The air was quietly full of the noise of falling water, the cause of which was nowhere visible, though apparently14 near at hand. This pleasant, natural sound, not unlike that of a distant cascade15 in the forest, may be heard in many of the Roman streets and piazzas16, when the tumult18 of the city is hushed; for consuls19, emperors, and popes, the great men of every age, have found no better way of immortalizing their memories than by the shifting, indestructible, ever new, yet unchanging, upgush and downfall of water. They have written their names in that unstable20 element, and proved it a more durable21 record than brass22 or marble.
“Donatello, you had better take one of those gay, boyish artists for your companion,” said Miriam, when she found the Italian youth at her side. “I am not now in a merry mood, as when we set all the world a-dancing the other afternoon, in the Borghese grounds.”
“I never wish to dance any more,” answered Donatello.
“What a melancholy23 was in that tone!” exclaimed Miriam. “You are getting spoilt in this dreary24 Rome, and will be as wise and as wretched as all the rest of mankind, unless you go back soon to your Tuscan vineyards. Well; give me your arm, then! But take care that no friskiness25 comes over you. We must walk evenly and heavily to-night!”
The party arranged itself according to its natural affinities26 or casual likings; a sculptor27 generally choosing a painter, and a painter a sculp—tor, for his companion, in preference to brethren of their own art. Kenyon would gladly have taken Hilda to himself, and have drawn28 her a little aside from the throng29 of merry wayfarers30. But she kept near Miriam, and seemed, in her gentle and quiet way, to decline a separate alliance either with him or any other of her acquaintances.
So they set forth, and had gone but a little way, when the narrow street emerged into a piazza17, on one side of which, glistening31 and dimpling in the moonlight, was the most famous fountain in Rome. Its murmur32—not to say its uproar33—had been in the ears of the company, ever since they came into the open air. It was the Fountain of Trevi, which draws its precious water from a source far beyond the walls, whence it flows hitherward through old subterranean34 aqueducts, and sparkles forth as pure as the virgin35 who first led Agrippa to its well-spring, by her father’s door.
“I am leaving Rome in a few days; and the tradition goes, that a parting draught37 at the Fountain of Trevi insures the traveller’s return, whatever obstacles and improbabilities may seem to beset38 him. Will you drink, Donatello?”
“Signorina, what you drink, I drink,” said the youth.
They and the rest of the party descended some steps to the water’s brim, and, after a sip or two, stood gazing at the absurd design of the fountain, where some sculptor of Bernini’s school had gone absolutely mad in marble. It was a great palace front, with niches39 and many bas-reliefs, out of which looked Agrippa’s legendary40 virgin, and several of the allegoric sisterhood; while, at the base, appeared Neptune41, with his floundering steeds, and Tritons blowing their horns about him, and twenty other artificial fantasies, which the calm moonlight soothed42 into better taste than was native to them.
And, after all, it was as magnificent a piece of work as ever human skill contrived43. At the foot of the palatial44 facade45 was strewn, with careful art and ordered irregularity, a broad and broken heap of massive rock, looking is if it might have lain there since the deluge46. Over a central precipice47 fell the water, in a semicircular cascade; and from a hundred crevices48, on all sides, snowy jets gushed49 up, and streams spouted50 out of the mouths and nostrils51 of stone monsters, and fell in glistening drops; while other rivulets52, that had run wild, came leaping from one rude step to another, over stones that were mossy, slimy, and green with sedge, because, in a Century of their wild play, Nature had adopted the Fountain of Trevi, with all its elaborate devices, for her own. Finally, the water, tumbling, sparkling, and dashing, with joyous54 haste and never-ceasing murmur, poured itself into a great marble-brimmed reservoir, and filled it with a quivering tide; on which was seen, continually, a snowy semicircle of momentary55 foam56 from the principal cascade, as well as a multitude of snow points from smaller jets. The basin occupied the whole breadth of the piazza, whence flights of steps descended to its border. A boat might float, and make voyages from one shore to another in this mimic57 lake.
