and encourage you resolutely83 to enter upon the new course of life which lies before you, and in which you will have so much to undo84, so much to repair, so much to mourn over!’
‘Unhappy man that I am!’ exclaimed the Signor: ‘how many, oh, how many . . . things for which I can do nothing besides mourn! But, at least, I have undertakings85 scarcely set on foot which I can break off in the midst, if nothing more: one there is which I can quickly arrest, which I can easily undo, and repair.’
Federigo listened attentively86, while the Unnamed briefly87 related, in terms of, perhaps, deeper execration88 than we have employed, his attempt upon Lucia, the sufferings and terrors of the unhappy girl, her importunate89 entreaties90, the frenzy91 that these entreaties had aroused within him, and how she was still in the castle . . .
‘Ah, then! let us lose no time!’ exclaimed Federigo, breathless with eagerness and compassion92. ‘You are indeed blessed! This is an earnest of God’s forgiveness! He makes you capable of becoming the instrument of safety to one whom you intended to ruin. God bless you! Nay93, He has blessed you! Do you know where our unhappy protégée comes from?’
The Signor named Lucia’s village.
‘It’s not far from this,’ said the Cardinal, ‘God be praised; and probably . . . ’ So saying, he went towards a little table, and rang a bell. The cross-bearing chaplain immediately attended the summons with a look of anxiety, and instantly glanced towards the Unnamed. At the sight of his altered countenance, and his eyes still red with weeping, he turned an inquiring gaze upon the Cardinal; and perceiving, amidst the invariable composure of his countenance, a look of solemn pleasure and unusual solicitude94, he would have stood with open mouth, in a sort of ecstasy95, had not the Cardinal quickly aroused him from his contemplations, by asking whether, among the parish-priests who were assembled in the next room, there were one from . . . .
‘There is, your illustrious Grace,’ replied the chaplain.
‘Let him come in directly,’ said Federigo, ‘and with him the priest of this parish.’
The chaplain quitted the room, and on entering the hall where the clergy96 were assembled, all eyes were immediately turned upon him; while, with a look of blank astonishment, and a countenance in which was still depicted97 the rapture98 he had left, he lifted up his hands, and waving them in the air, exclaimed, ‘Signori! Signori! h?c mutatio dexter? Excelsi.’ And he stood for a moment without uttering another word. Then assuming the tone and language of a message, he added, ‘His most noble and very reverend Lordship desires to speak with the Signor Curate of this parish, and the Signor Curate of . . . .’
The first party summoned immediately came forward; and, at the same time, there issued from the midst of the crowd, an ‘I’ drawled forth with an intonation99 of surprise.
‘Are you not the Signor Curate of . . .?’ replied the chaplain.
‘I am; but . . . ’
‘His most noble and very reverend Lordship asks for you.’
‘Me?’ again replied the same voice, clearly expressing in this monosyllable, ‘What can they want with me?’ But this time, together with the voice, came forth the living being, Don Abbondio himself, with an unwilling100 step, and a countenance between astonishment and disgust. The chaplain beckoned101 to him with his hand, as if he meant to say, ‘Come, let us go; is it so very alarming?’ and escorting them to the door, he opened it, and introduced them into the apartment.
The Cardinal relinquished102 the hand of the Unnamed, with whom, meanwhile, he had been concerting arrangements, and withdrawing a little aside, beckoned to the curate of the village. Briefly relating the circumstances, he asked whether he could immediately find a trustworthy woman who would be willing to go to the castle in a litter, and fetch away Lucia; a kind and clever person, who would know how to conduct herself in so novel an expedition, and whose manners and language would be most likely to encourage and tranquilize the unfortunate girl, to whom, after so much anguish103 and alarm, even liberation itself might be an additional cause of apprehension104. After a moment’s thought, the Curate said that he knew just the very person, and then took his departure. The Cardinal now calling to him the chaplain, desired him to have a litter and bearers immediately prepared and to see that two mules106 were saddled, for riders; and as soon as he had quitted the apartment, turned to Don Abbondio.
This worthy gentleman, who had kept tolerably close to the Archbishop, that he might be at a respectful distance from the other Signor, and had, in the mean time, been casting side glances, first to one, and then to the other, dubitating the while within himself what ever all this strange man?uvring might mean, now advanced a step forward, and, making a respectful bow, said, ‘I was told that your most illustrious Lordship wanted me; but I think there must be some misunderstanding.
‘There is no misunderstanding, I assure you,’ replied Federigo; ‘I have glad news to give you, and a pleasant and most agreeable task to impose upon you. One of your parishioners, whom you must have lamented108 as lost, Lucia Mondella, is again found, and is near at hand, in the house of my good friend here; and you will go now with him, and a woman, whom the Signor Curate of this place has gone to seek; you will go, I say, to fetch thence one of your own children, and accompany her hither.’
