Jacques, too, in his way is a force of nature. 27His artistic15 vitality16 will always overwhelm me, and it did so this evening in proportion with such a hypnotism. For between the formidable exterminating17 monster which waves its column of smoke above the devastated18 Pompeii, and the inoffensive cerebral19 volcano whose smoky eruptions20 overflow21 into yellow volumes, or crystallize into three, four or five act plays, the difference is really very great. Without ironical22 extenuation23 such a comparison would be rather comic. Whether justified24 or not, I gave myself up to this sensation without discussion. Wearied as I was by my day of moral lassitude, was not this way of spending my evening an unexpected pleasure? The comedy might interest me, for this foppish25 egoist had great talent. The actress might be pretty, although doubtless Jacques’ fatuity26 had transformed for my astonishment27 a Conservatoire fool into a bird of paradise. I had too often accompanied Claude Larcher into Colette Rigaud’s dressing-room not to know these footlight-mistresses and their vulgarity. But there are always exceptions, and Madam Pierre de Bonnivet might be an exception to her class, although a rich woman who collects celebrities28 was hardly likely to please me. In any case, it was worth the trouble of accompanying Molan to the Vaudeville29 simply to have the pleasure of seeing him enter the theatre.
“We will go in by the stage door,” he said “in the Rue30 de la Chaussée d’Antin. It is very charming here in the two little stage boxes, and upon the stage behind the curtain. We can get to the 28boxes through the wings, if either of them is vacant.”
He got out of the carriage before me as he said this; he greeted the door-keeper and went through a doorway31 and up a staircase with the gait which is unique in the world: that of the fashionable author visiting his paper, his editor, or his theatre. Every gesture seemed to say, “The house belongs to me”; his foot was lighter32, his cane33 waved in his hand, and his shoulders involuntarily swaggered. These things are in themselves of no importance, but we painters who have studied portraiture34 make it our business to seize upon these trifles. The theatre staff, when they saw “their author” pass, displayed inexpressible and unconscious respect. How I should like to inspire some picture dealer35 with like respect! When shall I have in displaying my pictures to a friend, the peaceful and innocently puerile36 pride which Jacques displayed in opening for me the door of one of the stage boxes, fortunately unoccupied, where we sat down while he whispered to me—
“The first act has been in progress for five minutes. You will follow it directly. A former mistress of the Duke’s is trying to make the Duchess jealous. Was I lying to you when I said that little Favier is pretty? She has caught sight of me. Fortunately she has nothing to say for a minute or two, or she would have forgotten her lines. She is looking at you. You interest her. She knows the three or four friends I usually bring. Now hear her speak. Is not the timbre37, the music 29of her voice, exquisite38? Listen to what she is saying.”
I have heard La Duchesse Blue many times since till I know by heart every phrase. It is a fine delicate play in spite of the affectation of the title. It contains an extremely good study of a rare but very human jealousy39. It is the story of a friend who is amorous40 of his friend’s wife, and who remains41 faithful to his friendship in his love. He never mentioned his feelings to the woman. He has never admitted it to himself, and he cannot bear any one else to pay court to this young woman. He ends by saving her from a irreparable mistake, without her knowing the reason or who he is. The first scene in which the childish Duchess confides42 in her husband’s former mistress, without suspecting the recollections she is awakening43 by the avowal44 of her own joys, is a marvel45 of moving, vibrating analysis, which might be called tenderly cruel. This play is a little masterpiece of to-day by Marivaux—a Marivaux whose airy gaiety would be like lace upon a wound. But I did not perceive the real value of the comedy on this first evening; although Molan was present to comment upon its smallest details. The painter in me was too keenly attracted by the extraordinary appearance of this Camille Favier, whom my friend had so carelessly called his mistress. The box being almost on the stage allowed me to follow the smallest movements of her face, her most furtive46 winks47, and the most rapid knitting of her brows. I could see the layers of cream and rouge48 30unequally distributed on her face, and the lengthening49 of her lashes50 with black crayon. Even made up in this way she realized in an extraordinary way the ideal type created by the most refined English artists: Rossetti, Burne-Jones, and Morris. Her fine features were almost too slight for the perspective of the stage. Her large, slightly convex forehead seemed clouded with dreams. The elongated51 oval of her face made her smile float into her cheeks. Her straight nose, rather short, ennobled her profile. Her full lips drooped52 at the corners and were at the same time sad and sensual, voluptuous53, and bitter. This make up even gave to her beauty a particular charm, which touched me strangely in its mixture of the real and the artificial. Her rosy54 cheeks were visible through her rouge, the fringe of her long lashes beneath the crayon, the fresh purple of her lips through the carmine55, just as in her playing of the part she represented; a true, sincere and tender woman, was visible or seemed to be visible.
