“The law is clear,” he added. “It is quite evident that your brother has not hurt himself, as he declares, by falling off a ladder with an open knife in his hand.”
Ludovico coldly answered the worthy3 surgeon to the effect that if he ventured to listen to the promptings of his conscience, he, Ludovico, would have the honour, before he left Ferrara, of falling upon him with an open knife in his hand. When he related the incident to Fabrizio he blamed him severely4. But there was not an instant to be lost about decamping. Ludovico told the Jew he was going to try what an airing would do for his brother. He fetched a carriage, and our friends left the house, never to return to it again. My readers doubtless find these descriptions of all the steps necessitated5 by the lack of a passport very lengthy6. But in Italy, and especially in the neighbourhood of the Po, everybody’s talk is about passports. As soon as they had slipped safely out of Ferrara, as if they were merely taking a drive, Ludovico dismissed the carriage, re-entered the town by a different gate, and then came back to fetch Fabrizio in a sediola, which he had hired to take them twelve leagues. When they were near Bologna, our friends had themselves driven across country, to the road leading into the city from Florence. They spent the night in the most wretched tavern8 they could discover, and the next morning, as Fabrizio felt strong enough to walk a little, they entered Bologna on foot. Giletti’s passport had been burned. The[214] actor’s death must now be known, and it was less dangerous to be arrested for having no passport, than for presenting one belonging to a man who had been killed.
Ludovico knew several servants in great houses at Bologna. It was agreed that he should go and collect intelligence from them. He told them he had come from Florence with his young brother, who, being overcome with sleep, had let him start alone an hour before sunrise. They were to have met in the village where Ludovico was to halt during the sultry midday hours, but when his brother did not arrive, Ludovico had resolved to retrace9 his steps. He had found him wounded by a blow from a stone and several knife thrusts, and robbed into the bargain, by people who had picked a quarrel with him. The brother was a good-looking young fellow; he could groom10 and manage horses, and would be glad to take service in some great house. Ludovico intended to add, if necessity should arise, that when Fabrizio had fallen down, the thieves had taken to flight, and had carried off a little bag containing their linen11 and their passports.
When Fabrizio reached Bologna he felt very weary, and not daring to go into an inn without a passport, he turned into the large Church of San Petronio. It was deliciously cool within the building, and he soon felt quite recovered. “Ungrateful wretch7 that I am,” said he to himself suddenly; “I walk into a church, and just sit myself down as if I were in a café.” He threw himself on his knees, and thanked God fervently12 for the protection He had so evidently extended to him since he had had the misfortune of killing13 Giletti. The danger which still made him shudder14 was that of being recognised in the police office at Casal-Maggiore. “How was it,” he thought, “that the clerk, whose eyes were so full of suspicion, and who read my passport three times over, did not perceive that I am not five foot ten tall, that I am not eight-and-thirty years old, and that I am not deeply pitted with the small-pox? What mercies do I owe thee, oh, my God! and I have waited until now to lay my nothingness at Thy feet. My pride would fain have believed it was to vain human prudence15 that I owed the happiness[215] of escaping the Spielberg, which was already yawning to engulf16 me.”
More than an hour did Fabrizio spend in the deepest emotion at the thought of the immense goodness of the Most High. He did not hear Ludovico approach him and stand in front of him. Fabrizio, who had hidden his face in his hands, raised his head, and his faithful servant saw the tears coursing down his cheeks.
Ludovico forgave his tone in consideration of his piety18. Fabrizio recited the seven penitential psalms19, which he knew by heart, several times over, making long pauses over the verses applicable to his present position.