Don Abbondio did his best to conceal109 the vexation — the what shall I say? — the alarm, the dismay excited by this proposal, or command; and unable any longer to restrain or dismiss a look of inexpressible discontent already gathering110 in his countenance, he could only hide it by a profound reverence111, in token of obedient acceptance; nor did he again raise his face, but to make another equally profound obeisance112 to the Unnamed, with a piteous look, which seemed to say, ‘I am in your hands, have pity upon me; Parcere subjectis.’
The Cardinal then asked him what relations Lucia had.
‘Of near relations, with whom she lives, or might live, she has only a mother,’ replied Don Abbondio.
‘Is she at home?’
‘Yes, my Lord.’
‘Well,’ replied Federigo, ‘since this poor girl cannot be so directly restored to her own home, it will be a great consolation to her to see her mother as quickly as possible; so, if the Signor Curate of this village doesn’t return before I go to church, I request you will tell him to find a cart, or some kind of conveyance113, and despatch114 a person of discretion115 to fetch her mother here.’
‘Had not I better go?’ said Don Abbondio.
‘No, no, not you; I’ve already requested you to undertake another commission,’ replied the Cardinal.
‘I proposed it,’ rejoined Don Abbondio, ‘to prepare her poor mother for the news. She is a very sensitive woman, and it requires one who knows her disposition116, and how to go to work with her the right way, or he will do her more harm than good.’
‘And therefore I have requested you to acquaint the Signor Curate of my wish that a proper person should be chosen for this office: you will do better elsewhere,’ replied the Cardinal. And he would willingly have added: That poor girl at the castle has far more need of shortly seeing a known and trusted countenance, after so many hours of agony, and in such terrible ignorance as to the future. But this was not a reason to be so clearly expressed before the present third party. Indeed, the Cardinal thought it very strange that it had not immediately occurred to Don Abbondio; that he had not thought of it himself; and the proffer117 he had made, and so warmly insisted upon, seemed so much out of place, that he could not help suspecting there must be something hidden beneath. He gazed upon his face, and there readily detected his fear of journeying with that terrible person, and of being his guest even for a few moments. Anxious, therefore, entirely118 to dissipate these cowardly apprehensions119, yet unwilling to draw the curate aside and whisper with him in secret, while his new friend formed the third of their party, he judged that the best plan would be to do what, indeed, he would have done without such a motive120, that is, address the Unnamed himself; and thus Don Abbondio might at length understand, from his replies, that he was no longer an object of fear. He returned, therefore, to the Unnamed, and addressing him with that frank cordiality which may be met with in a new and powerful affection, as well as in an intimacy121 of long standing107, ‘Don’t think,’ said he, ‘that I shall be content with this visit for to-day. You will return, won’t you, with this worthy clergyman?’
‘Will I return?’ replied the Unnamed. ‘Should you refuse me, I would obstinately122 remain outside your door, like the beggar. I want to talk with you; I want to hear you, to see you; I deeply need you!’
Federigo took his hand and pressed it, saying: ‘Do the clergyman of this village, then, and me, the favour of dining with us to-day. I shall expect you. In the mean while, I must go to offer up prayers and praises with the people; and you to reap the first-fruits of mercy.’
Don Abbondio, at these demonstrations123, stood like a cowardly child, who watches a person boldly petting and stroking a large, surly, shaggy dog, with glaring eyes, and a notoriously bad name for biting and growling124, and hears its master say that his dog is a good and very quiet beast: he looks at the owner and neither contradicts nor assents125; he looks at the animal, afraid to approach him for fear the ‘very gentle beast’ should show his teeth, were it only from habit; and equally afraid to run away, lest he should be thought a coward; and can only utter an internal aspiration:— Would that I were safe in my own house!
In quitting the apartment, in company with the Unnamed, whose hand he still grasped, the Cardinal cast another glance upon the poor man who remained behind, looking very awkward and mortified126, and with a doleful expression of countenance. Thinking that possibly his vexation arose from being apparently127 overlooked, and left, as it were, in a corner, particularly in contrast with the notoriously wicked character now so warmly received and welcomed, he turned towards him in passing, and hung back for a moment, and said to him, with a friendly smile: ‘Signor Curate, thou wert ever with me in the house of our kind Father, but this . . . this one perierat, et inventus est.’
‘Oh, how glad I am to hear it!’ said Don Abbondio, making a profound reverence to the two together.