“It is the thunder-clap,” he said, “you have just felt! You can listen, too. Your sublimes56 will amalgate, as Saint Simon said of some one. But now turn and look with your glasses in the fourth box of the first tier on the left. You see a woman in white, fanning herself with a fan, with silk muslin flounces, white too, and an invention of her own? That is Madam Pierre de Bonnivet. What do you think of her? It is amusing, is it not, to play the game of love and hazard with these two pretty creatures as partners?”
31I looked in the direction Jacques indicated, and I soon had my glasses fixed57 on the fashionable rival of the Bohemian Camille Favier.
The fatuous58 insolence59 which my comrade affected60 then appeared to me justified, and more than justified, by the beauty of this elegant female who coquetted with him, as he told me. I knew he was too daring a fellow not to go on quickly from liberty to liberty. If Camille recalled, even with her rouge and patches, the Psyches61 and Galateas of the most suave62 of the Pre-raphaelite Brothers, Madam Pierre de Bonnivet, with her arched nose, her wilful63 chin, the fine line of the cheek, her elegant haughty64 mouth, had beauty enough to justify65 the most aristocratic pretensions66. How, coming of a poor family—I have found out since that she was a Taraval—she inevitably67 recalled one of those princesses so dear to Van Dyck, that incomplete master, whom no other has equalled, in the art of portraying68 breeding, and the indomitable pride and heroic energy concealed70 beneath the fragility of feminine grace. The habits of wealth for two or three generations produce these mirages71.
It is certain that the painter of the divine Marquise Paola Brignole, of the Red Palace at Genoa, never found a model more suited to his genius. His brush alone could have properly reproduced the glory of that tint72 whose dead white was not an?mic—the red lips told that—with the cloud of blonde hair which paled in the light. The simple sight of the thick rolls of golden hair lying upon her neck, when she turned her head, betokened73 that 32physiological vitality of one of those slender persons who conceal69 beneath the tenderness of a siren the courage of a captain of dragoons. Her neck, though a little long, was well developed, and the fingers of her nervous hands were a little long also; her bust74, which was outlined at each movement by her supple75 white corsage, was so young, so elegant, and so full. But the most significant thing to me about this creature of luxury was her blue eyes, as blue as those of the other woman, with this difference, that the blue of Camille Favier’s eyes recalled the blue of the petals76 of a flower; while Madam de Bonnivet’s eyes were the azure77 of metal or precious stone. They gave one the idea of something implacable, in spite of their charm, something hard and frigidly78 dangerous in their magnetism79. To complete this singular sensation of graceful80 cruelty, when the young woman laughed her lips were raised a little too much at the corners displaying sharp white teeth close together, almost too small, like those of a precious animal of the chase.
In to-day trying to exactly reproduce the impressions, which I felt in the presence of Jacques Molan’s two partners in his favourite game of heartless love, I am taking into account that my actual knowledge of their characters influences my recollection of this first meeting. I do not think I am giving too powerful a touch to this souvenir. I can still hear myself say, while applause was being showered upon little Favier, to Jacques—
33“You make a good choice, when you like.”
“I do what I can,” he said as he nodded his head.
“I am asking myself,” I continued, “with mistresses of such beauty——”
“One mistress,” he corrected me. “Madam de Bonnivet is not my mistress.”
