Alch: Thou always speakest riddles1. Tell me if thou art that fountain of which Bernard Lord Trevizan writ2?
Merc: I am not that fountain, but I am the water. The fountain compasseth me about.
Sandivogius, “New Light of Alchymy.”
The Prince di — was not a man whom Naples could suppose to be addicted3 to superstitious4 fancies. Still, in the South of Italy, there was then, and there still lingers a certain spirit of credulity, which may, ever and anon, be visible amidst the boldest dogmas of their philosophers and sceptics. In his childhood, the prince had learned strange tales of the ambition, the genius, and the career of his grandsire,— and secretly, perhaps influenced by ancestral example, in earlier youth he himself had followed science, not only through her legitimate5 course, but her antiquated6 and erratic7 windings8. I have, indeed, been shown in Naples a little volume, blazoned9 with the arms of the Visconti, and ascribed to the nobleman I refer to, which treats of alchemy in a spirit half-mocking and half-reverential.
Pleasure soon distracted him from such speculations10, and his talents, which were unquestionably great, were wholly perverted11 to extravagant12 intrigues13, or to the embellishment of a gorgeous ostentation15 with something of classic grace. His immense wealth, his imperious pride, his unscrupulous and daring character, made him an object of no inconsiderable fear to a feeble and timid court; and the ministers of the indolent government willingly connived16 at excesses which allured17 him at least from ambition. The strange visit and yet more strange departure of Mejnour filled the breast of the Neapolitan with awe18 and wonder, against which all the haughty19 arrogance20 and learned scepticism of his maturer manhood combated in vain. The apparition21 of Mejnour served, indeed, to invest Zanoni with a character in which the prince had not hitherto regarded him. He felt a strange alarm at the rival he had braved,— at the foe22 he had provoked. When, a little before his banquet, he had resumed his self-possession, it was with a fell and gloomy resolution that he brooded over the perfidious23 schemes he had previously24 formed. He felt as if the death of the mysterious Zanoni were necessary for the preservation25 of his own life; and if at an earlier period of their rivalry26 he had determined27 on the fate of Zanoni, the warnings of Mejnour only served to confirm his resolve.
“We will try if his magic can invent an antidote28 to the bane,” said he, half-aloud, and with a stern smile, as he summoned Mascari to his presence. The poison which the prince, with his own hands, mixed into the wine intended for his guest, was compounded from materials, the secret of which had been one of the proudest heir-looms of that able and evil race which gave to Italy her wisest and guiltiest tyrants29. Its operation was quick yet not sudden: it produced no pain,— it left on the form no grim convulsion, on the skin no purpling spot, to arouse suspicion; you might have cut and carved every membrane30 and fibre of the corpse31, but the sharpest eyes of the leech32 would not have detected the presence of the subtle life-queller. For twelve hours the victim felt nothing save a joyous33 and elated exhilaration of the blood; a delicious languor34 followed, the sure forerunner35 of apoplexy. No lancet then could save! Apoplexy had run much in the families of the enemies of the Visconti!
The hour of the feast arrived,— the guests assembled. There were the flower of the Neapolitan seignorie, the descendants of the Norman, the Teuton, the Goth; for Naples had then a nobility, but derived36 it from the North, which has indeed been the Nutrix Leonum,— the nurse of the lion-hearted chivalry37 of the world.
Last of the guests came Zanoni; and the crowd gave way as the dazzling foreigner moved along to the lord of the palace. The prince greeted him with a meaning smile, to which Zanoni answered by a whisper, “He who plays with loaded dice38 does not always win.”
The prince bit his lip, and Zanoni, passing on, seemed deep in conversation with the fawning39 Mascari.
“Who is the prince’s heir?” asked the guest.
“A distant relation on the mother’s side; with his Excellency dies the male line.”
“Is the heir present at our host’s banquet?”
“No; they are not friends.”
“No matter; he will be here tomorrow.”
