The Parisienne, on the other hand, was prodigal22 and profligate23 (in disposition24, that is: as to action, I do not know). That latter quality showed its snake-head to me but once, peeping out very cautiously. A curious kind of reptile25 it seemed, judging from the glimpse I got; its novelty whetted26 my curiosity: if it would have come out boldly, perhaps I might philosophically27 have stood my ground, and coolly surveyed the long thing from forked tongue to scaly28 tail-tip; but it merely rustled30 in the leaves of a bad novel; and, on encountering a hasty and ill-advised demonstration31 of wrath32, recoiled33 and vanished, hissing34. She hated me from that day.
This Parisienne was always in debt; her salary being anticipated, not only in dress, but in perfumes, cosmetics36, confectionery, and condiments37. What a cold, callous39 epicure40 she was in all things! I see her now. Thin in face and figure, sallow in complexion41, regular in features, with perfect teeth, lips like a thread, a large, prominent chin, a well-opened, but frozen eye, of light at once craving42 and ingrate43. She mortally hated work, and loved what she called pleasure; being an insipid44, heartless, brainless dissipation of time.
Madame Beck knew this woman’s character perfectly45 well. She once talked to me about her, with an odd mixture of discrimination, indifference46, and antipathy47. I asked why she kept her in the establishment. She answered plainly, “because it suited her interest to do so;” and pointed48 out a fact I had already noticed, namely, that Mademoiselle St. Pierre possessed49, in an almost unique degree, the power of keeping order amongst her undisciplined ranks of scholars. A certain petrifying50 influence accompanied and surrounded her: without passion, noise, or violence, she held them in check as a breezeless frost-air might still a brawling51 stream. She was of little use as far as communication of knowledge went, but for strict surveillance and maintenance of rules she was invaluable52. “Je sais bien qu’elle n’a pas de principes, ni, peut-être, de moeurs,” admitted Madame frankly53; but added with philosophy, “son maintien en classe est toujours convenable54 et rempli même d’une certaine dignité: c’est tout55 ce qu’il faut. Ni les élèves ni les parents ne regardent plus loin; ni, par5 conséquent, moi non plus.”
A strange, frolicsome56, noisy little world was this school: great pains were taken to hide chains with flowers: a subtle essence of Romanism pervaded57 every arrangement: large sensual indulgence (so to speak) was permitted by way of counterpoise to jealous spiritual restraint. Each mind was being reared in slavery; but, to prevent reflection from dwelling59 on this fact, every pretext60 for physical recreation was seized and made the most of. There, as elsewhere, the church strove to bring up her children robust in body, feeble in soul, fat, ruddy, hale, joyous61, ignorant, unthinking, unquestioning. “Eat, drink, and live!” she says. “Look after your bodies; leave your souls to me. I hold their cure — guide their course: I guarantee their final fate.” A bargain, in which every true Catholic deems himself a gainer. Lucifer just offers the same terms: “All this power will I give thee, and the glory of it; for that is delivered unto me, and to whomsoever I will I give it. If thou, therefore, wilt63 worship me, all shall be thine!”
About this time — in the ripest glow of summer — Madame Beck’s house became as merry a place as a school could well be. All day long the broad folding-doors and the two-leaved casements64 stood wide open: settled sunshine seemed naturalized in the atmosphere; clouds were far off, sailing away beyond sea, resting, no doubt, round islands such as England — that dear land of mists — but withdrawn65 wholly from the drier continent. We lived far more in the garden than under a roof: classes were held, and meals partaken of, in the “grand berceau.” Moreover, there was a note of holiday preparation, which almost turned freedom into licence. The autumnal long vacation was but two months distant; but before that, a great day — an important ceremony — none other than the fête of Madame — awaited celebration.
The conduct of this fête devolved chiefly on Mademoiselle St. Pierre: Madame herself being supposed to stand aloof67, disinterestedly68 unconscious of what might be going forward in her honour. Especially, she never knew, never in the least suspected, that a subscription69 was annually70 levied71 on the whole school for the purchase of a handsome present. The polite tact72 of the reader will please to leave out of the account a brief, secret consultation73 on this point in Madame’s own chamber74.
“What will you have this year?” was asked by her Parisian lieutenant75.
“Oh, no matter! Let it alone. Let the poor children keep their francs,” And Madame looked benign76 and modest.
The St. Pierre would here protrude77 her chin; she knew Madame by heart; she always called her airs of “bonté”—“des grimaces78.” She never even professed79 to respect them one instant.
“Vite!” she would say coldly. “Name the article. Shall it be jewellery or porcelain81, haberdashery or silver?”
“Eh bien! Deux ou trois cuillers, et autant de fourchettes en argent.”
And the result was a handsome case, containing 300 francs worth of plate.
The programme of the fête-day’s proceedings82 comprised: Presentation of plate, collation83 in the garden, dramatic performance (with pupils and teachers for actors), a dance and supper. Very gorgeous seemed the effect of the whole to me, as I well remember. Zélie St. Pierre understood these things and managed them ably.
The play was the main point; a month’s previous drilling being there required. The choice, too, of the actors required knowledge and care; then came lessons in elocution, in attitude, and then the fatigue84 of countless85 rehearsals87. For all this, as may well be supposed, St. Pierre did not suffice: other management, other accomplishments88 than hers were requisite89 here. They were supplied in the person of a master — M. Paul Emanuel, professor of literature. It was never my lot to be present at the histrionic lessons of M. Paul, but I often saw him as he crossed the carré (a square hall between the dwelling-house and school-house). I heard him, too, in the warm evenings, lecturing with open doors, and his name, with anecdotes90 of him, resounded91 in ones ears from all sides. Especially our former acquaintance, Miss Ginevra Fanshawe — who had been selected to take a prominent part in the play — used, in bestowing92 upon me a large portion of her leisure, to lard her discourse93 with frequent allusions94 to his sayings and doings. She esteemed95 him hideously96 plain, and used to profess80 herself frightened almost into hysterics at the sound of his step or voice. A dark little man he certainly was; pungent97 and austere98. Even to me he seemed a harsh apparition99, with his close-shorn, black head, his broad, sallow brow, his thin cheek, his wide and quivering nostril100, his thorough glance, and hurried bearing. Irritable101 he was; one heard that, as he apostrophized with vehemence102 the awkward squad103 under his orders. Sometimes he would break out on these raw amateur actresses with a passion of impatience104 at their falseness of conception, their coldness of emotion, their feebleness of delivery. “Ecoutez!” he would cry; and then his voice rang through the premises105 like a trumpet106; and when, mimicking107 it, came the small pipe of a Ginevra, a Mathilde, or a Blanche, one understood why a hollow groan108 of scorn, or a fierce hiss35 of rage, rewarded the tame echo.
“Vous n’êtes donc que des poupées,” I heard him thunder. “Vous n’avez pas de passions — vous autres. Vous ne sentez donc rien? Votre chair est de neige, votre sang de glace! Moi, je veux que tout cela s’allume, qu’il ait une vie, une ame!”
Vain resolve! And when he at last found it was vain, he suddenly broke the whole business down. Hitherto he had been teaching them a grand tragedy; he tore the tragedy in morsels109, and came next day with a compact little comic trifle. To this they took more kindly110; he presently knocked it all into their smooth round pates111.
Mademoiselle St. Pierre always presided at M. Emanuel’s lessons, and I was told that the polish of her manner, her seeming attention, her tact and grace, impressed that gentleman very favourably112. She had, indeed, the art of pleasing, for a given time, whom she would; but the feeling would not last: in an hour it was dried like dew, vanished like gossamer113.
The day preceding Madame’s fête was as much a holiday as the fête itself. It was devoted114 to clearing out, cleaning, arranging and decorating the three schoolrooms. All within-doors was the gayest bustle115; neither up-stairs nor down could a quiet, isolated116 person find rest for the sole of her foot; accordingly, for my part, I took refuge in the garden. The whole day did I wander or sit there alone, finding warmth in the sun, shelter among the trees, and a sort of companionship in my own thoughts. I well remember that I exchanged but two sentences that day with any living being: not that I felt solitary117; I was glad to be quiet. For a looker-on, it sufficed to pass through the rooms once or twice, observe what changes were being wrought118, how a green-room and a dressing-room were being contrived119, a little stage with scenery erected120, how M. Paul Emanuel, in conjunction with Mademoiselle St. Pierre, was directing all, and how an eager band of pupils, amongst them Ginevra Fanshawe, were working gaily121 under his control.
The great day arrived. The sun rose hot and unclouded, and hot and unclouded it burned on till evening. All the doors and all the windows were set open, which gave a pleasant sense of summer freedom — and freedom the most complete seemed indeed the order of the day. Teachers and pupils descended122 to breakfast in dressing-gowns and curl-papers: anticipating “avec délices” the toilette of the evening, they seemed to take a pleasure in indulging that forenoon in a luxury of slovenliness123; like aldermen fasting in preparation for a feast. About nine o’clock A.M., an important functionary124, the “coiffeur,” arrived. Sacrilegious to state, he fixed125 his head-quarters in the oratory126, and there, in presence of bénitier, candle, and crucifix, solemnised the mysteries of his art. Each girl was summoned in turn to pass through his hands; emerging from them with head as smooth as a shell, intersected by faultless white lines, and wreathed about with Grecian plaits that shone as if lacquered. I took my turn with the rest, and could hardly believe what the glass said when I applied127 to it for information afterwards; the lavished128 garlandry of woven brown hair amazed me — I feared it was not all my own, and it required several convincing pulls to give assurance to the contrary. I then acknowledged in the coiffeur a first-rate artist — one who certainly made the most of indifferent materials.
The oratory closed, the dormitory became the scene of ablutions, arrayings and bedizenings curiously129 elaborate. To me it was, and ever must be an enigma130, how they contrived to spend so much time in doing so little. The operation seemed close, intricate, prolonged: the result simple. A clear white muslin dress, a blue sash (the Virgin’s colours), a pair of white, or straw-colour kid gloves — such was the gala uniform, to the assumption whereof that houseful of teachers and pupils devoted three mortal hours. But though simple, it must be allowed the array was perfect — perfect in fashion, fit, and freshness; every head being also dressed with exquisite131 nicety, and a certain compact taste — suiting the full, firm comeliness132 of Labassecourien contours, though too stiff for any more flowing and flexible style of beauty — the general effect was, on the whole, commendable133.