“It comes to the same thing, as far as it concerns what I am going to say. I am asking myself, how you manage to escape scandal.”
“I am like Proudhon,” he replied with a laugh, “whom Hugo pretended had the skin of a toad81 in his pocket. It appears that this charm protects one from every danger.”
“Do you think your luck will hold? Then what of the women themselves?”
“Larcher has an axiom: 'a woman is the best antidote82 against another woman.’”
“But the result of that is spiteful vengeance83, vitriol, and the revolver. One of these two women, I should not trust.”
As I said that, I pointed84 with my cane to Madam Bonnivet.
“Really! beautiful Queen Anne gives you the impression, also, of a coquettish bird of prey85, of a little spitfire of a falcon86, whom it is not wise to tease. Ah, well! If you like,” he went on as he got up, “the act is over, I will present you to one or the other of them. It is very funny. Would you believe that in my stories I have always more or less need of a looker-on; when we think that there are people foolish enough to criticize the 34classic tragedies on this account? In my opinion there is no more natural person.”
He took my arm as he said this, assigning me the part of witness, of satellite borne along in the orbit of its sun. It is a strange thing that I am really made for those secondary parts, Pylades to an Orestes, Horatio to Hamlet; and his coolness did not wound me. Alas87! it has been decreed that I should be, like Horatio, always and everywhere an unsuccessful man. What irony88 to have as my Hamlet the implacable egotist who was showing me the way to little Favier’s dressing-room! I followed him behind the scenes, up a staircase crowded with dressers and supernumeraries, and along corridors full of doors from behind which came the sounds of laughter, singing, argument, and of expressions used at a card-party.
Previously89, I had only been behind the scenes at the Comédie Fran?aise of the famous theatres; where I often accompanied the unfortunate Claude. At that theatre, was to be found the correct and conventional respectability, which too often spoils the acting90 of members of the company of that famous house. My horror of pretentiousness91 has always made me dislike the Comédie, with its elegant appearance, its secular92 portraits, its venerable busts93, and its elegant green room. There, more than elsewhere I have experienced the disenchantment of the contrast between the play and the back of the stage, between theatrical94 prestige and its kitchen. On the contrary, behind the scenes of the smaller theatres, where my friends 35have taken me, the Varieties, the Gymnase and the Vaudeville on that evening, I have felt the picturesque95 antitheses96, the supple improvization, the animal energy which constitute an actor’s business. Chance willed that in the company of Jacques Molan, after being a prey to impuissance for the entire day, I should find a complete cure for my vitality. Did we not hear, as we knocked at the door of Mademoiselle Favier’s dressing-room, the following dialogue exchanged by two actors playing the piece, the famous Bressoré, and a gentleman in a frock coat and tall hat, whose clean-shaven face and bluish cheeks showed he was an actor of this or some other company.
“I was not up to much in my new part,” the latter asked, “was I? Tell me the truth.”
“You were very good,” Bressoré replied, “but you have one failing.”
“What is that?”
“You don’t stand firm and look the audience straight in the face.”
“That fellow has just mentioned the secret of success in the arts,” Jacques Molan said to me with a laugh; “between ourselves as friends, you are a little lacking in assurance yourself. If I met you more often I would give you——”
In saying this he did not suspect how gaily97 and hardly he was touching98 a sore in my artistic conscience; and I did not give him the answer which rose to my lips. “That simply proves the baseness and brutality99 of success, and that the artist who succeeds is often a charlatan100 in disguise.”
36He had just knocked at the dressing-room door. A voice had answered, “Who is there?” then without waiting for a reply the door opened and Camille Favier appeared with a smile of happiness upon her pretty face which changed into a constrained101 expression when she saw that her lover was not alone.
“Ah!” she said, slightly confused, “I did not think you would bring any one, and my dressing-room is untidy.”