In the daytime, there is hardly a livelier scene in Rome than the neighborhood of the Fountain of Trevi; for the piazza is then filled with the stalls of vegetable and fruit dealers58, chestnut59 roasters, cigar venders, and other people, whose petty and wandering traffic is transacted60 in the open air. It is likewise thronged61 with idlers, lounging over the iron railing, and with Forestieri, who came hither to see the famous fountain. Here, also, are seen men with buckets, urchins62 with cans, and maidens63 (a picture as old as the patriarchal times) bearing their pitchers64 upon their heads. For the water of Trevi is in request, far and wide, as the most refreshing65 draught for feverish66 lips, the pleasantest to mingle67 with wine, and the wholesomest to drink, in its native purity, that can anywhere be found. But now, at early midnight, the piazza was a solitude68; and it was a delight to behold69 this untamable water, sporting by itself in the moonshine, and compelling all the elaborate trivialities of art to assume a natural aspect, in accordance with its own powerful simplicity70.
“What would be done with this water power,” suggested an artist, “if we had it in one of our American cities? Would they employ it to turn the machinery71 of a cotton mill, I wonder?”
“The good people would pull down those rampant72 marble deities,” said Kenyon, “and, possibly, they would give me a commission to carve the one-and-thirty (is that the number?) sister States, each pouring a silver stream from a separate can into one vast basin, which should represent the grand reservoir of national prosperity.”
“Or, if they wanted a bit of satire,” remarked an English artist, “you could set those same one-and-thirty States to cleansing73 the national flag of any stains that it may have incurred74. The Roman washerwomen at the lavatory75 yonder, plying76 their labor53 in the open air, would serve admirably as models.”
“I have often intended to visit this fountain by moonlight,”, said Miriam, “because it was here that the interview took place between Corinne and Lord Neville, after their separation and temporary estrangement77. Pray come behind me, one of you, and let me try whether the face can be recognized in the water.”
Leaning over the stone brim of the basin, she heard footsteps stealing behind her, and knew that somebody was looking over her shoulder. The moonshine fell directly behind Miriam, illuminating78 the palace front and the whole scene of statues and rocks, and filling the basin, as it were, with tremulous and palpable light. Corinne, it will be remembered, knew Lord Neville by the reflection of his face in the water. In Miriam’s case, however (owing to the agitation79 of the water, its transparency, and the angle at which she was compelled to lean over), no reflected image appeared; nor, from the same causes, would it have been possible for the recognition between Corinne and her lover to take place. The moon, indeed, flung Miriam’s shadow at the bottom of the basin, as well as two more shadows of persons who had followed her, on either side.
“Three shadows!” exclaimed Miriam—“three separate shadows, all so black and heavy that they sink in the water! There they lie on the bottom, as if all three were drowned together. This shadow on my right is Donatello; I know him by his curls, and the turn of his head. My left-hand companion puzzles me; a shapeless mass, as indistinct as the premonition of calamity80! Which of you can it be? Ah!”
She had turned round, while speaking, and saw beside her the strange creature whose attendance on her was already familiar, as a marvel81 and a jest; to the whole company of artists. A general burst of laughter followed the recognition; while the model leaned towards Miriam, as she shrank from him, and muttered something that was inaudible to those who witnessed the scene. By his gestures, however, they concluded that he was inviting82 her to bathe her hands.
“He cannot be an Italian; at least not a Roman,” observed an artist. “I never knew one of them to care about ablution. See him now! It is as if he were trying to wash off’ the time-stains and earthly soil of a thousand years!”
Dipping his hands into the capacious washbowl before him, the model rubbed them together with the utmost vehemence83. Ever and anon, too, he peeped into the water, as if expecting to see the whole Fountain of Trevi turbid84 with the results of his ablution. Miriam looked at him, some little time, with an aspect of real terror, and even imitated him by leaning over to peep into the basin. Recovering herself, she took up some of the water in the hollow of her hand, and practised an old form of exorcism by flinging it in her persecutor85’s face.
“In the name of all the Saints,” cried she, “vanish, Demon86, and let me be free of you now and forever!”
