After a slight lunch and a glass of wine, we walked out, along Piccadilly, and to Hyde Park, which already looks very green, and where there were a good many people walking and driving, and rosy-faced children at play. Somehow or other the shine and charm are gone from London, since my last visit; and I did not very much admire, nor feel much interested in anything. We returned (and I, for my part, was much wearied) in time for dinner at five. The evening was spent at home in various talk, and I find Mr. ——— a very agreeable companion, and a young man of thought and information, with a self-respecting character, and I think him a safe person to live with.
This St. James's Place is in close vicinity to St. James's Palace, the gateway7 and not very splendid front of which we can see from the corner. The club-houses and the best life of the town are near at hand. Addison, before his marriage, used to live in St. James's Place, and the house where Mr. Rogers recently died is up the court, not that this latter residence excites much interest in my mind. I remember nothing else very noteworthy in this first day's experience, except that on Sir Watkins Williams Wynn's door, not far from this house, I saw a gold knocker, which is said to be unscrewed every night lest it should be stolen. I don't know whether it be really gold; for it did not look so bright as the generality of brass9 ones. I received a very good letter from J——- this morning. He was to go to Mr. Bright's at Sandhays yesterday, and remain till Monday.
After writing the above, I walked along the Strand10, Fleet Street, Ludgate Hill and Cheapside to Wood Street,—a very narrow street, insomuch that one has to press close against the wall to escape being grazed when a cart is passing. At No. 77 I found the place of business of Mr. Bennoch, who came to see me at Rock Ferry with Mr. Jerdan, not long after my arrival in England. I found him in his office; but he did not at first recognize me, so much stouter11 have I grown during my residence in England,—a new man, as he says. Mr. Bennoch is a kindly12, frank, very good man, and was bounteous13 in his plans for making my time pass pleasantly. We talked of ———, from whom he has just received a letter, and who says he will fight for England in case of a war. I let Bennoch know that I, at least, should take the other side.
After arranging to go to Greenwich Fair, and afterwards to dine with Bennoch, I left him and went to Mr. ———'s office, and afterwards strayed forth14 again, and crossed London Bridge. Thence I rambled15 rather drearily16 along through several shabby and uninteresting streets on the other side of the Thames; and the dull streets in London are really the dullest and most disheartening in the world. By and by I found my way to Southwark Bridge, and so crossed to Upper Thames Street, which was likewise very stupid, though I believe Clenman's paternal17 house in "Little Dorrit" stands thereabouts. . . . Next, I got into Ludgate Hill, near St. Paul's, and being quite foot-weary, I took a Paddington omnibus, and rode up into Regent Street, whence I came home.
March 24th.—Yesterday being a clear day for England, we determined upon an expedition to Hampton Court; so walked out betimes towards the Waterloo station; but first crossed the Thames by Westminster Bridge, and went to Lambeth Palace. It stands immediately on the bank of the river, not far above the bridge. We merely walked round it, and saw only an old stone tower or two, partially18 renewed with brick, and a high connecting wall, within which appeared gables and other portions of the palace, all of an ancient plan and venerable aspect, though evidently much patched up and restored in the course of the many ages since its foundation. There is likewise a church, part of which looks old, connected with the palace. The streets surrounding it have many gabled houses, and a general look of antiquity19, more than some other parts of London.
We then walked to the Waterloo station, on the same side of the river; and at twenty minutes past one took the rail for Hampton Court, distant some twelve or fifteen miles. On arriving at the terminus, we beheld20 Hampton Palace, on the other side of the Thames,—an extensive structure, with a front of red brick, long and comparatively low, with the great Hall which Wolsey built rising high above the rest. We crossed the river (which is here but a narrow stream) by a stone bridge. The entrance to the palace is about half a quarter of a mile from the railway, through arched gates, which give a long perspective into the several quadrangles. These quadrangles, one beyond another, are paved with stone, and surrounded by the brick walls of the palace, the many windows of which look in upon them. Soldiers were standing21 sentinel at the exterior gateways22, and at the various doors of the palace; but they admitted everybody without question and without fee. Policemen, or other attendants, were in most of the rooms, but interfered23 with no one; so that, in this respect, it was one of the pleasantest places to visit that I have found in England. A good many people, of all classes, were strolling through the apartments.