Fabrizio asked pardon of God for many things, but it is a remarkable20 fact that it never occurred to him to reckon among his faults his plan of becoming an archbishop simply and solely21 because Count Mosca was a prime minister, and considered this dignity, and the great position it conferred, suitable for the duchess’s nephew. He had not indeed desired the thing at all passionately22, but still he had considered it exactly as he would have considered his appointment to a ministry23 or a military command. The thought that his conscience might be involved in the duchess’s plan had never struck him. This is a remarkable feature of the teaching he owed to the Jesuits at Milan. This form of religion deprives men of courage to think of unaccustomed matters, and more especially forbids self-examination, as the greatest of all sins—a step toward Protestantism. To discover in what one is guilty, we must ask questions of one’s priest, or read the list of sins as printed in the book entitled Preparation for the Sacrament of Penitence25. Fabrizio knew the Latin list of sins, which he had learned at the Ecclesiastical Academy at Naples, by heart, and when, as he repeated this list, he came to the word “Murder,” he had honestly accused himself before God of having killed a man, though in defence of his own life. He had run rapidly, and without the smallest attention, through the various clauses relating to the sin of simony (the purchase of[216] ecclesiastical dignities with money). If he had been invited to give a hundred louis to become grand vicar to the Archbishop of Parma, he would have shrunk from the idea with horror. But although he neither lacked intelligence nor, more especially, logic26, it never once came into his head that the employment of Count Mosca’s credit in his favour constituted a simony. Herein lies the triumph of the Jesuits’ teaching; it instils27 the habit of paying no attention to things which are as clear as day. A Frenchman brought up amid Parisian self-interest and scepticism might honestly have accused Fabrizio of hypocrisy28 at the very moment when our hero was laying open his heart before his God with the utmost sincerity29, and the deepest possible emotion.
Fabrizio did not leave the church until he had prepared the confession30 which he had resolved to make the very next morning. He found Ludovico sitting on the steps of the huge stone peristyle which rises on the great square before the façade of San Petronio. Just as the air is purified by a great thunder-storm, so Fabrizio’s heart felt calmer, happier, and, so to speak, cooler. “I am much better. I hardly feel my wounds at all,” he said, as he joined Ludovico. “But, first of all, I must ask your forgiveness; I answered you crossly when you came to speak to me in the church. I was examining my conscience. Well, how does our business go?”
“It’s going right well. I’ve engaged a lodging—not at all worthy of your Excellency, indeed—kept by the wife of one of my friends, who is a very pretty woman, and in close intimacy31, besides, with one of the principal police agents. To-morrow I shall go and report that our passports have been stolen. This declaration will be well received, but I shall pay the postage of a letter which the police will send to Casal-Maggiore to inquire whether there is a man there of the name of San Micheli, who has a brother named Fabrizio in the service of the Duchess Sanseverina of Parma. It’s all done, siamo à cavallo” (an Italian proverb, meaning “we are saved”).
Fabrizio had suddenly become very grave. He asked[217] Ludovico to wait for him a moment, returned to the church almost at a run, and had hardly got inside when he cast himself once more upon his knees and humbly32 kissed the stone pavement. “This is a miracle,” he cried, with tears in his eyes. “Thou sawest my soul ready to return to the path of duty, and Thou hast saved me. O God, I may be killed some day in a scuffle. Remember, O Lord, when my dying moment comes, the condition of my heart at this moment.” In a passion of the liveliest joy, Fabrizio once more recited the seven penitential psalms. Before he left the church, he approached an old woman who sat in front of a great Madonna and beside an iron triangle set vertically33 on a support of the same metal. The edges of this triangle bristled34 with little spikes35, destined36 to support the small tapers37 which the faithful burn before Cimabue’s famous Madonna.
Only seven tapers were burning when Fabrizio approached. He noted38 the fact in his memory, so as to reflect on it when he should have time.
“How much do the tapers cost?” said he to the woman.
“Two baiocchi each.”
And, indeed, they were no thicker than a penholder, and not a foot high.
“How many tapers will your triangle hold?”
“Sixty-three, since there are seven already.”
“Ha!” said Fabrizio. “Sixty-three and seven make seventy; I must remember that, too.” He paid for the tapers, set up and lighted the first seven himself, and then knelt down to make his offering. As he rose from his knees he said to the old woman, “It is for a mercy bestowed39.”
“I am dying of hunger,” said Fabrizio to Ludovico as he rejoined him.