“It will not suffice,” said some of the mirthful party, “unless the Fountain of Trevi gushes87 with holy water.”
In fact, the exorcism was quite ineffectual upon the pertinacious88 demon, or whatever the apparition89 might be. Still he washed his brown, bony talons90; still he peered into the vast basin, as if all the water of that great drinking-cup of Rome must needs be stained black or sanguine91; and still he gesticulated to Miriam to follow his example. The spectators laughed loudly, but yet with a kind of constraint92; for the creature’s aspect was strangely repulsive93 and hideous94.
Miriam felt her arm seized violently by Donatello. She looked at him, and beheld95 a tigerlike fury gleaming from his wild eyes.
“Bid me drown him!” whispered he, shuddering96 between rage and horrible disgust. “You shall hear his death gurgle in another instant!”
“Peace, peace, Donatello!” said Miriam soothingly97, for this naturally gentle and sportive being seemed all aflame with animal rage. “Do him no mischief98! He is mad; and we are as mad as he, if we suffer ourselves to be disquieted99 by his antics. Let us leave him to bathe his hands till the fountain run dry, if he find solace100 and pastime in it. What is it to you or me, Donatello? There, there! Be quiet, foolish boy!”
Her tone and gesture were such as she might have used in taming down the wrath101 of a faithful hound, that had taken upon himself to avenge102 some supposed affront103 to his mistress. She smoothed the young man’s curls (for his fierce and sudden fury seemed to bristle104 among his hair), and touched his cheek with her soft palm, till his angry mood was a little assuaged105.
“Signorina, do I look as when you first knew me?” asked he, with a heavy, tremulous sigh, as they went onward106, somewhat apart from their companions. “Methinks there has been a change upon me, these many months; and more and more, these last few days. The joy is gone out of my life; all gone! all gone! Feel my hand! Is it not very hot? Ah; and my heart burns hotter still!”
“My poor Donatello, you are ill!” said Miriam, with deep sympathy and pity. “This melancholy and sickly Rome is stealing away the rich, joyous life that belongs to you. Go back, my dear friend, to your home among the hills, where (as I gather from what you have told me) your days were filled with simple and blameless delights. Have you found aught in the world that is worth’ what you there enjoyed? Tell me truly, Donatello!”
“Yes!” replied the young man.
“And what, in Heaven’s name?” asked she.
“This burning pain in my heart,” said Donatello; “for you are in the midst of it.”
By this time, they had left the Fountain of Trevi considerably107 behind them. Little further allusion108 was made to the scene at its margin109; for the party regarded Miriam’s persecutor as diseased in his wits, and were hardly to be surprised by any eccentricity110 in his deportment.
Threading several narrow streets, they passed through the Piazza of the Holy Apostles, and soon came to Trajan’s Forum111. All over the surface of what once was Rome, it seems to be the effort of Time to bury up the ancient city, as if it were a corpse112, and he the sexton; so that, in eighteen centuries, the soil over its grave has grown very deep, by the slow scattering113 of dust, and the accumulation of more modern decay upon older ruin.
This was the fate, also, of Trajan’s Forum, until some papal antiquary, a few hundred years ago, began to hollow it out again, and disclosed the full height of the gigantic column wreathed round with bas-reliefs of the old emperor’s warlike deeds. In the area before it stands a grove114 of stone, consisting of the broken and unequal shafts115 of a vanished temple, still keeping a majestic117 order, and apparently incapable118 of further demolition119. The modern edifices120 of the piazza (wholly built, no doubt, out of the spoil of its old magnificence) look down into the hollow space whence these pillars rise.
One of the immense gray granite121 shafts lay in the piazza, on the verge122 of the area. It was a great, solid fact of the Past, making old Rome actually sensible to the touch and eye; and no study of history, nor force of thought, nor magic of song, could so vitally assure us that Rome once existed, as this sturdy specimen123 of what its rulers and people wrought124.
