We passed Lausanne, which stands upward, on the slope of the hill, the tower of its cathedral forming a conspicuous18 object. We mean to visit this to-morrow; so I may pretermit further mention of it here. We passed Vevay and Clarens, which, methought, was particularly picturesque; for now the hills had approached close to the water on the northern side also, and steep heights rose directly above the little gray church and village; and especially I remember a rocky cliff which ascends19 into a rounded pyramid, insulated from all other peaks and ridges20. But if I could perform the absolute impossibility of getting one single outline of the scene into words, there would be all the color wanting, the light, the haze21, which spiritualizes it, and moreover makes a thousand and a thousand scenes out of that single one. Clarens, however, has still another interest for me; for I found myself more affected22 by it, as the scene of the love of St. Preux and Julie, than I have often been by scenes of poetry and romance. I read Rousseau's romance with great sympathy, when I was hardly more than a boy; ten years ago, or thereabouts, I tried to read it again without success; but I think, from my feeling of yesterday, that it still retains its hold upon my imagination.
Farther onward23, we saw a white, ancient-looking group of towers, beneath a mountain, which was so high, and rushed so precipitately24 down upon this pile of building as quite to dwarf25 it; besides which, its dingy26 whiteness had not a very picturesque effect. Nevertheless, this was the Castle of Chillon. It appears to sit right upon the water, and does not rise very loftily above it. I was disappointed in its aspect, having imagined this famous castle as situated28 upon a rock, a hundred, or, for aught I know, a thousand feet above the surface of the lake; but it is quite as impressive a fact—supposing it to be true—that the water is eight hundred feet deep at its base. By this time, the mountains had taken the beautiful lake into their deepest heart; they girdled it quite round with their grandeur29 and beauty, and, being able to do no more for it, they here withheld30 it from extending any farther; and here our voyage came to an end. I have never beheld31 any scene so exquisite32; nor do I ask of heaven to show me any lovelier or nobler one, but only to give me such depth and breadth of sympathy with nature, that I may worthily33 enjoy this. It is beauty more than enough for poor, perishable34 mortals. If this be earth, what must heaven be!
It was nearly eight o'clock when we arrived; and then we had a walk of at least a mile to the Hotel Byron. . . . I forgot to mention that in the latter part of our voyage there was a shower in some part of the sky, and though none of it fell upon us, we had the benefit of those gentle tears in a rainbow, which arched itself across the lake from mountain to mountain, so that our track lay directly under this triumphal arch. We took it as a good omen6, nor were we discouraged, though, after the rainbow had vanished, a few sprinkles of the shower came down.
We found the Hotel Byron very grand indeed, and a good one too. There was a beautiful moonlight on the lake and hills, but we contented35 ourselves with looking out of our lofty window, whence, likewise, we had a sidelong glance at the white battlements of Chillon, not more than a mile off, on the water's edge. The castle is wofully in need of a pedestal. If its site were elevated to a height equal to its own, it would make a far better appearance. As it now is, it looks, to speak profanely36 of what poetry has consecrated37, when seen from the water, or along the shore of the lake, very like an old whitewashed38 factory or mill.
This morning I walked to the Castle of Chillon with J——-, who sketches39 everything he sees, from a wildflower or a carved chair to a castle or a range of mountains. The morning had sunshine thinly scattered40 through it; but, nevertheless, there was a continual sprinkle, sometimes scarcely perceptible, and then again amounting to a decided41 drizzle42. The road, which is built along on a little elevation43 above the lake shore, led us past the Castle of Chillon; and we took a side-path, which passes still nearer the castle gate. The castle stands on an isthmus44 of gravel45, permanently46 connecting it with the mainland. A wooden bridge, covered with a roof, passes from the shore to the arched entrance; and beneath this shelter, which has wooden walls as well as roof and floor, we saw a soldier or gendarme47 who seemed to act as warder. As it sprinkled rather more freely than at first, I thought of appealing to his hospitality for shelter from the rain, but concluded to pass on.