The Archbishop then went on, gave a slight push to the door, which was immediately opened from without by two servants who stood outside, and the notable pair stood before the longing129 eyes of the clergy assembled in the apartment. They gazed with interest upon their two countenances130, both of which bore the traces of a very different, but equally profound emotion: a grateful tenderness, an humble joy, on Federigo’s venerable features; and on those of the Unnamed, confusion, tempered with consolation, a new and unusual modesty131, and a feeling of contrition132, through which the vigour133 of his wild and fiery134 temper was, nevertheless, still apparent. It was afterwards found that the passage in the prophet Isaiah had occurred to more than one of the spectators: The wolf and the lamb shall feed together, and the lion shall eat straw like the bullock. (Isa. lxv. 25.) Behind them came Don Abbondio, to whom no one paid any attention.
When they had reached the middle of the room, the Cardinal’s groom135 of the chamber136 entered on the opposite side, and informed his master that he had executed all the orders communicated to him by the chaplain; that the litter and mules were in readiness, and they only waited the arrival of the female whom the curate was to bring. The Cardinal bid him tell the priest, when he came back, that Don Abbondio wished to speak with him; and then all the rest was left under the direction of the latter and the Unnamed, whom the Cardinal again shook warmly by the hand on taking leave, saying: ‘I shall expect you.’ Then, turning to salute137 Don Abbondio with a bow, he set off in the direction of the church, followed by the clergy, half grouped and half in procession, while the fellow-travellers remained alone in the apartment.
The Unnamed stood wrapt up in his own thoughts, and impatient for the moment when he might go to liberate13 his Lucia from her sufferings and confinement138 — his, now, in a very different sense from that in which she was so the day before: and his face expressed a feeling of intense agitation139, which to Don Abbondio’s suspicious eye, might easily appear something worse. He peeped and glanced at him from the corner of his eye, and longed to start some friendly conversation:— But what can I say to him? — thought he:— must I say again, I am glad? Glad of what? that having hitherto been a devil, he has at last resolved to become a gentleman, like others? A fine compliment, indeed! Eh, eh, eh! however I may turn the words, I am glad can mean nothing else. And, after all, will it be true that he has become a gentleman? so on a sudden! There are so many displays made in the world, and from so many motives140! What do I know about it? And, in the mean time, I have to go with him: and to that castle! oh, what a tale! what a tale! what a tale is this to tell! who would have told me this, this morning! Ah, if I can but escape in safety, my lady Perpetua shan’t soon hear the end of it from me, for having sent me here by force, when there was no necessity for it, out of my own parish: with her fine plausible141 reasons, that all the priests, for many a mile round, would flock hither, even those who were further off than I; and that I mustn’t be behindhand; and this, that, and the other; and then to embark142 me in a business of this sort! O, poor me! But I must say something to this man. — And he had just thought of that something, and was on the point of opening his mouth to say:— I never anticipated the pleasure of being thrown into such honourable143 company — when the groom of the chamber entered, with the curate of the parish, who announced that the woman was waiting in the litter; and then turned to Don Abbondio, to receive from him the further commission of the Cardinal. Don Abbondio delivered himself as well as he could in the confusion of mind under which he was labouring; and then, drawing up to the groom, said to him: ‘Pray give me, at least, a quiet beast; for, to tell the truth, I am but a poor horseman.’
‘You may imagine,’ replied the groom, with a half-smile: ‘it is the secretary’s mule105, who is a very learned man.’
‘That will do . . . ’ replied Don Abbondio, and he continued to ruminate:— Heaven send me a good one. —
The Signor had readily set off the moment he heard the announcement; but on reaching the door, and perceiving that Don Abbondio was remaining behind, he stood still to wait for him. When he came up, hastily, with an apologizing look, the Signor bowed and made him pass on first, with a courteous144 and humble air, which somewhat reanimated the spirits of the unfortunate and tormented145 man. But scarcely had he set foot in the court-yard, when he saw a new object of alarm, which quickly dissipated all his reviving confidence; he beheld146 the Unnamed go towards the corner, take hold of the barrel of his carabine with one hand, and of the strap147 with the other, and with a rapid motion, as if performing the military exercise, swing it over his shoulder.
— Alas148! alas! woe149 is me! — thought Don Abbondio:— what would he do with that weapon? Suitable sackcloth, truly! fine discipline for a new convert! And supposing some fancy should take him? Oh, what an expedition! what an expedition! —
Could this Signor have suspected for a moment what kind of thoughts they were which were passing through his companion’s mind, it is difficult to say what he would not have done to reassure150 him; but he was far enough away from such a suspicion, and Don Abbondio carefully avoided any movement which would distinctly express — I don’t trust your Lordship. — On reaching the door into the street, they found the two animals in readiness: the Unnamed mounted one, which was held for him by an hostler.
‘Isn’t it vicious?’ said Don Abbondio to the valet, as he stood with one foot suspended on the stirrup, and the other still resting on the ground.