“And see!” said Kenyon, laying his hand upon it, “there is still a polish remaining on the hard substance of the pillar; and even now, late as it is, I can feel very sensibly the warmth of the noonday sun, which did its best to heat it through. This shaft116 will endure forever. The polish of eighteen centuries ago, as yet but half rubbed off, and the heat of to-day’s sunshine, lingering into the night, seem almost equally ephemeral in relation to it.”
“There is comfort to be found in the pillar,” remarked Miriam, “hard and heavy as it is. Lying here forever, as it will, it makes all human trouble appear but a momentary annoyance125.”
“And human happiness as evanescent too,” observed Hilda, sighing; “and beautiful art hardly less so! I do not love to think that this dull stone, merely by its massiveness, will last infinitely126 longer than any picture, in spite of the spiritual life that ought to give it immortality127!”
“My poor little Hilda,” said Miriam, kissing her compassionately128, “would you sacrifice this greatest mortal consolation129, which we derive130 from the transitoriness of all things, from the right of saying, in every conjecture131, ‘This, too, will pass away,’ would you give up this unspeakable boon132, for the sake of making a picture eternal?”
Their moralizing strain was interrupted by a demonstration133 from the rest of the party, who, after talking and laughing together, suddenly joined their voices, and shouted at full pitch,
“Trajan! Trajan!”
In truth, the whole piazza had been filled with their idle vociferation; the echoes from the surrounding houses reverberating135 the cry of “Trajan,” on all sides; as if there was a great search for that imperial personage, and not so much as a handful of his ashes to be found.
“Why, it was a good opportunity to air our voices in this resounding136 piazza,” replied one of the artists. “Besides, we had really some hopes of summoning Trajan to look at his column, which, you know, he never saw in his lifetime. Here is your model (who, they say, lived and sinned before Trajan’s death) still wandering about Rome; and why not the Emperor Trajan?”
“Dead emperors have very little delight in their columns, I am afraid,” observed Kenyon. “All that rich sculpture of Trajan’s bloody137 warfare138, twining from the base of the pillar to its capital, may be but an ugly spectacle for his ghostly eyes, if he considers that this huge, storied shaft must be laid before the judgment-seat, as a piece of the evidence of what he did in the flesh. If ever I am employed to sculpture a hero’s monument, I shall think of this, as I put in the bas-reliefs of the pedestal!”
“There are sermons in stones,” said Hilda thoughtfully, smiling at Kenyon’s morality; “and especially in the stones of Rome.”
The party moved on, but deviated139 a little from the straight way, in order to glance at the ponderous140 remains141 of the temple of Mars Ultot, within which a convent of nuns142 is now established,—a dove-cote, in the war-god’s mansion143. At only a little distance, they passed the portico144 of a Temple of Minerva, most rich and beautiful in architecture, but woefully gnawed145 by time and shattered by violence, besides being buried midway in the accumulation of soil, that rises over dead Rome like a flood tide. Within this edifice of antique sanctity, a baker146’s shop was now established, with an entrance on one side; for, everywhere, the remnants of old grandeur147 and divinity have been made available for the meanest necessities of today.
“The baker is just drawing his loaves out of the oven,” remarked Kenyon. “Do you smell how sour they are? I should fancy that Minerva (in revenge for the desecration148 of her temple) had slyly poured vinegar into the batch149, if I did not know that the modern Romans prefer their bread in the acetous fermentation.”
They turned into the Via Alessandria, and thus gained the rear of the Temple of Peace, and, passing beneath its great arches, pursued their way along a hedge-bordered lane. In all probability, a stately Roman street lay buried beneath that rustic-looking pathway; for they had now emerged from the close and narrow avenues of the modern city, and were treading on a soil where the seeds of antique grandeur had not yet produced the squalid crop that elsewhere sprouts150 from them. Grassy151 as the lane was, it skirted along heaps of shapeless ruin, and the bare site of the vast temple that Hadrian planned and built. It terminated on the edge of a somewhat abrupt152 descent, at the foot of which, with a muddy ditch between, rose, in the bright moonlight, the great curving wall and multitudinous arches of the Coliseum.
