We still have judgment1 here; that we but teach
Bloody2 instructions, which, being taught, return
To plague the inventor: thus even-handed justice
Commends the ingredients of our poison’d chalice3
To our own lips.
MACBETH
Some circumstances of an extraordinary nature now withdrew Emily from her own sorrows, and excited emotions, which partook of both surprise and horror.
A few days followed that, on which Signora Laurentini died, her will was opened at the monastery4, in the presence of the superiors and Mons. Bonnac, when it was found, that one third of her personal property was bequeathed to the nearest surviving relative of the late Marchioness de Villeroi, and that Emily was the person.
With the secret of Emily’s family the abbess had long been acquainted, and it was in observance of the earnest request of St. Aubert, who was known to the friar, that attended him on his death- bed, that his daughter had remained in ignorance of her relationship to the Marchioness. But some hints, which had fallen from Signora Laurentini, during her last interview with Emily, and a confession5 of a very extraordinary nature, given in her dying hours, had made the abbess think it necessary to converse6 with her young friend, on the topic she had not before ventured to introduce; and it was for this purpose, that she had requested to see her on the morning that followed her interview with the nun7. Emily’s indisposition had then prevented the intended conversation; but now, after the will had been examined, she received a summons, which she immediately obeyed, and became informed of circumstances, that powerfully affected10 her. As the narrative11 of the abbess was, however, deficient12 in many particulars, of which the reader may wish to be informed, and the history of the nun is materially connected with the fate of the Marchioness de Villeroi, we shall omit the conversation, that passed in the parlour of the convent, and mingle13 with our relation a brief history of
LAURENTINI DI UDOLPHO,
Who was the only child of her parents, and heiress of the ancient house of Udolpho, in the territory of Venice. It was the first misfortune of her life, and that which led to all her succeeding misery14, that the friends, who ought to have restrained her strong passions, and mildly instructed her in the art of governing them, nurtured15 them by early indulgence. But they cherished their own failings in her; for their conduct was not the result of rational kindness, and, when they either indulged, or opposed the passions of their child, they gratified their own. Thus they indulged her with weakness, and reprehended16 her with violence; her spirit was exasperated17 by their vehemence18, instead of being corrected by their wisdom; and their oppositions19 became contest for victory, in which the due tenderness of the parents, and the affectionate duties of the child, were equally forgotten; but, as returning fondness disarmed20 the parents’ resentment21 soonest, Laurentini was suffered to believe that she had conquered, and her passions became stronger by every effort, that had been employed to subdue22 them.
The death of her father and mother in the same year left her to her own discretion23, under the dangerous circumstances attendant on youth and beauty. She was fond of company, delighted with admiration24, yet disdainful of the opinion of the world, when it happened to contradict her inclinations25; had a gay and brilliant wit, and was mistress of all the arts of fascination26. Her conduct was such as might have been expected, from the weakness of her principles and the strength of her passions.
Among her numerous admirers was the late Marquis de Villeroi, who, on his tour through Italy, saw Laurentini at Venice, where she usually resided, and became her passionate27 adorer. Equally captivated by the figure and accomplishments28 of the Marquis, who was at that period one of the most distinguished29 noblemen of the French court, she had the art so effectually to conceal30 from him the dangerous traits of her character and the blemishes31 of her late conduct, that he solicited32 her hand in marriage.
Before the nuptials33 were concluded, she retired34 to the castle of Udolpho, whither the Marquis followed, and, where her conduct, relaxing from the propriety35, which she had lately assumed, discovered to him the precipice36, on which he stood. A minuter enquiry than he had before thought it necessary to make, convinced him, that he had been deceived in her character, and she, whom he had designed for his wife, afterwards became his mistress.
Having passed some weeks at Udolpho, he was called abruptly37 to France, whither he returned with extreme reluctance38, for his heart was still fascinated by the arts of Laurentini, with whom, however, he had on various pretences39 delayed his marriage; but, to reconcile her to this separation, he now gave repeated promises of returning to conclude the nuptials, as soon as the affair, which thus suddenly called him to France, should permit.