‘You may go with a perfectly151 easy mind; it’s a very lamb,’ replied the man, and Don Abbondio, grasping the saddle, and assisted by the groom, gradually mounted upwards152, and, at last, found himself safely seated on the creature’s back.
The litter, which stood a few paces in advance, and was borne by two mules, moved forward at the word of the attendant, and the party set off.
They had to pass before the church, which was full to overflowing153 with people; and through a little square, also swarming154 with the villagers, and newly arrived visitors, whom the building could not accommodate. The glad news had already spread; and on the appearance of the party, and more especially of him who, only a few hours before had been an object of terror and execration, but was now the object of joyful wonder, there arose from the crowd almost a murmur155 of applause; and as they made way for him, even their eagerness was hushed in the desire to obtain a near view of him. The litter passed on, the Unnamed followed; and when he arrived before the open door of the church, took off his hat, and bowed his hitherto dreaded156 forehead, till it almost touched the animal’s mane, amidst the murmur of a hundred voices, exclaiming, ‘God bless you!’ Don Abbondio, also, took off his hat, and bending low, recommended himself to Heaven; but hearing the solemn harmony of his brethren, as they chanted in chorus, he was so overcome with a feeling of envy, a mournful tenderness of spirit, and a sudden fervour of heart, that it was with difficulty he restrained his tears.
When they got beyond the habitations into the open country, and in the often entirely deserted157 windings158 of the road, a still darker cloud overspread his thoughts. The only object on which his eye could rest with any confidence, was the attendant on the litter, who, belonging to the Cardinal’s household, must certainly be an honest man; and who, besides, did not look like a coward. From time to time passengers appeared, sometimes even in groups, who were flocking to see the Cardinal, and this was a great relief to Don Abbondio; it was, however, but transitory, and he was advancing towards that tremendous valley, where he should meet none but the vassals159 of his companion; and what vassals! He now more than ever longed to enter into conversation with this companion, both to sound him a little more, and to keep him in good humour; but even this wish vanished on seeing him so completely absorbed in his own thoughts. He must then talk to himself; and we will present the reader with a part of the poor man’s soliloquy during his journey, for it would require a volume to record the whole.
— It is a fine thing, truly, that saints as well as sinners must have quicksilver in their compositions, and cannot be content with fussing about and busying themselves, but must also bring into the dance with them the whole world, if they can; and that the greatest busybodies must just come upon me, who never meddle160 with anybody, and drag me by the hair into their affairs; me, who ask for nothing but to be left alone! That mad rascal161 of a Don Rodrigo! What does he want to make him the happiest man in the world, if he had but the least grain of judgment162? He is rich, he is young, he is respected and courted: he is sick with too much prosperity, and must needs go about making trouble for himself and his neighbour. He might follow the ways of Saint Michael; oh, no! my gentleman doesn’t choose: he chooses to set up the trade of molesting163 women, the most absurd, the most vile164, the most insane business in the world: he might ride to heaven in his carriage, and chooses rather to walk halting to the devil’s dwelling165. And this man? . . . And here he looked at him, as if he suspected he could hear his very thoughts. — This man! after turning the world upside down with his wickedness, now he turns it upside down with his conversion166 . . . if it prove really so. In the mean while, it falls to me to make the trial! . . . So it is, that when people are born with this madness in their veins167, they must always be making a noise! Is it so difficult to act an honest part all one’s life, as I have done? Oh, no, my good sir: they must kill and quarter, play the devil . . . oh, poor me! . . . and then comes a great stir even when doing penance168. Repentance, when there is an inclination169 to it, can be performed at home, quietly, without so much show, without giving so much trouble to one’s neighbours. And his illustrious Lordship, instantly, with open arms calling him his dear friend, his dear friend; and this man listens to all he says as if he had seen him work miracles; and then he must all at once come to a resolution, and rush into it hand and foot, one minute here, and the next there; we, at home, should call this precipitation. And to deliver a poor curate into his hands without the smallest security! this may be called playing with a man at great odds170. A holy bishop, as he is, ought to value his curates as the apple of his eye. It seems to me there might be a little moderation, a little prudence171, a little charity along with sanctity . . . Supposing this should be all a mere172 show? Who can tell all the intentions of men? and particularly of such a man as this? To think that it is my lot to go with him to his own house! There may be some underwork of the devil here: oh, poor me! it is best not to think about it. How is Lucia mixed up with all this? It is plain Don Rodrigo had some designs upon her: what people: and suppose it is exactly thus, how then has this man got her into his clutches? Who knows, I wonder? It is all a secret with my Lord; and to me, whom they are making trot173 about in this way, they don’t tell a word. I don’t care about knowing other people’s affairs; but when I have to risk my skin in the matter, I have a right to