In beholding134 this diaphanous135 and snowy mass, I well remember feeling myself to be a mere29 shadowy spot on a field of light; the courage was not in me to put on a transparent136 white dress: something thin I must wear — the weather and rooms being too hot to give substantial fabrics137 sufferance, so I had sought through a dozen shops till I lit upon a crape-like material of purple-gray — the colour, in short, of dun mist, lying on a moor138 in bloom. My tailleuse had kindly made it as well as she could: because, as she judiciously139 observed, it was “si triste — si pen voyant,” care in the fashion was the more imperative140: it was well she took this view of the matter, for I, had no flower, no jewel to relieve it: and, what was more, I had no natural rose of complexion.
We become oblivious141 of these deficiencies in the uniform routine of daily drudgery142, but they will force upon us their unwelcome blank on those bright occasions when beauty should shine.
However, in this same gown of shadow, I felt at home and at ease; an advantage I should not have enjoyed in anything more brilliant or striking. Madame Beck, too, kept me in countenance143; her dress was almost as quiet as mine, except that she wore a bracelet145, and a large brooch bright with gold and fine stones. We chanced to meet on the stairs, and she gave me a nod and smile of approbation146. Not that she thought I was looking well — a point unlikely to engage her interest — but she considered me dressed “convenablement,” “décemment,” and la Convenance et la Décence were the two calm deities147 of Madame’s worship. She even paused, laid on my shoulder her gloved hand, holding an embroidered148 and perfumed handkerchief, and confided150 to my ear a sarcasm151 on the other teachers (whom she had just been complimenting to their faces). “Nothing so absurd,” she said, “as for des femmes m?res ‘to dress themselves like girls of fifteen’— quant à la. St. Pierre, elle a l’air d’une vieille coquette qui fait l’ingénue.”
Being dressed at least a couple of hours before anybody else, I felt a pleasure in betaking myself — not to the garden, where servants were busy propping152 up long tables, placing seats, and spreading cloths in readiness for the collation but to the schoolrooms, now empty, quiet, cool, and clean; their walls fresh stained, their planked floors fresh scoured153 and scarce dry; flowers fresh gathered adorning154 the recesses155 in pots, and draperies, fresh hung, beautifying the great windows.
Withdrawing to the first classe, a smaller and neater room than the others, and taking from the glazed156 bookcase, of which I kept the key, a volume whose title promised some interest, I sat down to read. The glass-door of this “classe,” or schoolroom, opened into the large berceau; acacia-boughs caressed157 its panes158, as they stretched across to meet a rose-bush blooming by the opposite lintel: in this rose-bush bees murmured busy and happy. I commenced reading. Just as the stilly hum, the embowering shade, the warm, lonely calm of my retreat were beginning to steal meaning from the page, vision from my eyes, and to lure159 me along the track of reverie, down into some deep dell of dreamland — just then, the sharpest ring of the street-door bell to which that much-tried instrument had ever thrilled, snatched me back to consciousness.
Now the bell had been ringing all the morning, as workmen, or servants, or coiffeurs, or tailleuses, went and came on their several errands. Moreover, there was good reason to expect it would ring all the afternoon, since about one hundred externes were yet to arrive in carriages or fiacres: nor could it be expected to rest during the evening, when parents and friends would gather thronging161 to the play. Under these circumstances, a ring — even a sharp ring — was a matter of course: yet this particular peal162 had an accent of its own, which chased my dream, and startled my book from my knee.
I was stooping to pick up this last, when — firm, fast, straight — right on through vestibule — along corridor, across carré, through first division, second division, grand salle — strode a step, quick, regular, intent. The closed door of the first classe — my sanctuary163 — offered no obstacle; it burst open, and a palet?t and a bonnet164 grec filled the void; also two eyes first vaguely165 struck upon, and then hungrily dived into me.
“C’est cela!” said a voice. “Je la connais: c’est l’Anglaise. Tant pis. Toute Anglaise, et, par conséquent, toute bégueule qu’elle soit — elle fera mon affaire, ou je saurai pourquoi.”
Then, with a certain stern politeness (I suppose he thought I had not caught the drift of his previous uncivil mutterings), and in a jargon166 the most execrable that ever was heard, “Meess —— play you must: I am planted there.”
“What can I do for you, M. Paul Emanuel?” I inquired: for M. Paul Emanuel it was, and in a state of no little excitement.
“Play you must. I will not have you shrink, or frown, or make the prude. I read your skull167 that night you came; I see your moyens: play you can; play you must.”
“But how, M. Paul? What do you mean?”
“There is no time to be lost,” he went on, now speaking in French; “and let us thrust to the wall all reluctance168, all excuses, all minauderies. You must take a part.”
“In the vaudeville169?”
“In the vaudeville. You have said it.”
I gasped170, horror-struck. What did the little man mean?
“Listen!” he said. “The case shall be stated, and you shall then answer me Yes, or No; and according to your answer shall I ever after estimate you.”
The scarce-suppressed impetus171 of a most irritable nature glowed in his cheek, fed with sharp shafts172 his glances, a nature — the injudicious, the mawkish173, the hesitating, the sullen174, the affected175, above all, the unyielding, might quickly render violent and implacable. Silence and attention was the best balm to apply: I listened.
“The whole matter is going to fail,” he began. “Louise Vanderkelkov has fallen ill — at least so her ridiculous mother asserts; for my part, I feel sure she might play if she would: it is only good-will that lacks. She was charged with a r?le, as you know, or do not know — it is equal: without that r?le the play is stopped. There are now but a few hours in which to learn it: not a girl in this school would hear reason, and accept the task. Forsooth, it is not an interesting, not an amiable176, part; their vile177 amour-propre — that base quality of which women have so much — would revolt from it. Englishwomen are either the best or the worst of their sex. Dieu sait que je les déteste comme la peste, ordinairement” (this between his recreant178 teeth). “I apply to an Englishwoman to rescue me. What is her answer — Yes, or No?”
A thousand objections rushed into my mind. The foreign language, the limited time, the public display . . . Inclination179 recoiled, Ability faltered180, Self-respect (that “vile quality”) trembled. “Non, non, non!” said all these; but looking up at M. Paul, and seeing in his vexed181, fiery182, and searching eye, a sort of appeal behind all its menace, my lips dropped the word “oui”. For a moment his rigid183 countenance relaxed with a quiver of content: quickly bent184 up again, however, he went on —
“Vite à l’ouvrage! Here is the book; here is your r?le: read.” And I read. He did not commend; at some passages he scowled186 and stamped. He gave me a lesson: I diligently187 imitated. It was a disagreeable part — a man’s — an empty-headed fop’s. One could put into it neither heart nor soul: I hated it. The play — a mere trifle — ran chiefly on the efforts of a brace144 of rivals to gain the hand of a fair coquette. One lover was called the “Ours,” a good and gallant188 but unpolished man, a sort of diamond in the rough; the other was a butterfly, a talker, and a traitor189: and I was to be the butterfly, talker, and traitor.
I did my best — which was bad, I know: it provoked M. Paul; he fumed149. Putting both — hands to the work, I endeavoured to do better than my best; I presume he gave me credit for good intentions; he professed to be partially190 content. “Ca ira!” he cried; and as voices began sounding from the garden, and white dresses fluttering among the trees, he added: “You must withdraw: you must be alone to learn this. Come with me.”
Without being allowed time or power to deliberate, I found myself in the same breath convoyed along as in a species of whirlwind, up-stairs, up two pair of stairs, nay191, actually up three (for this fiery little man seemed as by instinct to know his way everywhere); to the solitary and lofty attic192 was I borne, put in and locked in, the key being, in the door, and that key he took with him and vanished.
The attic was no pleasant place: I believe he did not know how unpleasant it was, or he never would have locked me in with so little ceremony. In this summer weather, it was hot as Africa; as in winter, it was always cold as Greenland. Boxes and lumber193 filled it; old dresses draped its unstained wall — cobwebs its unswept ceiling. Well was it known to be tenanted by rats, by black beetles194, and by cockroaches195 — nay, rumour196 affirmed that the ghostly Nun197 of the garden had once been seen here. A partial darkness obscured one end, across which, as for deeper mystery, an old russet curtain was drawn66, by way of screen to a sombre band of winter cloaks, pendent each from its pin, like a malefactor198 from his gibbet. From amongst these cloaks, and behind that curtain, the Nun was said to issue. I did not believe this, nor was I troubled by apprehension199 thereof; but I saw a very dark and large rat, with a long tail, come gliding200 out from that squalid alcove201; and, moreover, my eye fell on many a black-beetle, dotting the floor. These objects discomposed me more, perhaps, than it would be wise to say, as also did the dust, lumber, and stifling202 heat of the place. The last inconvenience would soon have become intolerable, had I not found means to open and prop13 up the skylight, thus admitting some freshness. Underneath203 this aperture204 I pushed a large empty chest, and having mounted upon it a smaller box, and wiped from both the dust, I gathered my dress (my best, the reader must remember, and therefore a legitimate205 object of care) fastidiously around me, ascended206 this species of extempore throne, and being seated, commenced the acquisition of my task; while I learned, not forgetting to keep a sharp look-out on the black-beetles and cockroaches, of which, more even, I believe, than of the rats, I sat in mortal dread207.
My impression at first was that I had undertaken what it really was impossible to perform, and I simply resolved to do my best and be resigned to fail. I soon found, however, that one part in so short a piece was not more than memory could master at a few hours’ notice. I learned and learned on, first in a whisper, and then aloud. Perfectly secure from human audience, I acted my part before the garret-vermin. Entering into its emptiness, frivolity208, and falsehood, with a spirit inspired by scorn and impatience, I took my revenge on this “fat,” by making him as fatuitous as I possibly could.