“Don’t let us go into a tavern; let us go to the lodgings,” said his servant. “The mistress of the house will go out and buy you what you want for breakfast; she’ll cheat us out of a score of sous, and that will make her feel all the more kindly40 to the new arrival.”
[218]
“That means that I shall have to go on starving for another hour,” said Fabrizio, laughing as merrily as a child, and he entered a tavern close to San Petronio. To his extreme astonishment41 he beheld42, sitting at a table close to his own his aunt’s principal man-servant, Pepe, the very man who had once been sent to meet him at Geneva. Fabrizio signed to him to keep silence; then, after a hasty repast, with a happy smile trembling on his lips, he rose to his feet. Pepe followed him, and for the third time our hero passed into San Petronio. Ludovico discreetly43 held back, and walked up and down the square.
“Oh, monsignore, how are your wounds? The duchess is in dreadful anxiety. For one whole day she believed you were dead, and cast away on some island in the river. I must send a messenger to her instantly. I have been hunting for you for six days; I spent three of them at Ferrara, going to all the inns.”
“Have you a passport for me?”
“I have three. One with all your Excellency’s names and titles, one with nothing but your name, and the third with a false name, Giuseppe Bossi. Each of the passports will serve your Excellency’s purpose, whether you choose to arrive from Florence or from Modena. All you have to do is to walk out beyond the town. The count would be glad if you would lodge44 at the Albergo del Pellegrino, which is kept by a friend of his.”
Fabrizio walked, as though by chance, up the right aisle45 of the church to the spot where his tapers were burning. He fixed46 his eyes on the Cimabue Madonna, then, kneeling down, he said to Pepe, “I must thank God for a moment.” Pepe followed his example. As they left the church Pepe noticed that Fabrizio gave a twenty-franc piece to the first beggar who asked charity of him. The beggar set up a shout of gratitude47, which attracted the crowds of indigent48 people of every sort who generally collect on the square of San Petronio all round the charitable donor49. Everybody wanted his or her share of the napoleon. The women, despairing of getting through the press round the lucky mendicant50, fell upon Fabrizio, shrieking51 to him to say it was[219] true he had given his gold piece to be divided among all the poor beggars. Pepe brandished52 his gold-headed cane53, and ordered them to leave “his Excellency” alone.
“Oh, your Excellency,” screamed all the women at once, even louder than before, “give the poor women another gold piece.” Fabrizio quickened his pace; the women ran after him, calling aloud, and many male beggars ran up from side streets, so that quite a little disturbance54 ensued. The whole of the filthy55 and noisy crowd kept shouting “Your Excellency!” Fabrizio found it by no means easy to get out of the press. The scene recalled his imagination to earth. “I am only getting what I deserve,” thought he. “I have been rubbing shoulders with the common folk.”
Two of the women followed him as far as the Saragossa Gate, through which he passed out of the town. There Pepe stopped them by threatening them seriously with his cane and throwing them some small coins. Fabrizio climbed the pretty hill of San Michele in Bosco, walked partly round the town, outside the walls, turned into a foot-path, which, five hundred paces farther on, ran into the road from Florence, returned to Bologna, and gravely presented a passport containing a very accurate description of his person to the police commissary. This passport described him as Giuseppe Bossi, student of theology. Fabrizio noticed a little splash of red ink that seemed to have been dropped by accident on the lower right-hand corner of the paper. Two hours later he had a spy upon his heels, on account of the title “your Excellency” applied56 to him by his companion in the presence of the beggars at San Petronio, although his passport detailed57 none of those honours which entitle a man to be addressed as “Excellency” by his servants.