Mascari stared in surprise; but the signal for the banquet was given, and the guests were marshalled to the board. As was the custom then, the feast took place not long after mid-day. It was a long, oval hall, the whole of one side opening by a marble colonnade40 upon a court or garden, in which the eye rested gratefully upon cool fountains and statues of whitest marble, half-sheltered by orange-trees. Every art that luxury could invent to give freshness and coolness to the languid and breezeless heat of the day without (a day on which the breath of the sirocco was abroad) had been called into existence. Artificial currents of air through invisible tubes, silken blinds waving to and fro, as if to cheat the senses into the belief of an April wind, and miniature jets d’eau in each corner of the apartment, gave to the Italians the same sense of exhilaration and COMFORT (if I may use the word) which the well-drawn curtains and the blazing hearth41 afford to the children of colder climes.
The conversation was somewhat more lively and intellectual than is common amongst the languid pleasure-hunters of the South; for the prince, himself accomplished42, sought his acquaintance not only amongst the beaux esprits of his own country, but amongst the gay foreigners who adorned43 and relieved the monotony of the Neapolitan circles. There were present two or three of the brilliant Frenchmen of the old regime, who had already emigrated from the advancing Revolution; and their peculiar44 turn of thought and wit was well calculated for the meridian45 of a society that made the dolce far niente at once its philosophy and its faith. The prince, however, was more silent than usual; and when he sought to rouse himself, his spirits were forced and exaggerated. To the manners of his host, those of Zanoni afforded a striking contrast. The bearing of this singular person was at all times characterised by a calm and polished ease, which was attributed by the courtiers to the long habit of society. He could scarcely be called gay; yet few persons more tended to animate46 the general spirits of a convivial47 circle. He seemed, by a kind of intuition, to elicit48 from each companion the qualities in which he most excelled; and if occasionally a certain tone of latent mockery characterised his remarks upon the topics on which the conversation fell, it appeared to men who took nothing in earnest to be the language both of wit and wisdom. To the Frenchmen, in particular, there was something startling in his intimate knowledge of the minutest events in their own capital and country, and his profound penetration49 (evinced but in epigrams and sarcasms50) into the eminent51 characters who were then playing a part upon the great stage of continental52 intrigue14.
It was while this conversation grew animated53, and the feast was at its height, that Glyndon arrived at the palace. The porter, perceiving by his dress that he was not one of the invited guests, told him that his Excellency was engaged, and on no account could be disturbed; and Glyndon then, for the first time, became aware how strange and embarrassing was the duty he had taken on himself. To force an entrance into the banquet-hall of a great and powerful noble, surrounded by the rank of Naples, and to arraign54 him for what to his boon-companions would appear but an act of gallantry, was an exploit that could not fail to be at once ludicrous and impotent. He mused55 a moment, and, slipping a piece of gold into the porter’s hand, said that he was commissioned to seek the Signor Zanoni upon an errand of life and death, and easily won his way across the court, and into the interior building. He passed up the broad staircase, and the voices and merriment of the revellers smote59 his ear at a distance. At the entrance of the reception-rooms he found a page, whom he despatched with a message to Zanoni. The page did the errand; and Zanoni, on hearing the whispered name of Glyndon, turned to his host.
“Pardon me, my lord; an English friend of mine, the Signor Glyndon (not unknown by name to your Excellency) waits without,— the business must indeed be urgent on which he has sought me in such an hour. You will forgive my momentary60 absence.”
“Nay, signor,” answered the prince, courteously61, but with a sinister62 smile on his countenance63, “would it not be better for your friend to join us? An Englishman is welcome everywhere; and even were he a Dutchman, your friendship would invest his presence with attraction. Pray his attendance; we would not spare you even for a moment.”
Zanoni bowed; the page was despatched with all flattering messages to Glyndon,— a seat next to Zanoni was placed for him, and the young Englishman entered.
“You are most welcome, sir. I trust your business to our illustrious guest is of good omen56 and pleasant import. If you bring evil news, defer64 it, I pray you.”
Glyndon’s brow was sullen65; and he was about to startle the guests by his reply, when Zanoni, touching66 his arm significantly, whispered in English, “I know why you have sought me. Be silent, and witness what ensues.”
“You know then that Viola, whom you boasted you had the power to save from danger —”
“Is in this house!— yes. I know also that Murder sits at the right hand of our host. But his fate is now separated from hers forever; and the mirror which glasses it to my eye is clear through the streams of blood. Be still, and learn the fate that awaits the wicked!
“My lord,” said Zanoni, speaking aloud, “the Signor Glyndon has indeed brought me tidings not wholly unexpected. I am compelled to leave Naples,— an additional motive67 to make the most of the present hour.”
“And what, if I may venture to ask, may be the cause that brings such affliction on the fair dames69 of Naples?”
“It is the approaching death of one who honoured me with most loyal friendship,” replied Zanoni, gravely. “Let us not speak of it; grief cannot put back the dial. As we supply by new flowers those that fade in our vases, so it is the secret of worldly wisdom to replace by fresh friendships those that fade from our path.”
“True philosophy!” exclaimed the prince. “‘Not to admire,’ was the Roman’s maxim70; ‘Never to mourn,’ is mine. There is nothing in life to grieve for, save, indeed, Signor Zanoni, when some young beauty, on whom we have set our hearts, slips from our grasp. In such a moment we have need of all our wisdom, not to succumb71 to despair, and shake hands with death. What say you, signor? You smile! Such never could be your lot. Pledge me in a sentiment, ‘Long life to the fortunate lover,— a quick release to the baffled suitor’?”
“I pledge you,” said Zanoni; and, as the fatal wine was poured into his glass, he repeated, fixing his eyes on the prince, “I pledge you even in this wine!”
He lifted the glass to his lips. The prince seemed ghastly pale, while the gaze of his guest bent72 upon him, with an intent and stern brightness, beneath which the conscience-stricken host cowered73 and quailed74. Not till he had drained his draft, and replaced the glass upon the board, did Zanoni turn his eyes from the prince; and he then said, “Your wine has been kept too long; it has lost its virtues75. It might disagree with many, but do not fear: it will not harm me, prince, Signor Mascari, you are a judge of the grape; will you favour us with your opinion?”
“Nay,” answered Mascari, with well-affected76 composure, “I like not the wines of Cyprus; they are heating. Perhaps Signor Glyndon may not have the same distaste? The English are said to love their potations warm and pungent77.”
“Do you wish my friend also to taste the wine, prince?” said Zanoni. “Recollect78, all cannot drink it with the same impunity79 as myself.”
“No,” said the prince, hastily; “if you do not recommend the wine, Heaven forbid that we should constrain80 our guests! My lord duke,” turning to one of the Frenchmen, “yours is the true soil of Bacchus. What think you of this cask from Burgundy? Has it borne the journey?”
“Ah,” said Zanoni, “let us change both the wine and the theme.”
With that, Zanoni grew yet more animated and brilliant. Never did wit more sparkling, airy, exhilarating, flash from the lips of reveller58. His spirits fascinated all present — even the prince himself, even Glyndon — with a strange and wild contagion81. The former, indeed, whom the words and gaze of Zanoni, when he drained the poison, had filled with fearful misgivings82, now hailed in the brilliant eloquence83 of his wit a certain sign of the operation of the bane. The wine circulated fast; but none seemed conscious of its effects. One by one the rest of the party fell into a charmed and spellbound silence, as Zanoni continued to pour forth84 sally upon sally, tale upon tale. They hung on his words, they almost held their breath to listen. Yet, how bitter was his mirth; how full of contempt for the triflers present, and for the trifles which made their life!
Night came on; the room grew dim, and the feast had lasted several hours longer than was the customary duration of similar entertainments at that day. Still the guests stirred not, and still Zanoni continued, with glittering eye and mocking lip, to lavish85 his stores of intellect and anecdote86; when suddenly the moon rose, and shed its rays over the flowers and fountains in the court without, leaving the room itself half in shadow, and half tinged87 by a quiet and ghostly light.
It was then that Zanoni rose. “Well, gentlemen,” said he, “we have not yet wearied our host, I hope; and his garden offers a new temptation to protract88 our stay. Have you no musicians among your train, prince, that might regale89 our ears while we inhale90 the fragrance91 of your orange-trees?”
“An excellent thought!” said the prince. “Mascari, see to the music.”
The party rose simultaneously92 to adjourn93 to the garden; and then, for the first time, the effect of the wine they had drunk seemed to make itself felt.
With flushed cheeks and unsteady steps they came into the open air, which tended yet more to stimulate94 that glowing fever of the grape. As if to make up for the silence with which the guests had hitherto listened to Zanoni, every tongue was now loosened,— every man talked, no man listened. There was something wild and fearful in the contrast between the calm beauty of the night and scene, and the hubbub95 and clamour of these disorderly roysters. One of the Frenchmen, in especial, the young Duc de R—, a nobleman of the highest rank, and of all the quick, vivacious97, and irascible temperament98 of his countrymen, was particularly noisy and excited. And as circumstances, the remembrance of which is still preserved among certain circles of Naples, rendered it afterwards necessary that the duc should himself give evidence of what occurred, I will here translate the short account he drew up, and which was kindly99 submitted to me some few years ago by my accomplished and lively friend, Il Cavaliere di B—.
“I never remember,” writes the duc, “to have felt my spirits so excited as on that evening; we were like so many boys released from school, jostling each other as we reeled or ran down the flight of seven or eight stairs that led from the colonnade into the garden,— some laughing, some whooping100, some scolding, some babbling101. The wine had brought out, as it were, each man’s inmost character. Some were loud and quarrelsome, others sentimental102 and whining103; some, whom we had hitherto thought dull, most mirthful; some, whom we had ever regarded as discreet104 and taciturn, most garrulous105 and uproarious. I remember that in the midst of our clamorous107 gayety, my eye fell upon the cavalier Signor Zanoni, whose conversation had so enchanted108 us all; and I felt a certain chill come over me to perceive that he wore the same calm and unsympathising smile upon his countenance which had characterised it in his singular and curious stories of the court of Louis XIV. I felt, indeed, half-inclined to seek a quarrel with one whose composure was almost an insult to our disorder96. Nor was such an effect of this irritating and mocking tranquillity109 confined to myself alone. Several of the party have told me since, that on looking at Zanoni they felt their blood yet more heated, and gayety change to resentment110. There seemed in his icy smile a very charm to wound vanity and provoke rage. It was at this moment that the prince came up to me, and, passing his arm into mine, led me a little apart from the rest. He had certainly indulged in the same excess as ourselves, but it did not produce the same effect of noisy excitement. There was, on the contrary, a certain cold arrogance and supercilious111 scorn in his bearing and language, which, even while affecting so much caressing112 courtesy towards me, roused my self-love against him. He seemed as if Zanoni had infected him; and in imitating the manner of his guest, he surpassed the original. He rallied me on some court gossip, which had honoured my name by associating it with a certain beautiful and distinguished113 Sicilian lady, and affected to treat with contempt that which, had it been true, I should have regarded as a boast. He spoke114, indeed, as if he himself had gathered all the flowers of Naples, and left us foreigners only the gleanings he had scorned. At this my natural and national gallantry was piqued115, and I retorted by some sarcasms that I should certainly have spared had my blood been cooler. He laughed heartily116, and left me in a strange fit of resentment and anger. Perhaps (I must own the truth) the wine had produced in me a wild disposition117 to take offence and provoke quarrel. As the prince left me, I turned, and saw Zanoni at my side.
“‘The prince is a braggart,’ said he, with the same smile that displeased118 me before. ‘He would monopolize119 all fortune and all love. Let us take our revenge.’
“‘And how?’
“‘He has at this moment, in his house, the most enchanting120 singer in Naples,— the celebrated121 Viola Pisani. She is here, it is true, not by her own choice; he carried her hither by force, but he will pretend that she adores him. Let us insist on his producing this secret treasure, and when she enters, the Duc de R— can have no doubt that his flatteries and attentions will charm the lady, and provoke all the jealous fears of our host. It would be a fair revenge upon his imperious self-conceit.’
“This suggestion delighted me. I hastened to the prince. At that instant the musicians had just commenced; I waved my hand, ordered the music to stop, and, addressing the prince, who was standing122 in the centre of one of the gayest groups, complained of his want of hospitality in affording to us such poor proficients123 in the art, while he reserved for his own solace124 the lute125 and voice of the first performer in Naples. I demanded, half-laughingly, half-seriously, that he should produce the Pisani. My demand was received with shouts of applause by the rest. We drowned the replies of our host with uproar106, and would hear no denial. ‘Gentlemen,’ at last said the prince, when he could obtain an audience, ‘even were I to assent126 to your proposal, I could not induce the signora to present herself before an assemblage as riotous127 as they are noble. You have too much chivalry to use compulsion with her, though the Duc de R— forgets himself sufficiently128 to administer it to me.’
“I was stung by this taunt129, however well deserved. ‘Prince,’ said I, ‘I have for the indelicacy of compulsion so illustrious an example that I cannot hesitate to pursue the path honoured by your own footsteps. All Naples knows that the Pisani despises at once your gold and your love; that force alone could have brought her under your roof; and that you refuse to produce her, because you fear her complaints, and know enough of the chivalry your vanity sneers130 at to feel assured that the gentlemen of France are not more disposed to worship beauty than to defend it from wrong.’
“‘You speak well, sir,’ said Zanoni, gravely. ‘The prince dares not produce his prize!’
“The prince remained speechless for a few moments, as if with indignation. At last he broke out into expressions the most injurious and insulting against Signor Zanoni and myself. Zanoni replied not; I was more hot and hasty. The guests appeared to delight in our dispute. None, except Mascari, whom we pushed aside and disdained131 to hear, strove to conciliate; some took one side, some another. The issue may be well foreseen. Swords were called for and procured132. Two were offered me by one of the party. I was about to choose one, when Zanoni placed in my hand the other, which, from its hilt, appeared of antiquated workmanship. At the same moment, looking towards the prince, he said, smilingly, ‘The duc takes your grandsire’s sword. Prince, you are too brave a man for superstition133; you have forgot the forfeit134!’ Our host seemed to me to recoil135 and turn pale at those words; nevertheless, he returned Zanoni’s smile with a look of defiance136. The next moment all was broil137 and disorder. There might be some six or eight persons engaged in a strange and confused kind of melee138, but the prince and myself only sought each other. The noise around us, the confusion of the guests, the cries of the musicians, the clash of our own swords, only served to stimulate our unhappy fury. We feared to be interrupted by the attendants, and fought like madmen, without skill or method. I thrust and parried mechanically, blind and frantic139, as if a demon140 had entered into me, till I saw the prince stretched at my feet, bathed in his blood, and Zanoni bending over him, and whispering in his ear. That sight cooled us all. The strife141 ceased; we gathered, in shame, remorse142, and horror, round our ill-fated host; but it was too late,— his eyes rolled fearfully in his head. I have seen many men die, but never one who wore such horror on his countenance. At last all was over! Zanoni rose from the corpse, and, taking, with great composure, the sword from my hand, said calmly, ‘Ye are witnesses, gentlemen, that the prince brought his fate upon himself. The last of that illustrious house has perished in a brawl143.’
“I saw no more of Zanoni. I hastened to our envoy144 to narrate145 the event, and abide146 the issue. I am grateful to the Neapolitan government, and to the illustrious heir of the unfortunate nobleman, for the lenient147 and generous, yet just, interpretation148 put upon a misfortune the memory of which will afflict68 me to the last hour of my life.
(Signed) “Louis Victor, Duc de R.”
In the above memorial, the reader will find the most exact and minute account yet given of an event which created the most lively sensation at Naples in that day.
Glyndon had taken no part in the affray, neither had he participated largely in the excesses of the revel57. For his exemption149 from both he was perhaps indebted to the whispered exhortations150 of Zanoni. When the last rose from the corpse, and withdrew from that scene of confusion, Glyndon remarked that in passing the crowd he touched Mascari on the shoulder, and said something which the Englishman did not overhear. Glyndon followed Zanoni into the banquet-room, which, save where the moonlight slept on the marble floor, was wrapped in the sad and gloomy shadows of the advancing night.
“How could you foretell151 this fearful event? He fell not by your arm!” said Glyndon, in a tremulous and hollow tone.
“The general who calculates on the victory does not fight in person,” answered Zanoni; “let the past sleep with the dead. Meet me at midnight by the sea-shore, half a mile to the left of your hotel. You will know the spot by a rude pillar — the only one near — to which a broken chain is attached. There and then, if thou wouldst learn our lore152, thou shalt find the master. Go; I have business here yet. Remember, Viola is still in the house of the dead man!”
Here Mascari approached, and Zanoni, turning to the Italian, and waving his hand to Glyndon, drew the former aside. Glyndon slowly departed.
“Mascari,” said Zanoni, “your patron is no more; your services will be valueless to his heir,— a sober man whom poverty has preserved from vice153. For yourself, thank me that I do not give you up to the executioner; recollect the wine of Cyprus. Well, never tremble, man; it could not act on me, though it might react on others; in that it is a common type of crime. I forgive you; and if the wine should kill me, I promise you that my ghost shall not haunt so worshipful a penitent154. Enough of this; conduct me to the chamber155 of Viola Pisani. You have no further need of her. The death of the jailer opens the cell of the captive. Be quick; I would be gone.”
Mascari muttered some inaudible words, bowed low, and led the way to the chamber in which Viola was confined.
收听单词发音 |
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riddles
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| n.谜（语）( riddle的名词复数 )；猜不透的难题，难解之谜 | |
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writ
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| n.命令状，书面命令 | |
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addicted
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| adj.沉溺于....的，对...上瘾的 | |
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superstitious
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| adj.迷信的 | |
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legitimate
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| adj.合法的，合理的，合乎逻辑的；v.使合法 | |
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antiquated
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| adj.陈旧的，过时的 | |
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erratic
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| adj.古怪的，反复无常的，不稳定的 | |
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windings
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| （道路、河流等）蜿蜒的，弯曲的( winding的名词复数 )； 缠绕( wind的现在分词 )； 卷绕； 转动（把手） | |
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blazoned
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| v.广布( blazon的过去式和过去分词 )；宣布；夸示；装饰 | |
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speculations
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| n.投机买卖( speculation的名词复数 )；思考；投机活动；推断 | |
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perverted
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| adj.不正当的v.滥用( pervert的过去式和过去分词 )；腐蚀；败坏；使堕落 | |
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extravagant
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| adj.奢侈的；过分的；(言行等)放肆的 | |
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intrigues
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| n.密谋策划( intrigue的名词复数 )；神秘气氛；引人入胜的复杂情节v.搞阴谋诡计( intrigue的第三人称单数 )；激起…的好奇心 | |
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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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ostentation
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| n.夸耀，卖弄 | |
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connived
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| v.密谋 ( connive的过去式和过去分词 )；搞阴谋；默许；纵容 | |
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allured
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| 诱引，吸引( allure的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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awe
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| n.敬畏，惊惧；vt.使敬畏，使惊惧 | |
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haughty
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| adj.傲慢的，高傲的 | |
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arrogance
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| n.傲慢，自大 | |
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apparition
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| n.幽灵，神奇的现象 | |
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foe
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| n.敌人，仇敌 | |
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perfidious
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| adj.不忠的，背信弃义的 | |
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previously
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| adv.以前，先前（地） | |
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preservation
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| n.保护，维护，保存，保留，保持 | |
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rivalry
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| n.竞争，竞赛，对抗 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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antidote
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| n.解毒药，解毒剂 | |
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tyrants
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| 专制统治者( tyrant的名词复数 )； 暴君似的人； （古希腊的）僭主； 严酷的事物 | |
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membrane
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| n.薄膜，膜皮，羊皮纸 | |
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corpse
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| n.尸体，死尸 | |
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leech
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| n.水蛭，吸血鬼，榨取他人利益的人；vt.以水蛭吸血；vi.依附于别人 | |
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33
joyous
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| adj.充满快乐的；令人高兴的 | |
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34
languor
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| n.无精力，倦怠 | |
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35
forerunner
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| n.前身，先驱（者），预兆，祖先 | |
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36
derived
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| vi.起源；由来；衍生；导出v.得到( derive的过去式和过去分词 )；（从…中）得到获得；源于；（从…中）提取 | |
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37
chivalry
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| n.骑士气概，侠义；（男人）对女人彬彬有礼，献殷勤 | |
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38
dice
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| n.骰子；vt.把（食物）切成小方块，冒险 | |
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39
fawning
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| adj.乞怜的，奉承的v.（尤指狗等）跳过来往人身上蹭以示亲热( fawn的现在分词 )；巴结；讨好 | |
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40
colonnade
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| n.柱廊 | |
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41
hearth
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| n.壁炉炉床，壁炉地面 | |
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42
accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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43
adorned
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| [计]被修饰的 | |
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44
peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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45
meridian
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| adj.子午线的；全盛期的 | |
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46
animate
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| v.赋于生命，鼓励；adj.有生命的，有生气的 | |
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47
convivial
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| adj.狂欢的，欢乐的 | |
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48
elicit
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| v.引出,抽出,引起 | |
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49
penetration
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| n.穿透，穿人，渗透 | |
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50
sarcasms
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| n.讥讽，讽刺，挖苦( sarcasm的名词复数 ) | |
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51
eminent
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| adj.显赫的，杰出的，有名的，优良的 | |
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52
continental
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| adj.大陆的，大陆性的，欧洲大陆的 | |
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53
animated
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| adj.生气勃勃的，活跃的，愉快的 | |
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54
arraign
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| v.提讯；控告 | |
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55
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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56
omen
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| n.征兆，预兆；vt.预示 | |
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57
revel
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| vi.狂欢作乐，陶醉；n.作乐，狂欢 | |
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58
reveller
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| n.摆设酒宴者，饮酒狂欢者 | |
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59
smote
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| v.猛打，重击，打击( smite的过去式 ) | |
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60
momentary
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| adj.片刻的，瞬息的；短暂的 | |
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61
courteously
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| adv.有礼貌地，亲切地 | |
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62
sinister
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| adj.不吉利的，凶恶的，左边的 | |
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63
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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64
defer
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| vt.推迟，拖延；vi.(to)遵从，听从，服从 | |
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65
sullen
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| adj.愠怒的，闷闷不乐的，(天气等)阴沉的 | |
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66
touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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67
motive
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| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
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68
afflict
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| vt.使身体或精神受痛苦，折磨 | |
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69
dames
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| n.（在英国）夫人（一种封号），夫人（爵士妻子的称号）( dame的名词复数 )；女人 | |
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70
maxim
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| n.格言，箴言 | |
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71
succumb
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| v.屈服，屈从；死 | |
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72
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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73
cowered
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| v.畏缩，抖缩( cower的过去式 ) | |
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74
quailed
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| 害怕，发抖，畏缩( quail的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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75
virtues
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| 美德( virtue的名词复数 )； 德行； 优点； 长处 | |
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76
affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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77
pungent
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| adj.（气味、味道）刺激性的，辛辣的；尖锐的 | |
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78
recollect
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| v.回忆，想起，记起，忆起，记得 | |
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79
impunity
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| n.(惩罚、损失、伤害等的)免除 | |
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80
constrain
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| vt.限制，约束；克制，抑制 | |
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81
contagion
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| n.(通过接触的疾病)传染；蔓延 | |
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82
misgivings
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| n.疑虑，担忧，害怕；疑虑，担心，恐惧( misgiving的名词复数 )；疑惧 | |
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83
eloquence
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| n.雄辩；口才，修辞 | |
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84
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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85
lavish
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| adj.无节制的；浪费的；vt.慷慨地给予，挥霍 | |
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86
anecdote
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| n.轶事，趣闻，短故事 | |
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87
tinged
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| v.（使）发丁丁声( ting的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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88
protract
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| v.延长，拖长 | |
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89
regale
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| v.取悦，款待 | |
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90
inhale
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| v.吸入(气体等)，吸(烟) | |
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91
fragrance
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| n.芬芳，香味，香气 | |
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92
simultaneously
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| adv.同时发生地，同时进行地 | |
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93
adjourn
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| v.（使）休会，（使）休庭 | |
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94
stimulate
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| vt.刺激，使兴奋；激励，使…振奋 | |
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95
hubbub
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| n.嘈杂；骚乱 | |
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96
disorder
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| n.紊乱，混乱；骚动，骚乱；疾病，失调 | |
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97
vivacious
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| adj.活泼的，快活的 | |
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98
temperament
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| n.气质，性格，性情 | |
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99
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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100
whooping
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| 发嗬嗬声的，发咳声的 | |
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101
babbling
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| n.胡说，婴儿发出的咿哑声adj.胡说的v.喋喋不休( babble的现在分词 )；作潺潺声（如流水）；含糊不清地说话；泄漏秘密 | |
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102
sentimental
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| adj.多愁善感的，感伤的 | |
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103
whining
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| n. 抱怨，牢骚 v. 哭诉，发牢骚 | |
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104
discreet
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| adj.(言行)谨慎的；慎重的；有判断力的 | |
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105
garrulous
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| adj.唠叨的，多话的 | |
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106
uproar
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| n.骚动，喧嚣，鼎沸 | |
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107
clamorous
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| adj.吵闹的，喧哗的 | |
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108
enchanted
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| adj. 被施魔法的，陶醉的，入迷的 动词enchant的过去式和过去分词 | |
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109
tranquillity
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| n. 平静, 安静 | |
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110
resentment
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| n.怨愤，忿恨 | |
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111
supercilious
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| adj.目中无人的，高傲的；adv.高傲地；n.高傲 | |
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112
caressing
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| 爱抚的，表现爱情的，亲切的 | |
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113
distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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114
spoke
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| 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 | |
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115
piqued
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| v.伤害…的自尊心( pique的过去式和过去分词 )；激起（好奇心） | |
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116
heartily
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| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
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117
disposition
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| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
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118
displeased
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| a.不快的 | |
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119
monopolize
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| v.垄断，独占，专营 | |
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120
enchanting
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| a.讨人喜欢的 | |
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121
celebrated
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| adj.有名的，声誉卓著的 | |
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122
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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123
proficients
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| 精通的，熟练的( proficient的名词复数 ) | |
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124
solace
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| n.安慰；v.使快乐；vt.安慰(物)，缓和 | |
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125
lute
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| n.琵琶，鲁特琴 | |
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126
assent
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| v.批准，认可；n.批准，认可 | |
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127
riotous
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| adj.骚乱的；狂欢的 | |
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128
sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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129
taunt
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| n.辱骂，嘲弄；v.嘲弄 | |
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130
sneers
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| 讥笑的表情（言语）( sneer的名词复数 ) | |
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131
disdained
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| 鄙视( disdain的过去式和过去分词 )； 不屑于做，不愿意做 | |
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132
procured
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| v.（努力）取得， （设法）获得( procure的过去式和过去分词 )；拉皮条 | |
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133
superstition
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| n.迷信，迷信行为 | |
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134
forfeit
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| vt.丧失；n.罚金，罚款，没收物 | |
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135
recoil
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| vi.退却，退缩，畏缩 | |
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136
defiance
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| n.挑战，挑衅，蔑视，违抗 | |
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137
broil
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| v.烤，烧，争吵，怒骂；n.烤，烧，争吵，怒骂 | |
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138
melee
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| n.混战；混战的人群 | |
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139
frantic
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| adj.狂乱的，错乱的，激昂的 | |
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140
demon
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| n.魔鬼，恶魔 | |
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141
strife
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| n.争吵，冲突，倾轧，竞争 | |
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142
remorse
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| n.痛恨，悔恨，自责 | |
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143
brawl
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| n.大声争吵，喧嚷；v.吵架，对骂 | |
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144
envoy
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| n.使节，使者，代表，公使 | |
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145
narrate
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| v.讲，叙述 | |
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146
abide
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| vi.遵守；坚持；vt.忍受 | |
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147
lenient
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| adj.宽大的，仁慈的 | |
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148
interpretation
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| n.解释，说明，描述；艺术处理 | |
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149
exemption
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| n.豁免，免税额，免除 | |
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150
exhortations
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| n.敦促( exhortation的名词复数 )；极力推荐；（正式的）演讲；（宗教仪式中的）劝诫 | |
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151
foretell
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| v.预言，预告，预示 | |
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152
lore
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| n.传说；学问，经验，知识 | |
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153
vice
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| n.坏事；恶习；[pl.]台钳，老虎钳；adj.副的 | |
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154
penitent
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| adj.后悔的；n.后悔者；忏悔者 | |
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155
chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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