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1
ramble
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| v.漫步，漫谈，漫游；n.漫步，闲谈，蔓延 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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lighting
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| n.照明，光线的明暗，舞台灯光 | |
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5
tapers
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| （长形物体的）逐渐变窄( taper的名词复数 )； 微弱的光； 极细的蜡烛 | |
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edifice
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| n.宏伟的建筑物(如宫殿，教室) | |
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7
crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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8
lustre
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| n.光亮，光泽；荣誉 | |
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9
tinge
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| vt.(较淡)着色于，染色；使带有…气息；n.淡淡色彩，些微的气息 | |
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10
ornaments
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| n.装饰( ornament的名词复数 )；点缀；装饰品；首饰v.装饰，点缀，美化( ornament的第三人称单数 ) | |
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11
Flared
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| adj. 端部张开的, 爆发的, 加宽的, 漏斗式的 动词flare的过去式和过去分词 | |
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obstreperously
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13
guardian
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| n.监护人；守卫者，保护者 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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15
cascade
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| n.小瀑布，喷流；层叠；vi.成瀑布落下 | |
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piazzas
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| n.广场，市场( piazza的名词复数 ) | |
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piazza
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| n.广场；走廊 | |
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tumult
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| n.喧哗；激动，混乱；吵闹 | |
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consuls
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| 领事( consul的名词复数 )； （古罗马共和国时期）执政官 （古罗马共和国及其军队的最高首长，同时共有两位，每年选举一次） | |
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unstable
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| adj.不稳定的，易变的 | |
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durable
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| adj.持久的，耐久的 | |
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brass
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| n.黄铜；黄铜器，铜管乐器 | |
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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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dreary
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| adj.令人沮丧的，沉闷的，单调乏味的 | |
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friskiness
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| n.活泼，闹着玩 | |
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affinities
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| n.密切关系( affinity的名词复数 )；亲近；（生性）喜爱；类同 | |
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sculptor
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| n.雕刻家，雕刻家 | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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throng
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| n.人群，群众；v.拥挤，群集 | |
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wayfarers
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| n.旅人，（尤指）徒步旅行者( wayfarer的名词复数 ) | |
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glistening
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| adj.闪耀的，反光的v.湿物闪耀，闪亮( glisten的现在分词 ) | |
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32
murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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uproar
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| n.骚动，喧嚣，鼎沸 | |
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subterranean
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| adj.地下的，地表下的 | |
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virgin
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| n.处女，未婚女子；adj.未经使用的；未经开发的 | |
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sip
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| v.小口地喝，抿，呷；n.一小口的量 | |
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draught
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| n.拉，牵引，拖；一网（饮，吸，阵)；顿服药量，通风；v.起草，设计 | |
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38
beset
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| v.镶嵌；困扰，包围 | |
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39
niches
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| 壁龛( niche的名词复数 )； 合适的位置[工作等]； （产品的）商机； 生态位（一个生物所占据的生境的最小单位） | |
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40
legendary
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| adj.传奇（中）的，闻名遐迩的；n.传奇（文学） | |
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41
Neptune
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| n.海王星 | |
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42
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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43
contrived
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| adj.不自然的，做作的；虚构的 | |
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44
palatial
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| adj.宫殿般的，宏伟的 | |
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45
facade
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| n.(建筑物的)正面，临街正面；外表 | |
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46
deluge
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| n./vt.洪水，暴雨，使泛滥 | |
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47
precipice
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| n.悬崖，危急的处境 | |
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48
crevices
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| n.（尤指岩石的）裂缝，缺口( crevice的名词复数 ) | |
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49
gushed
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| v.喷，涌( gush的过去式和过去分词 )；滔滔不绝地说话 | |
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50
spouted
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| adj.装有嘴的v.（指液体）喷出( spout的过去式和过去分词 )；滔滔不绝地讲；喋喋不休地说；喷水 | |
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51
nostrils
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| 鼻孔( nostril的名词复数 ) | |
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52
rivulets
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| n.小河，小溪( rivulet的名词复数 ) | |
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53
labor
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| n.劳动，努力，工作，劳工；分娩；vi.劳动，努力，苦干；vt.详细分析；麻烦 | |
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54
joyous
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| adj.充满快乐的；令人高兴的 | |