Fabrizio perceived the spy, and snapped his fingers at him. He gave not a thought, now, either to passports or police officers, and was as amused as a child with everything about him. When Pepe, who had been ordered to stay with him, saw how well pleased he was with Ludovico, he thought his own best course was to carry the good news to[220] the duchess himself. Fabrizio wrote two long letters to his dear ones. Then he bethought him of writing a third to the venerable Archbishop Landriani. This letter produced a most extraordinary effect. It contained the exact history of his fight with Giletti. The good archbishop, quite overcome by his emotion, did not fail to go and read the letter to the prince, whose curiosity to know how the young monsignore would set about excusing so terrible a murder made him willing to listen. Thanks to the Marchesa Raversi’s many friends, the prince, like the whole city of Parma, believed Fabrizio had obtained the assistance of some twenty or thirty peasants to kill an inferior actor who had ventured to dispute his possession of little Marietta. At despotic courts truth lies at the mercy of the first clever schemer, just as in Paris it is ruled by fashion.
“But, devil take it,” said the prince to the archbishop, “one has those things done by a third person. It is not customary to do them oneself. And then actors like Giletti are not killed; they are bought.”
Fabrizio had not the smallest suspicion of what was going on at Parma. As a matter of fact, the death of a player who only earned thirty-two francs a month in his lifetime was going near to overthrow59 the ultra ministry, with Count Mosca at its head.
When the news of Giletti’s death reached him, the prince, nettled60 by the airs of independence which the duchess gave herself, had ordered Rassi, his Minister of Justice, to deal with the whole trial as if the accused person had been a Liberal. Fabrizio, for his part, believed that a man of his rank was above all law. The fact that in countries where the bearers of great names are never punished, there is nothing that can not be achieved, even against such persons, by intrigue61, had not entered into his calculations. He would often talk to Ludovico of his perfect innocence62, which was soon to be proclaimed. His great argument was that he was not guilty. At last, one day, Ludovico said to him: “I can not conceive why your Excellency, who is so clever and knows so much, takes the trouble of saying such things to me, who am his devoted63 servant. Your Excellency is too[221] cautious. Such things are only good for use in public or before the judges.”
“This man believes I am a murderer, and he does not love me the less,” mused58 Fabrizio, thunder-struck.
Three days after Pepe’s departure, Fabrizio was astonished to receive a huge letter bound with a silken cord, like those used in Louis XIV’s time, and addressed to “His Most Reverend Excellency, Monsignore Fabrizio del Dongo, Chief Grand Vicar of the Diocese of Parma, Canon, etc.”
“But am I all that already?” he said to himself with a laugh. Archbishop Landriani’s epistle was a masterpiece of perspicacity64 and logic. It covered no less than nineteen large sheets, and gave a very good account of everything that had happened at Parma with regard to Giletti’s death.
“The march of a French army on the town, under the command of Marshal Ney, would not have made more stir,” wrote the good archbishop. “Every soul, my very dear son, except the duchess and myself, believes you killed the actor Giletti because you wanted to do it. If that misfortune had befallen you, it would have been one of those matters that can be hushed up by means of a couple of hundred louis and an absence of six months. But the Raversi is bent65 on using the incident to overthrow Count Mosca. It is not the terrible sin of murder for which the public blames you, it is simply for your awkwardness, or rather insolence66, in not having condescended68 to employ a bulo [a kind of inferior bully]. I give you the clear substance of the talk I hear all round me. For since this most deplorable event I go every day to three of the most important houses in this city, so as to find opportunity for justifying69 you, and never have I felt I was making a holier use of what little eloquence70 Heaven has bestowed on me.”
The scales began to fall from Fabrizio’s eyes. The numerous letters he received from the duchess, all throbbing71 with affection, never condescended to report anything of what was happening around her. The duchess assured him she would leave Parma forever, unless he soon returned there in triumph. “The count,” she wrote, in a letter which reached him together with the archbishop’s, “will do all[222] that is humanly possible for you. As for me, this last prank72 of yours has changed my nature; I have grown as stingy as Tombone, the banker. I have discharged all my workmen. I have done more—I have dictated73 the inventory74 of my belongings75 to the count, and I find I have very much less than I thought. After the death of that excellent Pietranera (whose murder, by the way, you would have done far better to avenge76, than to risk your life against such a creature as Giletti), I was left with twelve hundred francs a year, and debts amounting to five thousand. Among other things, I remember, I had thirty pairs of white satin slippers77 which had come from Paris, and only one single pair of walking shoes. I have almost made up my mind to take the three hundred thousand francs the duke left me, and which I had intended to lay out entirely78 on a magnificent monument to his memory. For the rest, it is the Marchesa Raversi who is your bitterest enemy, and therefore mine. If you are bored at Bologna, you have only to say one word, and I will go to you there. Here are four more bills of exchange.”