“That does not matter,” said Jacques as he gently pushed her back into the room with one hand and introduced me with the other. “My friend is no one of importance as you think he is, little Blue Duchess. He is a very old friend of mine and a painter, a very great painter, you understand. All our friends are great men. He is used to disorder102 in his own studio, so make your mind easy. He asked to be introduced to you because he has long wished to paint your portrait.” He nudged me with his elbow to warn me not to contradict his delicate handling of the truth. “I forgot to mention his name, M. Vincent la Croix. Do not say you have seen his work, for he shows very little. He belongs to the timid school. You are warned. Now the ice is broken let us sit down.”
“You can do so,” the young woman said with a laugh. My companion’s banter103, though not very flattering to me, had already transformed her. “You will allow me to tidy up a little?” she went on as with almost incredible rapidity she spread a clean towel over a basin of soapy water in which 37she had just washed her hands. She rolled up and threw under the dressing-table several other dirty towels. She put the lids on three or four boxes of pomade, and hung a red wrapper over a chair, on which I had noticed a well worn pair of common corsets, which she generally wore for economy’s sake. She did all this with a smile, and then noticed a pair of pale green stockings which she wore upon the stage. These she picked up with wonderful quickness, and I thought I could detect a tremor104 of shame in her as she did so. Those silk stockings which still displayed the shape of her fine leg and tiny foot were a small part of her nudity. She concealed them in the first object which came to hand, and it turned out to be a hat-box. “That is all,” she said as she turned to Jacques. “Do you think I anticipated your visit and changed my costume in ten minutes, watch in hand? You will not have to endure the presence of my dresser, who, poor woman, displeases105 you.” She went on in a caressing106 and frightened tone: “Were you satisfied with me this evening? Did I play my great scene well?”
If she had seduced107 me the moment I saw her on the stage by her charming finesse108 and ingenuous109 grace, how the charm worked with more powerful magic in these common surroundings still more unworthy of her! This simple dressing-room, so untidy, so lacking in embroidery110 and ornaments111, where everything seemed a makeshift for the sake of economy, recalled to me by its contrast the sumptuousness112 and luxury of the dressing-room 38where Colette Regaud reigned113 at the Fran?ais. Ah, if Colette had only had for Claude, when I accompanied that unfortunate fellow to her dressing-room, the evident love which the Blue Duchess showed for Jacques Molan even in the tones of her most ordinary conversation, the ardour of her most fleeting114 glances, and the fever of her smallest gestures! She was a delightful115 child, who loved as she gave herself, with her whole being, naturally and spontaneously. What divine tenderness my companion enjoyed simply out of vanity! I felt how delighted he was while talking to his mistress, at directing this little performance! His eyes became shining instead of tender. I could see that he was studying me in a mirror in front of us, instead of looking at the love-sick girl as he answered her—
“You were exquisite as you always are. Ask Vincent if I did not say so?”
“Is that true?” she asked.
“Quite true,” I replied.
“He echoed my remarks too, I assure you,” Jacques continued.
“Then I really acted my scene well,” she said, with a na?ve gleam of contentment in her eyes; then she knitted her brows and nodding her pretty head said: “ah, well, I am surprised at it.”
“Why?” I asked her in my turn.
“You ought not to ask her that,” Jacques said, with a laugh. “I know beforehand what her answer will be.”
“No,” she said quickly, and her mobile mouth 39assumed the bitter curve it had in repose116. “Do not listen to him, sir. His is going to tease me, and it is very unkind of him, about one of the nervous impressions which we all have—you two as well. Do you not sometimes experience a shudder117 of antipathy in the company of certain people, whose presence alone freezes you and takes away all at once your memory, your power, and your mind? Their presence alone produces a feeling that one cannot breathe the same air as them without being stifled118.”
“Yes, I do know those antipathies119!” I cried. “I feel them for people I meet by chance, whom I have never seen before, who are nothing to me, but their approach is quite intolerable to me, just as if they were my avowed120 enemies. Once I used to try and resist this instinctive121 feeling of repulsion. I found from experience that I was always wrong not to yield to it, and I am sure to-day that an antipathy of this kind, either strong or slight, is nature’s second sight, and an infallible warning that a danger threatens us through the being whose existence annoys us thus.”