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55
momentary
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| adj.片刻的，瞬息的；短暂的 | |
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56
foam
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| v./n.泡沫，起泡沫 | |
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57
mimic
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| v.模仿，戏弄；n.模仿他人言行的人 | |
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58
dealers
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| n.商人( dealer的名词复数 )；贩毒者；毒品贩子；发牌者 | |
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59
chestnut
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| n.栗树，栗子 | |
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60
transacted
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| v.办理（业务等）( transact的过去式和过去分词 )；交易，谈判 | |
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61
thronged
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| v.成群，挤满( throng的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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62
urchins
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| n.顽童( urchin的名词复数 )；淘气鬼；猬；海胆 | |
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63
maidens
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| 处女( maiden的名词复数 )； 少女； 未婚女子； （板球运动）未得分的一轮投球 | |
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64
pitchers
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| 大水罐( pitcher的名词复数 ) | |
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65
refreshing
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| adj.使精神振作的，使人清爽的，使人喜欢的 | |
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66
feverish
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| adj.发烧的，狂热的，兴奋的 | |
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67
mingle
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| vt.使混合，使相混；vi.混合起来；相交往 | |
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68
solitude
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| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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69
behold
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| v.看，注视，看到 | |
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70
simplicity
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| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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71
machinery
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| n.(总称)机械，机器；机构 | |
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72
rampant
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| adj.(植物)蔓生的；狂暴的，无约束的 | |
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73
cleansing
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| n. 净化(垃圾) adj. 清洁用的 动词cleanse的现在分词 | |
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74
incurred
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| [医]招致的，遭受的； incur的过去式 | |
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75
lavatory
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| n.盥洗室，厕所 | |
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76
plying
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| v.使用（工具）( ply的现在分词 )；经常供应（食物、饮料）；固定往来；经营生意 | |
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77
estrangement
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| n.疏远，失和，不和 | |
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78
illuminating
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| a.富于启发性的，有助阐明的 | |
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79
agitation
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| n.搅动；搅拌；鼓动，煽动 | |
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80
calamity
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| n.灾害，祸患，不幸事件 | |
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81
marvel
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| vi.(at)惊叹vt.感到惊异；n.令人惊异的事 | |
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82
inviting
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| adj.诱人的，引人注目的 | |
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83
vehemence
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| n.热切；激烈；愤怒 | |
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84
turbid
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| adj.混浊的，泥水的，浓的 | |
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85
persecutor
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| n. 迫害者 | |
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86
demon
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| n.魔鬼，恶魔 | |
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87
gushes
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| n.涌出，迸发( gush的名词复数 )v.喷，涌( gush的第三人称单数 )；滔滔不绝地说话 | |
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88
pertinacious
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| adj.顽固的 | |
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89
apparition
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| n.幽灵，神奇的现象 | |
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90
talons
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| n.（尤指猛禽的）爪( talon的名词复数 )；（如爪般的）手指；爪状物；锁簧尖状突出部 | |
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91
sanguine
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| adj.充满希望的，乐观的，血红色的 | |
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92
constraint
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| n.(on)约束，限制；限制(或约束)性的事物 | |
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93
repulsive
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| adj.排斥的，使人反感的 | |
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94
hideous
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| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
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95
beheld
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| v.看，注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
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96
shuddering
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| v.战栗( shudder的现在分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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97
soothingly
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| adv.抚慰地，安慰地；镇痛地 | |
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98
mischief
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| n.损害，伤害，危害；恶作剧，捣蛋，胡闹 | |
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99
disquieted
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| v.使不安，使忧虑，使烦恼( disquiet的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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100
solace
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| n.安慰；v.使快乐；vt.安慰(物)，缓和 | |
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101
wrath
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| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
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102
avenge
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| v.为...复仇，为...报仇 | |