The duchess never told Fabrizio a word about the opinion concerning his business which prevailed at Parma. Her first object was to console him, and in any case the death of such an absurd person as Giletti did not strike her as matter of any serious reproach to a Del Dongo.
“How many Gilettis have our ancestors sent into the next world!” she would say to the count; “and nobody ever dreamed of finding fault with them for it.”
Fabrizio, filled with astonishment, and perceiving for the first time the real condition of things, set himself to study the archbishop’s letter. Unfortunately the archbishop himself believed him better informed than he really was. As Fabrizio understood the matter, the Marchesa Raversi’s triumph rested on the impossibility of discovering any eye-witnesses of the fatal scuffle. His own servant, who had been the first to bring the news to Parma, had been inside the village tavern at Sanguigna when the incident occurred. Little Marietta, and the old woman who acted as her mother, had disappeared, and the marchesa had bought over the man[223] who had driven the carriage, and who was now making a deposition79 of the most abominable80 kind. “Although the proceedings81 are wrapped in the deepest mystery,” wrote the good archbishop in his Ciceronian style, “and directed by Rassi, of whom Christian82 charity forbids me to speak evil, but who has made his fortune by pursuing unfortunate beings accused of crime, even as the hound pursues the hare; though Rassi, I say, whose baseness and venality83 you can not overrate, has been charged with the management of the trial by an angry prince, I have obtained a sight of the vetturino’s three depositions84. By a signal piece of good fortune the wretch has flatly contradicted himself, and I will add, seeing I speak to my vicar-general, who will rule this diocese when I am gone, that I sent for the priest of the parish in which this wandering sinner dwells. I will confide85 to you, my very dear son, though under the secret of the confessional, that the priest already knows, through the vetturino’s wife, the actual number of crowns her husband has received from the Marchesa Raversi. I will not dare to say that the marchesa has insisted on his slandering86 you, but that is very likely. The crowns were paid over by a miserable87 priest who performs very dubious88 functions in the marchesa’s service, and whom I have been obliged, for the second time, to prohibit from saying mass. I will not weary you with the recital89 of several other steps which you might fairly have expected from me, and which, indeed, it was only my duty to take. A canon, a colleague of yours at the cathedral, who is occasionally too apt to remember the influence conferred on him by the possession of the family fortune, of which, by God’s will, he has become the sole inheritor, ventured to say, in the house of Count Zurla, Minister of the Interior, that he considered this trifle clearly proved against you (he was speaking of the unhappy Giletti’s murder). I summoned him to my palace, and there, in presence of my three other vicars-general, of my chaplain, and of two priests who happened to be in my waiting-room, I requested him to enlighten us, his brothers, as to the grounds on which he based the complete conviction he declared himself to have acquired, of the guilt24 of one of his colleagues[224] at the cathedral. The only reasons the poor wretch could articulate were very inconclusive. Every one present rose up against him, and although I did not think it necessary to add more than a very few words, he burst into tears, and before us all made a full confession of his complete error. Whereupon I promised him secrecy90, in my own name and that of all those who had been present at the conference, on condition, however, that he should use all his zeal91 to rectify92 the false impression produced by the remarks he had been making during the past fortnight.