know something. If it be only to go and fetch away this poor creature, patience! though he could easily enough bring her straight away himself. And besides, if he is really converted, if he has become a holy father, what need is there of me? Oh, what a chaos174! Well; it is Heaven’s will it should be thus: it will be a very great inconvenience, but patience! I shall be glad, too, for this poor Lucia: she also must have escaped some terrible issue: Heaven knows what she must have suffered: I pity her; but she was born to be my ruin . . . At least, I wish I could look into his heart, and see what he is thinking about. Who can understand him? Just look, now; one minute he looks like Saint Antony in the desert, the next he is like Holofernes himself. Oh, poor me! poor me! Well; Heaven is under an obligation to help me, since I didn’t get myself into this danger with my own good will. —
In fact, the thoughts of the Unnamed might be seen, so to say, passing over his countenance, as in a stormy day the clouds flit across the face of the sun, producing every now and then an alternation of dazzling light and gloomy shade. His soul, still quite absorbed in reflection upon Federigo’s soothing words, and, as it were, renewed and made young again with fresh life, now rose with cheerful hope at the idea of mercy, pardon, and love; and then again sank beneath the weight of the terrible past. He anxiously tried to select those deeds of iniquity175 which were yet reparable, and those which he could still arrest in the midst of their progress; he considered what remedies would be most certain and expeditious176, how to disentangle so many knots, what to do with so many accomplices177; but it was all obscurity and difficulty. In this very expedition, the easiest of execution, and so near its termination, he went with a willingness mingled178 with grief at the thought, that in the mean while the poor girl was suffering, God knew how much, and that he, while burning to liberate her, was all the while the cause of her suffering. At every turn, or fork in the road, the mule-driver looked back for direction as to the way: the Unnamed signified it with his hand, and at the same time beckoned to him to make haste.
They entered the valley. How must Don Abbondio have felt then! That renowned179 valley, of which he had heard such black and horrible stories, to be actually within it! Those men of notorious fame, the flower of the bravoes of Italy, men without fear and without mercy — to see them in flesh and blood — to meet one, two, or three, at every turn of a corner! They bowed submissively to the Signor; but their sunburnt visages! their rough mustachios! their large fierce eyes! they seemed to Don Abbondio’s mind to mean — Shall we dispatch that Priest? — So that, in a moment of extreme consternation180, the thought rushed into his mind — Would that I had married them! worse could not befall me. — In the mean while they went forward along a gravelly path by the side of the torrent181: on one hand was a view of isolated182 and solid rocks; on the other, a population which would have made even a desert seem desirable: Dante was not in a worse situation in the midst of Malebolge.
They passed the front of Malanotte; where bravoes were lounging at the door, who bowed to the Signor, and gazed at his companion and the litter. They knew not what to think; the departure of the Unnamed in the morning by himself had already seemed extraordinary, and his return was not less so. Was it a captive that he was conducting? And how had he accomplished183 it alone? And what was the meaning of a strange litter? And whose could this livery be? They looked and looked, but no one moved, because such was the command they read in his eye and expression.
They climbed the ascent184, and reached the summit. The bravoes on the terrace and round the gate retired185 on either side to make room for him; the Unnamed motioned to them to retreat no farther, spurted186 forward and passed before the litter, beckoned to the driver and Don Abbondio to follow him, entered an outer court, and thence into a second, went towards a small postern, made signs to a bravo, who was hastening to hold his stirrup, to keep back, and said to him, ‘You there, and no one nearer.’ He then dismounted, and holding the bridle187, advanced towards the litter, addressed himself to the female who had just drawn188 back the curtain, and said to her in an undertone: ‘Comfort her directly; let her understand at once that she is at liberty, and among friends. God will reward you for it.’ He then ordered the driver to open the door, and assist her to get out. Advancing, then, to Don Abbondio, with a look of greater serenity189 than the poor man had yet seen, or thought it possible he could see, on his countenance, in which there might now be traced joy at the good work which was at length so near its completion, he lent him his arm to dismount, saying to him at the same time, in a low voice: ‘Signor Curate, I do not apologize for the trouble you have had on my account; you are bearing it for One who rewards bountifully, and for this His poor creature!’
This look, and these words, once more put some heart into Don Abbondio; and, drawing a long breath, which for an hour past had been striving ineffectually to find vent128, he replied, whether or not in a submissive tone it need not be asked: ‘Is your Lordship joking with me? But, but, but, but! . . . ’ And, accepting the hand which was so courteously190 offered, he slid down from the saddle as he best could. The Unnamed took the bridle, and handed it with his own to the driver, bidding him wait there outside for them. Taking a key from his pocket, he opened the postern, admitted the curate and the woman, followed them in, advanced to lead the way, went to the foot of the stairs, and they all three ascended191 in silence.