We first went into Wolsey's great Hall, up a most spacious24 staircase, the walls and ceiling of which were covered with an allegorical fresco25 by Verrio, wonderfully bright and well preserved; and without caring about the design or execution, I greatly liked the brilliancy of the colors. The great Hall is a most noble and beautiful room, above a hundred feet long and sixty high and broad. Most of the windows are of stained or painted glass, with elaborate designs, whether modern or ancient I know not, but certainly brilliant in effect. The walls, from the floor to perhaps half their height, are covered with antique tapestry26, which, though a good deal faded, still retains color enough to be a very effective adornment27, and to give an idea of how rich a mode of decking a noble apartment this must have been. The subjects represented were from Scripture28, and the figures seemed colossal29. On looking closely at this tapestry, you could see that it was thickly interwoven with threads of gold, still glistening30. The windows, except one or two that are long, do not descend31 below the top of this tapestry, and are therefore twenty or thirty feet above the floor; and this manner of lighting32 a great room seems to add much to the impressiveness of the enclosed space. The roof is very magnificent, of carved oak, intricately and elaborately arched, and still as perfect to all appearance as when it was first made. There are banners, so fresh in their hues33, and so untattered, that I think they must be modern, suspended along beneath the cornice of the hall, and exhibiting Wolsey's arms and badges. On the whole, this is a perfect sight, in its way.
Next to the hall there is a withdrawing-room, more than seventy feet long, and twenty-five feet high. The walls of this apartment, too, are covered with ancient tapestry, of allegorical design, but more faded than that of the hall. There is also a stained-glass window; and a marble statue of Venus on a couch, very lean and not very beautiful; and some cartoons of Carlo Cignani, which have left no impression on my memory; likewise, a large model of a splendid palace of some East Indian nabob.
I am not sure, after all, that Verrio's frescoed35 grand staircase was not in another part of the palace; for I remember that we went from it through an immensely long suite36 of apartments, beginning with the Guard-chamber. All these rooms are wainscoted with oak, which looks new, being, I believe, of the date of King William's reign37. Over many of the doorways38, or around the panels, there are carvings40 in wood by Gibbons, representing wreaths of flowers, fruit, and foliage41, the most perfectly42 beautiful that can be conceived; and the wood being of a light hue34 (lime-wood, I believe), it has a fine effect on the dark oak panelling. The apartments open one beyond another, in long, long, long succession,— rooms of state, and kings' and queens' bedchambers, and royal closets bigger than ordinary drawing-rooms, so that the whole suite must be half a mile, or it may be a mile, in extent. From the windows you get views of the palace-grounds, broad and stately walks, and groves43 of trees, and lawns, and fountains, and the Thames and adjacent country beyond. The walls of all these rooms are absolutely covered with pictures, including works of all the great masters, which would require long study before a new eye could enjoy them; and, seeing so many of them at once, and having such a nothing of time to look at them all, I did not even try to see any merit in them. Vandyke's picture of Charles I., on a white horse beneath an arched gateway, made more impression on me than any other, and as I recall it now, it seems as if I could see the king's noble, melancholy44 face, and armed form, remembered not in picture, but in reality. All Sir Peter Lely's lewd45 women, and Kneller's too, were in these rooms; and the jolly old stupidity of George III. and his family, many times repeated; and pictures by Titian, Rubens, and other famous hands, intermixed with many by West, which provokingly drew the eye away from their betters. It seems to me that a picture, of all other things, should be by itself; whereas people always congregate46 them in galleries. To endeavor really to see them, so arranged, is like trying to read a hundred poems at once,—a most absurd attempt. Of all these pictures, I hardly recollect47 any so well as a ridiculous old travesty48 of the Resurrection and Last Judgment49, where the dead people are represented as coming to life at the sound of the trumpet,—the flesh re-establishing itself on the bones, one man picking up his skull50, and putting it on his shoulders,—and all appearing greatly startled, only half awake, and at a loss what to do next. Some devils are dragging away the damned by the heels and on sledges51, and above sits the Redeemer and some angelic and sainted people, looking complacently52 down upon the scene!