“I will not repeat, my dear son, what you must have known for long—that out of the four-and-thirty peasants working on Count Mosca’s excavation93, and who, according to the Raversi, were paid to assist you in your crime, thirty-two men were hard at work at the bottom of their ditch at the moment when you seized the hunting-knife and used it to defend your life against the man who had so unexpectedly attacked you. Two of them who were not in the ditch shouted to them, ‘He is murdering monsignore!’ This one exclamation94 is a brilliant testimony95 to your innocence. Well, Rassi declares that these two men have disappeared, and further, eight of the men who were in the trench96 have been found. When they were first examined six of these declared they had heard the shout, ‘He is murdering monsignore!’ I know indirectly97 that when they were examined for the fifth time, yesterday evening, five of them asserted that they could not remember whether they had actually heard the exclamation, or whether they had been told of it afterward98, by one of their comrades. Orders have been given which will make me acquainted with the localities in which these workmen live, and their priest will make them understand that if they allow themselves to be tempted99 to wrest100 the truth, for the sake of earning a few crowns, they will be damned everlastingly101.”
The good archbishop proceeded with infinite detail, as may be judged by what we have already reported. Then he added these lines in Latin:
“This business is nothing less than an attempt to turn out the ministry. If you are sentenced it can only be to the[225] galleys102 or to execution. In that case I should intervene, and declare, with all the weight of my archiepiscopal authority, that I know you to be innocent; that you have simply defended your life against a rascal103; and further, that I have forbidden you to return to Parma as long as your enemies triumph there. I even propose to brand the Minister of Justice as he deserves; the hatred104 felt for that man is as common as esteem105 for his character is rare. But on the eve of the day whereon the minister pronounces so unjust a sentence, the Duchess of Sanseverina will leave the city, and perhaps even the dominion106 of Parma. In that case, no one doubts that the count will immediately hand in his resignation. Then, most probably, General Fabio Conti will be made minister, and the Marchesa Raversi will triumph. The great difficulty about your business is that no capable man has been placed in charge of the steps indispensable for the demonstration107 of your innocence, and for the frustration108 of the attempts being made to suborn witnesses. The count thinks he is doing this himself, but he is too great a gentleman to condescend67 to certain details, and besides, his position as Minister of Police obliged him, at the very outset, to issue the severest orders against you. And finally—dare I say it?—our sovereign master believes you guilty, or simulates the belief, at all events, and imports a certain bitterness into the affair.” (The words corresponding to our sovereign master and simulates the belief were in Greek characters, and Fabrizio was infinitely109 grateful to the archbishop for having dared to write them at all. He cut the line out of the letter with his penknife, and instantly destroyed it.)
Twenty times over Fabrizio broke off in the perusal110 of this letter. He was filled with the deepest and most lively gratitude, and instantly wrote a letter of eight pages in reply. Often he had to lift his head, so as to prevent the tears from dropping on his paper. The next morning, just as he was about to seal his missive, he bethought him that it was too worldly in tone. “I will write it in Latin,” said he to himself; “it will seem more correct to the worthy archbishop.” But while he was striving to turn fine long Latin[226] phrases, careful imitations of Cicero, he remembered that one day, when the archbishop had been speaking to him of Napoleon, he had made it a point to call him “Buonaparte.” That instant every trace of the emotion which, only the night before, had affected111 him even to tears, fled utterly112. “Oh, King of Italy!” he cried, “the faith so many swore to you in your lifetime shall be kept by me, now that you are no more. He cares for me, no doubt, but that is because I am a Del Dongo and he the son of a common man.” So that his fine Italian letter might not be wasted, Fabrizio made some necessary changes in it, and despatched it to Count Mosca.
That very some day, Fabrizio met little Marietta in the street. She reddened with delight, and signed to him to follow without speaking to her. She took her way swiftly toward a lonely portico113; once there, she drew forward the black lace which covered her head, in the fashion of that country, so that no one could recognise her, and then, turning round sharply—
“How is it,” said she to Fabrizio, “that you are walking about freely in the streets?” Fabrizio told her his story.