The castle makes a far better appearance on a nearer view, and from the land, than when seen at a distance, and from the water. It is built of stone, and seems to have been anciently covered with plaster, which imparts the whiteness to which Byron does much more than justice, when he speaks of "Chillon's snow-white battlements." There is a lofty external wall, with a cluster of round towers about it, each crowned with its pyramidal roof of tiles, and from the central portion of the castle rises a square tower, also crowned with its own pyramid to a considerably48 greater height than the circumjacent ones. The whole are in a close cluster, and make a fine picture of ancient strength when seen at a proper proximity49; for I do not think that distance adds anything to the effect. There are hardly any windows, or few, and very small ones, except the loopholes for arrows and for the garrison50 of the castle to peep from on the sides towards the water; indeed, there are larger windows at least in the upper apartments; but in that direction, no doubt, the castle was considered impregnable. Trees here and there on the land side grow up against the castle wall, on one part of which, moreover, there was a green curtain of ivy51 spreading from base to battlement. The walls retain their machicolations, and I should judge that nothing had been [altered], nor any more work been done upon the old fortress52 than to keep it in singularly good repair. It was formerly53 a castle of the Duke of Savoy, and since his sway over the country ceased (three hundred years at least), it has been in the hands of the Swiss government, who still keep some arms and ammunition54 there.
We passed on, and found the view of it better, as we thought, from a farther point along the road. The raindrops began to spatter down faster, and we took shelter under an impending55 precipice16, where the ledge56 of rock had been blasted and hewn away to form the road. Our refuge was not a very convenient and comfortable one, so we took advantage of the partial cessation of the shower to turn homeward, but had not gone far when we met mamma and all her train. As we were close by the castle entrance, we thought it advisable to seek admission, though rather doubtful whether the Swiss gendarme might not deem it a sin to let us into the castle on Sunday. But he very readily admitted us under his covered drawbridge, and called an old man from within the fortress to show us whatever was to be seen. This latter personage was a staid, rather grim, and Calvinistic-looking old worthy; but he received us without scruple57, and forthwith proceeded to usher59 us into a range of most dismal60 dungeons61, extending along the basement of the castle, on a level with the surface of the lake. First, if I remember aright, we came to what he said had been a chapel63, and which, at all events, looked like an aisle64 of one, or rather such a crypt as I have seen beneath a cathedral, being a succession of massive pillars supporting groined arches,—a very admirable piece of gloomy Gothic architecture. Next, we came to a very dark compartment65 of the same dungeon62 range, where he pointed27 to a sort of bed, or what might serve for a bed, hewn in the solid rock, and this, our guide said, had been the last sleeping-place of condemned66 prisoners on the night before their execution. The next compartment was still duskier and dismaller than the last, and he bade us cast our eyes up into the obscurity and see a beam, where the condemned ones used to be hanged. I looked and looked, and closed my eyes so as to see the clearer in this horrible duskiness on opening them again. Finally, I thought I discerned the accursed beam, and the rest of the party were certain that they saw it. Next beyond this, I think, was a stone staircase, steep, rudely cut, and narrow, down which the condemned were brought to death; and beyond this, still on the same basement range of the castle, a low and narrow [corridor] through which we passed and saw a row of seven massive pillars, supporting two parallel series of groined arches, like those in the chapel which we first entered. This was Bonnivard's prison, and the scene of Byron's poem.
The arches are dimly lighted by narrow loopholes, pierced through the immensely thick wall, but at such a height above the floor that we could catch no glimpse of land or water, or scarcely of the sky. The prisoner of Chillon could not possibly have seen the island to which Byron alludes67, and which is a little way from the shore, exactly opposite the town of Villeneuve. There was light enough in this long, gray, vaulted68 room, to show us that all the pillars were inscribed69 with the names of visitors, among which I saw no interesting one, except that of Byron himself, which is cut, in letters an inch long or more, into one of the pillars next to that to which Bonnivard was chained. The letters are deep enough to remain in the pillar as long as the castle stands. Byron seems to have had a fancy for recording70 his name in this and similar ways; as witness the record which I saw on a tree of Newstead Abbey. In Bonnivard's pillar there still remains71 an iron ring, at the height of perhaps three feet from the ground. His chain was fastened to this ring, and his only freedom was to walk round this pillar, about which he is said to have worn a path in the stone pavement of the dungeon; but as the floor is now covered with earth or gravel, I could not satisfy myself whether this be true. Certainly six years, with nothing else to do in them save to walk round the pillar, might well suffice to wear away the rock, even with naked feet. This column, and all the columns, were cut and hewn in a good style of architecture, and the dungeon arches are not without a certain gloomy beauty. On Bonnivard's pillar, as well as on all the rest, were many names inscribed; but I thought better of Byron's delicacy72 and sensitiveness for not cutting his name into that very pillar. Perhaps, knowing nothing of Bonnivard's story, he did not know to which column he was chained.