We saw, in one of the rooms, the funeral canopy53 beneath which the Duke of Wellington lay in state,—very gorgeous, of black velvet54 embroidered55 with silver and adorned56 with escutcheons; also, the state bed of Queen Anne, broad, and of comfortable appearance, though it was a queen's,—the materials of the curtains, quilt, and furniture, red velvet, still brilliant in hue; also King William's bed and his queen Mary's, with enormously tall posts, and a good deal the worse for time and wear.
The last apartment we entered was the gallery containing Raphael's cartoons, which I shall not pretend to admire nor to understand. I can conceive, indeed, that there is a great deal of expression in them, and very probably they may, in every respect, deserve all their fame; but on this point I can give no testimony57. To my perception they were a series of very much faded pictures, dimly seen (for this part of the palace was now in shadow), and representing figures neither graceful58 nor beautiful, nor, as far as I could discern, particularly grand. But I came to them with a wearied mind and eye; and also I had a previous distaste to them through the medium of engravings.
But what a noble palace, nobly enriched, is this Hampton Court! The English government does well to keep it up, and to admit the people freely into it, for it is impossible for even a Republican not to feel something like awe—at least a profound respect—for all this state, and for the institutions which are here represented, the sovereigns whose moral magnificence demands such a residence; and its permanence, too, enduring from age to age, and each royal generation adding new splendors59 to those accumulated by their predecessors60. If one views the matter in another way, to be sure, we may feel indignant that such dolt-heads, rowdies, and every way mean people, as many of the English sovereigns have been, should inhabit these stately halls, contrasting its splendors with their littleness; but, on the whole, I readily consented within myself to be impressed for a moment with the feeling that royalty61 has its glorious side. By no possibility can we ever have such a place in America.
Leaving Hampton Court at about four o'clock, we walked through Bushy Park,—a beautiful tract62 of ground, well wooded with fine old trees, green with moss63, all up their twisted trunks,—through several villages, Twickenham among the rest, to Richmond. Before entering Twickenham, we passed a lath-and-plaster castellated edifice64, much time-worn, and with the plaster peeling off from the laths, which I fancied might be Horace Walpole's toy-castle. Not that it really could have been; but it was like the image, wretchedly mean and shabby, which one forms of such a place, in its decay. From Hampton Court to the Star and Garter, on Richmond Hill, is about six miles. After glancing cursorily65 at the prospect66, which is famous, and doubtless very extensive and beautiful if the English mistiness67 would only let it be seen, we took a good dinner in the large and handsome coffee-room of the hotel, and then wended our way to the rail-station, and reached home between eight and nine o'clock. We must have walked not far from fifteen miles in the course of the day.
March 25th.—Yesterday, at one o'clock, I called by appointment on Mr. Bennoch, and lunched with him and his partners and clerks. This lunch seems to be a legitimate68 continuation of the old London custom of the master living at the same table with his apprentices69. The meal was a dinner for the latter class. The table was set in an upper room of the establishment; and the dinner was a large joint70 of roast mutton, to which ten people sat down, including a German silk-merchant as a guest besides myself. Mr. Bennoch was at the head of the table, and one of his partners at the foot. For the apprentices there was porter to drink, and for the partners and guests some sparkling Moselle, and we had a sufficient dinner with agreeable conversation. Bennoch said that G. G——— used to be very fond of these lunches while in England.
After lunch, Mr. Bennoch took me round the establishment, which is quite extensive, occupying, I think, two or three adjacent houses, and requiring more. He showed me innumerable packages of ribbons, and other silk manufactures, and all sorts of silks, from the raw thread to the finest fabrics71. He then offered to show me some of the curiosities of old London, and took me first to Barber-Surgeons' Hall, in Monkwell Street. It was at this place that the first anatomical studies were instituted in England. At the time of its foundation, the Barbers and Surgeons were one company; but the latter, I believe, are now the exclusive possessors of the Hall. The edifice was built by Inigo Jones, and the principal room is a fine one, with finely carved wood-work on the ceiling and walls. There is a skylight in the roof, letting down a sufficient radiance on the long table beneath, where, no doubt, dead people have been dissected72, and where, for many generations, it has been the custom of the society to hold its stated feasts. In this room hangs the most valuable picture by Holbein now in existence, representing the company of Barber-Surgeons kneeling before Henry VIII., and receiving their charter from his hands. The picture is about six feet square. The king is dressed in scarlet73, and quite fulfils one's idea of his aspect. The Barber-Surgeons, all portraits, are an assemblage of grave-looking personages, in dark costumes. The company has refused five thousand pounds for this unique picture; and the keeper of the Hall told me that Sir Robert Peel had offered a thousand pounds for liberty to take out only one of the heads, that of a person named Pen, he conditioning to have a perfect fac-simile painted in. I did not see any merit in this head over the others.
Beside this great picture hung a most exquisite74 portrait by Vandyke; an elderly, bearded man, of noble and refined countenance75, in a rich, grave dress. There are many other pictures of distinguished76 men of the company, in long past times, and of some of the kings and great people of England, all darkened with age, and producing a rich and sombre effect, in this stately old hall. Nothing is more curious in London than these ancient localities and customs of the City Companies,—each trade and profession having its own hall, and its own institutions. The keeper next showed us the plate which is used at the banquets.
I should like to be present at one of these feasts. I saw also an old vellum manuscript, in black-letter, which appeared to be a record of the proceedings78 of the company; and at the end there were many pages ruled for further entries, but none had been made in the volume for the last three or four hundred years.
I think it was in the neighborhood of Barber-Surgeons' Hall, which stands amid an intricacy of old streets, where I should never have thought of going, that I saw a row of ancient almshouses, of Elizabethan structure. They looked wofully dilapidated. In front of one of them was an inscription79, setting forth that some worthy8 alderman had founded this establishment for the support of six poor men; and these six, or their successors, are still supported, but no larger number, although the value of the property left for that purpose would now suffice for a much larger number.
Then Mr. Bennoch took me to Cripplegate, and, entering the door of a house, which proved to be a sexton's residence, we passed by a side entrance into the church-porch of St. Giles, of which the sexton's house seems to be an indivisible contiguity80. This is a very ancient church, that escaped the great fire of London. The galleries are supported by arches, the pillars of which are cased high upwards81 with oak; but all this oaken work and the oaken pews are comparatively modern, though so solid and dark that they agree well enough with the general effect of the church. Proceeding77 to the high altar, we found it surrounded with many very curious old monuments and memorials, some in carved oak, some in marble; grim old worthies82, mostly in the costume of Queen Elizabeth's time. Here was the bust4 of Speed, the historian; here was the monument of Fox, author of The Book of Martyrs83. High up on the wall, beside the altar, there was a black wooden coffin84, and a lady sitting upright within it, with her hands clasped in prayer, it being her awakening85 moment at the Resurrection. Thence we passed down the centre aisle86, and about midway we stopped before a marble bust, fixed87 against one of the pillars. And this was the bust of Milton! Yes, and Milton's bones lay beneath our feet; for he was buried under the pew over the door of which I was leaning. The bust, I believe, is the original of the one in Westminster Abbey.
Treading over the tombstones of the old citizens of London, both in the aisles88 and the porch, and within doors and without, we went into the churchyard, one side of which is fenced in by a portion of London Wall, very solid, and still high, though the accumulation of human dust has covered much of its base. This is the most considerable portion now remaining of the ancient wall of London. The sexton now asked us to go into the tower of the church, that he might show us the oldest part of the structure, and we did so, and, looking down from the organ gallery, I saw a woman sitting alone in the church, waiting for the rector, whose ghostly consolation89, I suppose, she needed.
This old church-tower was formerly90 lighted by three large windows,—one of them of very great size; but the thrifty91 church-wardens of a generation or two ago had built them up with brick, to the great disfigurement of the church. The sexton called my attention to the organ-pipe, which is of sufficient size, I believe, to admit three men.
From Cripplegate we went to Milton Street (as it is now called), through which we walked for a very excellent reason; for this is the veritable Grub Street, where my literary kindred of former times used to congregate. It is still a shabby-looking street, with old-fashioned houses, and inhabited chiefly by people of the poorer classes, though not by authors. Next we went to Old Broad Street, and, being joined by Mr. B———, we set off for London Bridge, turning out of our direct course to see London stone in Watling Street. This famous stone appears now to be built into the wall of St. Swithin's Church, and is so encased that you can only see and touch the top of it through a circular hole. There are one or two long cuts or indentations in the top, which are said to have been made by Jack92 Cade's sword when he struck it against the stone. If so, his sword was of a redoubtable93 temper. Judging by what I saw, London stone was a rudely shaped and unhewn post.
At the London Bridge station, we took the rail for Greenwich, and, it being only about five miles off, we were not long in reaching the town. It was Easter Monday; and during the first three days of Easter, from time immemorial, a fair has been held at Greenwich, and this was what we had come to see.
[This fair is described in Our Old Home, in "A Loudon Suburb."]
Reaching Mr. Bennoch's house, we found it a pretty and comfortable one, and adorned with many works of art; for he seems to be a patron of art and literature, and a warm-hearted man, of active benevolence94 and vivid sympathies in many directions. His face shows this. I have never seen eyes of a warmer glow than his. On the walls of one room there were a good many sketches95 by Haydon, and several artists' proofs of fine engravings, presented by persons to whom he had been kind. In the drawing-room there was a marble bust of Mrs. ———, and one, I think, of himself, and one of the Queen, which Mr. Bennoch said was very good, and it is unlike any other I have seen. It is intended as a gift, from a number of subscribers, to Miss Nightingale. Likewise a crayon sketch96 of ———, looking rather morbid97 and unwholesome, as the poor lady really is. Also, a small picture of Mr. Bennoch in a military dress, as an officer, probably of city-horse. By and by came in a young gentleman, son of Haydon, the painter of high art, and one or two ladies staying in the house, and anon Mrs. ———. And so we went in to dinner.
Bennoch is an admirable host, and warms his guests like a household fire by the influence of his kindly face and glowing eyes, and by such hospitable98 demeanor99 as best suits this aspect. After the cloth was removed, came in Mr. Newton Crosland, a young man who once called on me in Liverpool,—the husband of a literary lady, formerly Camilla Toulmin. The lady herself was coming to spend the evening. The husband (and I presume the wife) is a decided100 believer in spiritual manifestations101. We talked of politics and spiritualism and literature; and before we rose from table, Mr. Bennoch drank the health of the ladies, and especially of Mrs. ———, in terms very kind towards her and me. I responded in her behalf as well as I could, and left it to Mr. Bowman, as a bachelor, to respond for the ladies generally,—which he did briefly102, toasting Mrs. B———.
We had heard the sound of the piano in the drawing-room for some time, and now adjourning103 thither104, I had the pleasure to be introduced to Mrs. Newton Crosland,—a rather tall, thin, pale, and lady-like person, looking, I thought, of a sensitive character. She expressed in a low tone and quiet way great delight at seeing my distinguished self! for she is a vast admirer of The Scarlet Letter, and especially of the character of Hester; indeed, I remember seeing a most favorable criticism of the book from her pen, in one of the London magazines. . . .
At eleven o'clock Mrs. Crosland entered the tiniest pony-carriage, and set forth for her own residence, with a lad walking at the pony's head, and carrying a lantern. . . .
March 26th.—Yesterday was not a very eventful day. After writing in my journal I went out at twelve, and visited, for the first time, the National Gallery. It is of no use for me to criticise105 pictures, or to try to describe them, but I have an idea that I might acquire a taste, with a little attention to the subject, for I find I already begin to prefer some pictures to others. This is encouraging. Of those that I saw yesterday, I think I liked several by Murillo best. There were a great many people in the gallery, almost entirely106 of the middle, with a few of the lower classes; and I should think that the effect of the exhibition must at least tend towards refinement107. Nevertheless, the only emotion that I saw displayed was in broad grins on the faces of a man and two women, at sight of a small picture of Venus, with a Satyr peeping at her with an expression of gross animal delight and merriment. Without being aware of it, this man and the two women were of that same Satyr breed.
If I lived in London, I would endeavor to educate myself in this and other galleries of art; but as the case stands, it would be of no use. I saw two of Turner's landscapes; but did not see so much beauty in them as in some of Claude's. A view of the grand canal in Venice, by Canaletto, seemed to me wonderful,—absolutely perfect,—a better reality, for I could see the water of the canal moving and dimpling; and the palaces and buildings on each side were quite as good in their way.
Leaving the gallery, I walked down into the city, and passed through Smithfield, where I glanced at St. Bartholomew's Hospital. . . . Then I went into St. Paul's, and walked all round the great cathedral, looking, I believe, at every monument on the floor. There is certainly nothing very wonderful in any of them, and I do wish it would not so generally happen that English warriors108 go into battle almost nude109; at least, we must suppose so, from their invariably receiving their death-wounds in that condition. I will not believe that a sculptor110 or a painter is a man of genius unless he can wake the nobleness of his subject, illuminate111 and transfigure any given pattern of coat and breeches. Nevertheless, I never go into St. Paul's without being impressed anew with the grandeur112 of the edifice, and the general effect of these same groups of statuary ranged in their niches113 and at the bases of the pillars as adornments of the cathedral.
Coming homeward, I went into the enclosure of the Temple, and near the entrance saw "Dr. Johnson's staircase" printed over a doorway39; so I not only looked in, but went up the first flight, of some broad, well-worn stairs, passing my hand over a heavy, ancient, broken balustrade, on which, no doubt, Johnson's hand had often rested. It was here that Boswell used to visit him, in their early acquaintance. Before my lunch, I had gone into Bolt Court, where he died.
This morning there have been letters from Mr. Wilding, enclosing an invitation to me to be one of the stewards114 of the anniversary dinner of the Literary Fund.
No, I thank you, gentlemen!
March 27th.—Yesterday I went out at about twelve, and visited the British Museum; an exceedingly tiresome115 affair. It quite crushes a person to see so much at once, and I wandered from hall to hall with a weary and heavy heart, wishing (Heaven forgive me!) that the Elgin marbles and the frieze116 of the Parthenon were all burnt into lime, and that the granite117 Egyptian statues were hewn and squared into building-stones, and that the mummies had all turned to dust two thousand years ago; and, in fine, that all the material relics118 of so many successive ages had disappeared with the generations that produced them. The present is burdened too much with the past. We have not time, in our earthly existence, to appreciate what is warm with life, and immediately around us; yet we heap up these old shells, out of which human life has long emerged, casting them off forever. I do not see how future ages are to stagger onward119 under all this dead weight, with the additions that will be continually made to it.
After leaving the Museum, I went to see Bennoch, and arrange with him our expedition of to-day; and he read me a letter from Topper, very earnestly inviting120 me to come and spend a night or two with him. Then I wandered about the city, and was lost in the vicinity of Holborn; so that for a long while I was under a spell of bewilderment, and kept returning, in the strangest way, to the same point in Lincoln's Inn Fields. . . .
Mr. Bowman and I went to the Princess's Theatre in the evening. Charles Kean performed in Louis XI. very well indeed,—a thoughtful and highly skilled actor,—much improved since I saw him, many years ago, in America.
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monotonous
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| adj.单调的，一成不变的，使人厌倦的 | |
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dingy
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| adj.昏暗的，肮脏的 | |
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bustle
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| v.喧扰地忙乱，匆忙，奔忙；n.忙碌；喧闹 | |
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bust
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| vt.打破；vi.爆裂；n.半身像；胸部 | |
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exterior
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| adj.外部的，外在的；表面的 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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gateway
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| n.大门口，出入口，途径，方法 | |
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worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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brass
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| n.黄铜；黄铜器，铜管乐器 | |
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strand
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| vt.使（船）搁浅，使（某人）困于（某地） | |
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stouter
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| 粗壮的( stout的比较级 )； 结实的； 坚固的； 坚定的 | |
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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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bounteous
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| adj.丰富的 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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rambled
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| （无目的地）漫游( ramble的过去式和过去分词 )； （喻）漫谈； 扯淡； 长篇大论 | |
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drearily
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| 沉寂地，厌倦地，可怕地 | |
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paternal
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| adj.父亲的，像父亲的，父系的，父方的 | |
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partially
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antiquity
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| n.古老；高龄；古物，古迹 | |
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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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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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gateways
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| n.网关( gateway的名词复数 )；门径；方法；大门口 | |
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23
interfered
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| v.干预( interfere的过去式和过去分词 )；调停；妨碍；干涉 | |
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24
spacious
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| adj.广阔的，宽敞的 | |
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25
fresco
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| n.壁画；vt.作壁画于 | |
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26
tapestry
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| n.挂毯，丰富多采的画面 | |
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27
adornment
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| n.装饰；装饰品 | |
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28
scripture
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| n.经文，圣书，手稿；Scripture:(常用复数)《圣经》，《圣经》中的一段 | |
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29
colossal
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| adj.异常的，庞大的 | |
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30
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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31
descend
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| vt./vi.传下来，下来，下降 | |
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32
lighting
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| n.照明，光线的明暗，舞台灯光 | |
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33
hues
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| 色彩( hue的名词复数 )； 色调； 信仰； 观点 | |
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34
hue
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| n.色度；色调；样子 | |
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35
frescoed
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| 壁画( fresco的名词复数 )； 温壁画技法，湿壁画 | |
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36
suite
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| n.一套(家具)；套房；随从人员 | |
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37
reign
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| n.统治时期，统治，支配，盛行；v.占优势 | |
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38
doorways
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| n.门口，门道( doorway的名词复数 ) | |
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39
doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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40
carvings
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| n.雕刻( carving的名词复数 )；雕刻术；雕刻品；雕刻物 | |
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41
foliage
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| n.叶子，树叶，簇叶 | |
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42
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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43
groves
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| 树丛，小树林( grove的名词复数 ) | |
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44
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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45
lewd
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| adj.淫荡的 | |
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46
congregate
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| v.(使)集合，聚集 | |
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47
recollect
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| v.回忆，想起，记起，忆起，记得 | |
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48
travesty
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| n.歪曲，嘲弄，滑稽化 | |
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49
judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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50
skull
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| n.头骨；颅骨 | |
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51
sledges
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| n.雪橇，雪车( sledge的名词复数 )v.乘雪橇( sledge的第三人称单数 )；用雪橇运载 | |
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52
complacently
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| adv. 满足地, 自满地, 沾沾自喜地 | |
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53
canopy
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| n.天篷，遮篷 | |
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54
velvet
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| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
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55
embroidered
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| adj．绣花的 | |
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56
adorned
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| [计]被修饰的 | |
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57
testimony
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| n.证词；见证，证明 | |
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58
graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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59
splendors
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| n.华丽( splendor的名词复数 )；壮丽；光辉；显赫 | |
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60
predecessors
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| n.前任( predecessor的名词复数 )；前辈；（被取代的）原有事物；前身 | |
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61
royalty
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| n.皇家，皇族 | |
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62
tract
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| n.传单，小册子，大片(土地或森林) | |
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63
moss
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| n.苔，藓，地衣 | |
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64
edifice
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| n.宏伟的建筑物(如宫殿，教室) | |
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65
cursorily
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| adv.粗糙地，疏忽地，马虎地 | |
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66
prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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67
mistiness
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| n.雾，模糊，不清楚 | |
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68
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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apprentices
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| 学徒，徒弟( apprentice的名词复数 ) | |
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70
joint
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| adj.联合的，共同的；n.关节，接合处；v.连接，贴合 | |
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71
fabrics
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| 织物( fabric的名词复数 )； 布； 构造； （建筑物的）结构（如墙、地面、屋顶）：质地 | |
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72
dissected
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| adj.切开的，分割的，（叶子）多裂的v.解剖（动物等）( dissect的过去式和过去分词 )；仔细分析或研究 | |
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73
scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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74
exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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75
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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76
distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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77
proceeding
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| n.行动，进行，(pl.)会议录，学报 | |
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78
proceedings
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| n.进程，过程，议程；诉讼(程序)；公报 | |
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79
inscription
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| n.（尤指石块上的）刻印文字，铭文，碑文 | |
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80
contiguity
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| n.邻近，接壤 | |
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81
upwards
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| adv.向上，在更高处...以上 | |
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82
worthies
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| 应得某事物( worthy的名词复数 )； 值得做某事； 可尊敬的； 有（某人或事物）的典型特征 | |
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83
martyrs
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| n.martyr的复数形式；烈士( martyr的名词复数 )；殉道者；殉教者；乞怜者（向人诉苦以博取同情） | |
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84
coffin
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| n.棺材，灵柩 | |
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85
awakening
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| n.觉醒，醒悟 adj.觉醒中的；唤醒的 | |
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86
aisle
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| n.（教堂、教室、戏院等里的）过道，通道 | |
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87
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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88
aisles
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| n. (席位间的)通道, 侧廊 | |
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89
consolation
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| n.安慰，慰问 | |
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90
formerly
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| adv.从前，以前 | |
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91
thrifty
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| adj.节俭的；兴旺的；健壮的 | |
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92
jack
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| n.插座，千斤顶，男人；v.抬起，提醒，扛举；n.（Jake）杰克 | |
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93
redoubtable
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| adj.可敬的；可怕的 | |
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94
benevolence
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| n.慈悲，捐助 | |
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95
sketches
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| n.草图( sketch的名词复数 )；素描；速写；梗概 | |
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96
sketch
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| n.草图；梗概；素描；v.素描；概述 | |
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97
morbid
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| adj.病的；致病的；病态的；可怕的 | |
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98
hospitable
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| adj.好客的；宽容的；有利的，适宜的 | |
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99
demeanor
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| n.行为；风度 | |
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100
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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101
manifestations
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| n.表示，显示（manifestation的复数形式） | |
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102
briefly
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| adv.简单地，简短地 | |
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103
adjourning
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| （使）休会， （使）休庭( adjourn的现在分词 ) | |
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104
thither
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| adv.向那里；adj.在那边的，对岸的 | |
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105
criticise
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| v.批评，评论；非难 | |
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106
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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107
refinement
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| n.文雅；高尚；精美；精制；精炼 | |
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108
warriors
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| 武士，勇士，战士( warrior的名词复数 ) | |
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109
nude
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| adj.裸体的；n.裸体者，裸体艺术品 | |
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110
sculptor
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| n.雕刻家，雕刻家 | |
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111
illuminate
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| vt.照亮，照明；用灯光装饰；说明，阐释 | |
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112
grandeur
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| n.伟大，崇高，宏伟，庄严，豪华 | |
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113
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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114
stewards
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| （轮船、飞机等的）乘务员( steward的名词复数 )； （俱乐部、旅馆、工会等的）管理员； （大型活动的）组织者； （私人家中的）管家 | |
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115
tiresome
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| adj.令人疲劳的，令人厌倦的 | |
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116
frieze
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| n.(墙上的)横饰带，雕带 | |
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117
granite
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| adj.花岗岩，花岗石 | |
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118
relics
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| [pl.］n.遗物，遗迹，遗产；遗体，尸骸 | |
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119
onward
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| adj.向前的，前进的；adv.向前，前进，在先 | |
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120
inviting
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| adj.诱人的，引人注目的 | |
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