“You see,” Camille said turning to Molan, “I am not so ridiculous after all.”
I had at once guessed the name of the person whose presence in the theatre so disconcerted this frail122 Burne-Jones nymph, transformed by the bad fairy presiding over her destiny into a poor devil of an actress in love with the writer in Paris the most incapable123 of love. If I had not guessed the name Jacques would not have left me in ignorance 40of it for long. He is no worse than any one else. I have heard of his good actions and seen his generosity124. To my knowledge he has put his purse at the disposal of colleagues whom he had more or less slandered125. It is difficult to reconcile that, for example, with the indelicate unkindness which made him name his mistress’ rival at a time when he saw the pretty child was so troubled. The explanation, however, is quite simple. Such a thing as good or evil, unkindness or generosity, never entered into his calculations. He always played to the gallery, and a single spectator sufficed to compose this gallery, which in turn made him perform the best or worst actions, and made him magnanimous or mean. While playing the part of looker-on for him I realized how correct are the casuists who pretend that our actions are nothing, but our motives126 everything. His motives I could see as distinctly as the movement of a watch in a glass case.
“She talks to you in enigmas,” he said to me with a gleam in his eyes which meant: “You shall see if my diagnosis127 is correct and if she loves me.” How could this Tussolin Don Juan resist the chance of satisfying two vanities at the same time, that of the observer and that of the seducer128? He went on: “I am going to amuse you with the name of the member of the audience who so troubles her this evening. She is not so complex as you are, and it is simply a woman who gives her this feeling of annoyance129.”
“Jacques!” the actress cried in a supplicating130 41voice, without noticing that the use of his Christian131 name betrayed their secret even more than her lover’s odious132 teasing.
“I warn you that Vincent is one of her admirers,” the latter insisted in spite of this appeal.
“Ah!” Camille said, looking at me with a sudden feeling of distrust; “does he know her?”
“He is teasing you, mademoiselle; I have seen in the theatre no face to which I could give a name.”
“Then I am a liar,” Molan went on, “and you did not say just now that Madam Pierre de Bonnivet was a Van Dyck who had stepped out of a picture just as, according to you, the Blue Duchess has stepped from a picture by Burne-Jones. There is no need to be surprised, Camille. Comparison with pictures is a mania133 with painters. To them a woman or a landscape is only a bit of canvas without a frame. This little infirmity is to their mind what an ink stain is to us authors, and he displayed, in spite of his elegant attire134 as a man about town, a slight black stain upon the middle finger of his right hand where he held his pen. That is just like the rouge upon the actress’ face, the little professional mark. Yes or no, did you say that about Madam de Bonnivet?”
“It is quite right I said that,” I quickly replied, “but mention the fact that it was you who pointed this woman out to me, and that I have not been introduced to her. I told you, too, that I could see in her eyes a frightfully hard and bitter look. In spite of her beauty, elegance135, and slenderness 42to me she seems almost ugly, and more than that—repulsive; I can quite understand Mademoiselle Favier’s impression.”
The look of gratitude136 which the actress threw me was a fresh admission of her liaison137 with my friend. Besides she no more thought of concealing138 it than he did, though for a different reason. She could not conceal it because she was so much in love, while he paraded the intrigue139 because he was not in love at all. He caught her look and resumed in his bantering140 tone—
“Ah, well, Camille, see how good I am. I have brought you some one to talk to you. He understands you already. Think what it will be when he has painted your portrait! For he is going to do so for me! Are you agreeable?”
“Perhaps your friend has not the time just now!”
“Did not I tell you that was the reason of our visit?” he replied. I myself was rather afraid that this project would fall through. “But time is up, you must be on the stage when the curtain rises,” I said. “Good-bye, mademoiselle.”
“No,” he continued, “good-bye till presently. Is it not so, Camille?”
“Certainly,” she said with a laugh. I saw by her eyes that she was experiencing a little emotion. “Allow me to say a word to your friend?” she added turning to me.
“Good!” I thought. “She is going to reproach him, and she will be right.” I fell into a melancholy141 reverie which contrasted with the place where 43I was, at least as much as did the delicate sensibility revealed by each of the young actress’ gestures and words. We had only been with her a quarter of an hour, and in that time the appearance of the corridor had changed. Feverish142 haste now betokened the approaching rise of the curtain and the fear of being too late. The call-boy went along knocking at a door here and there. Visitors hurriedly departed. The game of bezique went on in a neighbouring dressing-room, that of an actress who only appeared in the last act.
“Here I am,” Jacques said, interrupting my meditation143 by touching me on the shoulder, “let us get back to our box at once. If Camille does not see me when she appears on the stage, she will look for me in Madam de Bonnivet’s box and lose her power.”
“Why do you amuse yourself by exciting her jealousy?” I replied. “How can you be so hardhearted? You pained her just now. She was angry.”
“Angry?” he cried, “angry? Why she has just asked me to see her home to-night. Her mother is not coming for her. Angry? Why women love teasing. It troubles them at first, but then they are like all vicious animals, they can only be subdued144 by hurting them. I want you now to see her rival. About the middle of the act Favier goes off the stage, and I will go to Madam de Bonnivet’s box and ask permission to present you. You shall see what a different woman she is.”
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depict
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| vt.描画，描绘；描写，描述 | |
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subtlety
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| n.微妙，敏锐，精巧；微妙之处，细微的区别 | |
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inexplicable
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| adj.无法解释的，难理解的 | |
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antipathy
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| n.憎恶；反感，引起反感的人或事物 | |
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admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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spurted
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| （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 | |
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lava
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| n.熔岩，火山岩 | |
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crater
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| n.火山口，弹坑 | |
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fiery
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| adj.燃烧着的，火红的；暴躁的；激烈的 | |
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cannon
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| n.大炮，火炮；飞机上的机关炮 | |
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suffocating
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trickle
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| vi.淌，滴，流出，慢慢移动，逐渐消散 | |
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unbearable
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| adj.不能容忍的；忍受不住的 | |
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brutal
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| adj.残忍的，野蛮的，不讲理的 | |
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artistic
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| adj.艺术(家)的，美术(家)的；善于艺术创作的 | |
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vitality
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| n.活力，生命力，效力 | |
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exterminating
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| v.消灭，根绝( exterminate的现在分词 ) | |
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devastated
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| v.彻底破坏( devastate的过去式和过去分词)；摧毁；毁灭；在感情上（精神上、财务上等）压垮adj.毁坏的；极为震惊的 | |
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cerebral
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| adj.脑的，大脑的；有智力的，理智型的 | |
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eruptions
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| n.喷发，爆发( eruption的名词复数 ) | |
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overflow
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| v.(使)外溢，(使)溢出；溢出，流出，漫出 | |
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ironical
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| adj.讽刺的，冷嘲的 | |
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extenuation
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| n.减轻罪孽的借口；酌情减轻；细 | |
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justified
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foppish
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fatuity
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astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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celebrities
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| n.（尤指娱乐界的）名人( celebrity的名词复数 )；名流；名声；名誉 | |
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vaudeville
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| n.歌舞杂耍表演 | |
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rue
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| n.懊悔，芸香，后悔；v.后悔，悲伤，懊悔 | |
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doorway
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lighter
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cane
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| n.手杖，细长的茎，藤条；v.以杖击，以藤编制的 | |
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34
portraiture
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| n.肖像画法 | |
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35
dealer
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| n.商人，贩子 | |
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36
puerile
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| adj.幼稚的，儿童的 | |
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37
timbre
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| n.音色，音质 | |
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38
exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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39
jealousy
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| n.妒忌，嫉妒，猜忌 | |
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40
amorous
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| adj.多情的；有关爱情的 | |
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41
remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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42
confides
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| v.吐露（秘密，心事等）( confide的第三人称单数 )；（向某人）吐露（隐私、秘密等） | |
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43
awakening
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| n.觉醒，醒悟 adj.觉醒中的；唤醒的 | |
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44
avowal
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| n.公开宣称，坦白承认 | |
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45