Emerging from the dungeon-vaults, our guide led us through other parts of the castle, showing us the Duke of Savoy's kitchen, with a fireplace at least twelve feet long; also the judgment-hall, or some such place, hung round with the coats of arms of some officers or other, and having at one end a wooden post, reaching from floor to ceiling, and having upon it the marks of fire. By means of this post, contumacious73 prisoners were put to a dreadful torture, being drawn74 up by cords and pulleys, while their limbs were scorched75 by a fire underneath76. We also saw a chapel or two, one of which is still in good and sanctified condition, and was to be used this very day, our guide told us, for religious purposes. We saw, moreover, the Duke's private chamber77, with a part of the bedstead on which he used to sleep, and be haunted with horrible dreams, no doubt, and the ghosts of wretches78 whom he had tortured and hanged; likewise the bedchamber of his duchess, that had in its window two stone seats, where, directly over the head of Bonnivard, the ducal pair might look out on the beautiful scene of lake and mountains, and feel the warmth of the blessed sun. Under this window, the guide said, the water of the lake is eight hundred feet in depth; an immense profundity79, indeed, for an inland lake, but it is not very difficult to believe that the mountain at the foot of which Chillon stands may descend3 so far beneath the water. In other parts of the lake and not distant, more than nine hundred feet have been sounded. I looked out of the duchess's window, and could certainly see no appearance of a bottom in the light blue water.
The last thing that the guide showed us was a trapdoor, or opening, beneath a crazy old floor. Looking down into this aperture80 we saw three stone steps, which we should have taken to be the beginning of a flight of stairs that descended81 into a dungeon, or series of dungeons, such as we had already seen. But inspecting them more closely, we saw that the third step terminated the flight, and beyond was a dark vacancy82. Three steps a person would grope down, planting his uncertain foot on a dimly seen stone; the fourth step would be in the empty air. The guide told us that it used to be the practice to bring prisoners hither, under pretence83 of committing them to a dungeon, and make them go down the three steps and that fourth fatal one, and they would never more be heard of; but at the bottom of the pit there would be a dead body, and in due time a mouldy skeleton, which would rattle84 beneath the body of the next prisoner that fell. I do not believe that it was anything more than a secret dungeon for state prisoners whom it was out of the question either to set at liberty or bring to public trial. The depth of the pit was about forty-five feet. Gazing intently down, I saw a faint gleam of light at the bottom, apparently85 coming from some other aperture than the trap-door over which we were bending, so that it must have been contemplated86 to supply it with light and air in such degree as to support human life. U—— declared she saw a skeleton at the bottom; Miss S——— thought she saw a hand, but I saw only the dim gleam of light.
There are two or three courts in the castle, but of no great size. We were now led across one of them, and dismissed out of the arched entrance by which we had come in. We found the gendarme still keeping watch on his roofed drawbridge, and as there was the same gentle shower that had been effusing itself all the morning, we availed ourselves of the shelter, more especially as there were some curiosities to examine. These consisted chiefly of wood-carvings,—such as little figures in the national costume, boxes with wreaths of foliage88 upon them, paper knives, the chamois goat, admirably well represented. We at first hesitated to make any advances towards trade with the gendarme because it was Sunday, and we fancied there might be a Calvinistic scruple on his part about turning a penny on the Sabbath; but from the little I know of the Swiss character, I suppose they would be as ready as any other men to sell, not only such matters, but even their own souls, or any smaller—or shall we say greater—thing on Sunday or at any other time. So we began to ask the prices of the articles, and met with no difficulty in purchasing a salad spoon and fork, with pretty bas-reliefs carved on the handles, and a napkin-ring. For Rosebud89's and our amusement, the gendarme now set a musical-box a-going; and as it played a pasteboard figure of a dentist began to pull the tooth of a pasteboard patient, lifting the wretched simulacrum entirely90 from the ground, and keeping him in this horrible torture for half an hour. Meanwhile, mamma, Miss Shepard, U——, and J——- sat down all in a row on a bench and sketched91 the mountains; and as the shower did not cease, though the sun most of the time shone brightly, they were kept actual prisoners of Chillon much longer than we wished to stay.