In this exercise the afternoon passed: day began to glide209 into evening; and I, who had eaten nothing since breakfast, grew excessively hungry. Now I thought of the collation, which doubtless they were just then devouring210 in the garden far below. (I had seen in the vestibule a basketful of small patés à la crême, than which nothing in the whole range of cookery seemed to me better). A paté, or a square of cake, it seemed to me would come very àpropos; and as my relish211 for those dainties increased, it began to appear somewhat hard that I should pass my holiday, fasting and in prison. Remote as was the attic from the street-door and vestibule, yet the ever-tinkling bell was faintly audible here; and also the ceaseless roll of wheels, on the tormented212 pavement. I knew that the house and garden were thronged213, and that all was gay and glad below; here it began to grow dusk: the beetles were fading from my sight; I trembled lest they should steal on me a march, mount my throne unseen, and, unsuspected, invade my skirts. Impatient and apprehensive214, I recommenced the rehearsal86 of my part merely to kill time. Just as I was concluding, the long-delayed rattle215 of the key in the lock came to my ear — no unwelcome sound. M. Paul (I could just see through the dusk that it was M. Paul, for light enough still lingered to show the velvet216 blackness of his close-shorn head, and the sallow ivory of his brow) looked in.
“Brava!” cried he, holding the door open and remaining at the threshold. “J’ai tout entendu. C’est assez bien. Encore!”
A moment I hesitated.
“Encore!” said he sternly. “Et point de grimaces! A bas la timidité!”
Again I went through the part, but not half so well as I had spoken it alone.
“Enfin, elle sait,” said he, half dissatisfied, “and one cannot be fastidious or exacting218 under the circumstances.” Then he added, “You may yet have twenty minutes for preparation: au revoir!” And he was going.
“Monsieur,” I called out, taking courage.
“Eh bien! Qu’est-ce que c’est, Mademoiselle?”
“J’ai bien faim.”
“Comment, vous avez faim! Et la collation?”
“I know nothing about it. I have not seen it, shut up here.”
“Ah! C’est vrai,” cried he.
In a moment my throne was abdicated220, the attic evacuated221; an inverse222 repetition of the impetus which had brought me up into the attic, instantly took me down — down — down to the very kitchen. I thought I should have gone to the cellar. The cook was imperatively223 ordered to produce food, and I, as imperatively, was commanded to eat. To my great joy this food was limited to coffee and cake: I had feared wine and sweets, which I did not like. How he guessed that I should like a petit paté à la crême I cannot tell; but he went out and procured224 me one from some quarter. With considerable willingness I ate and drank, keeping the petit paté till the last, as a bonne bouche. M. Paul superintended my repast, and almost forced upon me more than I could swallow.
“A la bonne heure,” he cried, when I signified that I really could take no more, and, with uplifted hands, implored225 to be spared the additional roll on which he had just spread butter. “You will set me down as a species of tyrant226 and Bluebeard, starving women in a garret; whereas, after all, I am no such thing. Now, Mademoiselle, do you feel courage and strength to appear?”
I said, I thought I did; though, in truth, I was perfectly confused, and could hardly tell how I felt: but this little man was of the order of beings who must not be opposed, unless you possessed an all-dominant force sufficient to crush him at once.
“Come then,” said he, offering his hand.
I gave him mine, and he set off with a rapid walk, which obliged me to run at his side in order to keep pace. In the carré he stopped a moment: it was lit with large lamps; the wide doors of the classes were open, and so were the equally wide garden-doors; orange-trees in tubs, and tall flowers in pots, ornamented227 these portals on each side; groups of ladies and gentlemen in evening-dress stood and walked amongst the flowers. Within, the long vista228 of the school-rooms presented a thronging, undulating, murmuring, waving, streaming multitude, all rose, and blue, and half translucent229 white. There were lustres burning overhead; far off there was a stage, a solemn green curtain, a row of footlights.
“Nest-ce pas que c’est beau?” demanded my companion.
I should have said it was, but my heart got up into my throat. M. Paul discovered this, and gave me a side-scowl185 and a little shake for my pains.
“I will do my best, but I wish it was over,” said I; then I asked: “Are we to walk through that crowd?”
“By no means: I manage matters better: we pass through the garden — here.”
In an instant we were out of doors: the cool, calm night revived me somewhat. It was moonless, but the reflex from the many glowing windows lit the court brightly, and even the alleys231 — dimly. Heaven was cloudless, and grand with the quiver of its living fires. How soft are the nights of the Continent! How bland232, balmy, safe! No sea-fog; no chilling damp: mistless as noon, and fresh as morning.
Having crossed court and garden, we reached the glass door of the first classe. It stood open, like all other doors that night; we passed, and then I was ushered233 into a small cabinet, dividing the first classe from the grand salle. This cabinet dazzled me, it was so full of light: it deafened234 me, it was clamorous235 with voices: it stifled236 me, it was so hot, choking, thronged.
“De l’ordre! Du silence!” cried M. Paul. “Is this chaos237?”, he demanded; and there was a hush238. With a dozen words, and as many gestures, he turned out half the persons present, and obliged the remnant to fall into rank. Those left were all in costume: they were the performers, and this was the green-room. M. Paul introduced me. All stared and some tittered. It was a surprise: they had not expected the Englishwoman would play in a vaudeville. Ginevra Fanshawe, beautifully dressed for her part, and looking fascinatingly pretty, turned on me a pair of eyes as round as beads240. In the highest spirit, unperturbed by fear or bashfulness, delighted indeed at the thought of shining off before hundreds — my entrance seemed to transfix her with amazement241 in the midst of her joy. She would have exclaimed, but M. Paul held her and all the rest in check.
Having surveyed and criticized the whole troop, he turned to me.
“You, too, must be dressed for your part.”
“Dressed — dressed like a man!” exclaimed Zélie St. Pierre, darting243 forwards; adding with officiousness, “I will dress her myself.”
To be dressed like a man did not please, and would not suit me. I had consented to take a man’s name and part; as to his dress — halte là! No. I would keep my own dress, come what might. M. Paul might storm, might rage: I would keep my own dress. I said so, with a voice as resolute244 in intent, as it was low, and perhaps unsteady in utterance245.
He did not immediately storm or rage, as I fully239 thought he would he stood silent. But Zélie again interposed.
“She will make a capital petit-maitre. Here are the garments, all — all complete: somewhat too large, but — I will arrange all that. Come, chère amie — belle246 Anglaise!”
And she sneered247, for I was not “belle.” She seized my hand, she was drawing me away. M. Paul stood impassable — neutral.
“You must not resist,” pursued St. Pierre — for resist I did. “You will spoil all, destroy the mirth of the piece, the enjoyment248 of the company, sacrifice everything to your amour-propre. This would be too bad — monsieur will never permit this?”
She sought his eye. I watched, likewise, for a glance. He gave her one, and then he gave me one. “Stop!” he said slowly, arresting St. Pierre, who continued her efforts to drag me after her. Everybody awaited the decision. He was not angry, not irritated; I perceived that, and took heart.
“You do not like these clothes?” he asked, pointing to the masculine vestments.
“I don’t object to some of them, but I won’t have them all.”
“How must it be, then? How accept a man’s part, and go on the stage dressed as a woman? This is an amateur affair, it is true — a vaudeville de pensionnat; certain modifications249 I might sanction, yet something you must have to announce you as of the nobler sex.”
“And I will, Monsieur; but it must be arranged in my own way: nobody must meddle250; the things must not be forced upon me. Just let me dress myself.”
Monsieur, without another word, took the costume from St. Pierre, gave it to me, and permitted me to pass into the dressing-room. Once alone, I grew calm, and collectedly went to work. Retaining my woman’s garb251 without the slightest retrenchment252, I merely assumed, in addition, a little vest, a collar, and cravat253, and a palet?t of small dimensions; the whole being the costume of a brother of one of the pupils. Having loosened my hair out of its braids, made up the long back-hair close, and brushed the front hair to one side, I took my hat and gloves in my hand and came out. M. Paul was waiting, and so were the others. He looked at me. “That may pass in a pensionnat,” he pronounced. Then added, not unkindly, “Courage, mon ami! Un peu de sangfroid254 — un peu d’aplomb, M. Lucien, et tout ira bien.”
St. Pierre sneered again, in her cold snaky manner.
I was irritable, because excited, and I could not help turning upon her and saying, that if she were not a lady and I a gentleman, I should feel disposed to call her out.
“After the play, after the play,” said M. Paul. “I will then divide my pair of pistols between you, and we will settle the dispute according to form: it will only be the old quarrel of France and England.”
But now the moment approached for the performance to commence. M. Paul, setting us before him, harangued255 us briefly256, like a general addressing soldiers about to charge. I don’t know what he said, except that he recommended each to penetrate9 herself with a sense of her personal insignificance257. God knows I thought this advice superfluous258 for some of us. A bell tinkled259. I and two more were ushered on to the stage. The bell tinkled again. I had to speak the very first words.
“Do not look at the crowd, nor think of it,” whispered M. Paul in my ear. “Imagine yourself in the garret, acting219 to the rats.”
He vanished. The curtain drew up — shrivelled to the ceiling: the bright lights, the long room, the gay throng160, burst upon us. I thought of the black-beetles, the old boxes, the worm-eaten bureau. I said my say badly; but I said it. That first speech was the difficulty; it revealed to me this fact, that it was not the crowd I feared so much as my own voice. Foreigners and strangers, the crowd were nothing to me. Nor did I think of them. When my tongue once got free, and my voice took its true pitch, and found its natural tone, I thought of nothing but the personage I represented — and of M. Paul, who was listening, watching, prompting in the side-scenes.
By-and-by, feeling the right power come — the spring demanded gush260 and rise inwardly — I became sufficiently261 composed to notice my fellow-actors. Some of them played very well; especially Ginevra Fanshawe, who had to coquette between two suitors, and managed admirably: in fact she was in her element. I observed that she once or twice threw a certain marked fondness and pointed partiality into her manner towards me — the fop. With such emphasis and animation262 did she favour me, such glances did she dart242 out into the listening and applauding crowd, that to me — who knew her — it presently became evident she was acting at some one; and I followed her eye, her smile, her gesture, and ere long discovered that she had at least singled out a handsome and distinguished263 aim for her shafts; full in the path of those arrows — taller than other spectators, and therefore more sure to receive them — stood, in attitude quiet but intent, a well-known form — that of Dr. John.