“Great heavens, you’ve been to Ferrara! And I have been hunting for you everywhere. You must know that I quarrelled with the old woman because she wanted to take me to Venice, where I knew quite well you would never go, because you are on the Austrian black list. I sold my gold necklace to get to Bologna. Something told me I should have the happiness of meeting you here, and the old woman arrived two days after me. I would not advise you to visit us, because she would make more of those shabby attempts to get money out of you, of which I am so ashamed. We have lived very comfortably since that fatal day you know of, and we have not spent a quarter of what you gave her. I should not like to go to see you at the Albergo del Pellegrino; that would be a publicity114. Try to hire some little room in a lonely street, and at the Ave Maria (nightfall) I will be here under this same portico.”
Having said these words, she took to flight.
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lodgings
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| n. 出租的房舍, 寄宿舍 | |
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discreet
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| adj.(言行)谨慎的；慎重的；有判断力的 | |
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worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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severely
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| adv.严格地；严厉地；非常恶劣地 | |
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necessitated
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lengthy
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wretch
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| n.可怜的人，不幸的人；卑鄙的人 | |
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tavern
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| n.小旅馆，客栈；小酒店 | |
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retrace
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| v.折回；追溯，探源 | |
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groom
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linen
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fervently
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killing
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shudder
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| v.战粟，震动，剧烈地摇晃；n.战粟，抖动 | |
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prudence
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engulf
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| vt.吞没，吞食 | |
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asperity
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piety
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| n.虔诚，虔敬 | |
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psalms
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| n.赞美诗( psalm的名词复数 )；圣诗；圣歌；(中的) | |
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20
remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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solely
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| adv.仅仅，唯一地 | |
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passionately
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| ad.热烈地，激烈地 | |
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23
ministry
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| n.(政府的)部；牧师 | |
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24
guilt
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| n.犯罪；内疚；过失，罪责 | |
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25
penitence
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| n.忏悔，赎罪；悔过 | |
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26
logic
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| n.逻辑(学)；逻辑性 | |
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27
instils
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| v.逐渐使某人获得（某种可取的品质），逐步灌输( instil的第三人称单数 ) | |
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28
hypocrisy
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| n.伪善，虚伪 | |
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29
sincerity
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| n.真诚，诚意；真实 | |
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30
confession
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| n.自白，供认，承认 | |
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31
intimacy
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| n.熟悉，亲密，密切关系，亲昵的言行 | |
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32
humbly
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| adv. 恭顺地，谦卑地 | |
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33
vertically
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| adv.垂直地 | |
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34
bristled
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| adj. 直立的，多刺毛的 动词bristle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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35
spikes
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| n.穗( spike的名词复数 )；跑鞋；（防滑）鞋钉；尖状物v.加烈酒于( spike的第三人称单数 )；偷偷地给某人的饮料加入（更多）酒精（ 或药物）；把尖状物钉入；打乱某人的计划 | |
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36
destined
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| adj.命中注定的；(for)以…为目的地的 | |
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37
tapers
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| （长形物体的）逐渐变窄( taper的名词复数 )； 微弱的光； 极细的蜡烛 | |
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38
noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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39
bestowed
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| 赠给，授予( bestow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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40
kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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41
astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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42
beheld
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| v.看，注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
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43
discreetly
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| ad.(言行)审慎地，慎重地 | |
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44
lodge
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| v.临时住宿，寄宿，寄存，容纳；n.传达室，小旅馆 | |
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45
aisle
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| n.（教堂、教室、戏院等里的）过道，通道 | |
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46
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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47
gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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48
indigent
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| adj.贫穷的，贫困的 | |
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49
donor
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| n.捐献者；赠送人；(组织、器官等的)供体 | |
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50
mendicant
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| n.乞丐；adj.行乞的 | |
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51
shrieking
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| v.尖叫( shriek的现在分词 ) | |
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52
brandished
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| v.挥舞( brandish的过去式和过去分词 )；炫耀 | |
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53
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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54
disturbance
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| n.动乱，骚动；打扰，干扰；(身心)失调 | |
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filthy
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| adj.卑劣的；恶劣的，肮脏的 | |
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56
applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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detailed