We took advantage of the first cessation,—though still the drops came dimpling into the water that rippled92 against the pebbles93 beneath the bridge,—of the first partial cessation of the shower, to escape, and returned towards the hotel, with this kindliest of summer rains falling upon us most of the way In the afternoon the rain entirely ceased, and the weather grew delightfully radiant, and warmer than could well be borne in the sunshine. U—— and I walked to the village of Villeneuve, —a mile from the hotel,—and found a very commonplace little old town of one or two streets, standing94 on a level, and as uninteresting as if there were not a hill within a hundred miles. It is strange what prosaic95 lines men thrust in amid the poetry of nature. . . .
Hotel de l'Angleterre, Geneva, June 14th.—Yesterday morning was very fine, and we had a pretty early breakfast at Hotel Byron, preparatory to leaving it. This hotel is on a magnificent scale of height and breadth, its staircases and corridors being the most spacious96 I have seen; but there is a kind of meagreness in the life there, and a certain lack of heartiness97, that prevented us from feeling at home. We were glad to get away, and took the steamer on our return voyage, in excellent spirits. Apparently it had been a cold night in the upper regions, for a great deal more snow was visible on some of the mountains than we had before observed; especially a mountain called "Diableries" presented a silver summit, and broad sheets and fields of snow. Nothing ever can have been more beautiful than those groups of mighty98 hills as we saw them then, with the gray rocks, the green slopes, the white snow-patches and crests99, all to be seen at one glance, and the mists and fleecy clouds tumbling, rolling, hovering100 about their summits, filling their lofty valleys, and coming down far towards the lower world, making the skyey aspects so intimate with the earthly ones, that we hardly knew whether we were sojourning in the material or spiritual world. It was like sailing through the sky, moreover, to be borne along on such water as that of Lake Leman,—the bluest, brightest, and profoundest element, the most radiant eye that the dull earth ever opened to see heaven withal. I am writing nonsense, but it is because no sense within my mind will answer the purpose.
Some of these mountains, that looked at no such mighty distance, were at least forty or fifty miles off, and appeared as if they were near neighbors and friends of other mountains, from which they were really still farther removed. The relations into which distant points are brought, in a view of mountain scenery, symbolize101 the truth which we can never judge within our partial scope of vision, of the relations which we bear to our fellow-creatures and human circumstances. These mighty mountains think that they have nothing to do with one another, each seems itself its own centre, and existing for itself alone; and yet to an eye that can take them all in, they are evidently portions of one grand and beautiful idea, which could not be consummated102 without the lowest and the loftiest of them. I do not express this satisfactorily, but have a genuine meaning in it nevertheless.
We passed again by Chillon, and gazed at it as long as it was distinctly visible, though the water view does no justice to its real picturesqueness103, there being no towers nor projections104 on the side towards the lake, nothing but a wall of dingy white, with an indentation that looks something like a gateway105. About an hour and a half brought us to Ouchy, the point where passengers land to take the omnibus to Lausanne. The ascent106 from Ouchy to Lausanne is a mile and a half, which it took the omnibus nearly half an hour to accomplish. We left our shawls and carpet-bags in the salle a manger of the Hotel Faucon, and set forth58 to find the cathedral, the pinnacled107 tower of which is visible for a long distance up and down the lake. Prominent as it is, however, it is by no means very easy to find it while rambling108 through the intricate streets and declivities of the town itself, for Lausanne is the town, I should fancy, in all the world the most difficult to go directly from one point to another. It is built on the declivity109 of a hill, adown which run several valleys or ravines, and over these the contiguity110 of houses extends, so that the communication is kept up by means of steep streets and sometimes long weary stairs, which must be surmounted111 and descended again in accomplishing a very moderate distance. In some inscrutable way we at last arrived at the cathedral, which stands on a higher site than any other in Lausanne. It has a very venerable exterior112, with all the Gothic grandeur which arched mullioned windows, deep portals, buttresses113, towers, and pinnacles114, gray with a thousand years, can give to architecture. After waiting awhile we obtained entrance by means of an old woman, who acted the part of sacristan, and was then showing the church to some other visitors.
The interior disappointed us; not but what it was very beautiful, but I think the excellent repair that it was in, and the Puritanic neatness with which it is kept, does much towards effacing115 the majesty116 and mystery that belong to an old church. Every inch of every wall and column, and all the mouldings and tracery, and every scrap117 of grotesque118 carving87, had been washed with a drab mixture. There were likewise seats all up and down the nave119, made of pine wood, and looking very new and neat, just such seats as I shall see in a hundred meeting-houses (if ever I go into so many) in America. Whatever might be the reason, the stately nave, with its high-groined roof, the clustered columns and lofty pillars, the intersecting arches of the side-aisles, the choir120, the armorial and knightly121 tombs that surround what was once the high altar, all produced far less effect than I could have thought beforehand.
As it happened, we had more ample time and freedom to inspect this cathedral than any other that we have visited, for the old woman consented to go away and leave us there, locking the door behind her. The others, except Rosebud, sat down to sketch such portions as struck their fancy; and for myself, I looked at the monuments, of which some, being those of old knights122, ladies, bishops123, and a king, were curious from their antiquity124; and others are interesting as bearing memorials of English people, who have died at Lausanne in comparatively recent years. Then I went up into the pulpit, and tried, without success, to get into the stone gallery that runs all round the nave; and I explored my way into various side apartments of the cathedral, which I found fitted up with seats for Sabbath schools, perhaps, or possibly for meetings of elders of the Church. I opened the great Bible of the church, and found it to be a French version, printed at Lille some fifty years ago. There was also a liturgy125, adapted, probably, to the Lutheran form of worship. In one of the side apartments I found a strong box, heavily clamped with iron, and having a contrivance, like the hopper of a mill, by which money could be turned into the top, while a double lock prevented its being abstracted again. This was to receive the avails of contributions made in the church; and there were likewise boxes, stuck on the ends of long poles, wherewith the deacons could go round among the worshippers, conveniently extending the begging-box to the remotest curmudgeon126 among them all. From the arrangement of the seats in the nave, and the labels pasted or painted on them, I judged that the women sat on one side and the men on the other, and the seats for various orders of magistrates127, and for ecclesiastical and collegiate people, were likewise marked out.
I soon grew weary of these investigations128, and so did Rosebud and J——-, who essayed to amuse themselves with running races together over the horizontal tombstones in the pavement of the choir, treading remorselessly over the noseless effigies129 of old dignitaries, who never expected to be so irreverently treated. I put a stop to their sport, and banished130 them to different parts of the cathedral; and by and by, the old woman appeared again, and released us from durance. . . .
While waiting for our dejeuner, we saw the people dining at the regular table d'hote of the hotel, and the idea was strongly borne in upon me, that the professional mystery of a male waiter is a very unmanly one. It is so absurd to see the solemn attentiveness131 with which they stand behind the chairs, the earnestness of their watch for any crisis that may demand their interposition, the gravity of their manner in performing some little office that the guest might better do for himself, their decorous and soft steps; in short, as I sat and gazed at them, they seemed to me not real men, but creatures with a clerical aspect, engendered132 out of a very artificial state of society. When they are waiting on myself, they do not appear so absurd; it is necessary to stand apart in order to see them properly.
We left Lausanne—which was to us a tedious and weary place—before four o'clock. I should have liked well enough to see the house of Gibbon, and the garden in which he walked, after finishing "The Decline and Fall"; but it could not be done without some trouble and inquiry133, and as the house did not come to see me, I determined134 not to go and see the house. There was, indeed, a mansion of somewhat antique respectability, near our hotel, having a garden and a shaded terrace behind it, which would have answered accurately135 enough to the idea of Gibbon's residence. Perhaps it was so; far more probably not.
Our former voyages had been taken in the Hirondelle; we now, after broiling136 for some time in the sunshine by the lakeside, got on board of the Aigle, No. 2. There were a good many passengers, the larger proportion of whom seemed to be English and American, and among the latter a large party of talkative ladies, old and young. The voyage was pleasant while we were protected from the sun by the awning137 overhead, but became scarcely agreeable when the sun had descended so low as to shine in our faces or on our backs. We looked earnestly for Mont Blanc, which ought to have been visible during a large part of our course; but the clouds gathered themselves hopelessly over the portion of the sky where the great mountain lifted his white peak; and we did not see it, and probably never shall. As to the meaner mountains, there were enough of them, and beautiful enough; but we were a little weary, and feverish138 with the heat. . . . I think I had a head-ache, though it is so unusual a complaint with me, that I hardly know it when it comes. We were none of us sorry, therefore, when the Eagle brought us to the quay of Geneva, only a short distance from our hotel. . . .
To-day I wrote to Mr. Wilding, requesting him to secure passages for us from Liverpool on the 15th of next month, or 1st of August. It makes my heart thrill, half pleasantly, half otherwise; so much nearer does this step seem to bring that home whence I have now been absent six years, and which, when I see it again, may turn out to be not my home any longer. I likewise wrote to Bennoch, though I know not his present address; but I should deeply grieve to leave England without seeing him. He and Henry Bright are the only two men in England to whom I shall be much grieved to bid farewell; but to the island itself I cannot bear to say that word as a finality. I shall dreamily hope to come back again at some indefinite time; rather foolishly perhaps, for it will tend to take the substance out of my life in my own land. But this, I suspect, is apt to be the penalty of those who stay abroad and stay too long.
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1 quay | |
n.码头,靠岸处 | |
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2 worthy | |
adj.(of)值得的,配得上的;有价值的 | |
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3 descend | |
vt./vi.传下来,下来,下降 | |
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4 descending | |
n. 下行 adj. 下降的 | |
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5 picturesque | |
adj.美丽如画的,(语言)生动的,绘声绘色的 | |
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6 omen | |
n.征兆,预兆;vt.预示 | |
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7 delightfully | |
大喜,欣然 | |
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8 delightful | |
adj.令人高兴的,使人快乐的 | |
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9 chateau | |
n.城堡,别墅 | |
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10 mansion | |
n.大厦,大楼;宅第 | |
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11 antiquated | |
adj.陈旧的,过时的 | |
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12 scatter | |
vt.撒,驱散,散开;散布/播;vi.分散,消散 | |
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13 swell | |
vi.膨胀,肿胀;增长,增强 | |
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14 congregated | |
(使)集合,聚集( congregate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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15 sketch | |
n.草图;梗概;素描;v.素描;概述 | |
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16 precipice | |
n.悬崖,危急的处境 | |
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17 precipices | |
n.悬崖,峭壁( precipice的名词复数 ) | |
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18 conspicuous | |
adj.明眼的,惹人注目的;炫耀的,摆阔气的 | |
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19 ascends | |
v.上升,攀登( ascend的第三人称单数 ) | |
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20 ridges | |
n.脊( ridge的名词复数 );山脊;脊状突起;大气层的)高压脊 | |
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21 haze | |
n.霾,烟雾;懵懂,迷糊;vi.(over)变模糊 | |
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22 affected | |
adj.不自然的,假装的 | |
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23 onward | |
adj.向前的,前进的;adv.向前,前进,在先 | |
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24 precipitately | |
adv.猛进地 | |
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25 dwarf | |
n.矮子,侏儒,矮小的动植物;vt.使…矮小 | |
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26 dingy | |
adj.昏暗的,肮脏的 | |
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27 pointed | |
adj.尖的,直截了当的 | |
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28 situated | |
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29 grandeur | |
n.伟大,崇高,宏伟,庄严,豪华 | |
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30 withheld | |
withhold过去式及过去分词 | |
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31 beheld | |
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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32 exquisite | |
adj.精美的;敏锐的;剧烈的,感觉强烈的 | |
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33 worthily | |
重要地,可敬地,正当地 | |
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34 perishable | |
adj.(尤指食物)易腐的,易坏的 | |
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35 contented | |
adj.满意的,安心的,知足的 | |
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36 profanely | |
adv.渎神地,凡俗地 | |
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37 consecrated | |
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38 whitewashed | |
粉饰,美化,掩饰( whitewash的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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39 sketches | |
n.草图( sketch的名词复数 );素描;速写;梗概 | |
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40 scattered | |
adj.分散的,稀疏的;散步的;疏疏落落的 | |
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41 decided | |
adj.决定了的,坚决的;明显的,明确的 | |
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42 drizzle | |
v.下毛毛雨;n.毛毛雨,蒙蒙细雨 | |
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43 elevation | |
n.高度;海拔;高地;上升;提高 | |
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44 isthmus | |
n.地峡 | |
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45 gravel | |
n.砂跞;砂砾层;结石 | |
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46 permanently | |
adv.永恒地,永久地,固定不变地 | |
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47 gendarme | |
n.宪兵 | |
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48 considerably | |
adv.极大地;相当大地;在很大程度上 | |
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49 proximity | |
n.接近,邻近 | |
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50 garrison | |
n.卫戍部队;驻地,卫戍区;vt.派(兵)驻防 | |
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51 ivy | |
n.常青藤,常春藤 | |
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52 fortress | |
n.堡垒,防御工事 | |
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53 formerly | |
adv.从前,以前 | |
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54 ammunition | |
n.军火,弹药 | |
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55 impending | |
a.imminent, about to come or happen | |
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56 ledge | |
n.壁架,架状突出物;岩架,岩礁 | |
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57 scruple | |
n./v.顾忌,迟疑 | |
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58 forth | |
adv.向前;向外,往外 | |
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59 usher | |
n.带位员,招待员;vt.引导,护送;vi.做招待,担任引座员 | |
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60 dismal | |
adj.阴沉的,凄凉的,令人忧郁的,差劲的 | |
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61 dungeons | |
n.地牢( dungeon的名词复数 ) | |
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62 dungeon | |
n.地牢,土牢 | |
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63 chapel | |
n.小教堂,殡仪馆 | |
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64 aisle | |
n.(教堂、教室、戏院等里的)过道,通道 | |
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65 compartment | |
n.卧车包房,隔间;分隔的空间 | |
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66 condemned | |
adj. 被责难的, 被宣告有罪的 动词condemn的过去式和过去分词 | |
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67 alludes | |
提及,暗指( allude的第三人称单数 ) | |
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68 vaulted | |
adj.拱状的 | |
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69 inscribed | |
v.写,刻( inscribe的过去式和过去分词 );内接 | |
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70 recording | |
n.录音,记录 | |
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71 remains | |
n.剩余物,残留物;遗体,遗迹 | |
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72 delicacy | |
n.精致,细微,微妙,精良;美味,佳肴 | |
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73 contumacious | |
adj.拒不服从的,违抗的 | |
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74 drawn | |
v.拖,拉,拔出;adj.憔悴的,紧张的 | |
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75 scorched | |
烧焦,烤焦( scorch的过去式和过去分词 ); 使(植物)枯萎,把…晒枯; 高速行驶; 枯焦 | |
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76 underneath | |
adj.在...下面,在...底下;adv.在下面 | |
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77 chamber | |
n.房间,寝室;会议厅;议院;会所 | |
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78 wretches | |
n.不幸的人( wretch的名词复数 );可怜的人;恶棍;坏蛋 | |
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79 profundity | |
n.渊博;深奥,深刻 | |
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80 aperture | |
n.孔,隙,窄的缺口 | |
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81 descended | |
a.为...后裔的,出身于...的 | |
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82 vacancy | |
n.(旅馆的)空位,空房,(职务的)空缺 | |
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83 pretence | |
n.假装,作假;借口,口实;虚伪;虚饰 | |
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84 rattle | |
v.飞奔,碰响;激怒;n.碰撞声;拨浪鼓 | |
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85 apparently | |
adv.显然地;表面上,似乎 | |
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86 contemplated | |
adj. 预期的 动词contemplate的过去分词形式 | |
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87 carving | |
n.雕刻品,雕花 | |
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88 foliage | |
n.叶子,树叶,簇叶 | |
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89 rosebud | |
n.蔷薇花蕾,妙龄少女 | |
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90 entirely | |
ad.全部地,完整地;完全地,彻底地 | |
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91 sketched | |
v.草拟(sketch的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
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92 rippled | |
使泛起涟漪(ripple的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
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93 pebbles | |
[复数]鹅卵石; 沙砾; 卵石,小圆石( pebble的名词复数 ) | |
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94 standing | |
n.持续,地位;adj.永久的,不动的,直立的,不流动的 | |
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95 prosaic | |
adj.单调的,无趣的 | |
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96 spacious | |
adj.广阔的,宽敞的 | |
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97 heartiness | |
诚实,热心 | |
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98 mighty | |
adj.强有力的;巨大的 | |
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99 crests | |
v.到达山顶(或浪峰)( crest的第三人称单数 );到达洪峰,达到顶点 | |
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100 hovering | |
鸟( hover的现在分词 ); 靠近(某事物); (人)徘徊; 犹豫 | |
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101 symbolize | |
vt.作为...的象征,用符号代表 | |
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102 consummated | |
v.使结束( consummate的过去式和过去分词 );使完美;完婚;(婚礼后的)圆房 | |
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103 picturesqueness | |
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104 projections | |
预测( projection的名词复数 ); 投影; 投掷; 突起物 | |
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105 gateway | |
n.大门口,出入口,途径,方法 | |
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106 ascent | |
n.(声望或地位)提高;上升,升高;登高 | |
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107 pinnacled | |
小尖塔般耸立的,顶处的 | |
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108 rambling | |
adj.[建]凌乱的,杂乱的 | |
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109 declivity | |
n.下坡,倾斜面 | |
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110 contiguity | |
n.邻近,接壤 | |
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111 surmounted | |
战胜( surmount的过去式和过去分词 ); 克服(困难); 居于…之上; 在…顶上 | |
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112 exterior | |
adj.外部的,外在的;表面的 | |
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113 buttresses | |
n.扶壁,扶垛( buttress的名词复数 )v.用扶壁支撑,加固( buttress的第三人称单数 ) | |
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114 pinnacles | |
顶峰( pinnacle的名词复数 ); 顶点; 尖顶; 小尖塔 | |
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115 effacing | |
谦逊的 | |
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116 majesty | |
n.雄伟,壮丽,庄严,威严;最高权威,王权 | |
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117 scrap | |
n.碎片;废料;v.废弃,报废 | |
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118 grotesque | |
adj.怪诞的,丑陋的;n.怪诞的图案,怪人(物) | |
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119 nave | |
n.教堂的中部;本堂 | |
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120 choir | |
n.唱诗班,唱诗班的席位,合唱团,舞蹈团;v.合唱 | |
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121 knightly | |
adj. 骑士般的 adv. 骑士般地 | |
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122 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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123 bishops | |
(基督教某些教派管辖大教区的)主教( bishop的名词复数 ); (国际象棋的)象 | |
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124 antiquity | |
n.古老;高龄;古物,古迹 | |
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125 liturgy | |
n.礼拜仪式 | |
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126 curmudgeon | |
n. 脾气暴躁之人,守财奴,吝啬鬼 | |
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127 magistrates | |
地方法官,治安官( magistrate的名词复数 ) | |
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128 investigations | |
(正式的)调查( investigation的名词复数 ); 侦查; 科学研究; 学术研究 | |
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129 effigies | |
n.(人的)雕像,模拟像,肖像( effigy的名词复数 ) | |
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130 banished | |
v.放逐,驱逐( banish的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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131 attentiveness | |
[医]注意 | |
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132 engendered | |
v.产生(某形势或状况),造成,引起( engender的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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133 inquiry | |
n.打听,询问,调查,查问 | |
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134 determined | |
adj.坚定的;有决心的 | |
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135 accurately | |
adv.准确地,精确地 | |
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136 broiling | |
adj.酷热的,炽热的,似烧的v.(用火)烤(焙、炙等)( broil的现在分词 );使卷入争吵;使混乱;被烤(或炙) | |
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137 awning | |
n.遮阳篷;雨篷 | |
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138 feverish | |
adj.发烧的,狂热的,兴奋的 | |
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