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103
affront
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| n./v.侮辱，触怒 | |
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104
bristle
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| v.（毛发）直立，气势汹汹，发怒；n.硬毛发 | |
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105
assuaged
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| v.减轻( assuage的过去式和过去分词 )；缓和；平息；使安静 | |
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106
onward
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| adj.向前的，前进的；adv.向前，前进，在先 | |
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107
considerably
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| adv.极大地；相当大地；在很大程度上 | |
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108
allusion
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| n.暗示，间接提示 | |
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109
margin
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| n.页边空白；差额；余地，余裕；边，边缘 | |
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110
eccentricity
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| n.古怪，反常，怪癖 | |
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111
forum
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| n.论坛，讨论会 | |
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112
corpse
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| n.尸体，死尸 | |
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113
scattering
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| n.[物]散射；散乱，分散；在媒介质中的散播adj.散乱的；分散在不同范围的；广泛扩散的；（选票）数量分散的v.散射(scatter的ing形式)；散布；驱散 | |
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114
grove
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| n.林子，小树林，园林 | |
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115
shafts
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| n.轴( shaft的名词复数 )；（箭、高尔夫球棒等的）杆；通风井；一阵（疼痛、害怕等） | |
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116
shaft
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| n.(工具的)柄，杆状物 | |
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117
majestic
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| adj.雄伟的，壮丽的，庄严的，威严的，崇高的 | |
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118
incapable
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| adj.无能力的，不能做某事的 | |
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119
demolition
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| n.破坏,毁坏,毁坏之遗迹 | |
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120
edifices
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| n.大建筑物( edifice的名词复数 ) | |
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121
granite
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| adj.花岗岩，花岗石 | |
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122
verge
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| n.边，边缘；v.接近，濒临 | |
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123
specimen
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| n.样本，标本 | |
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124
wrought
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| v.引起；以…原料制作；运转；adj.制造的 | |
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125
annoyance
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| n.恼怒，生气，烦恼 | |
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126
infinitely
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| adv.无限地，无穷地 | |
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127
immortality
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| n.不死，不朽 | |
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128
compassionately
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| adv.表示怜悯地，有同情心地 | |
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129
consolation
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| n.安慰，慰问 | |
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130
derive
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| v.取得；导出；引申；来自；源自；出自 | |
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131
conjecture
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| n./v.推测，猜测 | |
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132
boon
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| n.恩赐，恩物，恩惠 | |
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133
demonstration
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| n.表明，示范，论证，示威 | |
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134
deafen
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| vt.震耳欲聋；使听不清楚 | |
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135
reverberating
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| 回响，回荡( reverberate的现在分词 )； 使反响，使回荡，使反射 | |
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136
resounding
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| adj. 响亮的 | |
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137
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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138
warfare
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| n.战争(状态)；斗争；冲突 | |
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139
deviated
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| v.偏离，越轨( deviate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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140
ponderous
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| adj.沉重的，笨重的，(文章)冗长的 | |
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141
remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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142
nuns
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| n.（通常指基督教的）修女， （佛教的）尼姑( nun的名词复数 ) | |
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143
mansion
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| n.大厦，大楼；宅第 | |
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144
portico
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| n.柱廊，门廊 | |
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145
gnawed
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| 咬( gnaw的过去式和过去分词 )； （长时间） 折磨某人； （使）苦恼； （长时间）危害某事物 | |
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146
baker
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| n.面包师 | |
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147
grandeur
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| n.伟大，崇高，宏伟，庄严，豪华 | |
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148
desecration
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| n. 亵渎神圣, 污辱 | |
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149
batch
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| n.一批(组，群)；一批生产量 | |
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150
sprouts
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| n.新芽，嫩枝( sprout的名词复数 )v.发芽( sprout的第三人称单数 )；抽芽；出现；（使）涌现出 | |
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151
grassy
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| adj.盖满草的；长满草的 | |
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152
abrupt
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| adj.突然的，意外的；唐突的，鲁莽的 | |
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