Soothed40, in some degree, by these assurances, she suffered him to depart; and, soon after, her relative, Montoni, arriving at Udolpho, renewed the addresses, which she had before refused, and which she now again rejected. Meanwhile, her thoughts were constantly with the Marquis de Villeroi, for whom she suffered all the delirium41 of Italian love, cherished by the solitude42, to which she confined herself; for she had now lost all taste for the pleasures of society and the gaiety of amusement. Her only indulgences were to sigh and weep over a miniature of the Marquis; to visit the scenes, that had witnessed their happiness, to pour forth43 her heart to him in writing, and to count the weeks, the days, which must intervene before the period that he had mentioned as probable for his return. But this period passed without bringing him; and week after week followed in heavy and almost intolerable expectation. During this interval44, Laurentini’s fancy, occupied incessantly45 by one idea, became disordered; and, her whole heart being devoted46 to one object, life became hateful to her, when she believed that object lost.
Several months passed, during which she heard nothing from the Marquis de Villeroi, and her days were marked, at intervals47, with the phrensy of passion and the sullenness48 of despair. She secluded49 herself from all visitors, and, sometimes, remained in her apartment, for weeks together, refusing to speak to every person, except her favourite female attendant, writing scraps50 of letters, reading, again and again, those she had received from the Marquis, weeping over his picture, and speaking to it, for many hours, upbraiding51, reproaching and caressing52 it alternately.
At length, a report reached her, that the Marquis had married in France, and, after suffering all the extremes of love, jealousy53 and indignation, she formed the desperate resolution of going secretly to that country, and, if the report proved true, of attempting a deep revenge. To her favourite woman only she confided55 the plan of her journey, and she engaged her to partake of it. Having collected her jewels, which, descending56 to her from many branches of her family, were of immense value, and all her cash, to a very large amount, they were packed in a trunk, which was privately57 conveyed to a neighbouring town, whither Laurentini, with this only servant, followed, and thence proceeded secretly to Leghorn, where they embarked58 for France.
When, on her arrival in Languedoc, she found, that the Marquis de Villeroi had been married, for some months, her despair almost deprived her of reason, and she alternately projected and abandoned the horrible design of murdering the Marquis, his wife and herself. At length she contrived59 to throw herself in his way, with an intention of reproaching him, for his conduct, and of stabbing herself in his presence; but, when she again saw him, who so long had been the constant object of her thoughts and affections, resentment yielded to love; her resolution failed; she trembled with the conflict of emotions, that assailed60 her heart, and fainted away.
The Marquis was not proof against her beauty and sensibility; all the energy, with which he had first loved, returned, for his passion had been resisted by prudence61, rather than overcome by indifference62; and, since the honour of his family would not permit him to marry her, he had endeavoured to subdue his love, and had so far succeeded, as to select the then Marchioness for his wife, whom he loved at first with a tempered and rational affection. But the mild virtues63 of that amiable64 lady did not recompense him for her indifference, which appeared, notwithstanding her efforts to conceal it; and he had, for some time, suspected that her affections were engaged by another person, when Laurentini arrived in Languedoc. This artful Italian soon perceived, that she had regained65 her influence over him, and, soothed by the discovery, she determined66 to live, and to employ all her enchantments67 to win his consent to the diabolical68 deed, which she believed was necessary to the security of her happiness. She conducted her scheme with deep dissimulation69 and patient perseverance70, and, having completely estranged71 the affections of the Marquis from his wife, whose gentle goodness and unimpassioned manners had ceased to please, when contrasted with the captivations of the Italian, she proceeded to awaken72 in his mind the jealousy of pride, for it was no longer that of love, and even pointed73 out to him the person, to whom she affirmed the Marchioness had sacrificed her honour; but Laurentini had first extorted74 from him a solemn promise to forbear avenging75 himself upon his rival. This was an important part of her plan, for she knew, that, if his desire of vengeance76 was restrained towards one party, it would burn more fiercely towards the other, and he might then, perhaps, be prevailed on to assist in the horrible act, which would release him from the only barrier, that with-held him from making her his wife.
The innocent Marchioness, meanwhile, observed, with extreme grief, the alteration77 in her husband’s manners. He became reserved and thoughtful in her presence; his conduct was austere78, and sometimes even rude; and he left her, for many hours together, to weep for his unkindness, and to form plans for the recovery of his affection. His conduct afflicted79 her the more, because, in obedience80 to the command of her father, she had accepted his hand, though her affections were engaged to another, whose amiable disposition8, she had reason to believe, would have ensured her happiness. This circumstance Laurentini had discovered, soon after her arrival in France, and had made ample use of it in assisting her designs upon the Marquis, to whom she adduced such seeming proof of his wife’s infidelity, that, in the frantic81 rage of wounded honour, he consented to destroy his wife. A slow poison was administered, and she fell a victim to the jealousy and subtlety82 of Laurentini and to the guilty weakness of her husband.