The spectacle seemed somehow suggestive. There was language in Dr. John’s look, though I cannot tell what he said; it animated264 me: I drew out of it a history; I put my idea into the part I per formed; I threw it into my wooing of Ginevra. In the “Ours,” or sincere lover, I saw Dr. John. Did I pity him, as erst? No, I hardened my heart, rivalled and out-rivalled him. I knew myself but a fop, but where he was outcast I could please. Now I know acted as if wishful and resolute to win and conquer. Ginevra seconded me; between us we half-changed the nature of the r?le, gilding265 it from top to toe. Between the acts M. Paul, told us he knew not what possessed us, and half expostulated. “C’est peut-être plus beau que votre modèle,” said he, “mais ce n’est pas juste.” I know not what possessed me either; but somehow, my longing266 was to eclipse the “Ours,” i.e., Dr. John. Ginevra was tender; how could I be otherwise than chivalric267? Retaining the letter, I recklessly altered the spirit of the r?le. Without heart, without interest, I could not play it at all. It must be played — in went the yearned-for seasoning269 — thus favoured, I played it with relish.
What I felt that night, and what I did, I no more expected to feel and do, than to be lifted in a trance to the seventh heaven. Cold, reluctant, apprehensive, I had accepted a part to please another: ere long, warming, becoming interested, taking courage, I acted to please myself. Yet the next day, when I thought it over, I quite disapproved270 of these amateur performances; and though glad that I had obliged M. Paul, and tried my own strength for once, I took a firm resolution, never to be drawn into a similar affair. A keen relish for dramatic expression had revealed itself as part of my nature; to cherish and exercise this new-found faculty271 might gift me with a world of delight, but it would not do for a mere looker-on at life: the strength and longing must be put by; and I put them by, and fastened them in with the lock of a resolution which neither Time nor Temptation has since picked.
No sooner was the play over, and well over, than the choleric272 and arbitrary M. Paul underwent a metamorphosis. His hour of managerial responsibility past, he at once laid aside his magisterial273 austerity; in a moment he stood amongst us, vivacious274, kind, and social, shook hands with us all round, thanked us separately, and announced his determination that each of us should in turn be his partner in the coming ball. On his claiming my promise, I told him I did not dance. “For once I must,” was the answer; and if I had not slipped aside and kept out of his way, he would have compelled me to this second performance. But I had acted enough for one evening; it was time I retired275 into myself and my ordinary life. My dun-coloured dress did well enough under a palet?t on the stage, but would not suit a waltz or a quadrille. Withdrawing to a quiet nook, whence unobserved I could observe — the ball, its splendours and its pleasures, passed before me as a spectacle.
Again Ginevra Fanshawe was the belle, the fairest and the gayest present; she was selected to open the ball: very lovely she looked, very gracefully277 she danced, very joyously278 she smiled. Such scenes were her triumphs — she was the child of pleasure. Work or suffering found her listless and dejected, powerless and repining; but gaiety expanded her butterfly’s wings, lit up their gold-dust and bright spots, made her flash like a gem58, and flush like a flower. At all ordinary diet and plain beverage279 she would pout280; but she fed on creams and ices like a humming-bird on honey-paste: sweet wine was her element, and sweet cake her daily bread. Ginevra lived her full life in a ball-room; elsewhere she drooped281 dispirited.
Think not, reader, that she thus bloomed and sparkled for the mere sake of M. Paul, her partner, or that she lavished her best graces that night for the edification of her companions only, or for that of the parents and grand-parents, who filled the carré, and lined the ball-room; under circumstances so insipid and limited, with motives282 so chilly283 and vapid284, Ginevra would scarce have deigned285 to walk one quadrille, and weariness and fretfulness would have replaced animation and good-humour, but she knew of a leaven286 in the otherwise heavy festal mass which lighted the whole; she tasted a condiment38 which gave it zest287; she perceived reasons justifying288 the display of her choicest attractions.
In the ball-room, indeed, not a single male spectator was to be seen who was not married and a father — M. Paul excepted — that gentleman, too, being the sole creature of his sex permitted to lead out a pupil to the dance; and this exceptional part was allowed him, partly as a matter of old-established custom (for he was a kinsman289 of Madame Beck’s, and high in her confidence), partly because he would always have his own way and do as he pleased, and partly because — wilful290, passionate291, partial, as he might be — he was the soul of honour, and might be trusted with a regiment292 of the fairest and purest; in perfect security that under his leadership they would come to no harm. Many of the girls — it may be noted293 in parenthesis294 — were not pure-minded at all, very much otherwise; but they no more dare betray their natural coarseness in M. Paul’s presence, than they dare tread purposely on his corns, laugh in his face during a stormy apostrophe, or speak above their breath while some crisis of irritability295 was covering his human visage with the mask of an intelligent tiger. M. Paul, then, might dance with whom he would — and woe296 be to the interference which put him out of step.
Others there were admitted as spectators — with (seeming) reluctance, through prayers, by influence, under restriction297, by special and difficult exercise of Madame Beck’s gracious good-nature, and whom she all the evening — with her own personal surveillance — kept far aloof at the remotest, drearest, coldest, darkest side of the carré— a small, forlorn band of “jeunes gens;” these being all of the best families, grown-up sons of mothers present, and whose sisters were pupils in the school. That whole evening was Madame on duty beside these “jeunes gens”— attentive298 to them as a mother, but strict with them as a dragon. There was a sort of cordon299 stretched before them, which they wearied her with prayers to be permitted to pass, and just to revive themselves by one dance with that “belle blonde,” or that “jolie brune,” or “cette jeune fille magnifique aux cheveux noirs comme le jais.”
“Taisez-vous!” Madame would reply, heroically and inexorably. “Vous ne passerez pas à moins que ce ne soit sur mon cadavre, et vous ne danserez qu’avec la nonnette du jardin” (alluding to the legend). And she majestically300 walked to and fro along their disconsolate301 and impatient line, like a little Bonaparte in a mouse-coloured silk gown.
Madame knew something of the world; Madame knew much of human nature. I don’t think that another directress in Villette would have dared to admit a “jeune homme” within her walls; but Madame knew that by granting such admission, on an occasion like the present, a bold stroke might be struck, and a great point gained.
In the first place, the parents were made accomplices302 to the deed, for it was only through their mediation303 it was brought about. Secondly304: the admission of these rattlesnakes, so fascinating and so dangerous, served to draw out Madame precisely305 in her strongest character — that of a first-rate surveillante. Thirdly: their presence furnished a most piquant306 ingredient to the entertainment: the pupils knew it, and saw it, and the view of such golden apples shining afar off, animated them with a spirit no other circumstance could have kindled307. The children’s pleasure spread to the parents; life and mirth circulated quickly round the ball-room; the “jeunes gens” themselves, though restrained, were amused: for Madame never permitted them to feel dull — and thus Madame Beck’s fête annually ensured a success unknown to the fête of any other directress in the land.
I observed that Dr. John was at first permitted to walk at large through the classes: there was about him a manly308, responsible look, that redeemed309 his youth, and half-expiated his beauty; but as soon as the ball began, Madame ran up to him.
“Come, Wolf; come,” said she, laughing: “you wear sheep’s clothing, but you must quit the fold notwithstanding. Come; I have a fine menagerie of twenty here in the carré: let me place you amongst my collection.”
“But first suffer me to have one dance with one pupil of my choice.”
“Have you the face to ask such a thing? It is madness: it is impiety311. Sortez, sortez, au plus vite.”
She drove him before her, and soon had him enclosed within the cordon.
Ginevra being, I suppose, tired with dancing, sought me out in my retreat. She threw herself on the bench beside me, and (a demonstration I could very well have dispensed312 with) cast her arms round my neck.
“Lucy Snowe! Lucy Snowe!” she cried in a somewhat sobbing313 voice, half hysterical314.
“What in the world is the matter?” I drily said.
“How do I look — how do I look to-night?” she demanded.
“As usual,” said I; “preposterously vain.”
“Caustic creature! You never have a kind word for me; but in spite of you, and all other envious315 detractors, I know I am beautiful; I feel it, I see it — for there is a great looking-glass in the dressing-room, where I can view my shape from head to foot. Will you go with me now, and let us two stand before it?”
“I will, Miss Fanshawe: you shall be humoured even to the top of your bent.”
The dressing-room was very near, and we stepped in. Putting her arm through mine, she drew me to the mirror. Without resistance remonstrance316, or remark, I stood and let her self-love have its feast and triumph: curious to see how much it could swallow — whether it was possible it could feed to satiety317 — whether any whisper of consideration for others could penetrate her heart, and moderate its vainglorious318 exultation319.
Not at all. She turned me and herself round; she viewed us both on all sides; she smiled, she waved her curls, she retouched her sash, she spread her dress, and finally, letting go my arm, and curtseying with mock respect, she said: “I would not be you for a kingdom.”
The remark was too na?ve to rouse anger; I merely said: “Very good.”
“And what would you give to be me?” she inquired.
“Not a bad sixpence — strange as it may sound,” I replied. “You are but a poor creature.”
“You don’t think so in your heart.”
“No; for in my heart you have not the outline of a place: I only occasionally turn you over in my brain.”
“Well, but,” said she, in an expostulatory tone, “just listen to the difference of our positions, and then see how happy am I, and how miserable320 are you.”
“Go on; I listen.”
“In the first place: I am the daughter of a gentleman of family, and though my father is not rich, I have expectations from an uncle. Then, I am just eighteen, the finest age possible. I have had a continental321 education, and though I can’t spell, I have abundant accomplishments. I am pretty; you can’t deny that; I may have as many admirers as I choose. This very night I have been breaking the hearts of two gentlemen, and it is the dying look I had from one of them just now, which puts me in such spirits. I do so like to watch them turn red and pale, and scowl and dart fiery glances at each other, and languishing322 ones at me. There is me — happy me; now for you, poor soul!
“I suppose you are nobody’s daughter, since you took care of little children when you first came to Villette: you have no relations; you can’t call yourself young at twenty-three; you have no attractive accomplishments — no beauty. As to admirers, you hardly know what they are; you can’t even talk on the subject: you sit dumb when the other teachers quote their conquests. I believe you never were in love, and never will be: you don’t know the feeling, and so much the better, for though you might have your own heart broken, no living heart will you ever break. Isn’t it all true?”