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| adj.详细的，详尽的，极注意细节的，完全的 | |
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mused
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| v.沉思，冥想( muse的过去式和过去分词 )；沉思自语说（某事） | |
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overthrow
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| v.推翻，打倒，颠覆；n.推翻，瓦解，颠覆 | |
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nettled
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| v.拿荨麻打，拿荨麻刺（nettle的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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intrigue
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| vt.激起兴趣，迷住；vi.耍阴谋；n.阴谋，密谋 | |
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62
innocence
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| n.无罪；天真；无害 | |
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devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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perspicacity
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| n. 敏锐, 聪明, 洞察力 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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insolence
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| n.傲慢；无礼；厚颜；傲慢的态度 | |
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67
condescend
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| v.俯就，屈尊；堕落，丢丑 | |
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68
condescended
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| 屈尊，俯就( condescend的过去式和过去分词 )； 故意表示和蔼可亲 | |
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69
justifying
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| 证明…有理( justify的现在分词 )； 为…辩护； 对…作出解释； 为…辩解（或辩护） | |
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70
eloquence
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| n.雄辩；口才，修辞 | |
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71
throbbing
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| a. 跳动的,悸动的 | |
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72
prank
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| n.开玩笑，恶作剧；v.装饰；打扮；炫耀自己 | |
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73
dictated
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| v.大声讲或读( dictate的过去式和过去分词 )；口授；支配；摆布 | |
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74
inventory
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| n.详细目录，存货清单 | |
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75
belongings
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| n.私人物品，私人财物 | |
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76
avenge
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| v.为...复仇，为...报仇 | |
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77
slippers
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| n. 拖鞋 | |
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78
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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79
deposition
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| n.免职，罢官；作证；沉淀；沉淀物 | |
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80
abominable
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| adj.可厌的，令人憎恶的 | |
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81
proceedings
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| n.进程，过程，议程；诉讼(程序)；公报 | |
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82
Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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83
venality
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| n.贪赃枉法，腐败 | |
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84
depositions
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| 沉积（物）( deposition的名词复数 )； （在法庭上的）宣誓作证； 处置； 罢免 | |
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85
confide
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| v.向某人吐露秘密 | |
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86
slandering
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| [法]口头诽谤行为 | |
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87
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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88
dubious
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| adj.怀疑的，无把握的；有问题的，靠不住的 | |
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89
recital
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| n.朗诵，独奏会，独唱会 | |
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90
secrecy
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| n.秘密，保密，隐蔽 | |
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91
zeal
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| n.热心，热情，热忱 | |
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92
rectify
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| v.订正，矫正，改正 | |
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93
excavation
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| n.挖掘，发掘；被挖掘之地 | |
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94
exclamation
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| n.感叹号，惊呼，惊叹词 | |
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95
testimony
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| n.证词；见证，证明 | |
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96
trench
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| n./v.(挖)沟，(挖)战壕 | |
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97
indirectly
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| adv.间接地，不直接了当地 | |
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98
afterward
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| adv.后来；以后 | |
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99
tempted
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| v.怂恿（某人）干不正当的事；冒…的险（tempt的过去分词） | |
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100
wrest
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| n.扭，拧，猛夺；v.夺取，猛扭，歪曲 | |
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101
everlastingly
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| 永久地，持久地 | |
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102
galleys
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| n.平底大船，战舰( galley的名词复数 )；（船上或航空器上的）厨房 | |
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103
rascal
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| n.流氓；不诚实的人 | |
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104
hatred
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| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
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105
esteem
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| n.尊敬，尊重；vt.尊重，敬重；把…看作 | |
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106
dominion
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| n.统治，管辖，支配权；领土，版图 | |
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107
demonstration
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| n.表明，示范，论证，示威 | |
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108
frustration
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| n.挫折，失败，失效，落空 | |
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109
infinitely
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| adv.无限地，无穷地 | |
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110
perusal
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| n.细读，熟读；目测 | |
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111
affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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112
utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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113
portico
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| n.柱廊，门廊 | |
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114
publicity
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| n.众所周知，闻名；宣传，广告 | |
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