点击
收听单词发音
收听单词发音 |
1
cardinal
|
|
| n.(天主教的)红衣主教；adj.首要的，基本的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
interval
|
|
| n.间隔，间距；幕间休息，中场休息 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
countenance
|
|
| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
syllables
|
|
| n.音节( syllable的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
animated
|
|
| adj.生气勃勃的，活跃的，愉快的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
outlaw
|
|
| n.歹徒，亡命之徒；vt.宣布…为不合法 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
bishop
|
|
| n.主教，（国际象棋）象 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
zeal
|
|
| n.热心，热情，热忱 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
positively
|
|
| adv.明确地，断然，坚决地；实在，确实 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
mischief
|
|
| n.损害，伤害，危害；恶作剧，捣蛋，胡闹 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
exhort
|
|
| v.规劝，告诫 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
cowardice
|
|
| n.胆小，怯懦 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
liberate
|
|
| v.解放，使获得自由，释出，放出；vt.解放，使获自由 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
obstinate
|
|
| adj.顽固的，倔强的，不易屈服的，较难治愈的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
serene
|
|
| adj. 安详的，宁静的，平静的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
suspense
|
|
| n.（对可能发生的事）紧张感，担心，挂虑 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
inexplicable
|
|
| adj.无法解释的，难理解的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
alleviation
|
|
| n. 减轻，缓和，解痛物 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
torment
|
|
| n.折磨；令人痛苦的东西(人)；vt.折磨；纠缠 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
thither
|
|
| adv.向那里；adj.在那边的，对岸的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
penitent
|
|
| adj.后悔的；n.后悔者；忏悔者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
subdued
|
|
| adj. 屈服的，柔和的，减弱的 动词subdue的过去式和过去分词 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
supplication
|
|
| n.恳求，祈愿，哀求 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
veneration
|
|
| n.尊敬，崇拜 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
authoritative
|
|
| adj.有权威的，可相信的；命令式的；官方的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
soothing
|
|
| adj.慰藉的；使人宽心的；镇静的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
haughtiness
|
|
| n.傲慢；傲气 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
sedate
|
|
| adj.沉着的，镇静的，安静的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
distinguished
|
|
| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
meditation
|
|
| n.熟虑，（尤指宗教的）默想，沉思，（pl.）冥想录 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
possessed
|
|
| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
strictly
|
|
| adv.严厉地，严格地；严密地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
benevolent
|
|
| adj.仁慈的，乐善好施的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
enjoyment
|
|
| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
ineffable
|
|
| adj.无法表达的，不可言喻的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
forth
|
|
| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
simplicity
|
|
| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
fixed
|
|
| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
penetrating
|
|
| 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 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
mien
|
|
| n.风采；态度 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
reproof
|
|
| n.斥责，责备 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
soothed
|
|
| v.安慰( soothe的过去式和过去分词 )；抚慰；使舒服；减轻痛苦 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
tardiness
|
|
| n.缓慢；迟延；拖拉 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
worthy
|
|
| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
fully
|
|
| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
determined
|
|
| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
affected
|
|
| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
agitating
|
|
| 搅动( agitate的现在分词 )； 激怒； 使焦虑不安； （尤指为法律、社会状况的改变而）激烈争论 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
tranquillity
|
|
| n. 平静, 安静 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
consolation
|
|
| n.安慰，慰问 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
51
boundless
|
|
| adj.无限的；无边无际的；巨大的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
52
implore
|
|
| vt.乞求，恳求，哀求 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
53
shuddered
|
|
| v.战栗( shudder的过去式和过去分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
54
shudder
|
|
| v.战粟，震动，剧烈地摇晃；n.战粟，抖动 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
55
redound
|
|
| v.有助于；提；报应 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
56
condemn
|
|
| vt.谴责，指责；宣判(罪犯)，判刑 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
57
glorified
|
|
| 美其名的，变荣耀的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
58
perseverance
|
|
| n.坚持不懈，不屈不挠 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
59
repentance
|
|
| n.懊悔 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
60
humble
|
|
| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
61
ardently
|
|
| adv.热心地，热烈地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
62
ardent
|
|
| adj.热情的，热烈的，强烈的，烈性的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
63
salvation
|
|
| n.（尤指基督）救世，超度，拯救，解困 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
64
joyful
|
|
| adj.欢乐的，令人欢欣的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
65
joyfully
|
|
| adv. 喜悦地, 高兴地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
66
auditor
|
|
| n.审计员，旁听着 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
67
astonishment
|
|
| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
68
infancy
|
|
| n.婴儿期；幼年期；初期 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
69
suffused
|
|
| v.（指颜色、水气等）弥漫于，布满( suffuse的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
70
defile
|
|
| v.弄污，弄脏；n.(山间)小道 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
71
dispense
|
|
| vt.分配，分发；配(药)，发(药)；实施 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
72
afflicted
|
|
| 使受痛苦，折磨( afflict的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
73
disarmed
|
|
| v.裁军( disarm的过去式和过去分词 )；使息怒 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
74
humbly
|
|
| adv. 恭顺地，谦卑地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
75
sobbing
|
|
| <主方>Ⅰ adj.湿透的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
76
wrought
|
|
| v.引起；以…原料制作；运转；adj.制造的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
77
diffusing
|
|
| （使光）模糊，漫射，漫散( diffuse的现在分词 )； （使）扩散； （使）弥漫； （使）传播 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
78
instilling
|
|
| v.逐渐使某人获得（某种可取的品质），逐步灌输( instil的现在分词 )；逐渐使某人获得（某种可取的品质），逐步灌输( instill的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
79
gratitude
|
|
| adj.感激，感谢 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
80
momentary
|
|
| adj.片刻的，瞬息的；短暂的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
81
vehement
|
|
| adj.感情强烈的；热烈的；(人)有强烈感情的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
82
stainless
|
|
| adj.无瑕疵的，不锈的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
83
resolutely
|
|
| adj.坚决地，果断地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
84
undo
|
|
| vt.解开，松开；取消，撤销 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
85
undertakings
|
|
| 企业( undertaking的名词复数 )； 保证； 殡仪业； 任务 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
86
attentively
|
|
| adv.聚精会神地；周到地；谛；凝神 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
87
briefly
|
|
| adv.简单地，简短地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
88
execration
|
|
| n.诅咒，念咒，憎恶 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
89
importunate
|
|
| adj.强求的；纠缠不休的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
90
entreaties
|
|
| n.恳求，乞求( entreaty的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
91
frenzy
|
|
| n.疯狂，狂热，极度的激动 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
92
compassion
|
|
| n.同情，怜悯 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
93
nay
|
|
| adv.不；n.反对票，投反对票者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
94
solicitude
|
|
| n.焦虑 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
95
ecstasy
|
|
| n.狂喜，心醉神怡，入迷 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
96
clergy
|
|
| n.[总称]牧师，神职人员 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
97
depicted
|
|
| 描绘，描画( depict的过去式和过去分词 )； 描述 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
98
rapture
|
|
| n.狂喜；全神贯注；着迷；v.使狂喜 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
99
intonation
|
|
| n.语调，声调；发声 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
100
unwilling
|
|
| adj.不情愿的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
101
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： |
|
|
|
|
102
relinquished
|
|
| 交出，让给( relinquish的过去式和过去分词 )； 放弃 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
103
anguish
|
|
| n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦，烦恼 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
104
apprehension
|
|
| n.理解，领悟；逮捕，拘捕；忧虑 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
105
mule
|
|
| n.骡子，杂种，执拗的人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
106
mules
|
|
| 骡( mule的名词复数 )； 拖鞋； 顽固的人； 越境运毒者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
107
standing
|
|
| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
108
lamented
|
|
| adj.被哀悼的，令人遗憾的v.（为…）哀悼，痛哭，悲伤( lament的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
109
conceal
|
|
| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
110
gathering
|
|
| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
111
reverence
|
|
| 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 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
112
obeisance
|
|
| n.鞠躬，敬礼 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
113
conveyance
|
|
| n.(不动产等的)转让，让与；转让证书；传送；运送；表达；（正）运输工具 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
114
despatch
|
|
| n./v.(dispatch)派遣；发送；n.急件；新闻报道 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
115
discretion
|
|
| n.谨慎；随意处理 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
116
disposition
|
|
| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
117
proffer
|
|
| v.献出，赠送；n.提议，建议 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
118
entirely
|
|
| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
119
apprehensions
|
|
| 疑惧 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
120
motive
|
|
| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
121
intimacy
|
|
| n.熟悉，亲密，密切关系，亲昵的言行 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
122
obstinately
|
|
| ad.固执地，顽固地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
123
demonstrations
|
|
| 证明( demonstration的名词复数 )； 表明； 表达； 游行示威 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
124
growling
|
|
| n.吠声, 咆哮声 v.怒吠, 咆哮, 吼 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
125
assents
|
|
| 同意，赞同( assent的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
|
126
mortified
|
|
| v.使受辱( mortify的过去式和过去分词 )；伤害（人的感情）；克制；抑制（肉体、情感等） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
127
apparently
|
|
| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
128
vent
|
|
| n.通风口，排放口；开衩；vt.表达，发泄 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