“A good deal of it is true as gospel, and shrewd besides. There must be good in you, Ginevra, to speak so honestly; that snake, Zélie St. Pierre, could not utter what you have uttered. Still, Miss Fanshawe, hapless as I am, according to your showing, sixpence I would not give to purchase you, body and soul.”
“Just because I am not clever, and that is all you think of. Nobody in the world but you cares for cleverness.”
“On the contrary, I consider you are clever, in your way — very smart indeed. But you were talking of breaking hearts — that edifying323 amusement into the merits of which I don’t quite enter; pray on whom does your vanity lead you to think you have done execution to-night?”
She approached her lips to my ear —“Isidore and Alfred de Hamal are both here?” she whispered.
“Oh! they are? I should like to see them.”
“There’s a dear creature! your curiosity is roused at last. Follow me, I will point them out.”
She proudly led the way —“But you cannot see them well from the classes,” said she, turning, “Madame keeps them too far off. Let us cross the garden, enter by the corridor, and get close to them behind: we shall be scolded if we are seen, but never mind.”
For once, I did not mind. Through the garden we went — penetrated into the corridor by a quiet private entrance, and approaching the carré, yet keeping in the corridor shade, commanded a near view of the band of “jeunes gens.”
I believe I could have picked out the conquering de Hamal even undirected. He was a straight-nosed, very correct-featured little dandy. I say little dandy, though he was not beneath the middle standard in stature324; but his lineaments were small, and so were his hands and feet; and he was pretty and smooth, and as trim as a doll: so nicely dressed, so nicely curled, so booted and gloved and cravated — he was charming indeed. I said so. “What, a dear personage!” cried I, and commended Ginevra’s taste warmly; and asked her what she thought de Hamal might have done with the precious fragments of that heart she had broken — whether he kept them in a scent-vial, and conserved325 them in otto of roses? I observed, too, with deep rapture326 of approbation, that the colonel’s hands were scarce larger than Miss Fanshawe’s own, and suggested that this circumstance might be convenient, as he could wear her gloves at a pinch. On his dear curls, I told her I doated: and as to his low, Grecian brow, and exquisite classic headpiece, I confessed I had no language to do such perfections justice.
“And if he were your lover?” suggested the cruelly exultant327 Ginevra.
“Oh! heavens, what bliss328!” said I; “but do not be inhuman329, Miss Fanshawe: to put such thoughts into my head is like showing poor outcast Cain a far, glimpse of Paradise.”
“You like him, then?”
“As I like sweets, and jams, and comfits, and conservatory330 flowers.”
Ginevra admired my taste, for all these things were her adoration331; she could then readily credit that they were mine too.
“Now for Isidore,” I went on. I own I felt still more curious to see him than his rival; but Ginevra was absorbed in the latter.
“Alfred was admitted here to-night,” said she, “through the influence of his aunt, Madame la Baronne de Dorlodot; and now, having seen him, can you not understand why I have been in such spirits all the evening, and acted so well, and danced with such life, and why I am now happy as a queen? Dieu! Dieu! It was such good fun to glance first at him and then at the other, and madden them both.”
“But that other — where is he? Show me Isidore.”
“I don’t like.”
“Why not?”
“I am ashamed of him.”
“For what reason?”
“Because — because” (in a whisper) “he has such — such whiskers, orange — red — there now!”
“The murder is out,” I subjoined. “Never mind, show him all the same; I engage not to faint.”
She looked round. Just then an English voice spoke217 behind her and me.
“You are both standing310 in a draught332; you must leave this corridor.”
“There is no draught, Dr. John,” said I, turning.
“She takes cold so easily,” he pursued, looking at Ginevra with extreme kindness. “She is delicate; she must be cared for: fetch her a shawl.”
“Permit me to judge for myself,” said Miss Fanshawe, with hauteur333. “I want no shawl.”
“Your dress is thin, you have been dancing, you are heated.”
“Always preaching,” retorted she; “always coddling and admonishing334.”
The answer Dr. John would have given did not come; that his heart was hurt became evident in his eye; darkened, and saddened, and pained, he turned a little aside, but was patient. I knew where there were plenty of shawls near at hand; I ran and fetched one.
“She shall wear this, if I have strength to make her,” said I, folding it well round her muslin dress, covering carefully her neck and her arms. “Is that Isidore?” I asked, in a somewhat fierce whisper.
She pushed up her lip, smiled, and nodded.
“Is that Isidore?” I repeated, giving her a shake: I could have given her a dozen.
“C’est lui-même,” said she. “How coarse he is, compared with the Colonel-Count! And then — oh ciel! — the whiskers!”
Dr. John now passed on.
“The Colonel-Count!” I echoed. “The doll — the puppet — the manikin — the poor inferior creature! A mere lackey335 for Dr. John his valet, his foot-boy! Is it possible that fine generous gentleman — handsome as a vision — offers you his honourable336 hand and gallant heart, and promises to protect your flimsy person and feckless mind through the storms and struggles of life — and you hang back — you scorn, you sting, you torture him! Have you power to do this? Who gave you that power? Where is it? Does it lie all in your beauty — your pink and white complexion, and your yellow hair? Does this bind337 his soul at your feet, and bend his neck under your yoke338? Does this purchase for you his affection, his tenderness, his thoughts, his hopes, his interest, his noble, cordial love — and will you not have it? Do you scorn it? You are only dissembling: you are not in earnest: you love him; you long for him; but you trifle with his heart to make him more surely yours?”
“Bah! How you run on! I don’t understand half you have said.”
I had got her out into the garden ere this. I now set her down on a seat and told her she should not stir till she had avowed339 which she meant in the end to accept — the man or the monkey.
“Him you call the man,” said she, “is bourgeois340, sandy-haired, and answers to the name of John! — cela suffit: je n’en veux pas. Colonel de Hamal is a gentleman of excellent connections, perfect manners, sweet appearance, with pale interesting face, and hair and eyes like an Italian. Then too he is the most delightful341 company possible — a man quite in my way; not sensible and serious like the other; but one with whom I can talk on equal terms — who does not plague and bore, and harass342 me with depths, and heights, and passions, and talents for which I have no taste. There now. Don’t hold me so fast.”
I slackened my grasp, and she darted343 off. I did not care to pursue her.
Somehow I could not avoid returning once more in the direction of the corridor to get another glimpse of Dr. John; but I met him on the garden-steps, standing where the light from a window fell broad. His well-proportioned figure was not to be mistaken, for I doubt whether there was another in that assemblage his equal. He carried his hat in his hand; his uncovered head, his face and fine brow were most handsome and manly. His features were not delicate, not slight like those of a woman, nor were they cold, frivolous344, and feeble; though well cut, they were not so chiselled345, so frittered away, as to lose in expression or significance what they gained in unmeaning symmetry. Much feeling spoke in them at times, and more sat silent in his eye. Such at least were my thoughts of him: to me he seemed all this. An inexpressible sense of wonder occupied me, as I looked at this man, and reflected that he could not be slighted.
It was, not my intention to approach or address him in the garden, our terms of acquaintance not warranting such a step; I had only meant to view him in the crowd — myself unseen: coming upon him thus alone, I withdrew. But he was looking out for me, or rather for her who had been with me: therefore he descended the steps, and followed me down the alley230.
“You know Miss Fanshawe? I have often wished to ask whether you knew her,” said he.
“Yes: I know her.”
“Intimately?”
“Quite as intimately as I wish.”
“What have you done with her now?”
“Am I her keeper?” I felt inclined to ask; but I simply answered, “I have shaken her well, and would have shaken her better, but she escaped out of my hands and ran away.”
“Would you favour me,” he asked, “by watching over her this one evening, and observing that she does nothing imprudent — does not, for instance, run out into the night-air immediately after dancing?”
“I may, perhaps, look after her a little; since you wish it; but she likes her own way too well to submit readily to control.”
“She is so young, so thoroughly347 artless,” said he.
“To me she is an enigma,” I responded.
“Is she?” he asked — much interested. “How?”
“It would be difficult to say how — difficult, at least, to tell you how.”
“And why me?”
“I wonder she is not better pleased that you are so much her friend.”
“But she has not the slightest idea how much I am her friend. That is precisely the point I cannot teach her. May I inquire did she ever speak of me to you?”
“Under the name of ‘Isidore’ she has talked about you often; but I must add that it is only within the last ten minutes I have discovered that you and ‘Isidore’ are identical. It is only, Dr. John, within that brief space of time I have learned that Ginevra Fanshawe is the person, under this roof, in whom you have long been interested — that she is the magnet which attracts you to the Rue62 Fossette, that for her sake you venture into this garden, and seek out caskets dropped by rivals.”
“You know all?”
“I know so much.”
“For more than a year I have been accustomed to meet her in society. Mrs. Cholmondeley, her friend, is an acquaintance of mine; thus I see her every Sunday. But you observed that under the name of ‘Isidore’ she often spoke of me: may I— without inviting348 you to a breach349 of confidence — inquire what was the tone, what the feeling of her remarks? I feel somewhat anxious to know, being a little tormented with uncertainty350 as to how I stand with her.”
“Oh, she varies: she shifts and changes like the wind.”
“Still, you can gather some general idea —?”
“I can,” thought I, “but it would not do to communicate that general idea to you. Besides, if I said she did not love you, I know you would not believe me.”
“You are silent,” he pursued. “I suppose you have no good news to impart. No matter. If she feels for me positive coldness and aversion, it is a sign I do not deserve her.”
“Do you doubt yourself? Do you consider yourself the inferior of Colonel de Hamal?”
“I love Miss Fanshawe far more than de Hamal loves any human being, and would care for and guard her better than he. Respecting de Hamal, I fear she is under an illusion; the man’s character is known to me, all his antecedents, all his scrapes. He is not worthy351 of your beautiful young friend.”
“My ‘beautiful young friend’ ought to know that, and to know or feel who is worthy of her,” said I. “If her beauty or her brains will not serve her so far, she merits the sharp lesson of experience.”
“Are you not a little severe?”
“I am excessively severe — more severe than I choose to show you. You should hear the strictures with which I favour my ‘beautiful young friend,’ only that you would be unutterably shocked at my want of tender considerateness for her delicate nature.”
“She is so lovely, one cannot but be loving towards her. You — every woman older than herself, must feel for such a simple, innocent, girlish fairy a sort of motherly or elder-sisterly fondness. Graceful276 angel! Does not your heart yearn268 towards her when she pours into your ear her pure, childlike confidences? How you are privileged!” And he sighed.
“I cut short these confidences somewhat abruptly352 now and then,” said I. “But excuse me, Dr. John, may I change the theme for one instant? What a god-like person is that de Hamal! What a nose on his face — perfect! Model one in putty or clay, you could not make a better or straighter, or neater; and then, such classic lips and chin — and his bearing — sublime353.”
“De Hamal is an unutterable puppy, besides being a very white-livered hero.”
“You, Dr. John, and every man of a less-refined mould than he, must feel for him a sort of admiring affection, such as Mars and the coarser deities may be supposed to have borne the young, graceful Apollo.”
“An unprincipled, gambling354 little jackanapes!” said Dr. John curtly355, “whom, with one hand, I could lift up by the waistband any day, and lay low in the kennel356 if I liked.”
“The sweet seraph357!” said I. “What a cruel idea! Are you not a little severe, Dr. John?”
And now I paused. For the second time that night I was going beyond myself — venturing out of what I looked on as my natural habits — speaking in an unpremeditated, impulsive358 strain, which startled me strangely when I halted to reflect. On rising that morning, had I anticipated that before night I should have acted the part of a gay lover in a vaudeville; and an hour after, frankly discussed with Dr. John the question of his hapless suit, and rallied him on his illusions? I had no more presaged359 such feats360 than I had looked forward to an ascent361 in a balloon, or a voyage to Cape346 Horn.
The Doctor and I, having paced down the walk, were now returning; the reflex from the window again lit his face: he smiled, but his eye was melancholy362. How I wished that he could feel heart’s-ease! How I grieved that he brooded over pain, and pain from such a cause! He, with his great advantages, he to love in vain! I did not then know that the pensiveness363 of reverse is the best phase for some minds; nor did I reflect that some herbs, “though scentless364 when entire, yield fragrance365 when they’re bruised366.”
“Do not be sorrowful, do not grieve,” I broke out. “If there is in Ginevra one spark of worthiness367 of your affection, she will — she must feel devotion in return. Be cheerful, be hopeful, Dr. John. Who should hope, if not you?”
In return for this speech I got — what, it must be supposed, I deserved — a look of surprise: I thought also of some disapprobation. We parted, and I went into the house very chill. The clocks struck and the bells tolled368 midnight; people were leaving fast: the fête was over; the lamps were fading. In another hour all the dwelling-house, and all the pensionnat, were dark and hushed. I too was in bed, but not asleep. To me it was not easy to sleep after a day of such excitement.
点击
收听单词发音
收听单词发音 |
1
robust
|
|
| adj.强壮的，强健的，粗野的，需要体力的，浓的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
solitude
|
|
| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
overtures
|
|
| n.主动的表示，提议；（向某人做出的）友好表示、姿态或提议( overture的名词复数 )；（歌剧、芭蕾舞、音乐剧等的）序曲，前奏曲 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
intimacy
|
|
| n.熟悉，亲密，密切关系，亲昵的言行 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
par
|
|
| n.标准，票面价值，平均数量；adj.票面的，平常的，标准的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
corrupt
|
|
| v.贿赂，收买；adj.腐败的，贪污的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
creed
|
|
| n.信条；信念，纲领 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
penetrated
|
|
| adj. 击穿的，鞭辟入里的 动词penetrate的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
penetrate
|
|
| v.透(渗)入；刺入，刺穿；洞察，了解 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
slough
|
|
| v.蜕皮，脱落，抛弃 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
insignificant
|
|
| adj.无关紧要的，可忽略的，无意义的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
distinctive
|
|
| adj.特别的，有特色的，与众不同的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
prop
|
|
| vt.支撑；n.支柱，支撑物；支持者，靠山 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
avarice
|
|
| n.贪婪；贪心 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
reigned
|
|
| vi.当政，统治（reign的过去式形式） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
glisten
|
|
| vi.（光洁或湿润表面等）闪闪发光，闪闪发亮 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
hoard
|
|
| n./v.窖藏，贮存，囤积 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
savings
|
|
| n.存款，储蓄 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
persevering
|
|
| a.坚忍不拔的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
dotage
|
|
| n.年老体衰；年老昏聩 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
behold
|
|
| v.看，注视，看到 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
prodigal
|
|
| adj.浪费的，挥霍的，放荡的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
profligate
|
|
| adj.行为不检的；n.放荡的人，浪子，肆意挥霍者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
disposition
|
|
| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
reptile
|
|
| n.爬行动物；两栖动物 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
whetted
|
|
| v.（在石头上）磨（刀、斧等）( whet的过去式和过去分词 )；引起，刺激（食欲、欲望、兴趣等） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
philosophically
|
|
| adv.哲学上；富有哲理性地；贤明地；冷静地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
scaly
|
|
| adj.鱼鳞状的；干燥粗糙的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
mere
|
|
| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
rustled
|
|
| v.发出沙沙的声音( rustle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
demonstration
|
|
| n.表明，示范，论证，示威 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
wrath
|
|
| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
recoiled
|
|
| v.畏缩( recoil的过去式和过去分词 )；退缩；报应；返回 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
hissing
|
|
| n. 发嘶嘶声, 蔑视 动词hiss的现在分词形式 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
hiss
|
|
| v.发出嘶嘶声；发嘘声表示不满 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
cosmetics
|
|
| n.化妆品 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
condiments
|
|
| n.调味品 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
condiment
|
|
| n.调味品 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
callous
|
|
| adj.无情的，冷淡的，硬结的，起老茧的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
epicure
|
|
| n.行家，美食家 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
complexion
|
|
| n.肤色；情况，局面；气质，性格 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
craving
|
|
| n.渴望,热望 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
ingrate
|
|
| n.忘恩负义的人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
insipid
|
|
| adj.无味的，枯燥乏味的，单调的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
perfectly
|
|
| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
indifference
|
|
| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
antipathy
|
|
| n.憎恶；反感，引起反感的人或事物 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
pointed
|
|
| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
possessed
|
|
| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
petrifying
|
|
| v.吓呆，使麻木( petrify的现在分词 )；使吓呆，使惊呆；僵化 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
51
brawling
|
|
| n.争吵，喧嚷 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
52
invaluable
|
|
| adj.无价的，非常宝贵的，极为贵重的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
53
frankly
|
|
| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
54
convenable
|
|
| 可召集的，可召唤的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
|
55
tout
|
|
| v.推销，招徕；兜售；吹捧，劝诱 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
56
frolicsome
|
|
| adj.嬉戏的，闹着玩的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
57
pervaded
|
|
| v.遍及，弥漫( pervade的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
58
gem
|
|
| n.宝石，珠宝；受爱戴的人 [同]jewel | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
59
dwelling
|
|
| n.住宅，住所，寓所 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
60
pretext
|
|
| n.借口，托词 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
61
joyous
|
|
| adj.充满快乐的；令人高兴的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
62
rue
|
|
| n.懊悔，芸香，后悔；v.后悔，悲伤，懊悔 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
63
wilt
|
|
| v.(使)植物凋谢或枯萎；(指人)疲倦，衰弱 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
64
casements
|
|
| n.窗扉( casement的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
65
withdrawn
|
|
| vt.收回；使退出；vi.撤退，退出 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
66
drawn
|
|
| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
67
aloof
|
|
| adj.远离的；冷淡的，漠不关心的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
68
disinterestedly
|
|
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
69
subscription
|
|
| n.预订，预订费，亲笔签名，调配法，下标（处方） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
70
annually
|
|
| adv.一年一次，每年 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
71
levied
|
|
| 征（兵）( levy的过去式和过去分词 )； 索取； 发动（战争）； 征税 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
72
tact
|
|
| n.机敏，圆滑，得体 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
73
consultation
|
|
| n.咨询；商量；商议；会议 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
74
chamber
|
|
| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
75
lieutenant
|
|
| n.陆军中尉，海军上尉；代理官员，副职官员 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
76
benign
|
|
| adj.善良的，慈祥的；良性的，无危险的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
77
protrude
|
|
| v.使突出，伸出，突出 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
78
grimaces
|
|
| n.（表蔑视、厌恶等）面部扭曲，鬼脸( grimace的名词复数 )v.扮鬼相，做鬼脸( grimace的第三人称单数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
79
professed
|
|
| 公开声称的，伪称的，已立誓信教的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
80
profess
|
|
| v.声称，冒称，以...为业，正式接受入教，表明信仰 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
81
porcelain
|
|
| n.瓷；adj.瓷的，瓷制的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
82
proceedings
|
|
| n.进程，过程，议程；诉讼(程序)；公报 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
83
collation
|
|
| n.便餐；整理 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
84
fatigue
|
|
| n.疲劳，劳累 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
85
countless
|
|
| adj.无数的，多得不计其数的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
86
rehearsal
|
|
| n.排练，排演；练习 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
87
rehearsals
|
|
| n.练习( rehearsal的名词复数 )；排练；复述；重复 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
88
accomplishments
|
|
| n.造诣；完成( accomplishment的名词复数 )；技能；成绩；成就 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
89
requisite
|
|
| adj.需要的，必不可少的；n.必需品 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
90
anecdotes
|
|
| n.掌故，趣闻，轶事( anecdote的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
91
resounded
|
|
| v.（指声音等）回荡于某处( resound的过去式和过去分词 )；产生回响；（指某处）回荡着声音 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
92
bestowing
|
|
| 砖窑中砖堆上层已烧透的砖 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
93
discourse
|
|
| n.论文，演说；谈话；话语；vi.讲述，著述 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
94
allusions
|
|
| 暗指，间接提到( allusion的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
95
esteemed
|
|
| adj.受人尊敬的v.尊敬( esteem的过去式和过去分词 )；敬重；认为；以为 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
96
hideously
|
|
| adv.可怕地，非常讨厌地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
97
pungent
|
|
| adj.（气味、味道）刺激性的，辛辣的；尖锐的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
98
austere
|
|