marvel
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| vi.(at)惊叹vt.感到惊异；n.令人惊异的事 | |
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46
furtive
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| adj.鬼鬼崇崇的，偷偷摸摸的 | |
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47
winks
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| v.使眼色( wink的第三人称单数 )；递眼色（表示友好或高兴等）；（指光）闪烁；闪亮 | |
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48
rouge
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| n.胭脂，口红唇膏；v.(在…上)擦口红 | |
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49
lengthening
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| （时间或空间）延长，伸长( lengthen的现在分词 )； 加长 | |
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50
lashes
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| n.鞭挞( lash的名词复数 )；鞭子；突然猛烈的一击；急速挥动v.鞭打( lash的第三人称单数 )；煽动；紧系；怒斥 | |
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51
elongated
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| v.延长，加长( elongate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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52
drooped
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| 弯曲或下垂，发蔫( droop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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53
voluptuous
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| adj.肉欲的，骄奢淫逸的 | |
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54
rosy
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| adj.美好的，乐观的，玫瑰色的 | |
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55
carmine
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| n.深红色，洋红色 | |
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56
sublimes
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| [医]使升华，使纯化 | |
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57
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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58
fatuous
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| adj.愚昧的；昏庸的 | |
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59
insolence
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| n.傲慢；无礼；厚颜；傲慢的态度 | |
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60
affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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61
psyches
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| n.灵魂，心灵( psyche的名词复数 ) | |
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62
suave
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| adj.温和的；柔和的；文雅的 | |
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63
wilful
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| adj.任性的，故意的 | |
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64
haughty
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| adj.傲慢的，高傲的 | |
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65
justify
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| vt.证明…正当(或有理)，为…辩护 | |
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66
pretensions
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| 自称( pretension的名词复数 )； 自命不凡； 要求； 权力 | |
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67
inevitably
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| adv.不可避免地；必然发生地 | |
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68
portraying
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| v.画像( portray的现在分词 )；描述；描绘；描画 | |
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69
conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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70
concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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71
mirages
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| n.海市蜃楼，幻景( mirage的名词复数 ) | |
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72
tint
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| n.淡色，浅色；染发剂；vt.着以淡淡的颜色 | |
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73
betokened
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| v.预示，表示( betoken的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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74
bust
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| vt.打破；vi.爆裂；n.半身像；胸部 | |
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75
supple
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| adj.柔软的，易弯的，逢迎的，顺从的，灵活的；vt.使柔软，使柔顺，使顺从；vi.变柔软，变柔顺 | |
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76
petals
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| n.花瓣( petal的名词复数 ) | |
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77
azure
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| adj.天蓝色的，蔚蓝色的 | |
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78
frigidly
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| adv.寒冷地；冷漠地；冷淡地；呆板地 | |
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79
magnetism
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| n.磁性，吸引力，磁学 | |
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80
graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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81
toad
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| n.蟾蜍，癞蛤蟆 | |
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82
antidote
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| n.解毒药，解毒剂 | |
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83
vengeance
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| n.报复，报仇，复仇 | |
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84
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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85
prey
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| n.被掠食者，牺牲者，掠食；v.捕食，掠夺，折磨 | |
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86
falcon
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| n.隼，猎鹰 | |
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87
alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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88
irony
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| n.反语，冷嘲；具有讽刺意味的事，嘲弄 | |
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89
previously
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| adv.以前，先前（地） | |
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90
acting
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| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
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91
pretentiousness
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| n.矫饰；炫耀；自负；狂妄 | |
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92
secular
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| n.牧师，凡人；adj.世俗的，现世的，不朽的 | |
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93
busts
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| 半身雕塑像( bust的名词复数 )； 妇女的胸部； 胸围； 突击搜捕 | |
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94
theatrical
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| adj.剧场的，演戏的；做戏似的，做作的 | |
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95
picturesque