129
longing
|
|
| n.（for）渴望 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
130
countenances
|
|
| n.面容( countenance的名词复数 )；表情；镇静；道义支持 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
131
modesty
|
|
| n.谦逊，虚心，端庄，稳重，羞怯，朴素 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
132
contrition
|
|
| n.悔罪，痛悔 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
133
vigour
|
|
| （=vigor）n.智力，体力，精力 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
134
fiery
|
|
| adj.燃烧着的，火红的；暴躁的；激烈的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
135
groom
|
|
| vt.给（马、狗等）梳毛，照料，使...整洁 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
136
chamber
|
|
| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
137
salute
|
|
| vi.行礼，致意，问候，放礼炮；vt.向…致意，迎接，赞扬；n.招呼，敬礼，礼炮 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
138
confinement
|
|
| n.幽禁，拘留，监禁；分娩；限制，局限 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
139
agitation
|
|
| n.搅动；搅拌；鼓动，煽动 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
140
motives
|
|
| n.动机，目的( motive的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
141
plausible
|
|
| adj.似真实的，似乎有理的，似乎可信的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
142
embark
|
|
| vi.乘船，着手，从事，上飞机 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
143
honourable
|
|
| adj.可敬的；荣誉的，光荣的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
144
courteous
|
|
| adj.彬彬有礼的，客气的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
145
tormented
|
|
| 饱受折磨的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
146
beheld
|
|
| v.看，注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
147
strap
|
|
| n.皮带，带子；v.用带扣住，束牢；用绷带包扎 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
148
alas
|
|
| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
149
woe
|
|
| n.悲哀，苦痛，不幸，困难；int.用来表达悲伤或惊慌 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
150
reassure
|
|
| v.使放心，使消除疑虑 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
151
perfectly
|
|
| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
152
upwards
|
|
| adv.向上，在更高处...以上 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
153
overflowing
|
|
| n. 溢出物,溢流 adj. 充沛的，充满的 动词overflow的现在分词形式 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
154
swarming
|
|
| 密集( swarm的现在分词 )； 云集； 成群地移动； 蜜蜂或其他飞行昆虫成群地飞来飞去 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
155
murmur
|
|
| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
156
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： |
|
|
|
|
157
deserted
|
|
| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
158
windings
|
|
| （道路、河流等）蜿蜒的，弯曲的( winding的名词复数 )； 缠绕( wind的现在分词 )； 卷绕； 转动（把手） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
159
vassals
|
|
| n.奴仆( vassal的名词复数 )；（封建时代）诸侯；从属者；下属 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
160
meddle
|
|
| v.干预，干涉，插手 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
161
rascal
|
|
| n.流氓；不诚实的人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
162
judgment
|
|
| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
163
molesting
|
|
| v.骚扰( molest的现在分词 )；干扰；调戏；猥亵 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
164
vile
|
|
| adj.卑鄙的，可耻的，邪恶的；坏透的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
165
dwelling
|
|
| n.住宅，住所，寓所 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
166
conversion
|
|
| n.转化，转换，转变 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
167
veins
|
|
| n.纹理；矿脉( vein的名词复数 )；静脉；叶脉；纹理 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
168
penance
|
|
| n.（赎罪的）惩罪 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
169
inclination
|
|
| n.倾斜；点头；弯腰；斜坡；倾度；倾向；爱好 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
170
odds
|
|
| n.让步，机率，可能性，比率；胜败优劣之别 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
171
prudence
|
|
| n.谨慎，精明，节俭 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
172
mere
|
|
| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
173
trot
|
|
| n.疾走，慢跑；n.老太婆；现成译本；(复数）trots:腹泻（与the 连用）；v.小跑，快步走，赶紧 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
174
chaos
|
|
| n.混乱，无秩序 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
175
iniquity
|
|
| n.邪恶；不公正 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
176
expeditious
|
|
| adj.迅速的，敏捷的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
177
accomplices
|
|
| 从犯，帮凶，同谋( accomplice的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
178
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： |
|
|
|
|
179
renowned
|
|
| adj.著名的，有名望的，声誉鹊起的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
180
consternation
|
|
| n.大为吃惊，惊骇 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
181
torrent
|
|
| n.激流，洪流；爆发，(话语等的)连发 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
182
isolated
|
|
| adj.与世隔绝的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
183
accomplished
|
|
| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
184
ascent
|
|
| n.(声望或地位)提高；上升，升高；登高 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
185
retired
|
|
| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
186
spurted
|
|
| （液体，火焰等）喷出，（使）涌出( spurt的过去式和过去分词 )； （短暂地）加速前进，冲刺 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
187
bridle
|
|
| n.笼头，束缚；vt.抑制，约束；动怒 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
188
drawn
|
|
| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
189
serenity
|
|
| n.宁静，沉着，晴朗 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
190
courteously
|
|
| adv.有礼貌地，亲切地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
191
ascended
|
|
| v.上升，攀登( ascend的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |