It was not a pleasant morning, and Monte Morello, looking down on Florence, had on its cap, betokening4 foul5 weather, according to the proverb. Crossing the suspension-bridge, we reached the Leopoldo railway without entering the city. By some mistake,—or perhaps because nobody ever travels by first-class carriages in Tuscany,—we found we had received second-class tickets, and were put into a long, crowded carriage, full of priests, military men, commercial travellers, and other respectable people, facing one another lengthwise along the carriage, and many of them smoking cigars. They were all perfectly7 civil, and I think I must own that the manners of this second-class would compare favorably with those of an American first-class one.
At Empoli, about an hour after we started, we had to change carriages, the main train proceeding8 to Leghorn. . . . My observations along the road were very scanty9: a hilly country, with several old towns seated on the most elevated hill-tops, as is common throughout Tuscany, or sometimes a fortress10 with a town on the plain at its base; or, once or twice, the towers and battlements of a mediaeval castle, commanding the pass below it. Near Florence the country was fertile in the vine and olive, and looked as unpicturesque as that sort of fertility usually makes it; not but what I have come to think better of the tint12 of the olive-leaf than when I first saw it. In the latter part of our journey I remember a wild stream, of a greenish hue13, but transparent14, rushing along over a rough bed, and before reaching Siena we rumbled15 into a long tunnel, and emerged from it near the city. . . .
We drove up hill and down (for the surface of Siena seems to be nothing but an irregularity) through narrow old streets, and were set down at the Aquila Nera, a grim-looking albergo near the centre of the town. Mrs. S——— had already taken rooms for us there, and to these we were now ushered16 up the highway of a dingy17 stone staircase, and into a small, brick-paved parlor18. The house seemed endlessly old, and all the glimpses that we caught of Siena out of window seemed more ancient still. Almost within arm's reach, across a narrow street, a tall palace of gray, time-worn stone clambered skyward, with arched windows, and square windows, and large windows and small, scattered19 up and down its side. It is the Palazzo Tolomei, and looks immensely venerable. From the windows of our bedrooms we looked into a broader street, though still not very wide, and into a small piazza20, the most conspicuous21 object in which was a column, hearing on its top a bronze wolf suckling Romulus and Remus. This symbol is repeated in other parts of the city, and scours22 to indicate that the Sienese people pride themselves in a Roman origin. In another direction, over the tops of the houses, we saw a very high tower, with battlements projecting around its summit, so that it was a fortress in the air; and this I have since found to be the Palazzo Publico. It was pleasant, looking downward into the little old piazza and narrow streets, to see the swarm23 of life on the pavement, the life of to-day just as new as if it had never been lived before; the citizens, the priests, the soldiers, the mules24 and asses25 with their panniers, the diligence lumbering26 along, with a postilion in a faded crimson27 coat bobbing up and down on the off-horse. Such a bustling28 scene, vociferous29, too, with various street-cries, is wonderfully set off by the gray antiquity30 of the town, and makes the town look older than if it were a solitude31.
Soon Mr. and Mrs. Story came, and accompanied us to look for lodgings32. They also drove us about the city in their carriage, and showed us the outside of the Palazzo Publico, and of the cathedral and other remarkable34 edifices36. The aspect of Siena is far more picturesque11 than that of any other town in Italy, so far as I know Italian towns; and yet, now that I have written it, I remember Perugia, and feel that the observation is a mistake. But at any rate Siena is remarkably37 picturesque, standing38 on such a site, on the verge39 and within the crater40 of an extinct volcano, and therefore being as uneven41 as the sea in a tempest; the streets so narrow, ascending42 between tall, ancient palaces, while the side streets rush headlong down, only to be threaded by sure-footed mules, such as climb Alpine43 heights; old stone balconies on the palace fronts; old arched doorways44, and windows set in frames of Gothic architecture; arcades45, resembling canopies46 of stone, with quaintly47 sculptured statues in the richly wrought49 Gothic niches50 of each pillar;—everything massive and lofty, yet minutely interesting when you look at it stone by stone. The Florentines, and the Romans too, have obliterated52, as far as they could, all the interest of their mediaeval structures by covering them with stucco, so that they have quite lost their character, and affect the spectator with no reverential idea of age. Here the city is all overwritten with black-letter, and the glad Italian sun makes the effect so much the stronger.
We took a lodging33, and afterwards J——- and I rambled53 about, and went into the cathedral for a moment, and strayed also into the Piazza del Campo, the great public square of Siena. I am not in the mood for further description of public places now, so shall say a word or two about the old palace in which we have established ourselves. We have the second piano, and dwell amid faded grandeur54, having for our saloon what seems to have been a ball-room. It is ornamented55 with a great fresco57 in the centre of the vaulted58 ceiling, and others covering the sides of the apartment, and surrounded with arabesque59 frameworks, where Cupids gambol60 and chase one another. The subjects of the frescos I cannot make out, not that they are faded like Giotto's, for they are as fresh as roses, and are done in an exceedingly workmanlike style; but they are allegories of Fame and Plenty and other matters, such as I could never understand. Our whole accommodation is in similar style,—spacious61, magnificent, and mouldy.
In the evening Miss S——— and I drove to the railway, and on the arrival of the train from Florence we watched with much eagerness the unlading of the luggage-van. At last the whole of our ten trunks and tin bandbox were produced, and finally my leather bag, in which was my journal and a manuscript book containing my sketch62 of a romance. It gladdened my very heart to see it, and I shall think the better of Tuscan promptitude and accuracy for so quickly bringing it back to me. (It was left behind, under one of the rail-carriage seats.) We find all the public officials, whether of railway, police, or custom-house, extremely courteous63 and pleasant to encounter; they seem willing to take trouble and reluctant to give it, and it is really a gratification to find that such civil people will sometimes oblige you by taking a paul or two aside.
October 3d.—I took several strolls about the city yesterday, and find it scarcely extensive enough to get lost in; and if we go far from the centre we soon come to silent streets, with only here and there an individual; and the inhabitants stare from their doors and windows at the stranger, and turn round to look at him after he has passed. The interest of the old town would soon be exhausted64 for the traveller, but I can conceive that a thoughtful and shy man might settle down here with the view of making the place a home, and spend many years in a sombre kind of happiness. I should prefer it to Florence as a residence, but it would be terrible without an independent life in one's own mind.
U—— and I walked out in the afternoon, and went into the Piazza del Campo, the principal place of the city, and a very noble and peculiar65 one. It is much in the form of an amphitheatre, and the surface of the ground seems to be slightly scooped66 out, so that it resembles the shallow basin of a shell. It is thus a much better site for an assemblage of the populace than if it were a perfect level. A semicircle or truncated67 ellipse of stately and ancient edifices surround the piazza, with arches opening beneath them, through which streets converge68 hitherward. One side of the piazza is a straight line, and is occupied by the Palazzo Publico, which is a most noble and impressive Gothic structure. It has not the mass of the Palazzo Vecchio at Florence, but is more striking. It has a long battlemented front, the central part of which rises eminent69 above the rest, in a great square bulk, which is likewise crowned with battlements. This is much more picturesque than the one great block of stone into which the Palazzo Vecchio is consolidated70. At one extremity71 of this long front of the Palazzo Publico rises a tower, shooting up its shaft72 high, high into the air, and bulging73 out there into a battlemented fortress, within which the tower, slenderer than before, climbs to a still higher region. I do not know whether the summit of the tower is higher or so high as that of the Palazzo Vecchio; but the length of the shaft, free of the edifice35, is much greater, and so produces the more elevating effect. The whole front of the Palazzo Publico is exceedingly venerable, with arched windows, Gothic carvings74, and all the old-time ornaments76 that betoken3 it to have stood a great while, and the gray strength that will hold it up at least as much longer. At one end of the facade77, beneath the shadow of the tower, is a grand and beautiful porch, supported on square pillars, within each of which is a niche51 containing a statue of mediaeval sculpture.
The great Piazza del Campo is the market-place of Siena. In the morning it was thronged78 with booths and stalls, especially of fruit and vegetable dealers79; but as in Florence, they melted away in the sunshine, gradually withdrawing themselves into the shadow thrown from the Palazzo Publico.
On the side opposite the palace is an antique fountain of marble, ornamented with two statues and a series of bas-reliefs; and it was so much admired in its day that its sculptor80 received the name "Del Fonte." I am loath81 to leave the piazza and palace without finding some word or two to suggest their antique majesty82, in the sunshine and the shadow; and how fit it seemed, notwithstanding their venerableness, that there should be a busy crowd filling up the great, hollow amphitheatre, and crying their fruit and little merchandises, so that all the curved line of stately old edifices helped to reverberate83 the noise. The life of to-day, within the shell of a time past, is wonderfully fascinating.
Another point to which a stranger's footsteps are drawn84 by a kind of magnetism85, so that he will be apt to find himself there as often as he strolls out of his hotel, is the cathedral. It stands in the highest part of the city, and almost every street runs into some other street which meanders86 hitherward. On our way thither87, U—— and I came to a beautiful front of black and white marble, in somewhat the same style as the cathedral; in fact, it was the baptistery, and should have made a part of it, according to the original design, which contemplated88 a structure of vastly greater extent than this actual one. We entered the baptistery, and found the interior small, but very rich in its clustered columns and intersecting arches, and its frescos, pictures, statues, and ornaments. Moreover, a father and mother had brought their baby to be baptized, and the poor little thing, in its gay swaddling-clothes, looked just like what I have seen in old pictures, and a good deal like an Indian pappoose. It gave one little slender squeak89 when the priest put the water on its forehead, and then was quiet again.
We now went round to the facade of the cathedral. . . . It is of black and white marble, with, I believe, an intermixture of red and other colors; but time has toned them down, so that white, black, and red do not contrast so strongly with one another as they may have done five hundred years ago. The architecture is generally of the pointed90 Gothic style, but there are likewise carved arches over the doors and windows, and a variety which does not produce the effect of confusion,—a magnificent eccentricity91, an exuberant92 imagination flowering out in stone. On high, in the great peak of the front, and throwing its colored radiance into the nave93 within, there is a round window of immense circumference94, the painted figures in which we can see dimly from the outside. But what I wish to express, and never can, is the multitudinous richness of the ornamentation of the front: the arches within arches, sculptured inch by inch, of the deep doorways; the statues of saints, some making a hermitage of a niche, others standing forth96; the scores of busts97, that look like faces of ancient people gazing down out of the cathedral; the projecting shapes of stone lions,—the thousand forms of Gothic fancy, which seemed to soften98 the marble and express whatever it liked, and allow it to harden again to last forever. But my description seems like knocking off the noses of some of the busts, the fingers and toes of the statues, the projecting points of the architecture, jumbling99 them all up together, and flinging them down upon the page. This gives no idea of the truth, nor, least of all, can it shadow forth that solemn whole, mightily100 combined out of all these minute particulars, and sanctifying the entire space of ground over which this cathedral-front flings its shadow, or on which it reflects the sun. A majesty and a minuteness, neither interfering101 with the other, each assisting the other; this is what I love in Gothic architecture. We went in and walked about; but I mean to go again before sketching102 the interior in my poor water-colors.
October 4th.—On looking again at the Palazzo Publico, I see that the pillared portal which I have spoken of does not cover an entrance to the palace, but is a chapel103, with an altar, and frescos above it. Bouquets104 of fresh flowers are on the altar, and a lamp burns, in all the daylight, before the crucifix. The chapel is quite unenclosed, except by an openwork balustrade of marble, on which the carving75 looks very ancient. Nothing could be more convenient for the devotions of the crowd in the piazza, and no doubt the daily prayers offered at the shrine105 might be numbered by the thousand,—brief, but I hope earnest,—like those glimpses I used to catch at the blue sky, revealing so much in an instant, while I was toiling106 at Brook108 Farm. Another picturesque thing about the Palazzo Publico is a great stone balcony quaintly wrought, about midway in the front and high aloft, with two arched windows opening into it.
After another glimpse at the cathedral, too, I realize how utterly109 I have failed in conveying the idea of its elaborate ornament56, its twisted and clustered pillars, and numberless devices of sculpture; nor did I mention the venerable statues that stand all round the summit of the edifice, relieved against the sky,—the highest of all being one of the Saviour111, on the topmost peak of the front; nor the tall tower that ascends112 from one side of the building, and is built of layers of black and white marble piled one upon another in regular succession; nor the dome113 that swells115 upward close beside this tower.
Had the cathedral been constructed on the plan and dimensions at first contemplated, it would have been incomparably majestic116; the finished portion, grand as it is, being only what was intended for a transept. One of the walls of what was to have been the nave is still standing, and looks like a ruin, though, I believe, it has been turned to account as the wall of a palace, the space of the never-completed nave being now a court or street.
The whole family of us were kindly117 taken out yesterday, to dine and spend the day at the Villa118 Belvedere with our friends Mr. and Mrs. Story. The vicinity of Siena is much more agreeable than that of Florence, being cooler, breezier, with more foliage119 and shrubbery both near at hand and in the distance; and the prospect120, Mr. Story told us, embraces a diameter of about a hundred miles between hills north and south. The Villa Belvedere was built and owned by an Englishman now deceased, who has left it to his butler, and its lawns and shrubbery have something English in their character, and there was almost a dampness in the grass, which really pleased me in this parched121 Italy. Within the house the walls are hung with fine old-fashioned engravings from the pictures of Gainsborough, West, and other English painters. The Englishman, though he had chosen to live and die in Italy, had evidently brought his native tastes and peculiarities123 along with him. Mr. Story thinks of buying this villa: I do not know but I might be tempted124 to buy it myself if Siena were a practicable residence for the entire year; but the winter here, with the bleak125 mountain-winds of a hundred miles round about blustering126 against it, must be terribly disagreeable.
We spent a very pleasant day, turning over books or talking on the lawn, whence we could behold127 scenes picturesque afar, and rich vineyard glimpses near at hand. Mr. Story is the most variously accomplished128 and brilliant person, the fullest of social life and fire, whom I ever met; and without seeming to make an effort, he kept us amused and entertained the whole day long; not wearisomely entertained neither, as we should have been if he had not let his fountain play naturally. Still, though he bubbled and brimmed over with fun, he left the impression on me that . . . . there is a pain and care, bred, it may be, out of the very richness of his gifts and abundance of his outward prosperity. Rich, in the prime of life, . . . . and children budding and blossoming around him as fairly as his heart could wish, with sparkling talents,—so many, that if he choose to neglect or fling away one, or two, or three, he would still have enough left to shine with,—who should be happy if not he? . . . .
Towards sunset we all walked out into the podere, pausing a little while to look down into a well that stands on the verge of the lawn. Within the spacious circle of its stone curb129 was an abundant growth of maidenhair, forming a perfect wreath of thickly clustering leaves quite round, and trailing its tendrils downward to the water which gleamed beneath. It was a very pretty sight. Mr. Story bent130 over the well and uttered deep, musical tones, which were reverberated131 from the hollow depths with wonderful effect, as if a spirit dwelt within there, and (unlike the spirits that speak through mediums) sent him back responses even profounder and more melodious132 than the tones that awakened133 them. Such a responsive well as this might have been taken for an oracle134 in old days.
We went along paths that led from one vineyard to another, and which might have led us for miles across the country. The grapes had been partly gathered, but still there were many purple or white clusters hanging heavily on the vines. We passed cottage doors, and saw groups of contadini and contadine in their festal attire135, and they saluted136 us graciously; but it was observable that one of the men generally lingered on our track to see that no grapes were stolen, for there were a good many young people and children in our train, not only our own, but some from a neighboring villa. These Italian peasants are a kindly race, but, I doubt, not very hospitable137 of grape or fig95.
There was a beautiful sunset, and by the time we reached the house again the comet was already visible amid the unextinguished glow of daylight. A Mr. and Mrs. B———, Scotch138 people from the next villa, had come to see the Storys, and we sat till tea-time reading, talking, William Story drawing caricatures for his children's amusement and ours, and all of us sometimes getting up to look at the comet, which blazed brighter and brighter till it went down into the mists of the horizon. Among the caricatures was one of a Presidential candidate, evidently a man of very malleable139 principles, and likely to succeed.
Late in the evening (too late for little Rosebud140) we drove homeward. The streets of old Siena looked very grim at night, and it seemed like gazing into caverns141 to glimpse down some of the side streets as we passed, with a light burning dimly at the end of them. It was after ten when we reached home, and climbed up our gloomy staircase, lighted by the glimmer142 of some wax moccoli which I had in my pocket.
October 5th.—I have been two or three times into the cathedral; . . . . the whole interior is of marble, in alternate lines of black and white, each layer being about eight inches in width and extending horizontally. It looks very curiously143, and might remind the spectator of a stuff with horizontal stripes. Nevertheless, the effect is exceedingly rich, these alternate lines stretching away along the walls and round the clustered pillars, seen aloft, and through the arches; everywhere, this inlay of black and white. Every sort of ornament that could be thought of seems to have been crammed144 into the cathedral in one place or another: gilding145, frescos, pictures; a roof of blue, spangled with golden stars; a magnificent wheel-window of old painted glass over the entrance, and another at the opposite end of the cathedral; statues, some of marble, others of gilded146 bronze; pulpits of carved marble; a gilded organ; a cornice of marble busts of the popes, extending round the entire church; a pavement, covered all over with a strange kind of mosaic147 work in various marbles, wrought into marble pictures of sacred subjects; immense clustered pillars supporting the round arches that divide the nave from the side aisles148; a clere-story of windows within pointed arches;—it seemed as if the spectator were reading an antique volume written in black-letter of a small character, but conveying a high and solemn meaning. I can find no way of expressing its effect on me, so quaint48 and venerable as I feel this cathedral to be in its immensity of striped waistcoat, now dingy with five centuries of wear. I ought not to say anything that might detract from the grandeur and sanctity of the blessed edifice, for these attributes are really uninjured by any of the Gothic oddities which I have hinted at.
We went this morning to the Institute of the Fine Arts, which is interesting as containing a series of the works of the Sienese painters from a date earlier than that of Cimabue. There is a dispute, I believe, between Florence and Siena as to which city may claim the credit of having originated the modern art of painting. The Florentines put forward Cimabue as the first artist, but as the Sienese produce a picture, by Guido da Siena, dated before the birth of Cimabue, the victory is decidedly with them. As to pictorial150 merit, to my taste there is none in either of these old painters, nor in any of their successors for a long time afterwards. At the Institute there are several rooms hung with early productions of the Sienese school, painted before the invention of oil-colors, on wood shaped into Gothic altar-pieces. The backgrounds still retain a bedimmed splendor151 of gilding. There is a plentiful152 use of red, and I can conceive that the pictures must have shed an illumination through the churches where they were displayed. There is often, too, a minute care bestowed153 on the faces in the pictures, and sometimes a very strong expression, stronger than modern artists get, and it is very strange how they attained154 this merit while they were so inconceivably rude in other respects. It is remarkable that all the early faces of the Madonna are especially stupid, and all of the same type, a sort of face such as one might carve on a pumpkin155, representing a heavy, sulky, phlegmatic156 woman, with a long and low arch of the nose. This same dull face continues to be assigned to the Madonna, even when the countenances157 of the surrounding saints and angels are characterized with power and beauty, so that I think there must have been some portrait of this sacred personage reckoned authentic158, which the early painters followed and religiously repeated.
At last we came to a picture by Sodoma, the most illustrious representative of the Sienese school. It was a fresco; Christ bound to the pillar, after having been scourged159. I do believe that painting has never done anything better, so far as expression is concerned, than this figure. In all these generations since it was painted it must have softened160 thousands of hearts, drawn down rivers of tears, been more effectual than a million of sermons. Really, it is a thing to stand and weep at. No other painter has done anything that can deserve to be compared to this.
There are some other pictures by Sodoma, among them a Judith, very noble and admirable, and full of a profound sorrow for the deed which she has felt it her mission to do.
Aquila Nera, October 7th.—Our lodgings in Siena had been taken only for five days, as they were already engaged after that period; so yesterday we returned to our old quarters at the Black Eagle.
In the forenoon J——- and I went out of one of the gates (the road from it leads to Florence) and had a pleasant country walk. Our way wound downward, round the hill on which Siena stands, and gave us views of the Duomo and its campanile, seemingly pretty near, after we had walked long enough to be quite remote from them. Sitting awhile on the parapet of a bridge, I saw a laborer161 chopping the branches off a poplar-tree which he had felled; and, when it was trimmed, he took up the large trunk on one of his shoulders and carried it off, seemingly with ease. He did not look like a particularly robust162 man; but I have never seen such an herculean feat163 attempted by an Englishman or American. It has frequently struck me that the Italians are able to put forth a great deal of strength in such insulated efforts as this; but I have been told that they are less capable of continued endurance and hardship than our own race. I do not know why it should be so, except that I presume their food is less strong than ours. There was no other remarkable incident in our walk, which lay chiefly through gorges164 of the hills, winding165 beneath high cliffs of the brown Siena earth, with many pretty scenes of rural landscape; vineyards everywhere, and olive-trees; a mill on its little stream, over which there was an old stone bridge, with a graceful166 arch; farm-houses; a villa or two; subterranean167 passages, passing from the roadside through the high banks into the vineyards. At last we turned aside into a road which led us pretty directly to another gate of the city, and climbed steeply upward among tanneries, where the young men went about with their well-shaped legs bare, their trousers being tucked up till they were strictly168 breeches and nothing else. The campanile stood high above us; and by and by, and very soon, indeed, the steep ascent169 of the street brought us into the neighborhood of the Piazza del Campo, and of our own hotel. . . . From about twelve o'clock till one, I sat at my chamber170 window watching the specimens171 of human life as displayed in the Piazza Tolomei. [Here follow several pages of moving objects.] . . . . Of course, a multitude of other people passed by, but the curiousness of the catalogue is the prevalence of the martial172 and religious elements. The general costume of the inhabitants is frocks or sacks, loosely made, and rather shabby; often, shirt-sleeves; or the coat hung over one shoulder. They wear felt hats and straw. People of respectability seem to prefer cylinder173 hats, either black or drab, and broadcloth frock-coats in the French fashion; but, like the rest, they look a little shabby. Almost all the women wear shawls. Ladies in swelling174 petticoats, and with fans, some of which are highly gilded, appear. The people generally are not tall, but have a sufficient breadth of shoulder; in complexion175, similar to Americans; bearded, universally. The vehicle used for driving is a little gig without a top; but these are seldom seen, and still less frequently a cab or other carriages. The gait of the people has not the energy of business or decided149 purpose. Everybody appears to lounge, and to have time for a moment's chat, and a disposition176 to rest, reason or none.
After dinner I walked out of another gate of the city, and wandered among some pleasant country lanes, bordered with hedges, and wearing an English aspect; at least, I could fancy so. The vicinity of Siena is delightful177 to walk about in; there being a verdant178 outlook, a wide prospect of purple mountains, though no such level valley as the Val d' Arno; and the city stands so high that its towers and domes179 are seen more picturesquely180 from many points than those of Florence can be. Neither is the pedestrian so cruelly shut into narrow lanes, between high stone-walls, over which he cannot get a glimpse of landscape. As I walked by the hedges yesterday I could have fancied that the olive-trunks were those of apple-trees, and that I was in one or other of the two lands that I love better than Italy. But the great white villas181 and the farm-houses were unlike anything I have seen elsewhere, or that I should wish to see again, though proper enough to Italy.
October 9th.—Thursday forenoon, 8th, we went to see the Palazzo Publico. There are some fine old halls and chapels182, adorned183 with ancient frescos and pictures, of which I remember a picture of the Virgin184 by Sodoma, very beautiful, and other fine pictures by the same master. The architecture of these old rooms is grand, the roofs being supported by ponderous185 arches, which are covered with frescos, still magnificent, though faded, darkened, and defaced. We likewise saw an antique casket of wood, enriched with gilding, which had once contained an arm of John the Baptist,—so the custode told us. One of the halls was hung with the portraits of eight popes and nearly forty cardinals186, who were natives of Siena. I have done hardly any other sight-seeing except a daily visit to the cathedral, which I admire and love the more the oftener I go thither. Its striped peculiarity187 ceases entirely188 to interfere189 with the grandeur and venerable beauty of its impression; and I am never weary of gazing through the vista190 of its arches, and noting continually something that I had not seen before in its exuberant adornment191. The pavement alone is inexhaustible, being covered all over with figures of life-size or larger, which look like immense engravings of Gothic or Scriptural scenes. There is Absalom hanging by his hair, and Joab slaying192 him with a spear. There is Samson belaboring193 the Philistines194 with the jawbone of an ass6. There are armed knights195 in the tumult196 of battle, all wrought with wonderful expression. The figures are in white marble, inlaid with darker stone, and the shading is effected by means of engraved197 lines in the marble, filled in with black. It would be possible, perhaps, to print impressions from some of these vast plates, for the process of cutting the lines was an exact anticipation198 of the modern art of engraving122. However, the same thing was done—and I suppose at about the same period—on monumental brasses199, and I have seen impressions or rubbings from those for sale in the old English churches.
Yesterday morning, in the cathedral, I watched a woman at confession200, being curious to see how long it would take her to tell her sins, the growth of a week perhaps. I know not how long she had been confessing when I first observed her, but nearly an hour passed before the priest came suddenly from the confessional, looking weary and moist with perspiration201, and took his way out of the cathedral. The woman was left on her knees. This morning I watched another woman, and she too was very long about it, and I could see the face of the priest behind the curtain of the confessional, scarcely inclining his ear to the perforated tin through which the penitent202 communicated her outpourings. It must be very tedious to listen, day after day, to the minute and commonplace iniquities203 of the multitude of penitents204, and it cannot be often that these are redeemed205 by the treasure-trove of a great sin. When her confession was over the woman came and sat down on the same bench with me, where her broad-brimmed straw hat was lying. She seemed to be a country woman, with a simple, matronly face, which was solemnized and softened with the comfort that she had obtained by disburdening herself of the soil of worldly frailties206 and receiving absolution. An old woman, who haunts the cathedral, whispered to her, and she went and knelt down where a procession of priests were to pass, and then the old lady begged a cruzia of me, and got a half-paul. It almost invariably happens, in church or cathedral, that beggars address their prayers to the heretic visitor, and probably with more unction than to the Virgin or saints. However, I have nothing to say against the sincerity207 of this people's devotion. They give all the proof of it that a mere208 spectator can estimate.
Last evening we all went out to see the comet, which then reached its climax209 of lustre210. It was like a lofty plume211 of fire, and grew very brilliant as the night darkened.
October 10th.—This morning, too, we went to the cathedral, and sat long listening to the music of the organ and voices, and witnessing rites212 and ceremonies which are far older than even the ancient edifice where they were exhibited. A good many people were present, sitting, kneeling, or walking about,—a freedom that contrasts very agreeably with the grim formalities of English churches and our own meeting-houses. Many persons were in their best attire; but others came in, with unabashed simplicity213, in their old garments of labor110, sunburnt women from their toil107 among the vines and olives. One old peasant I noticed with his withered214 shanks in breeches and blue yarn215 stockings. The people of whatever class are wonderfully tolerant of heretics, never manifesting any displeasure or annoyance216, though they must see that we are drawn thither by curiosity alone, and merely pry217 while they pray. I heartily218 wish the priests were better men, and that human nature, divinely influenced, could be depended upon for a constant supply and succession of good and pure ministers, their religion has so many admirable points. And then it is a sad pity that this noble and beautiful cathedral should be a mere fossil shell, out of which the life has died long ago. But for many a year yet to come the tapers219 will burn before the high altar, the Host will be elevated, the incense220 diffuse221 its fragrance222, the confessionals be open to receive the penitents. I saw a father entering with two little bits of boys, just big enough to toddle223 along, holding his hand on either side. The father dipped his fingers into the marble font of holy water,—which, on its pedestals, was two or three times as high as those small Christians224, —and wetted a hand of each, and taught them how to cross themselves. When they come to be men it will be impossible to convince those children that there is no efficacy in holy water, without plucking up all religious faith and sentiment by the roots. Generally, I suspect, when people throw off the faith they were born in, the best soil of their hearts is apt to cling to its roots.
Raised several feet above the pavement, against every clustered pillar along the nave of the cathedral, is placed a statue of Gothic sculpture. In various places are sitting statues of popes of Sienese nativity, all of whom, I believe, have a hand raised in the act of blessing225. Shrines226 and chapels, set in grand, heavy frames of pillared architecture, stand all along the aisles and transepts, and these seem in many instances to have been built and enriched by noble families, whose arms are sculptured on the pedestals of the pillars, sometimes with a cardinal's hat above to denote the rank of one of its members. How much pride, love, and reverence227 in the lapse228 of ages must have clung to the sharp points of all this sculpture and architecture! The cathedral is a religion in itself, —something worth dying for to those who have an hereditary229 interest in it. In the pavement, yesterday, I noticed the gravestone of a person who fell six centuries ago in the battle of Monte Aperto, and was buried here by public decree as a meed of valor230.
This afternoon I took a walk out of one of the city gates, and found the country about Siena as beautiful in this direction as in all others. I came to a little stream flowing over into a pebbly231 bed, and collecting itself into pools, with a scanty rivulet232 between. Its glen was deep, and was crossed by a bridge of several lofty and narrow arches like those of a Roman aqueduct. It is a modern structure, however. Farther on, as I wound round along the base of a hill which fell down upon the road by precipitous cliffs of brown earth, I saw a gray, ruined wall on the summit, surrounded with cypress-trees. This tree is very frequent about Siena, and the scenery is made soft and beautiful by a variety of other trees and shrubbery, without which these hills and gorges would have scarcely a charm. The road was thronged with country people, mostly women and children, who had been spending the feast-day in Siena; and parties of boys were chasing one another through the fields, pretty much as boys do in New England of a Sunday, but the Sienese lads had not the sense of Sabbath-breaking like our boys. Sunday with these people is like any other feast-day, and consecrated233 cheerful enjoyment234. So much religious observance, as regards outward forms, is diffused235 through the whole week that they have no need to intensify236 the Sabbath except by making it gladden the other days.
Returning through the same gate by which I had come out, I ascended237 into the city by a long and steep street, which was paved with bricks set edgewise. This pavement is common in many of the streets, which, being too steep for horses and carriages, are meant only to sustain the lighter238 tread of mules and asses. The more level streets are paved with broad, smooth flag-stones, like those of Florence,—a fashion which I heartily regret to change for the little penitential blocks of Rome. The walls of Siena in their present state, and so far as I have seen them, are chiefly brick; but there are intermingled fragments of ancient stone-work, and I wonder why the latter does not prevail more largely. The Romans, however,—and Siena had Roman characteristics,—always liked to build of brick, a taste that has made their ruins (now that the marble slabs239 are torn off) much less grand than they ought to have been. I am grateful to the old Sienese for having used stone so largely in their domestic architecture, and thereby240 rendered their city so grimly picturesque, with its black palaces frowning upon one another from arched windows, across narrow streets, to the height of six stories, like opposite ranks of tall men looking sternly into one another's eyes.
October 11th.—Again I went to the cathedral this morning, and spent an hour listening to the music and looking through the orderly intricacies of the arches, where many vistas241 open away among the columns of the choir242. There are five clustered columns on each side of the nave; then under the dome there are two more arches, not in a straight line, but forming the segment of a circle; and beyond the circle of the dome there are four more arches, extending to the extremity of the chancel. I should have said, instead of "clustered columns" as above, that there are five arches along the nave supported by columns. This cathedral has certainly bewitched me, to write about it so much, effecting nothing with my pains. I should judge the width of each arch to be about twenty feet, and the thickness of each clustered pillar is eight; or ten more, and the length of the entire building may be between two and three hundred feet; not very large, certainly, but it makes an impression of grandeur independent of size. . . .
I never shall succeed even in reminding myself of the venerable magnificence of this minster, with its arches, its columns, its cornice of popes' heads, its great wheel windows, its manifold ornament, all combining in one vast effect, though many men have labored243 individually, and through a long course of time, to produce this multifarious handiwork and headwork.
I now took a walk out of the city. A road turned immediately to the left as I emerged from the city, and soon proved to be a rustic244 lane leading past several villas and farm-houses. It was a very pleasant walk, with vineyards and olive-orchards on each side, and now and then glimpses of the towers and sombre heaped-up palaces of Siena, and now a rural seclusion245 again; for the hills rise and the valleys fall like the swell114 and subsidence of the sea after a gale246, so that Siena may be quite hidden within a quarter of a mile of its wall, or may be visible, I doubt not, twenty miles away. It is a fine old town, with every promise of health and vigor247 in its atmosphere, and really, if I could take root anywhere, I know not but it could as well be here as in another place. It would only be a kind of despair, however, that would ever make me dream of finding a home in Italy; a sense that I had lost my country through absence or incongruity248, and that earth is not an abiding-place. I wonder that we Americans love our country at all, it having no limits and no oneness; and when you try to make it a matter of the heart, everything falls away except one's native State; neither can you seize hold of that unless you tear it out of the union, bleeding and quivering. Yet unquestionably, we do stand by our national flag as stoutly249 as any people in the world, and I myself have felt the heart throb250 at sight of it as sensibly as other men. I think the singularity of our form of government contributes to give us a kind of patriotism251, by separating us from other nations more entirely. If other nations had similar institutions,—if England, especially, were a democracy,—we should as readily make ourselves at home in another country as now in a new State.
October 12th.—And again we went to the cathedral this forenoon, and the whole family, except myself, sketched252 portions of it. Even Rosebud stood gravely sketching some of the inlaid figures of the pavement. As for me, I can but try to preserve some memorial of this beautiful edifice in ill-fitting words that never hit the mark. This morning visit was not my final one, for I went again after dinner and walked quite round the whole interior. I think I have not yet mentioned the rich carvings of the old oaken seats round the choir, and the curious mosaic of lighter and darker woods, by which figures and landscapes are skilfully253 represented on the backs of some of the stalls. The process seems to be the same as the inlaying and engraving of the pavement, the material in one case being marble, in the other wood. The only other thing that I particularly noticed was, that in the fonts of holy water at the front entrance, marble fish are sculptured in the depths of the basin, and eels254 and shellfish crawling round the brim. Have I spoken of the sumptuous255 carving of the capitals of the columns? At any rate I have left a thousand beauties without a word. Here I drop the subject. As I took my parting glance the cathedral had a gleam of golden sunshine in its far depths, and it seemed to widen and deepen itself, as if to convince me of my error in saying, yesterday, that it is not very large. I wonder how I could say it.
After taking leave of the cathedral, I found my way out of another of the city gates, and soon turned aside into a green lane. . . . Soon the lane passed through a hamlet consisting of a few farm-houses, the shabbiest and dreariest256 that can be conceived, ancient, and ugly, and dilapidated, with iron-grated windows below, and heavy wooden shutters257 on the windows above,—high, ruinous walls shutting in the courts, and ponderous gates, one of which was off its hinges. The farm-yards were perfect pictures of disarray258 and slovenly259 administration of home affairs. Only one of these houses had a door opening on the road, and that was the meanest in the hamlet. A flight of narrow stone stairs ascended from the threshold to the second story. All these houses were specimens of a rude antiquity, built of brick and stone, with the marks of arched doors and windows where a subsequent generation had shut up the lights, or the accesses which the original builders had opened. Humble260 as these dwellings261 are,—though large and high compared with rural residences in other countries,—they may very probably date back to the times when Siena was a warlike republic, and when every house in its neighborhood had need to be a fortress. I suppose, however, prowling banditti were the only enemies against whom a defence would be attempted. What lives must now be lived there,—in beastly ignorance, mental sluggishness262, hard toil for little profit, filth263, and a horrible discomfort264 of fleas265; for if the palaces of Italy are overrun with these pests, what must the country hovels be! . . . .
We are now all ready for a start to-morrow.
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1 misty | |
adj.雾蒙蒙的,有雾的 | |
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2 retrospect | |
n.回顾,追溯;v.回顾,回想,追溯 | |
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3 betoken | |
v.预示 | |
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4 betokening | |
v.预示,表示( betoken的现在分词 ) | |
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5 foul | |
adj.污秽的;邪恶的;v.弄脏;妨害;犯规;n.犯规 | |
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6 ass | |
n.驴;傻瓜,蠢笨的人 | |
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7 perfectly | |
adv.完美地,无可非议地,彻底地 | |
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8 proceeding | |
n.行动,进行,(pl.)会议录,学报 | |
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9 scanty | |
adj.缺乏的,仅有的,节省的,狭小的,不够的 | |
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10 fortress | |
n.堡垒,防御工事 | |
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11 picturesque | |
adj.美丽如画的,(语言)生动的,绘声绘色的 | |
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12 tint | |
n.淡色,浅色;染发剂;vt.着以淡淡的颜色 | |
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13 hue | |
n.色度;色调;样子 | |
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14 transparent | |
adj.明显的,无疑的;透明的 | |
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15 rumbled | |
发出隆隆声,发出辘辘声( rumble的过去式和过去分词 ); 轰鸣着缓慢行进; 发现…的真相; 看穿(阴谋) | |
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16 ushered | |
v.引,领,陪同( usher的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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17 dingy | |
adj.昏暗的,肮脏的 | |
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18 parlor | |
n.店铺,营业室;会客室,客厅 | |
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19 scattered | |
adj.分散的,稀疏的;散步的;疏疏落落的 | |
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20 piazza | |
n.广场;走廊 | |
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21 conspicuous | |
adj.明眼的,惹人注目的;炫耀的,摆阔气的 | |
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22 scours | |
走遍(某地)搜寻(人或物)( scour的第三人称单数 ); (用力)刷; 擦净; 擦亮 | |
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23 swarm | |
n.(昆虫)等一大群;vi.成群飞舞;蜂拥而入 | |
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24 mules | |
骡( mule的名词复数 ); 拖鞋; 顽固的人; 越境运毒者 | |
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25 asses | |
n. 驴,愚蠢的人,臀部 adv. (常用作后置)用于贬损或骂人 | |
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26 lumbering | |
n.采伐林木 | |
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27 crimson | |
n./adj.深(绯)红色(的);vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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28 bustling | |
adj.喧闹的 | |
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29 vociferous | |
adj.喧哗的,大叫大嚷的 | |
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30 antiquity | |
n.古老;高龄;古物,古迹 | |
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31 solitude | |
n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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32 lodgings | |
n. 出租的房舍, 寄宿舍 | |
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33 lodging | |
n.寄宿,住所;(大学生的)校外宿舍 | |
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34 remarkable | |
adj.显著的,异常的,非凡的,值得注意的 | |
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35 edifice | |
n.宏伟的建筑物(如宫殿,教室) | |
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36 edifices | |
n.大建筑物( edifice的名词复数 ) | |
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37 remarkably | |
ad.不同寻常地,相当地 | |
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38 standing | |
n.持续,地位;adj.永久的,不动的,直立的,不流动的 | |
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39 verge | |
n.边,边缘;v.接近,濒临 | |
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40 crater | |
n.火山口,弹坑 | |
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41 uneven | |
adj.不平坦的,不规则的,不均匀的 | |
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42 ascending | |
adj.上升的,向上的 | |
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43 alpine | |
adj.高山的;n.高山植物 | |
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44 doorways | |
n.门口,门道( doorway的名词复数 ) | |
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45 arcades | |
n.商场( arcade的名词复数 );拱形走道(两旁有商店或娱乐设施);连拱廊;拱形建筑物 | |
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46 canopies | |
(宝座或床等上面的)华盖( canopy的名词复数 ); (飞行器上的)座舱罩; 任何悬于上空的覆盖物; 森林中天棚似的树荫 | |
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47 quaintly | |
adv.古怪离奇地 | |
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48 quaint | |
adj.古雅的,离奇有趣的,奇怪的 | |
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49 wrought | |
v.引起;以…原料制作;运转;adj.制造的 | |
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50 niches | |
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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51 niche | |
n.壁龛;合适的职务(环境、位置等) | |
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52 obliterated | |
v.除去( obliterate的过去式和过去分词 );涂去;擦掉;彻底破坏或毁灭 | |
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53 rambled | |
(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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54 grandeur | |
n.伟大,崇高,宏伟,庄严,豪华 | |
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55 ornamented | |
adj.花式字体的v.装饰,点缀,美化( ornament的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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56 ornament | |
v.装饰,美化;n.装饰,装饰物 | |
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57 fresco | |
n.壁画;vt.作壁画于 | |
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58 vaulted | |
adj.拱状的 | |
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59 arabesque | |
n.阿拉伯式花饰;adj.阿拉伯式图案的 | |
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60 gambol | |
v.欢呼,雀跃 | |
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61 spacious | |
adj.广阔的,宽敞的 | |
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62 sketch | |
n.草图;梗概;素描;v.素描;概述 | |
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63 courteous | |
adj.彬彬有礼的,客气的 | |
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64 exhausted | |
adj.极其疲惫的,精疲力尽的 | |
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65 peculiar | |
adj.古怪的,异常的;特殊的,特有的 | |
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66 scooped | |
v.抢先报道( scoop的过去式和过去分词 );(敏捷地)抱起;抢先获得;用铲[勺]等挖(洞等) | |
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67 truncated | |
adj.切去顶端的,缩短了的,被删节的v.截面的( truncate的过去式和过去分词 );截头的;缩短了的;截去顶端或末端 | |
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68 converge | |
vi.会合;聚集,集中;(思想、观点等)趋近 | |
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69 eminent | |
adj.显赫的,杰出的,有名的,优良的 | |
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70 consolidated | |
a.联合的 | |
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71 extremity | |
n.末端,尽头;尽力;终极;极度 | |
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72 shaft | |
n.(工具的)柄,杆状物 | |
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73 bulging | |
膨胀; 凸出(部); 打气; 折皱 | |
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74 carvings | |
n.雕刻( carving的名词复数 );雕刻术;雕刻品;雕刻物 | |
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75 carving | |
n.雕刻品,雕花 | |
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76 ornaments | |
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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77 facade | |
n.(建筑物的)正面,临街正面;外表 | |
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78 thronged | |
v.成群,挤满( throng的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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79 dealers | |
n.商人( dealer的名词复数 );贩毒者;毒品贩子;发牌者 | |
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80 sculptor | |
n.雕刻家,雕刻家 | |
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81 loath | |
adj.不愿意的;勉强的 | |
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82 majesty | |
n.雄伟,壮丽,庄严,威严;最高权威,王权 | |
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83 reverberate | |
v.使回响,使反响 | |
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84 drawn | |
v.拖,拉,拔出;adj.憔悴的,紧张的 | |
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85 magnetism | |
n.磁性,吸引力,磁学 | |
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86 meanders | |
曲径( meander的名词复数 ); 迂回曲折的旅程 | |
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87 thither | |
adv.向那里;adj.在那边的,对岸的 | |
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88 contemplated | |
adj. 预期的 动词contemplate的过去分词形式 | |
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89 squeak | |
n.吱吱声,逃脱;v.(发出)吱吱叫,侥幸通过;(俚)告密 | |
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90 pointed | |
adj.尖的,直截了当的 | |
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91 eccentricity | |
n.古怪,反常,怪癖 | |
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92 exuberant | |
adj.充满活力的;(植物)繁茂的 | |
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93 nave | |
n.教堂的中部;本堂 | |
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94 circumference | |
n.圆周,周长,圆周线 | |
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95 fig | |
n.无花果(树) | |
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96 forth | |
adv.向前;向外,往外 | |
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97 busts | |
半身雕塑像( bust的名词复数 ); 妇女的胸部; 胸围; 突击搜捕 | |
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98 soften | |
v.(使)变柔软;(使)变柔和 | |
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99 jumbling | |
混杂( jumble的现在分词 ); (使)混乱; 使混乱; 使杂乱 | |
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100 mightily | |
ad.强烈地;非常地 | |
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101 interfering | |
adj. 妨碍的 动词interfere的现在分词 | |
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102 sketching | |
n.草图 | |
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103 chapel | |
n.小教堂,殡仪馆 | |
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104 bouquets | |
n.花束( bouquet的名词复数 );(酒的)芳香 | |
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105 shrine | |
n.圣地,神龛,庙;v.将...置于神龛内,把...奉为神圣 | |
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106 toiling | |
长时间或辛苦地工作( toil的现在分词 ); 艰难缓慢地移动,跋涉 | |
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107 toil | |
vi.辛劳工作,艰难地行动;n.苦工,难事 | |
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108 brook | |
n.小河,溪;v.忍受,容让 | |
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109 utterly | |
adv.完全地,绝对地 | |
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110 labor | |
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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111 saviour | |
n.拯救者,救星 | |
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112 ascends | |
v.上升,攀登( ascend的第三人称单数 ) | |
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113 dome | |
n.圆屋顶,拱顶 | |
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114 swell | |
vi.膨胀,肿胀;增长,增强 | |
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115 swells | |
增强( swell的第三人称单数 ); 肿胀; (使)凸出; 充满(激情) | |
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116 majestic | |
adj.雄伟的,壮丽的,庄严的,威严的,崇高的 | |
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117 kindly | |
adj.和蔼的,温和的,爽快的;adv.温和地,亲切地 | |
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118 villa | |
n.别墅,城郊小屋 | |
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119 foliage | |
n.叶子,树叶,簇叶 | |
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120 prospect | |
n.前景,前途;景色,视野 | |
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121 parched | |
adj.焦干的;极渴的;v.(使)焦干 | |
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122 engraving | |
n.版画;雕刻(作品);雕刻艺术;镌版术v.在(硬物)上雕刻(字,画等)( engrave的现在分词 );将某事物深深印在(记忆或头脑中) | |
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123 peculiarities | |
n. 特质, 特性, 怪癖, 古怪 | |
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124 tempted | |
v.怂恿(某人)干不正当的事;冒…的险(tempt的过去分词) | |
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125 bleak | |
adj.(天气)阴冷的;凄凉的;暗淡的 | |
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126 blustering | |
adj.狂风大作的,狂暴的v.外强中干的威吓( bluster的现在分词 );咆哮;(风)呼啸;狂吹 | |
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127 behold | |
v.看,注视,看到 | |
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128 accomplished | |
adj.有才艺的;有造诣的;达到了的 | |
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129 curb | |
n.场外证券市场,场外交易;vt.制止,抑制 | |
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130 bent | |
n.爱好,癖好;adj.弯的;决心的,一心的 | |
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131 reverberated | |
回响,回荡( reverberate的过去式和过去分词 ); 使反响,使回荡,使反射 | |
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132 melodious | |
adj.旋律美妙的,调子优美的,音乐性的 | |
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133 awakened | |
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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134 oracle | |
n.神谕,神谕处,预言 | |
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135 attire | |
v.穿衣,装扮[同]array;n.衣着;盛装 | |
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136 saluted | |
v.欢迎,致敬( salute的过去式和过去分词 );赞扬,赞颂 | |
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137 hospitable | |
adj.好客的;宽容的;有利的,适宜的 | |
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138 scotch | |
n.伤口,刻痕;苏格兰威士忌酒;v.粉碎,消灭,阻止;adj.苏格兰(人)的 | |
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139 malleable | |
adj.(金属)可锻的;有延展性的;(性格)可训练的 | |
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140 rosebud | |
n.蔷薇花蕾,妙龄少女 | |
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141 caverns | |
大山洞,大洞穴( cavern的名词复数 ) | |
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142 glimmer | |
v.发出闪烁的微光;n.微光,微弱的闪光 | |
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143 curiously | |
adv.有求知欲地;好问地;奇特地 | |
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144 crammed | |
adj.塞满的,挤满的;大口地吃;快速贪婪地吃v.把…塞满;填入;临时抱佛脚( cram的过去式) | |
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145 gilding | |
n.贴金箔,镀金 | |
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146 gilded | |
a.镀金的,富有的 | |
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147 mosaic | |
n./adj.镶嵌细工的,镶嵌工艺品的,嵌花式的 | |
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148 aisles | |
n. (席位间的)通道, 侧廊 | |
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149 decided | |
adj.决定了的,坚决的;明显的,明确的 | |
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150 pictorial | |
adj.绘画的;图片的;n.画报 | |
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151 splendor | |
n.光彩;壮丽,华丽;显赫,辉煌 | |
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152 plentiful | |
adj.富裕的,丰富的 | |
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153 bestowed | |
赠给,授予( bestow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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154 attained | |
(通常经过努力)实现( attain的过去式和过去分词 ); 达到; 获得; 达到(某年龄、水平、状况) | |
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155 pumpkin | |
n.南瓜 | |
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156 phlegmatic | |
adj.冷静的,冷淡的,冷漠的,无活力的 | |
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157 countenances | |
n.面容( countenance的名词复数 );表情;镇静;道义支持 | |
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158 authentic | |
a.真的,真正的;可靠的,可信的,有根据的 | |
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159 scourged | |
鞭打( scourge的过去式和过去分词 ); 惩罚,压迫 | |
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160 softened | |
(使)变软( soften的过去式和过去分词 ); 缓解打击; 缓和; 安慰 | |
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161 laborer | |
n.劳动者,劳工 | |
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162 robust | |
adj.强壮的,强健的,粗野的,需要体力的,浓的 | |
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163 feat | |
n.功绩;武艺,技艺;adj.灵巧的,漂亮的,合适的 | |
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164 gorges | |
n.山峡,峡谷( gorge的名词复数 );咽喉v.(用食物把自己)塞饱,填饱( gorge的第三人称单数 );作呕 | |
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165 winding | |
n.绕,缠,绕组,线圈 | |
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166 graceful | |
adj.优美的,优雅的;得体的 | |
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167 subterranean | |
adj.地下的,地表下的 | |
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168 strictly | |
adv.严厉地,严格地;严密地 | |
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169 ascent | |
n.(声望或地位)提高;上升,升高;登高 | |
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170 chamber | |
n.房间,寝室;会议厅;议院;会所 | |
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171 specimens | |
n.样品( specimen的名词复数 );范例;(化验的)抽样;某种类型的人 | |
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172 martial | |
adj.战争的,军事的,尚武的,威武的 | |
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173 cylinder | |
n.圆筒,柱(面),汽缸 | |
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174 swelling | |
n.肿胀 | |
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175 complexion | |
n.肤色;情况,局面;气质,性格 | |
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176 disposition | |
n.性情,性格;意向,倾向;排列,部署 | |
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177 delightful | |
adj.令人高兴的,使人快乐的 | |
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178 verdant | |
adj.翠绿的,青翠的,生疏的,不老练的 | |
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179 domes | |
n.圆屋顶( dome的名词复数 );像圆屋顶一样的东西;圆顶体育场 | |
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180 picturesquely | |
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181 villas | |
别墅,公馆( villa的名词复数 ); (城郊)住宅 | |
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182 chapels | |
n.小教堂, (医院、监狱等的)附属礼拜堂( chapel的名词复数 );(在小教堂和附属礼拜堂举行的)礼拜仪式 | |
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183 adorned | |
[计]被修饰的 | |
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184 virgin | |
n.处女,未婚女子;adj.未经使用的;未经开发的 | |
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185 ponderous | |
adj.沉重的,笨重的,(文章)冗长的 | |
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186 cardinals | |
红衣主教( cardinal的名词复数 ); 红衣凤头鸟(见于北美,雄鸟为鲜红色); 基数 | |
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187 peculiarity | |
n.独特性,特色;特殊的东西;怪癖 | |
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188 entirely | |
ad.全部地,完整地;完全地,彻底地 | |
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189 interfere | |
v.(in)干涉,干预;(with)妨碍,打扰 | |
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190 vista | |
n.远景,深景,展望,回想 | |
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191 adornment | |
n.装饰;装饰品 | |
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192 slaying | |
杀戮。 | |
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193 belaboring | |
v.毒打一顿( belabor的现在分词 );责骂;就…作过度的说明;向…唠叨 | |
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194 philistines | |
n.市侩,庸人( philistine的名词复数 );庸夫俗子 | |
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195 knights | |
骑士; (中古时代的)武士( knight的名词复数 ); 骑士; 爵士; (国际象棋中)马 | |
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196 tumult | |
n.喧哗;激动,混乱;吵闹 | |
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197 engraved | |
v.在(硬物)上雕刻(字,画等)( engrave的过去式和过去分词 );将某事物深深印在(记忆或头脑中) | |
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198 anticipation | |
n.预期,预料,期望 | |
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199 brasses | |
n.黄铜( brass的名词复数 );铜管乐器;钱;黄铜饰品(尤指马挽具上的黄铜圆片) | |
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200 confession | |
n.自白,供认,承认 | |
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201 perspiration | |
n.汗水;出汗 | |
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202 penitent | |
adj.后悔的;n.后悔者;忏悔者 | |
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203 iniquities | |
n.邪恶( iniquity的名词复数 );极不公正 | |
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204 penitents | |
n.后悔者( penitent的名词复数 );忏悔者 | |
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205 redeemed | |
adj. 可赎回的,可救赎的 动词redeem的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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206 frailties | |
n.脆弱( frailty的名词复数 );虚弱;(性格或行为上的)弱点;缺点 | |
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207 sincerity | |
n.真诚,诚意;真实 | |
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208 mere | |
adj.纯粹的;仅仅,只不过 | |
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209 climax | |
n.顶点;高潮;v.(使)达到顶点 | |
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210 lustre | |
n.光亮,光泽;荣誉 | |
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211 plume | |
n.羽毛;v.整理羽毛,骚首弄姿,用羽毛装饰 | |
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212 rites | |
仪式,典礼( rite的名词复数 ) | |
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213 simplicity | |
n.简单,简易;朴素;直率,单纯 | |
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214 withered | |
adj. 枯萎的,干瘪的,(人身体的部分器官)因病萎缩的或未发育良好的 动词wither的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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215 yarn | |
n.纱,纱线,纺线;奇闻漫谈,旅行轶事 | |
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216 annoyance | |
n.恼怒,生气,烦恼 | |
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217 pry | |
vi.窥(刺)探,打听;vt.撬动(开,起) | |
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218 heartily | |
adv.衷心地,诚恳地,十分,很 | |
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219 tapers | |
(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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220 incense | |
v.激怒;n.香,焚香时的烟,香气 | |
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221 diffuse | |
v.扩散;传播;adj.冗长的;四散的,弥漫的 | |
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222 fragrance | |
n.芬芳,香味,香气 | |
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223 toddle | |
v.(如小孩)蹒跚学步 | |
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224 Christians | |
n.基督教徒( Christian的名词复数 ) | |
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225 blessing | |
n.祈神赐福;祷告;祝福,祝愿 | |
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226 shrines | |
圣地,圣坛,神圣场所( shrine的名词复数 ) | |
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227 reverence | |
n.敬畏,尊敬,尊严;Reverence:对某些基督教神职人员的尊称;v.尊敬,敬畏,崇敬 | |
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228 lapse | |
n.过失,流逝,失效,抛弃信仰,间隔;vi.堕落,停止,失效,流逝;vt.使失效 | |
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229 hereditary | |
adj.遗传的,遗传性的,可继承的,世袭的 | |
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230 valor | |
n.勇气,英勇 | |
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231 pebbly | |
多卵石的,有卵石花纹的 | |
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232 rivulet | |
n.小溪,小河 | |
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233 consecrated | |
adj.神圣的,被视为神圣的v.把…奉为神圣,给…祝圣( consecrate的过去式和过去分词 );奉献 | |
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234 enjoyment | |
n.乐趣;享有;享用 | |
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235 diffused | |
散布的,普及的,扩散的 | |
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236 intensify | |
vt.加强;变强;加剧 | |
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237 ascended | |
v.上升,攀登( ascend的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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238 lighter | |
n.打火机,点火器;驳船;v.用驳船运送;light的比较级 | |
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239 slabs | |
n.厚板,平板,厚片( slab的名词复数 );厚胶片 | |
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240 thereby | |
adv.因此,从而 | |
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241 vistas | |
长条形景色( vista的名词复数 ); 回顾; 展望; (未来可能发生的)一系列情景 | |
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242 choir | |
n.唱诗班,唱诗班的席位,合唱团,舞蹈团;v.合唱 | |
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243 labored | |
adj.吃力的,谨慎的v.努力争取(for)( labor的过去式和过去分词 );苦干;详细分析;(指引擎)缓慢而困难地运转 | |
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244 rustic | |
adj.乡村的,有乡村特色的;n.乡下人,乡巴佬 | |
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245 seclusion | |
n.隐遁,隔离 | |
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246 gale | |
n.大风,强风,一阵闹声(尤指笑声等) | |
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247 vigor | |
n.活力,精力,元气 | |
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248 incongruity | |
n.不协调,不一致 | |
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249 stoutly | |
adv.牢固地,粗壮的 | |
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250 throb | |
v.震颤,颤动;(急速强烈地)跳动,搏动 | |
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251 patriotism | |
n.爱国精神,爱国心,爱国主义 | |
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252 sketched | |
v.草拟(sketch的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
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253 skilfully | |
adv. (美skillfully)熟练地 | |
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254 eels | |
abbr. 电子发射器定位系统(=electronic emitter location system) | |
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255 sumptuous | |
adj.豪华的,奢侈的,华丽的 | |
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256 dreariest | |
使人闷闷不乐或沮丧的( dreary的最高级 ); 阴沉的; 令人厌烦的; 单调的 | |
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257 shutters | |
百叶窗( shutter的名词复数 ); (照相机的)快门 | |
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258 disarray | |
n.混乱,紊乱,凌乱 | |
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259 slovenly | |
adj.懒散的,不整齐的,邋遢的 | |
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260 humble | |
adj.谦卑的,恭顺的;地位低下的;v.降低,贬低 | |
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261 dwellings | |
n.住处,处所( dwelling的名词复数 ) | |
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262 sluggishness | |
不振,萧条,呆滞;惰性;滞性;惯性 | |
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263 filth | |
n.肮脏,污物,污秽;淫猥 | |
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264 discomfort | |
n.不舒服,不安,难过,困难,不方便 | |
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265 fleas | |
n.跳蚤( flea的名词复数 );爱财如命;没好气地(拒绝某人的要求) | |
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