But the moment of Laurentini’s triumph, the moment, to which she had looked forward for the completion of all her wishes, proved only the commencement of a suffering, that never left her to her dying hour.
The passion of revenge, which had in part stimulated84 her to the commission of this atrocious deed, died, even at the moment when it was gratified, and left her to the horrors of unavailing pity and remorse85, which would probably have empoisoned all the years she had promised herself with the Marquis de Villeroi, had her expectations of an alliance with him been realized. But he, too, had found the moment of his revenge to be that of remorse, as to himself, and detestation, as to the partner of his crime; the feeling, which he had mistaken for conviction, was no more; and he stood astonished, and aghast, that no proof remained of his wife’s infidelity, now that she had suffered the punishment of guilt83. Even when he was informed, that she was dying, he had felt suddenly and unaccountably reassured86 of her innocence87, nor was the solemn assurance she made him in her last hour, capable of affording him a stronger conviction of her blameless conduct.
In the first horrors of remorse and despair, he felt inclined to deliver up himself and the woman, who had plunged88 him into this abyss of guilt, into the hands of justice; but, when the paroxysm of his suffering was over, his intention changed. Laurentini, however, he saw only once afterwards, and that was, to curse her as the instigator89 of his crime, and to say, that he spared her life only on condition, that she passed the rest of her days in prayer and penance90. Overwhelmed with disappointment, on receiving contempt and abhorrence91 from the man, for whose sake she had not scrupled92 to stain her conscience with human blood, and, touched with horror of the unavailing crime she had committed, she renounced93 the world, and retired to the monastery of St. Claire, a dreadful victim to unresisted passion.
The Marquis, immediately after the death of his wife, quitted Chateau95-le-Blanc, to which he never returned, and endeavoured to lose the sense of his crime amidst the tumult96 of war, or the dissipations of a capital; but his efforts were vain; a deep dejection hung over him ever after, for which his most intimate friend could not account, and he, at length, died, with a degree of horror nearly equal to that, which Laurentini had suffered. The physician, who had observed the singular appearance of the unfortunate Marchioness, after death, had been bribed97 to silence; and, as the surmises98 of a few of the servants had proceeded no further than a whisper, the affair had never been investigated. Whether this whisper ever reached the father of the Marchioness, and, if it did, whether the difficulty of obtaining proof deterred99 him from prosecuting100 the Marquis de Villeroi, is uncertain; but her death was deeply lamented101 by some part of her family, and particularly by her brother, M. St. Aubert; for that was the degree of relationship, which had existed between Emily’s father and the Marchioness; and there is no doubt, that he suspected the manner of her death. Many letters passed between the Marquis and him, soon after the decease of his beloved sister, the subject of which was not known, but there is reason to believe, that they related to the cause of her death; and these were the papers, together with some letters of the Marchioness, who had confided to her brother the occasion of her unhappiness, which St. Aubert had so solemnly enjoined102 his daughter to destroy: and anxiety for her peace had probably made him forbid her to enquire103 into the melancholy104 story, to which they alluded105. Such, indeed, had been his affliction, on the premature106 death of this his favourite sister, whose unhappy marriage had from the first excited his tenderest pity, that he never could hear her named, or mention her himself after her death, except to Madame St. Aubert. From Emily, whose sensibility he feared to awaken, he had so carefully concealed107 her history and name, that she was ignorant, till now, that she ever had such a relative as the Marchioness de Villeroi; and from this motive108 he had enjoined silence to his only surviving sister, Madame Cheron, who had scrupulously109 observed his request.
It was over some of the last pathetic letters of the Marchioness, that St. Aubert was weeping, when he was observed by Emily, on the eve of her departure from La Vallee, and it was her picture, which he had so tenderly caressed110. Her disastrous111 death may account for the emotion he had betrayed, on hearing her named by La Voisin, and for his request to be interred112 near the monument of the Villerois, where her remains113 were deposited, but not those of her husband, who was buried, where he died, in the north of France.
The confessor, who attended St. Aubert in his last moments, recollected114 him to be the brother of the late Marchioness, when St. Aubert, from tenderness to Emily, had conjured115 him to conceal the circumstance, and to request that the abbess, to whose care he particularly recommended her, would do the same; a request, which had been exactly observed.