| adj.艰苦的；朴素的，朴实无华的；严峻的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
99
apparition
|
|
| n.幽灵，神奇的现象 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
100
nostril
|
|
| n.鼻孔 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
101
irritable
|
|
| adj.急躁的；过敏的；易怒的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
102
vehemence
|
|
| n.热切；激烈；愤怒 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
103
squad
|
|
| n.班，小队，小团体；vt.把…编成班或小组 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
104
impatience
|
|
| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
105
premises
|
|
| n.建筑物，房屋 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
106
trumpet
|
|
| n.喇叭，喇叭声；v.吹喇叭，吹嘘 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
107
mimicking
|
|
| v.（尤指为了逗乐而）模仿( mimic的现在分词 )；酷似 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
108
groan
|
|
| vi./n.呻吟，抱怨；(发出)呻吟般的声音 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
109
morsels
|
|
| n.一口( morsel的名词复数 )；（尤指食物）小块，碎屑 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
110
kindly
|
|
| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
111
pates
|
|
| n.头顶，（尤指）秃顶，光顶( pate的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
112
favourably
|
|
| adv. 善意地，赞成地 =favorably | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
113
gossamer
|
|
| n.薄纱，游丝 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
114
devoted
|
|
| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
115
bustle
|
|
| v.喧扰地忙乱，匆忙，奔忙；n.忙碌；喧闹 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
116
isolated
|
|
| adj.与世隔绝的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
117
solitary
|
|
| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
118
wrought
|
|
| v.引起；以…原料制作；运转；adj.制造的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
119
contrived
|
|
| adj.不自然的，做作的；虚构的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
120
ERECTED
|
|
| adj. 直立的，竖立的，笔直的 vt. 使 ... 直立，建立 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
121
gaily
|
|
| adv.欢乐地，高兴地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
122
descended
|
|
| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
123
slovenliness
|
|
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
124
functionary
|
|
| n.官员；公职人员 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
125
fixed
|
|
| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
126
oratory
|
|
| n.演讲术；词藻华丽的言辞 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
127
applied
|
|
| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
128
lavished
|
|
| v.过分给予，滥施( lavish的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
129
curiously
|
|
| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
130
enigma
|
|
| n.谜，谜一样的人或事 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
131
exquisite
|
|
| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
132
comeliness
|
|
| n. 清秀, 美丽, 合宜 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
133
commendable
|
|
| adj.值得称赞的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
134
beholding
|
|
| v.看，注视( behold的现在分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
135
diaphanous
|
|
| adj.(布)精致的，半透明的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
136
transparent
|
|
| adj.明显的，无疑的；透明的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
137
fabrics
|
|
| 织物( fabric的名词复数 )； 布； 构造； （建筑物的）结构（如墙、地面、屋顶）：质地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
138
moor
|
|
| n.荒野，沼泽；vt.(使)停泊；vi.停泊 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
139
judiciously
|
|
| adv.明断地，明智而审慎地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
140
imperative
|
|
| n.命令，需要；规则；祈使语气；adj.强制的；紧急的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
141
oblivious
|
|
| adj.易忘的，遗忘的，忘却的，健忘的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
142
drudgery
|
|
| n.苦工，重活，单调乏味的工作 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
143
countenance
|
|
| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
144
brace
|
|
| n. 支柱,曲柄,大括号; v. 绷紧,顶住,(为困难或坏事)做准备 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
145
bracelet
|
|
| n.手镯，臂镯 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
146
approbation
|
|
| n.称赞；认可 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
147
deities
|
|
| n.神，女神( deity的名词复数 )；神祗；神灵；神明 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
148
embroidered
|
|
| adj．绣花的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
149
fumed
|
|
| 愤怒( fume的过去式和过去分词 )； 大怒； 发怒； 冒烟 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
150
confided
|
|
| v.吐露（秘密，心事等）( confide的过去式和过去分词 )；（向某人）吐露（隐私、秘密等） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
151
sarcasm
|
|
| n.讥讽，讽刺，嘲弄，反话 （adj.sarcastic） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
152
propping
|
|
| 支撑 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
153
scoured
|
|
| 走遍（某地）搜寻（人或物）( scour的过去式和过去分词 )； （用力）刷； 擦净； 擦亮 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
154
adorning
|
|
| 修饰，装饰物 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
155
recesses
|
|
| n.壁凹( recess的名词复数 )；（工作或业务活动的）中止或暂停期间；学校的课间休息；某物内部的凹形空间v.把某物放在墙壁的凹处( recess的第三人称单数 )；将（墙）做成凹形，在（墙）上做壁龛；休息，休会，休庭 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
156
glazed
|
|
| adj.光滑的，像玻璃的；上过釉的；呆滞无神的v.装玻璃( glaze的过去式)；上釉于，上光；（目光）变得呆滞无神 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
157
caressed
|
|
| 爱抚或抚摸…( caress的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
158
panes
|
|
| 窗玻璃( pane的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
159
lure
|
|
| n.吸引人的东西，诱惑物；vt.引诱，吸引 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
160
throng
|
|
| n.人群，群众；v.拥挤，群集 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
161
thronging
|
|
| v.成群，挤满( throng的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
162
peal
|
|
| n.钟声；v.鸣响 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
163
sanctuary
|
|
| n.圣所，圣堂，寺庙；禁猎区，保护区 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
164
bonnet
|
|
| n.无边女帽；童帽 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
165
vaguely
|
|
| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
166
jargon
|
|
| n.术语，行话 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
167
skull
|
|
| n.头骨；颅骨 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
168
reluctance
|
|
| n.厌恶，讨厌，勉强，不情愿 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
169
vaudeville
|
|
| n.歌舞杂耍表演 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
170
gasped
|
|
| v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
171
impetus
|
|
| n.推动，促进，刺激；推动力 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
172
shafts
|
|
| n.轴( shaft的名词复数 )；（箭、高尔夫球棒等的）杆；通风井；一阵（疼痛、害怕等） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
173
mawkish
|
|
| adj.多愁善感的的；无味的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
174
sullen
|
|
| adj.愠怒的，闷闷不乐的，(天气等)阴沉的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
175
affected
|
|
| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
176
amiable
|
|
| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
177
vile
|
|
| adj.卑鄙的，可耻的，邪恶的；坏透的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
178
recreant
|
|
| n.懦夫；adj.胆怯的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
179
inclination
|
|
| n.倾斜；点头；弯腰；斜坡；倾度；倾向；爱好 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
180
faltered
|
|
| （嗓音）颤抖( falter的过去式和过去分词 )； 支吾其词； 蹒跚； 摇晃 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
181
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： |
|
|
|
|
182
fiery
|
|
| adj.燃烧着的，火红的；暴躁的；激烈的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
183
rigid
|
|
| adj.严格的，死板的；刚硬的，僵硬的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
184
bent
|
|
| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
185
scowl
|
|
| vi.(at)生气地皱眉，沉下脸，怒视；n.怒容 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
186
scowled
|
|
| 怒视，生气地皱眉( scowl的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
187
diligently
|
|
| ad.industriously;carefully | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
188
gallant
|
|
| adj.英勇的，豪侠的；(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
189
traitor
|
|
| n.叛徒，卖国贼 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
190
partially
|
|
| adv.部分地，从某些方面讲 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
191
nay
|
|
| adv.不；n.反对票，投反对票者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
192
attic
|
|
| n.顶楼，屋顶室 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
193
lumber
|
|
| n.木材，木料；v.以破旧东西堆满；伐木；笨重移动 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
194
beetles
|
|
| n.甲虫( beetle的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
195
cockroaches
|
|
| n.蟑螂( cockroach的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
196
rumour
|
|
| n.谣言，谣传，传闻 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
197
nun
|
|
| n.修女，尼姑 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
198
malefactor
|
|
| n.罪犯 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
199
apprehension
|
|
| n.理解，领悟；逮捕，拘捕；忧虑 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
200
gliding
|
|
| v. 滑翔 adj. 滑动的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
201
alcove
|
|
| n.凹室 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
202
stifling
|
|
| a.令人窒息的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
203
underneath
|
|
| adj.在...下面，在...底下；adv.在下面 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
204
aperture
|
|
| n.孔，隙，窄的缺口 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
205
legitimate
|
|
| adj.合法的，合理的，合乎逻辑的；v.使合法 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
206
ascended
|
|
| v.上升，攀登( ascend的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
207
dread
|
|
| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
208
frivolity
|
|
| n.轻松的乐事，兴高采烈；轻浮的举止 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
209
glide
|
|
| n./v.溜，滑行；(时间)消逝 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
210
devouring
|
|
| 吞没( devour的现在分词 )； 耗尽； 津津有味地看； 狼吞虎咽地吃光 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
211
relish
|
|
| n.滋味，享受，爱好，调味品；vt.加调味料，享受，品味；vi.有滋味 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
212
tormented
|
|
| 饱受折磨的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
213
thronged
|
|
| v.成群，挤满( throng的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
214
apprehensive
|
|
| adj.担心的，恐惧的，善于领会的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
215
rattle
|
|
| v.飞奔，碰响；激怒；n.碰撞声；拨浪鼓 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
216
velvet
|
|
| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
217
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： |
|
|
|
|
218
exacting
|
|
| adj.苛求的，要求严格的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
219
acting
|
|
| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
220
abdicated
|
|
| 放弃（职责、权力等）( abdicate的过去式和过去分词 )； 退位，逊位 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
221
evacuated
|
|
| 撤退者的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
222
inverse
|
|
| adj.相反的，倒转的，反转的；n.相反之物；v.倒转 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
223
imperatively
|
|
| adv.命令式地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
224
procured
|
|
| v.（努力）取得， （设法）获得( procure的过去式和过去分词 )；拉皮条 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
225
implored
|
|
| 恳求或乞求（某人）( implore的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
226
tyrant
|
|
| n.暴君，专制的君主，残暴的人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
227
ornamented
|
|
| adj.花式字体的v.装饰，点缀，美化( ornament的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
228
vista
|
|
| n.远景，深景，展望，回想 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
229
translucent
|
|
| adj.半透明的；透明的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
230
alley
|
|
| n.小巷，胡同；小径，小路 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
231
alleys
|
|
| 胡同，小巷( alley的名词复数 )； 小径 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
232
bland
|
|
| adj.淡而无味的，温和的，无刺激性的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