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| adj.美丽如画的，（语言）生动的，绘声绘色的 | |
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96
antitheses
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| n.对照，对立的，对比法；对立( antithesis的名词复数 )；对立面；对照；对偶 | |
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97
gaily
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| adv.欢乐地，高兴地 | |
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98
touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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99
brutality
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| n.野蛮的行为，残忍，野蛮 | |
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100
charlatan
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| n.骗子；江湖医生；假内行 | |
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101
constrained
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| adj.束缚的,节制的 | |
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102
disorder
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| n.紊乱，混乱；骚动，骚乱；疾病，失调 | |
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103
banter
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| n.嘲弄，戏谑；v.取笑，逗弄，开玩笑 | |
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104
tremor
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| n.震动，颤动，战栗，兴奋，地震 | |
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105
displeases
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| 冒犯，使生气，使不愉快( displease的第三人称单数 ) | |
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106
caressing
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| 爱抚的，表现爱情的，亲切的 | |
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107
seduced
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| 诱奸( seduce的过去式和过去分词 )； 勾引； 诱使堕落； 使入迷 | |
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108
finesse
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| n.精密技巧，灵巧，手腕 | |
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109
ingenuous
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| adj.纯朴的，单纯的；天真的；坦率的 | |
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110
embroidery
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| n.绣花，刺绣；绣制品 | |
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111
ornaments
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| n.装饰( ornament的名词复数 )；点缀；装饰品；首饰v.装饰，点缀，美化( ornament的第三人称单数 ) | |
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112
sumptuousness
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| 奢侈，豪华 | |
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113
reigned
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| vi.当政，统治（reign的过去式形式） | |
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114
fleeting
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| adj.短暂的，飞逝的 | |
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115
delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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116
repose
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| v.(使)休息；n.安息 | |
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117
shudder
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| v.战粟，震动，剧烈地摇晃；n.战粟，抖动 | |
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118
stifled
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| （使）窒息， （使）窒闷( stifle的过去式和过去分词 )； 镇压，遏制； 堵 | |
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119
antipathies
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| 反感( antipathy的名词复数 )； 引起反感的事物； 憎恶的对象； （在本性、倾向等方面的）不相容 | |
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120
avowed
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| 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) | |
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121
instinctive
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| adj.(出于)本能的；直觉的；(出于)天性的 | |
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122
frail
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| adj.身体虚弱的；易损坏的 | |
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123
incapable
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| adj.无能力的，不能做某事的 | |
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124
generosity
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| n.大度，慷慨，慷慨的行为 | |
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125
slandered
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| 造谣中伤( slander的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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126
motives
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| n.动机，目的( motive的名词复数 ) | |
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127
diagnosis
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| n.诊断，诊断结果，调查分析，判断 | |
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128
seducer
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| n.诱惑者,骗子,玩弄女性的人 | |
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129
annoyance
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| n.恼怒，生气，烦恼 | |
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130
supplicating
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| v.祈求，哀求，恳求( supplicate的现在分词 ) | |
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131
Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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132
odious
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| adj.可憎的，讨厌的 | |
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133
mania
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| n.疯狂；躁狂症，狂热，癖好 | |
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134
attire
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| v.穿衣，装扮[同]array；n.衣着；盛装 | |
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135
elegance
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| n.优雅；优美，雅致；精致，巧妙 | |
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136
gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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137
liaison
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| n.联系，（未婚男女间的）暖昧关系，私通 | |
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138
concealing
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，遮住( conceal的现在分词 ) | |
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139
intrigue
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| vt.激起兴趣，迷住；vi.耍阴谋；n.阴谋，密谋 | |
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140
bantering
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| adj.嘲弄的v.开玩笑，说笑，逗乐( banter的现在分词 )；（善意地）取笑，逗弄 | |
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141
melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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142
feverish
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| adj.发烧的，狂热的，兴奋的 | |
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143
meditation
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| n.熟虑，（尤指宗教的）默想，沉思，（pl.）冥想录 | |
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144
subdued
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| adj. 屈服的，柔和的，减弱的 动词subdue的过去式和过去分词 | |
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