Laurentini, on her arrival in France, had carefully concealed her name and family, and, the better to disguise her real history, had, on entering the convent, caused the story to be circulated, which had imposed on sister Frances, and it is probable, that the abbess, who did not preside in the convent, at the time of her noviciation, was also entirely116 ignorant of the truth. The deep remorse, that seized on the mind of Laurentini, together with the sufferings of disappointed passion, for she still loved the Marquis, again unsettled her intellects, and, after the first paroxysms of despair were passed, a heavy and silent melancholy had settled upon her spirits, which suffered few interruptions from fits of phrensy, till the time of her death. During many years, it had been her only amusement to walk in the woods near the monastery, in the solitary117 hours of night, and to play upon a favourite instrument, to which she sometimes joined the delightful118 melody of her voice, in the most solemn and melancholy airs of her native country, modulated119 by all the energetic feeling, that dwelt in her heart. The physician, who had attended her, recommended it to the superior to indulge her in this whim120, as the only means of soothing121 her distempered fancy; and she was suffered to walk in the lonely hours of night, attended by the servant, who had accompanied her from Italy; but, as the indulgence transgressed122 against the rules of the convent, it was kept as secret as possible; and thus the mysterious music of Laurentini had combined with other circumstances, to produce a report, that not only the chateau, but its neighbourhood, was haunted.
Soon after her entrance into this holy community, and before she had shewn any symptoms of insanity123 there, she made a will, in which, after bequeathing a considerable legacy124 to the convent, she divided the remainder of her personal property, which her jewels made very valuable, between the wife of Mons. Bonnac, who was an Italian lady and her relation, and the nearest surviving relative of the late Marchioness de Villeroi. As Emily St. Aubert was not only the nearest, but the sole relative, this legacy descended125 to her, and thus explained to her the whole mystery of her father’s conduct.
The resemblance between Emily and her unfortunate aunt had frequently been observed by Laurentini, and had occasioned the singular behaviour, which had formerly126 alarmed her; but it was in the nun’s dying hour, when her conscience gave her perpetually the idea of the Marchioness, that she became more sensible, than ever, of this likeness127, and, in her phrensy, deemed it no resemblance of the person she had injured, but the original herself. The bold assertion, that had followed, on the recovery of her senses, that Emily was the daughter of the Marchioness de Villeroi, arose from a suspicion that she was so; for, knowing that her rival, when she married the Marquis, was attached to another lover, she had scarcely scrupled to believe, that her honour had been sacrificed, like her own, to an unresisted passion.
Of a crime, however, to which Emily had suspected, from her phrensied confession of murder, that she had been instrumental in the castle of Udolpho, Laurentini was innocent; and she had herself been deceived, concerning the spectacle, that formerly occasioned her so much terror, and had since compelled her, for a while, to attribute the horrors of the nun to a consciousness of a murder, committed in that castle.
It may be remembered, that, in a chamber128 of Udolpho, hung a black veil, whose singular situation had excited Emily’s curiosity, and which afterwards disclosed an object, that had overwhelmed her with horror; for, on lifting it, there appeared, instead of the picture she had expected, within a recess129 of the wall, a human figure of ghastly paleness, stretched at its length, and dressed in the habiliments of the grave. What added to the horror of the spectacle, was, that the face appeared partly decayed and disfigured by worms, which were visible on the features and hands. On such an object, it will be readily believed, that no person could endure to look twice. Emily, it may be recollected, had, after the first glance, let the veil drop, and her terror had prevented her from ever after provoking a renewal130 of such suffering, as she had then experienced. Had she dared to look again, her delusion131 and her fears would have vanished together, and she would have perceived, that the figure before her was not human, but formed of wax. The history of it is somewhat extraordinary, though not without example in the records of that fierce severity, which monkish132 superstition133 has sometimes inflicted134 on mankind. A member of the house of Udolpho, having committed some offence against the prerogative135 of the church, had been condemned136 to the penance of contemplating137, during certain hours of the day, a waxen image, made to resemble a human body in the state, to which it is reduced after death. This penance, serving as a memento138 of the condition at which he must himself arrive, had been designed to reprove the pride of the Marquis of Udolpho, which had formerly so much exasperated that of the Romish church; and he had not only superstitiously139 observed this penance himself, which, he had believed, was to obtain a pardon for all his sins, but had made it a condition in his will, that his descendants should preserve the image, on pain of forfeiting140 to the church a certain part of his domain141, that they also might profit by the humiliating moral it conveyed. The figure, therefore, had been suffered to retain its station in the wall of the chamber, but his descendants excused themselves from observing the penance, to which he had been enjoined.
This image was so horribly natural, that it is not surprising Emily should have mistaken it for the object it resembled, nor, since she had heard such an extraordinary account, concerning the disappearing of the late lady of the castle, and had such experience of the character of Montoni, that she should have believed this to be the murdered body of the lady Laurentini, and that he had been the contriver142 of her death.
The situation, in which she had discovered it, occasioned her, at first, much surprise and perplexity; but the vigilance, with which the doors of the chamber, where it was deposited, were afterwards secured, had compelled her to believe, that Montoni, not daring to confide54 the secret of her death to any person, had suffered her remains to decay in this obscure chamber. The ceremony of the veil, however, and the circumstance of the doors having been left open, even for a moment, had occasioned her much wonder and some doubts; but these were not sufficient to overcome her suspicion of Montoni; and it was the dread94 of his terrible vengeance, that had sealed her lips in silence, concerning what she had seen in the west chamber.
Emily, in discovering the Marchioness de Villeroi to have been the sister of Mons. St. Aubert, was variously affected; but, amidst the sorrow, which she suffered for her untimely death, she was released from an anxious and painful conjecture143, occasioned by the rash assertion of Signora Laurentini, concerning her birth and the honour of her parents. Her faith in St. Aubert’s principles would scarcely allow her to suspect that he had acted dishonourably; and she felt such reluctance to believe herself the daughter of any other, than her, whom she had always considered and loved as a mother, that she would hardly admit such a circumstance to be possible; yet the likeness, which it had frequently been affirmed she bore to the late Marchioness, the former behaviour of Dorothee the old housekeeper144, the assertion of Laurentini, and the mysterious attachment145, which St. Aubert had discovered, awakened146 doubts, as to his connection with the Marchioness, which her reason could neither vanquish147, or confirm. From these, however, she was now relieved, and all the circumstances of her father’s conduct were fully9 explained: but her heart was oppressed by the melancholy catastrophe148 of her amiable relative, and by the awful lesson, which the history of the nun exhibited, the indulgence of whose passions had been the means of leading her gradually to the commission of a crime, from the prophecy of which in her early years she would have recoiled149 in horror, and exclaimed — that it could not be!— a crime, which whole years of repentance150 and of the severest penance had not been able to obliterate151 from her conscience.
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1
judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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bloody
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| adj.非常的的；流血的；残忍的；adv.很；vt.血染 | |
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chalice
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| n.圣餐杯；金杯毒酒 | |
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monastery
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| n.修道院，僧院，寺院 | |
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confession
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| n.自白，供认，承认 | |
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converse
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| vi.谈话，谈天，闲聊；adv.相反的，相反 | |
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nun
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| n.修女，尼姑 | |
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disposition
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| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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narrative
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| n.叙述，故事；adj.叙事的，故事体的 | |
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deficient
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| adj.不足的，不充份的，有缺陷的 | |
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mingle
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| vt.使混合，使相混；vi.混合起来；相交往 | |
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misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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nurtured
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| 养育( nurture的过去式和过去分词 )； 培育； 滋长； 助长 | |
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reprehended
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| v.斥责，指摘，责备( reprehend的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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exasperated
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| adj.恼怒的 | |
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vehemence
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| n.热切；激烈；愤怒 | |
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oppositions
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| （强烈的）反对( opposition的名词复数 )； 反对党； （事业、竞赛、游戏等的）对手； 对比 | |
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disarmed
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| v.裁军( disarm的过去式和过去分词 )；使息怒 | |
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resentment
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| n.怨愤，忿恨 | |
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subdue
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| vt.制服，使顺从，征服；抑制，克制 | |
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discretion
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| n.谨慎；随意处理 | |
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admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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inclinations
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| 倾向( inclination的名词复数 )； 倾斜； 爱好； 斜坡 | |
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fascination
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| n.令人着迷的事物，魅力，迷恋 | |
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passionate
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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accomplishments
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| n.造诣；完成( accomplishment的名词复数 )；技能；成绩；成就 | |
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distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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blemishes
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| n.（身体的）瘢点( blemish的名词复数 )；伤疤；瑕疵；污点 | |
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solicited
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| v.恳求( solicit的过去式和过去分词 )；（指娼妇）拉客；索求；征求 | |
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nuptials
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| n.婚礼；婚礼( nuptial的名词复数 ) | |
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retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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propriety
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| n.正当行为；正当；适当 | |
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precipice
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| n.悬崖，危急的处境 | |
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abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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reluctance
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| n.厌恶，讨厌，勉强，不情愿 | |
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pretences
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| n.假装( pretence的名词复数 )；作假；自命；自称 | |
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soothed
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| v.安慰( soothe的过去式和过去分词 )；抚慰；使舒服；减轻痛苦 | |
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41
delirium
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| n. 神智昏迷,说胡话;极度兴奋 | |
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42
solitude
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| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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43
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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44
interval
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| n.间隔，间距；幕间休息，中场休息 | |
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45
incessantly
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| ad.不停地 | |
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46
devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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47
intervals
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| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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48
sullenness
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| n. 愠怒, 沉闷, 情绪消沉 | |
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49
secluded
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| adj.与世隔绝的；隐退的；偏僻的v.使隔开，使隐退( seclude的过去式和过去分词) | |
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50
scraps
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| 油渣 | |
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51
upbraiding
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| adj.& n.谴责（的）v.责备，申斥，谴责( upbraid的现在分词 ) | |
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52
caressing
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| 爱抚的，表现爱情的，亲切的 | |
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53
jealousy
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| n.妒忌，嫉妒，猜忌 | |
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54
confide
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| v.向某人吐露秘密 | |
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55
confided
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| v.吐露（秘密，心事等）( confide的过去式和过去分词 )；（向某人）吐露（隐私、秘密等） | |
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56
descending
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| n. 下行 adj. 下降的 | |
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57
privately
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| adv.以私人的身份，悄悄地，私下地 | |
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58
embarked
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| 乘船( embark的过去式和过去分词 )； 装载； 从事 | |
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59
contrived
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| adj.不自然的，做作的；虚构的 | |
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60
assailed
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| v.攻击( assail的过去式和过去分词 )；困扰；质问；毅然应对 | |
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61
prudence
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| n.谨慎，精明，节俭 | |
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62
indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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63
virtues
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| 美德( virtue的名词复数 )； 德行； 优点； 长处 | |
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64
amiable
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| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
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65
regained
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| 复得( regain的过去式和过去分词 )； 赢回； 重回； 复至某地 | |
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66
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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67
enchantments
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| n.魅力( enchantment的名词复数 )；迷人之处；施魔法；着魔 | |
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68
diabolical
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| adj.恶魔似的，凶暴的 | |
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69
dissimulation
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| n.掩饰，虚伪，装糊涂 | |
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70
perseverance
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| n.坚持不懈，不屈不挠 | |
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71
estranged
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| adj.疏远的，分离的 | |
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72
awaken
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| vi.醒，觉醒；vt.唤醒，使觉醒，唤起，激起 | |
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73
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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74
extorted
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| v.敲诈( extort的过去式和过去分词 )；曲解 | |
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75
avenging
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| adj.报仇的，复仇的v.为…复仇，报…之仇( avenge的现在分词 )；为…报复 | |
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76
vengeance
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| n.报复，报仇，复仇 | |
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77
alteration
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| n.变更，改变；蚀变 | |
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78
austere
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| adj.艰苦的；朴素的，朴实无华的；严峻的 | |
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79
afflicted
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| 使受痛苦，折磨( afflict的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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80
obedience
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| n.服从，顺从 | |
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81
frantic
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| adj.狂乱的，错乱的，激昂的 | |
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82
subtlety
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| n.微妙，敏锐，精巧；微妙之处，细微的区别 | |
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83
guilt
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| n.犯罪；内疚；过失，罪责 | |
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84
stimulated
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| a.刺激的 | |
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85
remorse
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| n.痛恨，悔恨，自责 | |
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86
reassured
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| adj.使消除疑虑的；使放心的v.再保证，恢复信心( reassure的过去式和过去分词) | |
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87
innocence
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| n.无罪；天真；无害 | |
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88
plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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89
instigator
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| n.煽动者 | |
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90
penance
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| n.（赎罪的）惩罪 | |
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91
abhorrence
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| n.憎恶；可憎恶的事 | |
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92
scrupled
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| v.感到于心不安，有顾忌( scruple的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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renounced
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| v.声明放弃( renounce的过去式和过去分词 )；宣布放弃；宣布与…决裂；宣布摒弃 | |
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94
dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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95
chateau
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| n.城堡，别墅 | |
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96
tumult
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| n.喧哗；激动，混乱；吵闹 | |
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97
bribed
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| v.贿赂( bribe的过去式和过去分词 )；向（某人）行贿，贿赂 | |
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98
surmises
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| v.臆测，推断( surmise的第三人称单数 )；揣测；猜想 | |
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99
deterred
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| v.阻止，制止( deter的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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100
prosecuting
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| 检举、告发某人( prosecute的现在分词 )； 对某人提起公诉； 继续从事（某事物）； 担任控方律师 | |
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101
lamented
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| adj.被哀悼的，令人遗憾的v.（为…）哀悼，痛哭，悲伤( lament的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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102
enjoined
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| v.命令( enjoin的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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103
enquire
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| v.打听，询问；调查，查问 | |
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104
melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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105
alluded
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| 提及，暗指( allude的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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106
premature
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| adj.比预期时间早的；不成熟的，仓促的 | |
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107
concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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108
motive
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| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
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109
scrupulously
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| adv.一丝不苟地；小心翼翼地，多顾虑地 | |
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110
caressed
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| 爱抚或抚摸…( caress的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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111
disastrous
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| adj.灾难性的，造成灾害的；极坏的，很糟的 | |
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112
interred
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| v.埋，葬( inter的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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113
remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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114
recollected
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| adj.冷静的；镇定的；被回忆起的；沉思默想的v.记起，想起( recollect的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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115
conjured
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| 用魔术变出( conjure的过去式和过去分词 )； 祈求，恳求； 变戏法； （变魔术般地） 使…出现 | |
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116
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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117
solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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118
delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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119
modulated
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| 已调整[制]的，被调的 | |
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120
whim
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| n.一时的兴致，突然的念头；奇想，幻想 | |
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121
soothing
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| adj.慰藉的；使人宽心的；镇静的 | |
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122
transgressed
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| v.超越( transgress的过去式和过去分词 )；越过；违反；违背 | |
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123
insanity
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| n.疯狂，精神错乱；极端的愚蠢，荒唐 | |
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124
legacy
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| n.遗产，遗赠；先人(或过去)留下的东西 | |
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125
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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126
formerly
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| adv.从前，以前 | |
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127
likeness
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| n.相像，相似（之处） | |
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128
chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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129
recess
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| n.短期休息，壁凹（墙上装架子，柜子等凹处） | |
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130
renewal
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| adj.(契约)延期，续订，更新，复活，重来 | |
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131
delusion
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| n.谬见，欺骗，幻觉，迷惑 | |
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132
monkish
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| adj.僧侣的，修道士的，禁欲的 | |
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133
superstition
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| n.迷信，迷信行为 | |
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134
inflicted
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| 把…强加给，使承受，遭受( inflict的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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135
prerogative
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| n.特权 | |
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136
condemned
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| adj. 被责难的, 被宣告有罪的 动词condemn的过去式和过去分词 | |
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137
contemplating
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| 深思，细想，仔细考虑( contemplate的现在分词 )； 注视，凝视； 考虑接受（发生某事的可能性）； 深思熟虑，沉思，苦思冥想 | |
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138
memento
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| n.纪念品，令人回忆的东西 | |
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139
superstitiously
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| 被邪教所支配 | |
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140
forfeiting
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| （因违反协议、犯规、受罚等）丧失，失去( forfeit的现在分词 ) | |
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141
domain
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| n.(活动等)领域，范围；领地，势力范围 | |
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142
contriver
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| 发明者，创制者，筹划者 | |
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143
conjecture
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| n./v.推测，猜测 | |
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144
housekeeper
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| n.管理家务的主妇，女管家 | |
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145
attachment
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| n.附属物，附件；依恋；依附 | |
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146
awakened
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| v.（使）醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
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147
vanquish
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| v.征服，战胜；克服；抑制 | |
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148
catastrophe
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| n.大灾难，大祸 | |
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149
recoiled
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| v.畏缩( recoil的过去式和过去分词 )；退缩；报应；返回 | |
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150
repentance
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| n.懊悔 | |
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151
obliterate
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| v.擦去，涂抹，去掉...痕迹，消失，除去 | |
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