233
ushered
|
|
| v.引，领，陪同( usher的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
234
deafened
|
|
| 使聋( deafen的过去式和过去分词 )； 使隔音 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
235
clamorous
|
|
| adj.吵闹的，喧哗的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
236
stifled
|
|
| （使）窒息， （使）窒闷( stifle的过去式和过去分词 )； 镇压，遏制； 堵 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
237
chaos
|
|
| n.混乱，无秩序 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
238
hush
|
|
| int.嘘，别出声；n.沉默，静寂；v.使安静 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
239
fully
|
|
| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
240
beads
|
|
| n.（空心）小珠子( bead的名词复数 )；水珠；珠子项链 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
241
amazement
|
|
| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
242
dart
|
|
| v.猛冲，投掷；n.飞镖，猛冲 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
243
darting
|
|
| v.投掷，投射( dart的现在分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
244
resolute
|
|
| adj.坚决的，果敢的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
245
utterance
|
|
| n.用言语表达，话语，言语 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
246
belle
|
|
| n.靓女 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
247
sneered
|
|
| 讥笑，冷笑( sneer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
248
enjoyment
|
|
| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
249
modifications
|
|
| n.缓和( modification的名词复数 )；限制；更改；改变 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
250
meddle
|
|
| v.干预，干涉，插手 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
251
garb
|
|
| n.服装，装束 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
252
retrenchment
|
|
| n.节省，删除 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
253
cravat
|
|
| n.领巾，领结；v.使穿有领结的服装，使结领结 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
254
sangfroid
|
|
| n.沉着冷静 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
255
harangued
|
|
| v.高谈阔论( harangue的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
256
briefly
|
|
| adv.简单地，简短地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
257
insignificance
|
|
| n.不重要；无价值；无意义 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
258
superfluous
|
|
| adj.过多的，过剩的，多余的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
259
tinkled
|
|
| （使）发出丁当声，（使）发铃铃声( tinkle的过去式和过去分词 )； 叮当响着发出，铃铃响着报出 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
260
gush
|
|
| v.喷，涌；滔滔不绝(说话)；n.喷，涌流；迸发 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
261
sufficiently
|
|
| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
262
animation
|
|
| n.活泼，兴奋，卡通片／动画片的制作 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
263
distinguished
|
|
| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
264
animated
|
|
| adj.生气勃勃的，活跃的，愉快的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
265
gilding
|
|
| n.贴金箔，镀金 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
266
longing
|
|
| n.（for）渴望 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
267
chivalric
|
|
| 有武士气概的，有武士风范的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
|
268
yearn
|
|
| v.想念；怀念；渴望 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
269
seasoning
|
|
| n.调味；调味料；增添趣味之物 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
270
disapproved
|
|
| v.不赞成( disapprove的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
271
faculty
|
|
| n.才能；学院，系；(学院或系的)全体教学人员 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
272
choleric
|
|
| adj.易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
273
magisterial
|
|
| adj.威风的，有权威的；adv.威严地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
274
vivacious
|
|
| adj.活泼的，快活的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
275
retired
|
|
| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
276
graceful
|
|
| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
277
gracefully
|
|
| ad.大大方方地；优美地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
278
joyously
|
|
| ad.快乐地, 高兴地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
279
beverage
|
|
| n.(水，酒等之外的)饮料 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
280
pout
|
|
| v.撅嘴；绷脸；n.撅嘴；生气，不高兴 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
281
drooped
|
|
| 弯曲或下垂，发蔫( droop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
282
motives
|
|
| n.动机，目的( motive的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
283
chilly
|
|
| adj.凉快的，寒冷的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
284
vapid
|
|
| adj.无味的；无生气的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
285
deigned
|
|
| v.屈尊，俯就( deign的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
286
leaven
|
|
| v.使发酵；n.酵母；影响 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
287
zest
|
|
| n.乐趣；滋味，风味；兴趣 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
288
justifying
|
|
| 证明…有理( justify的现在分词 )； 为…辩护； 对…作出解释； 为…辩解（或辩护） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
289
kinsman
|
|
| n.男亲属 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
290
wilful
|
|
| adj.任性的，故意的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
291
passionate
|
|
| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
292
regiment
|
|
| n.团，多数，管理；v.组织，编成团，统制 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
293
noted
|
|
| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
294
parenthesis
|
|
| n.圆括号，插入语，插曲，间歇，停歇 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
295
irritability
|
|
| n.易怒 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
296
woe
|
|
| n.悲哀，苦痛，不幸，困难；int.用来表达悲伤或惊慌 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
297
restriction
|
|
| n.限制，约束 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
298
attentive
|
|
| adj.注意的，专心的；关心(别人)的，殷勤的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
299
cordon
|
|
| n.警戒线，哨兵线 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
300
majestically
|
|
| 雄伟地； 庄重地； 威严地； 崇高地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
301
disconsolate
|
|
| adj.忧郁的，不快的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
302
accomplices
|
|
| 从犯，帮凶，同谋( accomplice的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
303
mediation
|
|
| n.调解 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
304
secondly
|
|
| adv.第二，其次 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
305
precisely
|
|
| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
306
piquant
|
|
| adj.辛辣的，开胃的，令人兴奋的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
307
kindled
|
|
| （使某物）燃烧，着火( kindle的过去式和过去分词 )； 激起（感情等）； 发亮，放光 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
308
manly
|
|
| adj.有男子气概的；adv.男子般地，果断地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
309
redeemed
|
|
| adj. 可赎回的，可救赎的 动词redeem的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
310
standing
|
|
| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
311
impiety
|
|
| n.不敬；不孝 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
312
dispensed
|
|
| v.分配( dispense的过去式和过去分词 )；施与；配（药） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
313
sobbing
|
|
| <主方>Ⅰ adj.湿透的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
314
hysterical
|
|
| adj.情绪异常激动的，歇斯底里般的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
315
envious
|
|
| adj.嫉妒的，羡慕的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
316
remonstrance
|
|
| n抗议，抱怨 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
317
satiety
|
|
| n.饱和；(市场的)充分供应 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
318
vainglorious
|
|
| adj.自负的；夸大的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
319
exultation
|
|
| n.狂喜，得意 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
320
miserable
|
|
| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
321
continental
|
|
| adj.大陆的，大陆性的，欧洲大陆的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
322
languishing
|
|
| a. 衰弱下去的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
323
edifying
|
|
| adj.有教训意味的，教训性的，有益的v.开导，启发( edify的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
324
stature
|
|
| n.（高度）水平，（高度）境界，身高，身材 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
325
conserved
|
|
| v.保护，保藏，保存( conserve的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
326
rapture
|
|
| n.狂喜；全神贯注；着迷；v.使狂喜 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
327
exultant
|
|
| adj.欢腾的，狂欢的，大喜的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
328
bliss
|
|
| n.狂喜，福佑，天赐的福 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
329
inhuman
|
|
| adj.残忍的，不人道的，无人性的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
330
conservatory
|
|
| n.温室，音乐学院；adj.保存性的，有保存力的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
331
adoration
|
|
| n.爱慕，崇拜 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
332
draught
|
|
| n.拉，牵引，拖；一网（饮，吸，阵)；顿服药量，通风；v.起草，设计 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
333
hauteur
|
|
| n.傲慢 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
334
admonishing
|
|
| v.劝告( admonish的现在分词 )；训诫；（温和地）责备；轻责 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
335
lackey
|
|
| n.侍从；跟班 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
336
honourable
|
|
| adj.可敬的；荣誉的，光荣的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
337
bind
|
|
| vt.捆，包扎；装订；约束；使凝固；vi.变硬 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
338
yoke
|
|
| n.轭；支配；v.给...上轭，连接，使成配偶 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
339
avowed
|
|
| adj.公开声明的，承认的v.公开声明，承认( avow的过去式和过去分词) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
340
bourgeois
|
|
| adj./n.追求物质享受的(人)；中产阶级分子 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
341
delightful
|
|
| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
342
harass
|
|
| vt.使烦恼，折磨，骚扰 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
343
darted
|
|
| v.投掷，投射( dart的过去式和过去分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
344
frivolous
|
|
| adj.轻薄的；轻率的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
345
chiselled
|
|
| adj.凿过的，凿光的； （文章等）精心雕琢的v.凿，雕，镌( chisel的过去式 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
346
cape
|
|
| n.海角，岬；披肩，短披风 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
347
thoroughly
|
|
| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
348
inviting
|
|
| adj.诱人的，引人注目的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
349
breach
|
|
| n.违反，不履行；破裂；vt.冲破，攻破 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
350
uncertainty
|
|
| n.易变，靠不住，不确知，不确定的事物 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
351
worthy
|
|
| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
352
abruptly
|
|
| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
353
sublime
|
|
| adj.崇高的，伟大的；极度的，不顾后果的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
354
gambling
|
|
| n.赌博；投机 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
355
curtly
|
|
| adv.简短地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
356
kennel
|
|
| n.狗舍，狗窝 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
357
seraph
|
|
| n.六翼天使 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
358
impulsive
|
|
| adj.冲动的，刺激的；有推动力的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
359
presaged
|
|
| v.预示，预兆( presage的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
360
feats
|
|
| 功绩，伟业，技艺( feat的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
361
ascent
|
|
| n.(声望或地位)提高；上升，升高；登高 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
362
melancholy
|
|
| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
363
pensiveness
|
|
| n.pensive（沉思的）的变形 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
364
scentless
|
|
| adj.无气味的，遗臭已消失的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
|
365
fragrance
|
|
| n.芬芳，香味，香气 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
366
bruised
|
|
| [医]青肿的，瘀紫的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
367
worthiness
|
|
| 价值，值得 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
368
tolled
|
|
| 鸣钟（toll的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |