1521
THERE was no occasion to resort to artificial means to precipitate2 the ruin of the Aztecs. It was accelerated every hour by causes more potent3 than those arising from mere4 human agency. There they were,—pent up in their close and suffocating5 quarters, nobles, commoners, and slaves, men, women, and children, some in houses, more frequently in hovels,—for this part of the city was not the best,—others in the open air in canoes, or in the streets, shivering in the cold rains of night, and scorched6 by the burning heat of day.[97] An old chronicler mentions the fact of two women of rank remaining three days and nights up to their necks{86} in the water among the reeds, with only a handful of maize7 for their support.[98] The ordinary means of sustaining life were long since gone. They wandered about in search of anything, however unwholesome or revolting, that might mitigate8 the fierce gnawings of hunger. Some hunted for insects and worms on the borders of the lake, or gathered the salt weeds and moss9 from its bottom, while at times they might be seen casting a wistful look at the green hills beyond, which many of them had left to share the fate of their brethren in the capital.
To their credit, it is said by the Spanish writers that they were not driven, in their extremity10, to violate the laws of nature by feeding on one another.[99] But, unhappily, this is contradicted by the Indian authorities, who state that many a mother, in her agony, devoured11 the offspring which she had no longer the means of supporting. This is recorded of more than one siege in history; and it is the more probable here, where the sensibilities must have been blunted by familiarity with the brutal12 practices of the national superstition13.[100]{87}
But all was not sufficient, and hundreds of famished14 wretches16 died every day from extremity of suffering. Some dragged themselves into the houses, and drew their last breath alone and in silence. Others sank down in the public streets. Wherever they died, there they were left. There was no one to bury or to remove them. Familiarity with the spectacle made men indifferent to it. They looked on in dumb despair, waiting for their own turn. There was no complaint, no lamentation18, but deep, unutterable woe19.
If in other quarters of the town the corpses22 might be seen scattered23 over the streets, here they were gathered in heaps. “They lay so thick,” says Bernal Diaz, “that one could not tread except among the bodies.”[101] “A man could not set his foot down,” says Cortés, yet more strongly, “unless on the corpse20 of an Indian.”[102] They were piled one upon another, the living mingled24 with the dead. They stretched themselves on the bodies of their friends, and lay down to sleep there. Death was everywhere. The city was a vast charnel-house, in which all was hastening to decay and decomposition25. A poisonous steam arose from the mass of putrefaction26, under the action of alternate rain and heat, which so tainted27 the whole atmosphere that the Spaniards, including the gen{88}eral himself, in their brief visits to the quarter, were made ill by it, and it bred a pestilence28 that swept off even greater numbers than the famine.[103]
Men’s minds were unsettled by these strange and accumulated horrors. They resorted to all the superstitious29 rites30 prescribed by their religion, to stay the pestilence. They called on their priests to invoke31 the gods in their behalf. But the oracles33 were dumb, or gave only gloomy responses. Their deities34 had deserted35 them, and in their place they saw signs of celestial36 wrath37, telling of still greater woes38 in reserve. Many, after the siege, declared that, among other prodigies39, they beheld40 a stream of light, of a blood-red color, coming from the north in the direction of Tepejacac, with a rushing noise like that of a whirlwind, which swept round the district of Tlatelolco, darting41 out sparkles and flakes42 of fire, till it shot far into the centre of the lake![104] In the disordered state of their nerves, a mysterious fear took possession of their senses. Prodigies were of familiar occurrence, and the most familiar phenomena43 of nature were converted into prodigies.[105] Stunned44 by their calamities45,{89} reason was bewildered, and they became the sport of the wildest and most superstitious fancies.
In the midst of these awful scenes, the young emperor of the Aztecs remained, according to all accounts, calm and courageous46. With his fair capital laid in ruins before his eyes, his nobles and faithful subjects dying around him, his territory rent away, foot by foot, till scarce enough remained for him to stand on, he rejected every invitation to capitulate, and showed the same indomitable spirit as at the commencement of the siege. When Cortés, in the hope that the extremities47 of the besieged would incline them to listen to an accommodation, persuaded a noble prisoner to bear to Guatemozin his proposals to that effect, the fierce young monarch48, according to the general, ordered him at once to be sacrificed.[106] It is a Spaniard, we must remember, who tells the story.
Cortés, who had suspended hostilities49 for several days, in the vain hope that the distresses50 of the Mexicans would bend them to submission51, now determined52 to drive them to it by a general assault. Cooped up as they were within a narrow quarter of the city, their position favored such an attempt. He commanded Alvarado to hold himself in readiness, and directed Sandoval—who, besides the causeway, had charge of the fleet, which lay off the Tlatelolcan district—to support the attack by a cannonade on the houses near the water. He then{90} led his forces into the city, or rather across the horrid53 waste that now encircled it.
On entering the Indian precincts, he was met by several of the chiefs, who, stretching forth54 their emaciated55 arms, exclaimed, “You are the children of the Sun. But the Sun is swift in his course. Why are you, then, so tardy56? Why do you delay so long to put an end to our miseries57? Rather kill us at once, that we may go to our god Huitzilopochtli, who waits for us in heaven to give us rest from our sufferings!”[107]
Cortés was moved by their piteous appeal, and answered that he desired not their death, but their submission. “Why does your master refuse to treat with me,” he said, “when a single hour will suffice for me to crush him and all his people?” He then urged them to request Guatemozin to confer with him, with the assurance that he might do it in safety, as his person should not be molested58.
The nobles, after some persuasion59, undertook the mission; and it was received by the young monarch in a manner which showed—if the anecdote60 before related of him be true—that misfortune had at length asserted some power over his haughty61 spirit. He consented to the interview, though not to have it take place on that day, but the following, in the great square of Tlatelolco. Cortés, well satisfied,{91} immediately withdrew from the city and resumed his position on the causeway.
The next morning he presented himself at the place appointed, having previously63 stationed Alvarado there with a strong corps21 of infantry64, to guard against treachery. The stone platform in the centre of the square was covered with mats and carpets, and a banquet was prepared to refresh the famished monarch and his nobles. Having made these arrangements, he awaited the hour of the interview.
But Guatemozin, instead of appearing himself, sent his nobles, the same who had brought to him the general’s invitation, and who now excused their master’s absence on the plea of illness. Cortés, though disappointed, gave a courteous65 reception to the envoys66, considering that it might still afford the means of opening a communication with the emperor. He persuaded them, without much entreaty67, to partake of the good cheer spread before them, which they did with a voracity68 that told how severe had been their abstinence. He then dismissed them with a seasonable supply of provisions for their master, pressing him to consent to an interview, without which it was impossible their differences could be adjusted.
The Indian envoys returned in a short time, bearing with them a present of fine cotton fabrics69, of no great value, from Guatemozin, who still declined to meet the Spanish general. Cortés, though deeply chagrined71, was unwilling72 to give up the point. “He will surely come,” he said to the envoys, “when he sees that I suffer you to go and{92} come unharmed, you who have been my steady enemies, no less than himself, throughout the war. He has nothing to fear from me.”[108] He again parted with them, promising73 to receive their answer the following day.
On the next morning the Aztec chiefs, entering the Christian74 quarters, announced to Cortés that Guatemozin would confer with him at noon in the market-place. The general was punctual at the hour; but without success. Neither monarch nor ministers appeared there. It was plain that the Indian prince did not care to trust the promises of his enemy. A thought of Montezuma may have passed across his mind. After he had waited three hours, the general’s patience was exhausted75, and, as he learned that the Mexicans were busy in preparations for defence, he made immediate62 dispositions76 for the assault.[109]
The confederates had been left without the walls; for he did not care to bring them within sight of the quarry78 before he was ready to slip the leash79. He now ordered them to join him, and, supported by Alvarado’s division, marched at once into the enemy’s quarters. He found them prepared{93} to receive him. Their most able-bodied warriors81 were thrown into the van, covering their feeble and crippled comrades. Women were seen occasionally mingling82 in the ranks, and, as well as children, thronged83 the azoteas, where, with famine-stricken visages and haggard eyes, they scowled84 defiance85 and hatred86 on their invaders87.
As the Spaniards advanced, the Mexicans set up a fierce war-cry, and sent off clouds of arrows with their accustomed spirit, while the women and boys rained down darts88 and stones from their elevated position on the terraces. But the missiles were sent by hands too feeble to do much damage; and, when the squadrons closed, the loss of strength became still more sensible in the Aztecs. Their blows fell feebly and with doubtful aim, though some, it is true, of stronger constitution, or gathering89 strength from despair, maintained to the last a desperate fight.
The arquebusiers now poured in a deadly fire. The brigantines replied by successive volleys, in the opposite quarter. The besieged, hemmed90 in, like deer surrounded by the huntsmen, were brought down on every side. The carnage was horrible. The ground was heaped up with slain91, until the maddened combatants were obliged to climb over the human mounds92 to get at one another. The miry soil was saturated93 with blood, which ran off like water and dyed the canals themselves with crimson94.[110] All was uproar95 and terrible confusion.{94} The hideous96 yells of the barbarians97, the oaths and execrations of the Spaniards, the cries of the wounded, the shrieks99 of women and children, the heavy blows of the Conquerors101, the death-struggle of their victims, the rapid, reverberating102 echoes of musketry, the hissing103 of innumerable missiles, the crash and crackling of blazing buildings, crushing hundreds in their ruins, the blinding volumes of dust and sulphurous smoke shrouding104 all in their gloomy canopy105, made a scene appalling106 even to the soldiers of Cortés, steeled as they were by many a rough passage of war, and by long familiarity with blood and violence. “The piteous cries of the women and children, in particular,” says the general, “were enough to break one’s heart.”[111] He commanded that they should be spared, and that all who asked it should receive quarter. He particularly urged this on the confederates, and placed Spaniards among them to restrain their violence.[112] But he had set an engine in motion too terrible to be controlled. It were as easy to curb107 the hurricane in its fury, as the passions of an infuriated horde108 of savages110. “Never did I see so pitiless a race,” he exclaims, “or anything wearing the{95} form of man so destitute111 of humanity.”[113] They made no distinction of sex or age, and in this hour of vengeance112 seemed to be requiting113 the hoarded114 wrongs of a century. At length, sated with slaughter115, the Spanish commander sounded a retreat. It was full time, if, according to his own statement,—we may hope it is an exaggeration,—forty thousand souls had perished.[114] Yet their fate was to be envied, in comparison with that of those who survived.
Through the long night which followed, no movement was perceptible in the Aztec quarter. No light was seen there, no sound was heard, save the low moaning of some wounded or dying wretch15, writhing116 in his agony. All was dark and silent,—the darkness of the grave. The last blow seemed to have completely stunned them. They had parted with hope, and sat in sullen117 despair, like men waiting in silence the stroke of the executioner. Yet, for all this, they showed no disposition77 to submit. Every new injury had sunk deeper into their souls, and filled them with a deeper hatred of their enemy. Fortune, friends, kindred, home,—all were gone. They were content to throw away life itself, now that they had nothing more to live for.
Far different was the scene in the Christian camp, where, elated with their recent successes, all{96} was alive with bustle118 and preparation for the morrow. Bonfires were seen blazing along the causeways, lights gleamed from tents and barracks, and the sounds of music and merriment, borne over the waters, proclaimed the joy of the soldiers at the prospect119 of so soon terminating their wearisome campaign.
On the following morning the Spanish commander again mustered120 his forces, having decided121 to follow up the blow of the preceding day before the enemy should have time to rally, and at once to put an end to the war. He had arranged with Alvarado, on the evening previous, to occupy the market-place of Tlatelolco; and the discharge of an arquebuse was to be the signal for a simultaneous assault. Sandoval was to hold the northern causeway, and, with the fleet, to watch the movements of the Indian emperor, and to intercept122 the flight to the main land, which Cortés knew he meditated123. To allow him to effect this would be to leave a formidable enemy in his own neighborhood, who might at any time kindle124 the flame of insurrection throughout the country. He ordered Sandoval, however, to do no harm to the royal person, and not to fire on the enemy at all, except in self-defence.[115]
It was the memorable125 thirteenth of August, 1521, the day of St. Hippolytus,—from this circumstance selected as the patron saint of modern{97} Mexico,—that Cortés led his warlike array for the last time across the black and blasted environs which lay around the Indian capital. On entering the Aztec precincts, he paused, willing to afford its wretched inmates126 one more chance of escape before striking the fatal blow. He obtained an interview with some of the principal chiefs, and expostulated with them on the conduct of their prince. “He surely will not,” said the general, “see you all perish, when he can so easily save you.” He then urged them to prevail on Guatemozin to hold a conference with him, repeating the assurances of his personal safety.
The messengers went on their mission, and soon returned with the cihuacoatl at their head, a magistrate127 of high authority among the Mexicans. He said, with a melancholy128 air, in which his own disappointment was visible, that “Guatemozin was ready to die where he was, but would hold no interview with the Spanish commander;” adding, in a tone of resignation, “it is for you to work your pleasure.” “Go, then,” replied the stern Conqueror100, “and prepare your countrymen for death. Their hour is come.”[116]
He still postponed129 the assault for several hours. But the impatience130 of his troops at this delay was heightened by the rumor131 that Guatemozin and his nobles were preparing to escape with their effects{98} in the piraguas and canoes which were moored132 on the margin133 of the lake. Convinced of the fruitlessness and impolicy of further procrastination134, Cortés made his final dispositions for the attack, and took his own station on an azotea which commanded the theatre of operations.
When the assailants came into the presence of the enemy, they found them huddled135 together in the utmost confusion, all ages and sexes, in masses so dense136 that they nearly forced one another over the brink137 of the causeways into the water below. Some had climbed on the terraces, others feebly supported themselves against the walls of the buildings. Their squalid and tattered138 garments gave a wildness to their appearance which still further heightened the ferocity of their expression, as they glared on their enemy with eyes in which hate was mingled with despair. When the Spaniards had approached within bowshot, the Aztecs let off a flight of impotent missiles, showing to the last the resolute139 spirit, though they had lost the strength, of their better days. The fatal signal was then given by the discharge of an arquebuse,—speedily followed by peals140 of heavy ordnance141, the rattle142 of fire-arms, and the hellish shouts of the confederates as they sprang upon their victims. It is unnecessary to stain the page with a repetition of the horrors of the preceding day. Some of the wretched Aztecs threw themselves into the water and were picked up by the canoes. Others sank and were suffocated143 in the canals. The number of these became so great that a bridge was made of their dead bodies, over which the assailants could climb to the oppo{99}site banks. Others again, especially the women, begged for mercy, which, as the chroniclers assure us, was everywhere granted by the Spaniards, and, contrary to the instructions and entreaties144 of Cortés, everywhere refused by the confederates.[117]
While this work of butchery was going on, numbers were observed pushing off in the barks that lined the shore, and making the best of their way across the lake. They were constantly intercepted145 by the brigantines, which broke through the flimsy array of boats, sending off their volleys to the right and left, as the crews of the latter hotly assailed146 them. The battle raged as fiercely on the lake as on the land. Many of the Indian vessels147 were shattered and overturned. Some few, however, under cover of the smoke, which rolled darkly over the waters, succeeded in clearing themselves of the turmoil149, and were fast nearing the opposite shore.
Sandoval had particularly charged his captains to keep an eye on the movements of any vessel148 in which it was at all probable that Guatemozin might be concealed150. At this crisis, three or four of the largest piraguas were seen skimming over the water and making their way rapidly across the lake. A captain, named Garci Holguin, who had command of one of the best sailers in the fleet, instantly gave them chase. The wind was favorable, and every moment he gained on the fugitives151, who pulled their oars152 with a vigor153 that despair alone{100} could have given. But it was in vain; and, after a short race, Holguin, coming alongside of one of the piraguas, which, whether from its appearance or from information he had received, he conjectured154 might bear the Indian emperor, ordered his men to level their cross-bows at the boat. But, before they could discharge them, a cry arose from those in it that their lord was on board. At the same moment a young warrior80, armed with buckler and maquahuitl, rose up, as if to beat off the assailants. But as the Spanish captain ordered his men not to shoot, he dropped his weapons, and exclaimed, “I am Guatemozin. Lead me to Malinche; I am his prisoner; but let no harm come to my wife and my followers155.”[118]
Holguin assured him that his wishes should be respected, and assisted him to get on board the brigantine, followed by his wife and attendants. These were twenty in number, consisting of Coanaco, the deposed156 lord of Tezcuco, the lord of Tlacopan, and several other caciques and dignitaries, whose rank, probably, had secured them some exemption157 from the general calamities of the siege.{101} When the captives were seated on the deck of his vessel, Holguin requested the Aztec prince to put an end to the combat by commanding his people in the other canoes to surrender. But, with a dejected air, he replied, “It is not necessary. They will fight no longer, when they see that their prince is taken.” He spoke158 truth. The news of Guatemozin’s capture spread rapidly through the fleet, and on shore, where the Mexicans were still engaged in conflict with their enemies. It ceased, however, at once. They made no further resistance; and those on the water quickly followed the brigantines, which conveyed their captive monarch to land. It seemed as if the fight had been maintained thus long the better to divert the enemy’s attention and cover their master’s retreat.[119]
Meanwhile, Sandoval, on receiving tidings of the capture, brought his own brigantine alongside of Holguin’s and demanded the royal prisoner to be surrendered to him. But the captain claimed him as his prize. A dispute arose between the parties, each anxious to have the glory of the deed, and perhaps the privilege of commemorating159 it on his escutcheon. The controversy160 continued so long that it reached the ears of Cortés, who, in his station on the azotea, had learned with no little satisfaction the capture of his enemy. He instantly sent orders to his wrangling161 officers to bring{102} Guatemozin before him, that he might adjust the difference between them.[120] He charged them, at the same time, to treat their prisoner with respect. He then made preparations for the interview, caused the terrace to be carpeted with crimson cloth and matting, and a table to be spread with provisions, of which the unhappy Aztecs stood so much in need.[121] His lovely Indian mistress, Do?a Marina, was present to act as interpreter. She had stood by his side through all the troubled scenes of the Conquest, and she was there now to witness its triumphant162 termination.
Guatemozin, on landing, was escorted by a company of infantry to the presence of the Spanish commander. He mounted the azotea with a calm and steady step, and was easily to be distinguished163 from his attendant nobles, though his full, dark eye was no longer lighted up with its accustomed fire, and his features wore an expression of passive resignation, that told little of the fierce and fiery164 spirit that burned within. His head was large, his limbs well proportioned, his complexion165 fairer than{103} that of his bronze-colored nation, and his whole deportment singularly mild and engaging.[122]
Cortés came forward with a dignified166 and studied courtesy to receive him. The Aztec monarch probably knew the person of his conqueror,{*} for he first broke silence by saying, “I have done all that I could to defend myself and my people. I am now reduced to this state. You will deal with me, Malinche, as you list.” Then, laying his hand on the hilt of a poniard stuck in the general’s belt, he added, with vehemence167, “Better despatch168 me with this, and rid me of life at once.”[123] Cortés was filled with admiration169 at the proud bearing of the young barbarian98, showing in his reverses a spirit worthy170 of an ancient Roman. “Fear not,” he replied: “you shall be treated with all honor. You have defended your capital like a brave warrior. A Spaniard knows how to respect valor171 even in an{104} enemy.”[124] He then inquired of him where he had left the princess his wife; and, being informed that she still remained under protection of a Spanish guard on board the brigantine, the general sent to have her escorted to his presence.
{*} [It was unnecessary to qualify the statement, as they had often seen each other at the court of Montezuma. Alaman, Conquista de Méjico (trad. de Vega), tom. ii. p. 211, note.—K.]
She was the youngest daughter of Montezuma, and was hardly yet on the verge172 of womanhood. On the accession of her cousin Guatemozin to the throne, she had been wedded173 to him as his lawful174 wife.[125] She is celebrated175 by her contemporaries for her personal charms; and the beautiful princess Tecuichpo is still commemorated176 by the Spaniards, since from her by a subsequent marriage are descended177 some of the illustrious families of their own nation.[126] She was kindly178 received by Cortés, who showed her the respectful attentions suited to her rank. Her birth, no doubt, gave her an additional interest in his eyes, and he may have felt some touch of compunction as he gazed on the daughter of the unfortunate Montezuma. He invited his royal captives to partake of the refreshments179 which their exhausted condition rendered so necessary. Meanwhile the Spanish commander made his dispositions for the night, ordering{105} Sandoval to escort the prisoners to Cojohuacan, whither he proposed himself immediately to follow. The other captains, Olid and Alvarado, were to draw off their forces to their respective quarters. It was impossible for them to continue in the capital, where the poisonous effluvia from the unburied carcasses loaded the air with infection. A small guard only was stationed to keep order in the wasted suburbs. It was the hour of vespers when Guatemozin surrendered,[127] and the siege might be considered as then concluded. The evening set in dark, and the rain began to fall before the several parties had evacuated181 the city.[128]{106}
During the night, a tremendous tempest, such as the Spaniards had rarely witnessed, and such as is known only within the tropics, burst over the Mexican Valley. The thunder, reverberating from the rocky amphitheatre of hills, bellowed182 over the waste of waters, and shook the teocallis and crazy tenements183 of Tenochtitlan—the few that yet survived—to their foundations. The lightning seemed to cleave184 asunder185 the vault186 of heaven, as its vivid flashes wrapped the whole scene in a ghastly glare, for a moment, to be again swallowed up in darkness. The war of elements was in unison187 with the fortunes of the ruined city. It seemed as if the deities of Anahuac, scared from their ancient abodes188, were borne along shrieking189 and howling in the blast, as they abandoned the fallen capital to its fate![129]
On the day following the surrender, Guatemozin requested the Spanish commander to allow the Mexicans to leave the city and to pass unmolested into the open country. To this Cortés readily assented190, as, indeed, without it he could take no steps for purifying the capital. He gave his orders, accordingly, for the evacuation of the place, commanding that no one, Spaniard or confederate, should offer violence to the Aztecs or in any way obstruct191 their departure. The whole{107} number of these is variously estimated at from thirty to seventy thousand, besides women and children, who had survived the sword, pestilence, and famine.[130] It is certain they were three days in defiling192 along the several causeways,—a mournful train;[131] husbands and wives, parents and children, the sick and the wounded, leaning on one another for support, as they feebly tottered193 along, squalid, and but half covered with rags, that disclosed at every step hideous gashes194, some recently received, others festering from long neglect, and carrying with them an atmosphere of contagion195. Their wasted forms and famine-stricken faces told the whole history of the siege; and, as the straggling files gained the opposite shore, they were observed to pause from time to time, as if to take one more look at the spot so lately crowned by the imperial city, once their pleasant home, and endeared to them by many a glorious recollection.
On the departure of the inhabitants, measures were immediately taken to purify the place, by means of numerous fires kept burning day and night, especially in the infected quarter of Tlate{108}lolco, and by collecting the heaps of dead, which lay mouldering197 in the streets, and consigning198 them to the earth. Of the whole number who perished in the course of the siege it is impossible to form any probable computation. The accounts range widely, from one hundred and twenty thousand, the lowest estimate, to two hundred and forty thousand.[132] The number of the Spaniards who fell was comparatively small, but that of the allies must have been large if the historian of Tezcuco is correct in asserting that thirty thousand perished of his own countrymen alone.[133] That the number of those destroyed within the city was immense cannot be doubted, when we consider that besides its own redundant199 population, it was thronged with that of the neighboring towns, who, distrusting{109} their strength to resist the enemy, sought protection within its walls.
The booty found there—that is, the treasures of gold and jewels, the only booty of much value in the eyes of the Spaniards—fell far below their expectations. It did not exceed, according to the general’s statement, a hundred and thirty thousand castellanos of gold, including the sovereign’s share, which, indeed, taking into account many articles of curious and costly200 workmanship, voluntarily relinquished201 by the army, greatly exceeded his legitimate202 fifth.[134] Yet the Aztecs must have been in possession of a much larger treasure, if it were only the wreck203 of that recovered from the Spaniards on the night of the memorable flight from Mexico. Some of the spoil may have been sent away from the capital, some spent in preparations of defence, and more of it buried in the earth, or sunk in the water of the lake. Their menaces were not without a meaning. They had, at least, the satisfaction of disappointing the avarice204 of their enemies.
Cortés had no further occasion for the presence of his Indian allies. He assembled the chiefs of the different squadrons, thanked them for their services, noticed their valor in flattering terms, and, after distributing presents among them, with the assurance that his master the emperor would recompense their fidelity205 yet more largely, dismissed them to their own homes. They carried off a liberal share of the spoils of which they had plun{110}dered the dwellings,—not of a kind to excite the cupidity207 of the Spaniards,—and returned in triumph, short-sighted triumph! at the success of their expedition and the downfall of the Aztec dynasty.
Great, also, was the satisfaction of the Spaniards at this brilliant termination of their long and laborious208 campaign. They were, indeed, disappointed at the small amount of treasure found in the conquered city. But the soldier is usually too much absorbed in the present to give much heed209 to the future; and, though their discontent showed itself afterwards in a more clamorous210 form, they now thought only of their triumph, and abandoned themselves to jubilee211. Cortés celebrated the event by a banquet, as sumptuous212 as circumstances would permit, to which all the cavaliers and officers were invited. Loud and long was their revelry, which was carried to such an excess as provoked the animadversion of Father Olmedo, who intimated that this was not the fitting way to testify their sense of the favors shown them by the Almighty213. Cortés admitted the justice of the rebuke214, but craved215 some indulgence for a soldier’s license216 in the hour of victory. The following day was appointed for the commemoration of their successes in a more suitable manner.
A procession of the whole army was then formed, with Father Olmedo at its head. The soiled and tattered banners of Castile, which had waved over many a field of battle, now threw their shadows on the peaceful array of the soldiery, as they slowly moved along, rehearsing the litany,{111} and displaying the image of the Virgin217 and the blessed symbol of man’s redemption. The reverend father pronounced a discourse218, in which he briefly219 reminded the troops of their great cause for thankfulness to Providence220 for conducting them safe through their long and perilous221 pilgrimage; and, dwelling206 on the responsibility incurred222 by their present position, he besought223 them not to abuse the rights of conquest, but to treat the unfortunate Indians with humanity. The sacrament was then administered to the commander-in-chief and the principal cavaliers, and the services concluded with a solemn thanksgiving to the God of battles, who had enabled them to carry the banner of the Cross triumphant over this barbaric empire.[135]
Thus, after a siege of nearly three months’ duration, unmatched in history for the constancy and courage of the besieged, seldom surpassed for the severity of its sufferings, fell the renowned224 capital of the Aztecs. Unmatched, it may be truly said, for constancy and courage, when we recollect196 that the door of capitulation on the most honorable terms was left open to them throughout the whole blockade, and that, sternly rejecting every proposal of their enemy, they, to a man, preferred to die rather than surrender. More than three centuries had elapsed since the Aztecs, a poor and wandering tribe from the far Northwest, had come on the plateau. There they built their miserable225 col{112}lection of huts on the spot—as tradition tells us—prescribed by the oracle32. Their conquests, at first confined to their immediate neighborhood, gradually covered the Valley, then, crossing the mountains, swept over the broad extent of the table-land, descended its precipitous sides, and rolled onwards to the Mexican Gulf226 and the distant confines of Central America. Their wretched capital, meanwhile, keeping pace with the enlargement of territory, had grown into a flourishing city, filled with buildings, monuments of art, and a numerous population, that gave it the first rank among the capitals of the Western World. At this crisis came over another race from the remote East, strangers like themselves, whose coming had also been predicted by the oracle, and, appearing on the plateau, assailed them in the very zenith of their prosperity, and blotted227 them out from the map of nations forever! The whole story has the air of fable228 rather than of history! a legend of romance,—a tale of the genii!
Yet we cannot regret the fall of an empire which did so little to promote the happiness of its subjects or the real interests of humanity. Notwithstanding the lustre229 thrown over its latter days by the glorious defence of its capital, by the mild munificence230 of Montezuma, by the dauntless heroism231 of Guatemozin, the Aztecs were emphatically a fierce and brutal race, little calculated, in their best aspects, to excite our sympathy and regard. Their civilization, such as it was, was not their own, but reflected, perhaps imperfectly, from a race whom they had succeeded in the land. It was, in respect{113} to the Aztecs, a generous graft232 on a vicious stock, and could have brought no fruit to perfection. They ruled over their wide domains233 with a sword, instead of a sceptre. They did nothing to ameliorate the condition or in any way promote the progress of their vassals234. Their vassals were serfs, used only to minister to their pleasure, held in awe235 by armed garrisons236, ground to the dust by imposts in peace, by military conscriptions in war. They did not, like the Romans, whom they resembled in the nature of their conquests, extend the rights of citizenship237 to the conquered. They did not amalgamate238 them into one great nation, with common rights and interests. They held them as aliens,—even those who in the Valley were gathered round the very walls of the capital. The Aztec metropolis239, the heart of the monarchy240, had not a sympathy, not a pulsation241, in common with the rest of the body politic242. It was a stranger in its own land.
The Aztecs not only did not advance the condition of their vassals, but, morally speaking, they did much to degrade it. How can a nation where human sacrifices prevail, and especially when combined with cannibalism243, further the march of civilization? How can the interests of humanity be consulted, where man is levelled to the rank of the brutes244 that perish? The influence of the Aztecs introduced their gloomy superstition into lands before unacquainted with it, or where, at least, it was not established in any great strength. The example of the capital was contagious245. As the latter increased in opulence246, the religious celebrations were conducted with still more terrible magnificence; in{114} the same manner as the gladiatorial shows of the Romans increased in pomp with the increasing splendor247 of the capital. Men became familiar with scenes of horror and the most loathsome248 abominations. Women and children—the whole nation—became familiar with and assisted at them. The heart was hardened, the manners were made ferocious249, the feeble light of civilization, transmitted from a milder race, was growing fainter and fainter, as thousands and thousands of miserable victims, throughout the empire, were yearly fattened250 in its cages, sacrificed on its altars, dressed and served at its banquets! The whole land was converted into vast human shambles251! The empire of the Aztecs did not fall before its time.
Whether these unparalleled outrages252 furnish a sufficient plea to the Spaniards for their invasion, whether, with the Protestant, we are content to find a warrant for it in the natural rights and demands of civilization, or, with the Roman Catholic, in the good pleasure of the Pope,—on the one or other of which grounds the conquests by most Christian nations in the East and the West have been defended,—it is unnecessary to discuss, as it has already been considered in a former chapter. It is more material to inquire whether, assuming the right, the conquest of Mexico was conducted with a proper regard to the claims of humanity. And here we must admit that, with all allowance for the ferocity of the age and the laxity of its principles, there are passages which every Spaniard who cherishes the fame of his countrymen would be glad to see expunged253 from their history; passages not to be{115} vindicated254 on the score of self-defence, or of necessity of any kind, and which must forever leave a dark spot on the annals of the Conquest. And yet, taken as a whole, the invasion, up to the capture of the capital, was conducted on principles less revolting to humanity than most, perhaps than any, of the other conquests of the Castilian crown in the New World.
It may seem slight praise to say that the followers of Cortés used no blood-hounds to hunt down their wretched victims, as in some other parts of the Continent, nor exterminated255 a peaceful and submissive population in mere wantonness of cruelty, as in the Islands. Yet it is something that they were not so far infected by the spirit of the age, and that their swords were rarely stained with blood unless it was indispensable to the success of their enterprise. Even in the last siege of the capital, the sufferings of the Aztecs, terrible as they were, do not imply any unusual cruelty in the victors; they were not greater than those inflicted256 on their own countrymen at home, in many a memorable instance, by the most polished nations, not merely of ancient times, but of our own. They were the inevitable257 consequences which follow from war when, instead of being confined to its legitimate field, it is brought home to the hearthstone, to the peaceful community of the city,—its burghers untrained to arms, its women and children yet more defenceless. In the present instance, indeed, the sufferings of the besieged were in a great degree to be charged on themselves,—on their patriotic258 but desperate self-devotion. It was not the desire, as certainly{116} it was not the interest, of the Spaniards to destroy the capital or its inhabitants. When any of these fell into their hands, they were kindly entertained, their wants supplied, and every means taken to infuse into them a spirit of conciliation259; and this, too, it should be remembered, in despite of the dreadful doom260 to which they consigned261 their Christian captives. The gates of a fair capitulation were kept open, though unavailingly, to the last hour.
The right of conquest necessarily implies that of using whatever force may be necessary for overcoming resistance to the assertion of that right. For the Spaniards to have done otherwise than they did would have been to abandon the siege, and, with it, the conquest of the country. To have suffered the inhabitants, with their high-spirited monarch, to escape, would but have prolonged the miseries of war by transferring it to another and more inaccessible262 quarter. They literally263, so far as the success of the expedition was concerned, had no choice. If our imagination is struck with the amount of suffering in this and in similar scenes of the Conquest, it should be borne in mind that it was a natural result of the great masses of men engaged in the conflict. The amount of suffering does not of itself show the amount of cruelty which caused it; and it is but justice to the Conquerors of Mexico to say that the very brilliancy and importance of their exploits have given a melancholy celebrity264 to their misdeeds, and thrown them into somewhat bolder relief than strictly265 belongs to them. It is proper that thus much should be stated, not to excuse their excesses, but that we may be enabled to{117} make a more impartial266 estimate of their conduct as compared with that of other nations under similar circumstances, and that we may not visit them with peculiar267 obloquy268 for evils which necessarily flow from the condition of war.[136] I have not drawn269 a veil over these evils; for the historian should not shrink from depicting270 in their true colors the atrocities271 of a condition over which success is apt to throw a false halo of glory, but which, bursting asunder the strong bonds of human fellowship, purchases its triumphs by arming the hand of man against his brother, makes a savage109 of the civilized272, and kindles273 the fires of hell in the bosom274 of the savage.
Whatever may be thought of the Conquest in a moral view, regarded as a military achievement it must fill us with astonishment275. That a handful of adventurers, indifferently armed and equipped, should have landed on the shores of a powerful empire inhabited by a fierce and warlike race, and, in defiance of the reiterated276 prohibitions277 of its sov{118}ereign, have forced their way into the interior;—that they should have done this without knowledge of the language or of the land, without chart or compass to guide them, without any idea of the difficulties they were to encounter, totally uncertain whether the next step might bring them on a hostile nation or on a desert, feeling their way along in the dark, as it were;—that, though nearly overwhelmed in their first encounter with the inhabitants, they should have still pressed on to the capital of the empire, and, having reached it, thrown themselves unhesitatingly into the midst of their enemies;—that, so far from being daunted278 by the extraordinary spectacle there exhibited of power and civilization, they should have been but the more confirmed in their original design;—that they should have seized the monarch, have executed his ministers before the eyes of his subjects, and, when driven forth with ruin from the gates, have gathered their scattered wreck together, and, after a system of operations pursued with consummate279 policy and daring, have succeeded in overturning the capital and establishing their sway over the country;—that all this should have been so effected by a mere handful of indigent280 adventurers, is a fact little short of the miraculous,—too startling for the probabilities demanded by fiction, and without a parallel in the pages of history.
Yet this must not be understood too literally; for it would be unjust to the Aztecs themselves, at least to their military prowess, to regard the Conquest as directly achieved by the Spaniards alone. This would indeed be to arm the latter with the charmed{119} shield of Ruggiero, and the magic lance of Astolfo, overturning its hundreds at a touch. The Indian empire was in a manner conquered by Indians. The first terrible encounter of the Spaniards with the Tlascalans, which had nearly proved their ruin, did in fact insure their success. It secured to them a strong native support on which to retreat in the hour of trouble, and round which they could rally the kindred races of the land for one great and overwhelming assault. The Aztec monarchy fell by the hands of its own subjects, under the direction of European sagacity and science. Had it been united, it might have bidden defiance to the invaders. As it was, the capital was dissevered from the rest of the country, and the bolt, which might have passed off comparatively harmless had the empire been cemented by a common principle of loyalty281 and patriotism282, now found its way into every crack and crevice283 of the ill-compacted fabric70 and buried it in its own ruins. Its fate may serve as a striking proof that a government which does not rest on the sympathies of its subjects cannot long abide284; that human institutions, when not connected with human prosperity and progress, must fall,—if not before the increasing light of civilization, by the hand of violence; by violence from within, if not from without. And who shall lament17 their fall?
With the events of this Book terminates the history, by Solís, of the Conquista de Méjico; a history, in many points of view, the most remarkable285 in the Castilian language. Don Antonio de Solís was born of a respectable family, in October, 1610, at Alcalá de Henares, the nursery of science, and the name of which is associated in Spain with the brightest ornaments286 of both church and state. Solís, while{120} very young, exhibited the sparks of future genius, especially in the vivacity287 of his imagination and a sensibility to the beautiful. He showed a decided turn for dramatic composition, and produced a comedy, at the age of seventeen, which would have reflected credit on a riper age. He afterwards devoted288 himself with assiduity to the study of ethics289, the fruits of which are visible in the moral reflections which gave a didactic character to the lightest of his compositions.
At the usual age he entered the University of Salamanca, and went through the regular course of the canon and civil law. But the imaginative spirit of Solís took much more delight in the soft revels290 of the Muses291 than in the severe discipline of the schools; and he produced a number of pieces for the theatre, much esteemed293 for the richness of the diction and for the ingenious and delicate texture294 of the intrigue295. His taste for dramatic composition was, no doubt, nourished by his intimacy296 with the great Calderon, for whose dramas he prepared several loas, or prologues297. The amiable298 manners and brilliant acquisitions of Solís recommended him to the favor of the Conde de Oropesa, Viceroy of Navarre, who made him his secretary. The letters written by him while in the service of this nobleman, and afterwards, have some of them been given to the public, and are much commended for the suavity299 and elegance300 of expression characteristic of all the writings of their author.
The increasing reputation of Solís attracted the notice of the Court, and in 1661 he was made secretary to the queen dowager,—an office which he had declined under Philip the Fourth,—and he was also preferred to the still more important post of Historiographer of the Indies, an appointment which stimulated301 his ambition to a bold career, different from anything he had yet attempted. Five years after this event, at the age of fifty-six, he made a most important change in his way of life, by embracing the religious profession, and was admitted to priest’s orders in 1666. From this time he discontinued his addresses to the comic Muse292, and, if we may credit his biographers, even refused, from conscientious302 scruples303, to engage in the composition of the religious dramas, styled autos sacramentales, although the field was now open to him by the death of the poet Calderon. But such tenderness of conscience it seems difficult to reconcile with the publication of his various comedies, which took place in 1681. It is certain, however, that he devoted himself zealously304 to his new profession, and to the historical studies in which his office of chronicler had engaged him. At length the fruits of these studies were given to the world in his Conquista de Méjico, which appeared at Madrid in 1684. He designed, it is said, to continue the work to the times after the Conquest. But, if so, he was unfortunately prevented by his death, which occurred about two years after the publication of his history, on the 13th of April, 1686. He died at the age of seventy-six, much regarded for his virtues306 and admired for his genius, but in that poverty with which genius and virtue305 are too often requited307.{121}
The miscellaneous poems of Solís were collected and published a few years after his death, in one volume quarto; which has since been reprinted. But his great work, that on which his fame is permanently308 to rest, is his Conquista de Méjico. Notwithstanding the field of history had been occupied by so many eminent309 Spanish scholars, there was still a new career open to Solís. His predecessors311, with all their merits, had shown a strange ignorance of the principles of art. They had regarded historical writing not as a work of art, but as a science. They had approached it on that side only, and thus divorced it from its legitimate connection with belles-lettres. They had thought only of the useful, and nothing of the beautiful; had addressed themselves to the business of instruction, not to that of giving pleasure; to the man of letters, studious to hive up knowledge, not to the man of leisure, who turns to books as a solace312 or a recreation. Such writers are never in the hands of the many,—not even of the cultivated many. They are condemned313 to the closet of the student, painfully toiling315 after truth, and little mindful of the coarse covering under which she may be wrapped. Some of the most distinguished of the national historiographers, as, for example, Herrera and Zurita, two of the greatest names in Castile and Aragon, fall under this censure316. They display acuteness, strength of argument, judicious317 criticism, wonderful patience and industry in accumulating details for their varied318 and voluminous compilations320; but in all the graces of composition—in elegance of style, skilful321 arrangement of the story, and selection of incidents—they are lamentably322 deficient323. With all their high merits, intellectually considered, they are so defective324 on the score of art that they can neither be popular, nor reverenced325 as the great classics of the nation.
Solís saw that the field was unappropriated by his predecessors, and had the address to avail himself of it. Instead of spreading himself over a vast range, where he must expend326 his efforts on cold and barren generalities, he fixed327 his attention on one great theme,—one that, by its picturesque328 accompaniments, the romantic incidents of the story, the adventurous329 character of the actors and their exploits, was associated with many a proud and patriotic feeling in the bosom of the Spaniard,—one, in fine, that, by the brilliant contrast it afforded of European civilization to the barbaric splendors330 of an Indian dynasty, was remarkably331 suited to the kindling332 imagination of the poet. It was accordingly under its poetic333 aspect that the eye of Solís surveyed it. He distributed the whole subject with admirable skill, keeping down the subordinate parts, bringing the most important into high relief, and by a careful study of its proportions giving an admirable symmetry to the whole. Instead of bewildering the attention by a variety of objects, he presented to it one great and predominant idea, which shed its light, if I may so say, over his whole work. Instead of the numerous episodes, leading, like so many blind galleries, to nothing, he took the student along a great road, conducting straight towards the mark.{122} At every step which we take in the narrative334, we feel ourselves on the advance. The story never falters335 or stands still. That admirable liaison336 of the parts is maintained, by which one part is held to another, and each preceding event prepares the way for that which is to follow. Even those occasional interruptions, the great stumbling-block of the historian, which cannot be avoided, in consequence of the important bearing which the events that cause them have on the story, are managed with such address that, if the interest is suspended, it is never snapped. Such halting-places, indeed, are so contrived337 as to afford a repose338 not unwelcome after the stirring scenes in which the reader has been long involved; as the traveller, exhausted by the fatigues339 of his journey, finds refreshment180 at places which in their own character have little to recommend them.
The work, thus conducted, affords the interest of a grand spectacle,—of some well-ordered drama, in which scene succeeds to scene, act to act, each unfolding and preparing the mind for the one that is to follow, until the whole is consummated340 by the grand and decisive dénouement. With this dénouement, the fall of Mexico, Solís has closed his history, preferring to leave the full impression unbroken on the reader’s mind rather than to weaken it by prolonging the narrative to the Conqueror’s death. In this he certainly consulted effect.
Solís used the same care in regard to style that he showed in the arrangement of his story. It is elaborated with the nicest art, and displays that varied beauty and brilliancy which remind us of those finely variegated341 woods which, under a high polish, display all the rich tints342 that lie beneath the surface. Yet this style finds little favor with foreign critics, who are apt to condemn314 it as tumid, artificial, and verbose343. But let the foreign critic beware how he meddles344 with style, that impalpable essence which surrounds thought as with an atmosphere, giving to it its life and peculiar tone of color, differing in different nations, like the atmospheres which envelop345 the different planets of our system, and which require to be comprehended that we may interpret the character of the objects seen through their medium. None but a native can pronounce with any confidence upon style, affected346 as it is by so many casual and local associations that determine its propriety347 and its elegance. In the judgment348 of eminent Spanish critics, the style of Solís claims the merits of perspicuity349, copiousness350, and classic elegance. Even the foreigner will not be insensible to its power of conveying a living picture to the eye. Words are the colors of the writer, and Solís uses them with the skill of a consummate artist; now displaying the dark tumult352 of battle, and now refreshing353 the mind by scenes of quiet magnificence or of soft luxury and repose.
Solís formed himself to some extent on the historical models of antiquity354. He introduced set speeches into the mouths of his personages, speeches of his own composing. The practice may claim high authority among moderns as well as ancients, especially among the{123} great Italian historians. It has its advantages, in enabling the writer to convey in a dramatic form the sentiments of the actors, and thus to maintain the charm of historic illusion by never introducing the person of the historian. It has also another advantage, that of exhibiting the author’s own sentiments under cover of his hero’s,—a more effective mode than if they were introduced as his own. But to one trained in the school of the great English historians the practice has something in it unsatisfactory and displeasing355. There is something like deception356 in it. The reader is unable to determine what are the sentiments of the characters and what those of the author. History assumes the air of romance, and the bewildered student wanders about in an uncertain light, doubtful whether he is treading on fact or fiction.
It is open to another objection, when, as it frequently does, it violates the propriety of costume. Nothing is more difficult than to preserve the keeping of the piece when the new is thus laid on the old,—the imitation of the antique on the antique itself. The declamations of Solís are much prized as specimens357 of eloquence358. But they are too often misplaced; and the rude characters in whose mouths they are inserted are as little in keeping with them as were the Roman heroes with the fashionable wig359 and sword with which they strutted360 on the French stage in Louis the Fourteenth’s time.
As to the value of the researches made by Solís in the compilation319 of his work it is not easy to speak, for the page is supported by none of the notes and references which enable us to track the modern author to the quarry whence he has drawn his materials. It was not the usage of the age. The people of that day, and, indeed, of preceding times, were content to take the author’s word for his facts. They did not require to know why he affirmed this thing or doubted that; whether he built his story on the authority of a friend or of a foe361, of a writer of good report or of evil report. In short, they did not demand a reason for their faith. They were content to take it on trust. This was very comfortable to the historian. It saved him a world of trouble in the process, and it prevented the detection of error, or, at least, of negligence362. It prevented it with all who did not carefully go over the same ground with himself. They who have occasion to do this with Solís will probably rise from the examination with no very favorable idea of the extent of his researches; they will find that, though his situation gave him access to the most valuable repositories in the kingdom, he rarely ascends363 to original documents, but contents himself with the most obvious and accessible; that he rarely discriminates364 between the contemporary testimony365 and that of later date; in a word, that in all that constitutes the scientific value of history he falls far below his learned predecessor310 Herrera,—rapid as was the composition of this last.
Another objection that may be made to Solís is his bigotry366, or rather his fanaticism367. This defect, so repugnant to the philosophic368 spirit which should preside over the labors369 of the historian, he pos{124}sessed, it is true, in common with many of his countrymen. But in him it was carried to an uncommon370 height; and it was peculiarly unfortunate, since his subject, being the contest between the Christian and the Infidel, naturally drew forth the full display of this failing. Instead of regarding the benighted371 heathen with the usual measure of aversion in which they were held in the Peninsula after the subjugation372 of Granada, he considered them as part of the grand confederacy of Satan, not merely breathing the spirit and acting373 under the invisible influence of the Prince of Darkness, but holding personal communication with him. He seems to have regarded them, in short, as his regular and organized militia374. In this view, every act of the unfortunate enemy was a crime. Even good acts were misrepresented, or referred to evil motives376; for how could goodness originate with the Spirit of Evil? No better evidence of the results of this way of thinking need be given than that afforded by the ill-favored and unauthorized portrait which the historian has left us of Montezuma,—even in his dying hours. The war of the Conquest was, in short, in the historian’s eye, a conflict between light and darkness, between the good principle and the evil principle, between the soldiers of Satan and the chivalry377 of the Cross. It was a Holy War, in which the sanctity of the cause covered up the sins of the Conquerors, and every one—the meanest soldier who fell in it—might aspire378 to the crown of martyrdom. With sympathies thus preoccupied379, what room was there for that impartial criticism which is the life of history?
The historian’s overweening partiality to the Conquerors is still further heightened by those feelings of patriotism—a bastard380 patriotism—which, identifying the writer’s own glory with that of his countrymen, makes him blind to their errors. This partiality is especially shown in regard to Cortés, the hero of the piece. The lights and shadows of the picture are all disposed with reference to this principal character. The good is ostentatiously paraded before us, and the bad is winked381 out of sight. Solís does not stop here, but, by the artful gloss382 which makes the worse appear the better cause, he calls on us to admire his hero sometimes for his very transgressions383. No one, not even Gomara himself, is such a wholesale384 encomiast of the great Conqueror; and, when his views are contradicted by the statements of honest Diaz, Solís is sure to find a motive375 for the discrepancy385 in some sinister386 purpose of the veteran. He knows more of Cortés, of his actions and his motives, than his companion in arms or his admiring chaplain.
In this way Solís has presented a beautiful image of his hero,—but it is a hero of romance; a character without a blemish387. An eminent Castilian critic has commended him for “having conducted his history with so much art that it has become a panegyric388.” This may be true; but, if history be panegyric, panegyric is not history.
Yet, with all these defects,—the existence of which no candid389 critic will be disposed to deny,—the History of Solís has found such favor{125} with his own countrymen that it has been printed and reprinted, with all the refinements390 of editorial luxury. It has been translated into the principal languages of Europe; and such is the charm of its composition, and its exquisite391 finish as a work of art, that it will doubtless be as imperishable as the language in which it is written, or the memory of the events which it records.
At this place also we are to take leave of Father Sahagun, who has accompanied us through our narrative. As his information was collected from the traditions of the natives, the contemporaries of the Conquest, it has been of considerable importance in corroborating392 or contradicting the statements of the Conquerors. Yet its value in this respect is much impaired393 by the wild and random394 character of many of the Aztec traditions,—so absurd, indeed, as to carry their own refutation with them. Where the passions are enlisted395, what is too absurd to find credit?
The Twelfth Book—as it would appear from his Preface, the Ninth Book originally—of his Historia de la Nueva-Espa?a is devoted to the account of the Conquest. In 1585, thirty years after the first draft, he re-wrote this part of his great work, moved to it, as he tells us, “by the desire to correct the defects of the first account, in which some things had found their way that had better been omitted, and other things omitted which were well deserving of record.”{*} It might be supposed that the obloquy which the missionary396 had brought on his head by his honest recital397 of the Aztec traditions would have made him more circumspect398 in this rifacimento of his former narrative. But I have not found it so, or that there has been any effort to mitigate the statements that bore hardest on his countrymen. As this manuscript copy must have been that which the author himself deemed the most correct, since it is his last revision, and as it is more copious351 than the printed narrative, I have been usually guided by it.
Se?or Bustamante is mistaken in supposing that the edition of this Twelfth Book which he published in Mexico in 1829 is from the reformed copy of Sahagun. The manuscript cited in these pages is undoubtedly399 a transcript400 of that copy. For in the Preface to it, as we have seen, the author himself declares it. In the intrinsic value of the two drafts there is, after all, but little difference.
{*} [“En el libro nono, donde se trata esta Conquista, se hiciéron ciertos defectos; y fué, que algunas cosas se pusiéron en la narracion de este Conquista que fuéron mal puestas; y otras se calláron, que fuéron mal calladas. Por esta causa, este a?o de mil quinientos ochenta y cinco, enmende este Libro.” MS.]
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1 besieged | |
包围,围困,围攻( besiege的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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2 precipitate | |
adj.突如其来的;vt.使突然发生;n.沉淀物 | |
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3 potent | |
adj.强有力的,有权势的;有效力的 | |
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4 mere | |
adj.纯粹的;仅仅,只不过 | |
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5 suffocating | |
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6 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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7 maize | |
n.玉米 | |
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8 mitigate | |
vt.(使)减轻,(使)缓和 | |
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9 moss | |
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10 extremity | |
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12 brutal | |
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13 superstition | |
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14 famished | |
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15 wretch | |
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16 wretches | |
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17 lament | |
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18 lamentation | |
n.悲叹,哀悼 | |
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19 woe | |
n.悲哀,苦痛,不幸,困难;int.用来表达悲伤或惊慌 | |
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20 corpse | |
n.尸体,死尸 | |
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21 corps | |
n.(通信等兵种的)部队;(同类作的)一组 | |
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22 corpses | |
n.死尸,尸体( corpse的名词复数 ) | |
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23 scattered | |
adj.分散的,稀疏的;散步的;疏疏落落的 | |
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24 mingled | |
混合,混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 ); 混进,与…交往[联系] | |
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25 decomposition | |
n. 分解, 腐烂, 崩溃 | |
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26 putrefaction | |
n.腐坏,腐败 | |
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27 tainted | |
adj.腐坏的;污染的;沾污的;感染的v.使变质( taint的过去式和过去分词 );使污染;败坏;被污染,腐坏,败坏 | |
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28 pestilence | |
n.瘟疫 | |
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29 superstitious | |
adj.迷信的 | |
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30 rites | |
仪式,典礼( rite的名词复数 ) | |
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31 invoke | |
v.求助于(神、法律);恳求,乞求 | |
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32 oracle | |
n.神谕,神谕处,预言 | |
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33 oracles | |
神示所( oracle的名词复数 ); 神谕; 圣贤; 哲人 | |
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34 deities | |
n.神,女神( deity的名词复数 );神祗;神灵;神明 | |
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35 deserted | |
adj.荒芜的,荒废的,无人的,被遗弃的 | |
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36 celestial | |
adj.天体的;天上的 | |
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37 wrath | |
n.愤怒,愤慨,暴怒 | |
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38 woes | |
困境( woe的名词复数 ); 悲伤; 我好苦哇; 某人就要倒霉 | |
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39 prodigies | |
n.奇才,天才(尤指神童)( prodigy的名词复数 ) | |
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40 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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41 darting | |
v.投掷,投射( dart的现在分词 );向前冲,飞奔 | |
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42 flakes | |
小薄片( flake的名词复数 ); (尤指)碎片; 雪花; 古怪的人 | |
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43 phenomena | |
n.现象 | |
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44 stunned | |
adj. 震惊的,惊讶的 动词stun的过去式和过去分词 | |
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45 calamities | |
n.灾祸,灾难( calamity的名词复数 );不幸之事 | |
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46 courageous | |
adj.勇敢的,有胆量的 | |
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47 extremities | |
n.端点( extremity的名词复数 );尽头;手和足;极窘迫的境地 | |
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48 monarch | |
n.帝王,君主,最高统治者 | |
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49 hostilities | |
n.战争;敌意(hostility的复数);敌对状态;战事 | |
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50 distresses | |
n.悲痛( distress的名词复数 );痛苦;贫困;危险 | |
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51 submission | |
n.服从,投降;温顺,谦虚;提出 | |
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52 determined | |
adj.坚定的;有决心的 | |
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53 horrid | |
adj.可怕的;令人惊恐的;恐怖的;极讨厌的 | |
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54 forth | |
adv.向前;向外,往外 | |
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55 emaciated | |
adj.衰弱的,消瘦的 | |
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56 tardy | |
adj.缓慢的,迟缓的 | |
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57 miseries | |
n.痛苦( misery的名词复数 );痛苦的事;穷困;常发牢骚的人 | |
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58 molested | |
v.骚扰( molest的过去式和过去分词 );干扰;调戏;猥亵 | |
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59 persuasion | |
n.劝说;说服;持有某种信仰的宗派 | |
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60 anecdote | |
n.轶事,趣闻,短故事 | |
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61 haughty | |
adj.傲慢的,高傲的 | |
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62 immediate | |
adj.立即的;直接的,最接近的;紧靠的 | |
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63 previously | |
adv.以前,先前(地) | |
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64 infantry | |
n.[总称]步兵(部队) | |
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65 courteous | |
adj.彬彬有礼的,客气的 | |
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66 envoys | |
使节( envoy的名词复数 ); 公使; 谈判代表; 使节身份 | |
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67 entreaty | |
n.恳求,哀求 | |
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68 voracity | |
n.贪食,贪婪 | |
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69 fabrics | |
织物( fabric的名词复数 ); 布; 构造; (建筑物的)结构(如墙、地面、屋顶):质地 | |
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70 fabric | |
n.织物,织品,布;构造,结构,组织 | |
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71 chagrined | |
adj.懊恼的,苦恼的v.使懊恼,使懊丧,使悔恨( chagrin的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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72 unwilling | |
adj.不情愿的 | |
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73 promising | |
adj.有希望的,有前途的 | |
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74 Christian | |
adj.基督教徒的;n.基督教徒 | |
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75 exhausted | |
adj.极其疲惫的,精疲力尽的 | |
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76 dispositions | |
安排( disposition的名词复数 ); 倾向; (财产、金钱的)处置; 气质 | |
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77 disposition | |
n.性情,性格;意向,倾向;排列,部署 | |
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78 quarry | |
n.采石场;v.采石;费力地找 | |
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79 leash | |
n.牵狗的皮带,束缚;v.用皮带系住 | |
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80 warrior | |
n.勇士,武士,斗士 | |
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81 warriors | |
武士,勇士,战士( warrior的名词复数 ) | |
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82 mingling | |
adj.混合的 | |
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83 thronged | |
v.成群,挤满( throng的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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84 scowled | |
怒视,生气地皱眉( scowl的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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85 defiance | |
n.挑战,挑衅,蔑视,违抗 | |
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86 hatred | |
n.憎恶,憎恨,仇恨 | |
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87 invaders | |
入侵者,侵略者,侵入物( invader的名词复数 ) | |
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88 darts | |
n.掷飞镖游戏;飞镖( dart的名词复数 );急驰,飞奔v.投掷,投射( dart的第三人称单数 );向前冲,飞奔 | |
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89 gathering | |
n.集会,聚会,聚集 | |
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90 hemmed | |
缝…的褶边( hem的过去式和过去分词 ); 包围 | |
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91 slain | |
杀死,宰杀,杀戮( slay的过去分词 ); (slay的过去分词) | |
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92 mounds | |
土堆,土丘( mound的名词复数 ); 一大堆 | |
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93 saturated | |
a.饱和的,充满的 | |
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94 crimson | |
n./adj.深(绯)红色(的);vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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95 uproar | |
n.骚动,喧嚣,鼎沸 | |
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96 hideous | |
adj.丑陋的,可憎的,可怕的,恐怖的 | |
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97 barbarians | |
n.野蛮人( barbarian的名词复数 );外国人;粗野的人;无教养的人 | |
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98 barbarian | |
n.野蛮人;adj.野蛮(人)的;未开化的 | |
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99 shrieks | |
n.尖叫声( shriek的名词复数 )v.尖叫( shriek的第三人称单数 ) | |
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100 conqueror | |
n.征服者,胜利者 | |
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101 conquerors | |
征服者,占领者( conqueror的名词复数 ) | |
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102 reverberating | |
回响,回荡( reverberate的现在分词 ); 使反响,使回荡,使反射 | |
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103 hissing | |
n. 发嘶嘶声, 蔑视 动词hiss的现在分词形式 | |
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104 shrouding | |
n.覆盖v.隐瞒( shroud的现在分词 );保密 | |
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105 canopy | |
n.天篷,遮篷 | |
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106 appalling | |
adj.骇人听闻的,令人震惊的,可怕的 | |
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107 curb | |
n.场外证券市场,场外交易;vt.制止,抑制 | |
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108 horde | |
n.群众,一大群 | |
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109 savage | |
adj.野蛮的;凶恶的,残暴的;n.未开化的人 | |
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110 savages | |
未开化的人,野蛮人( savage的名词复数 ) | |
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111 destitute | |
adj.缺乏的;穷困的 | |
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112 vengeance | |
n.报复,报仇,复仇 | |
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113 requiting | |
v.报答( requite的现在分词 );酬谢;回报;报复 | |
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114 hoarded | |
v.积蓄并储藏(某物)( hoard的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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115 slaughter | |
n.屠杀,屠宰;vt.屠杀,宰杀 | |
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116 writhing | |
(因极度痛苦而)扭动或翻滚( writhe的现在分词 ) | |
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117 sullen | |
adj.愠怒的,闷闷不乐的,(天气等)阴沉的 | |
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118 bustle | |
v.喧扰地忙乱,匆忙,奔忙;n.忙碌;喧闹 | |
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119 prospect | |
n.前景,前途;景色,视野 | |
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120 mustered | |
v.集合,召集,集结(尤指部队)( muster的过去式和过去分词 );(自他人处)搜集某事物;聚集;激发 | |
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121 decided | |
adj.决定了的,坚决的;明显的,明确的 | |
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122 intercept | |
vt.拦截,截住,截击 | |
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123 meditated | |
深思,沉思,冥想( meditate的过去式和过去分词 ); 内心策划,考虑 | |
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124 kindle | |
v.点燃,着火 | |
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125 memorable | |
adj.值得回忆的,难忘的,特别的,显著的 | |
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126 inmates | |
n.囚犯( inmate的名词复数 ) | |
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127 magistrate | |
n.地方行政官,地方法官,治安官 | |
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128 melancholy | |
n.忧郁,愁思;adj.令人感伤(沮丧)的,忧郁的 | |
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129 postponed | |
vt.& vi.延期,缓办,(使)延迟vt.把…放在次要地位;[语]把…放在后面(或句尾)vi.(疟疾等)延缓发作(或复发) | |
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130 impatience | |
n.不耐烦,急躁 | |
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131 rumor | |
n.谣言,谣传,传说 | |
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132 moored | |
adj. 系泊的 动词moor的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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133 margin | |
n.页边空白;差额;余地,余裕;边,边缘 | |
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134 procrastination | |
n.拖延,耽搁 | |
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135 huddled | |
挤在一起(huddle的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
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136 dense | |
a.密集的,稠密的,浓密的;密度大的 | |
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137 brink | |
n.(悬崖、河流等的)边缘,边沿 | |
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138 tattered | |
adj.破旧的,衣衫破的 | |
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139 resolute | |
adj.坚决的,果敢的 | |
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140 peals | |
n.(声音大而持续或重复的)洪亮的响声( peal的名词复数 );隆隆声;洪亮的钟声;钟乐v.(使)(钟等)鸣响,(雷等)发出隆隆声( peal的第三人称单数 ) | |
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141 ordnance | |
n.大炮,军械 | |
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142 rattle | |
v.飞奔,碰响;激怒;n.碰撞声;拨浪鼓 | |
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143 suffocated | |
(使某人)窒息而死( suffocate的过去式和过去分词 ); (将某人)闷死; 让人感觉闷热; 憋气 | |
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144 entreaties | |
n.恳求,乞求( entreaty的名词复数 ) | |
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145 intercepted | |
拦截( intercept的过去式和过去分词 ); 截住; 截击; 拦阻 | |
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146 assailed | |
v.攻击( assail的过去式和过去分词 );困扰;质问;毅然应对 | |
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147 vessels | |
n.血管( vessel的名词复数 );船;容器;(具有特殊品质或接受特殊品质的)人 | |
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148 vessel | |
n.船舶;容器,器皿;管,导管,血管 | |
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149 turmoil | |
n.骚乱,混乱,动乱 | |
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150 concealed | |
a.隐藏的,隐蔽的 | |
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151 fugitives | |
n.亡命者,逃命者( fugitive的名词复数 ) | |
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152 oars | |
n.桨,橹( oar的名词复数 );划手v.划(行)( oar的第三人称单数 ) | |
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153 vigor | |
n.活力,精力,元气 | |
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154 conjectured | |
推测,猜测,猜想( conjecture的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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155 followers | |
追随者( follower的名词复数 ); 用户; 契据的附面; 从动件 | |
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156 deposed | |
v.罢免( depose的过去式和过去分词 );(在法庭上)宣誓作证 | |
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157 exemption | |
n.豁免,免税额,免除 | |
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158 spoke | |
n.(车轮的)辐条;轮辐;破坏某人的计划;阻挠某人的行动 v.讲,谈(speak的过去式);说;演说;从某种观点来说 | |
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159 commemorating | |
v.纪念,庆祝( commemorate的现在分词 ) | |
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160 controversy | |
n.争论,辩论,争吵 | |
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161 wrangling | |
v.争吵,争论,口角( wrangle的现在分词 ) | |
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162 triumphant | |
adj.胜利的,成功的;狂欢的,喜悦的 | |
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163 distinguished | |
adj.卓越的,杰出的,著名的 | |
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164 fiery | |
adj.燃烧着的,火红的;暴躁的;激烈的 | |
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165 complexion | |
n.肤色;情况,局面;气质,性格 | |
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166 dignified | |
a.可敬的,高贵的 | |
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167 vehemence | |
n.热切;激烈;愤怒 | |
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168 despatch | |
n./v.(dispatch)派遣;发送;n.急件;新闻报道 | |
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169 admiration | |
n.钦佩,赞美,羡慕 | |
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170 worthy | |
adj.(of)值得的,配得上的;有价值的 | |
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171 valor | |
n.勇气,英勇 | |
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172 verge | |
n.边,边缘;v.接近,濒临 | |
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173 wedded | |
adj.正式结婚的;渴望…的,执著于…的v.嫁,娶,(与…)结婚( wed的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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174 lawful | |
adj.法律许可的,守法的,合法的 | |
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175 celebrated | |
adj.有名的,声誉卓著的 | |
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176 commemorated | |
v.纪念,庆祝( commemorate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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177 descended | |
a.为...后裔的,出身于...的 | |
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178 kindly | |
adj.和蔼的,温和的,爽快的;adv.温和地,亲切地 | |
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179 refreshments | |
n.点心,便餐;(会议后的)简单茶点招 待 | |
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180 refreshment | |
n.恢复,精神爽快,提神之事物;(复数)refreshments:点心,茶点 | |
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181 evacuated | |
撤退者的 | |
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182 bellowed | |
v.发出吼叫声,咆哮(尤指因痛苦)( bellow的过去式和过去分词 );(愤怒地)说出(某事),大叫 | |
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183 tenements | |
n.房屋,住户,租房子( tenement的名词复数 ) | |
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184 cleave | |
v.(clave;cleaved)粘着,粘住;坚持;依恋 | |
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185 asunder | |
adj.分离的,化为碎片 | |
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186 vault | |
n.拱形圆顶,地窖,地下室 | |
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187 unison | |
n.步调一致,行动一致 | |
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188 abodes | |
住所( abode的名词复数 ); 公寓; (在某地的)暂住; 逗留 | |
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189 shrieking | |
v.尖叫( shriek的现在分词 ) | |
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190 assented | |
同意,赞成( assent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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191 obstruct | |
v.阻隔,阻塞(道路、通道等);n.阻碍物,障碍物 | |
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192 defiling | |
v.玷污( defile的现在分词 );污染;弄脏;纵列行进 | |
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193 tottered | |
v.走得或动得不稳( totter的过去式和过去分词 );踉跄;蹒跚;摇摇欲坠 | |
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194 gashes | |
n.深长的切口(或伤口)( gash的名词复数 )v.划伤,割破( gash的第三人称单数 ) | |
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195 contagion | |
n.(通过接触的疾病)传染;蔓延 | |
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196 recollect | |
v.回忆,想起,记起,忆起,记得 | |
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197 mouldering | |
v.腐朽( moulder的现在分词 );腐烂,崩塌 | |
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198 consigning | |
v.把…置于(令人不快的境地)( consign的现在分词 );把…托付给;把…托人代售;丟弃 | |
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199 redundant | |
adj.多余的,过剩的;(食物)丰富的;被解雇的 | |
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200 costly | |
adj.昂贵的,价值高的,豪华的 | |
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201 relinquished | |
交出,让给( relinquish的过去式和过去分词 ); 放弃 | |
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202 legitimate | |
adj.合法的,合理的,合乎逻辑的;v.使合法 | |
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203 wreck | |
n.失事,遇难;沉船;vt.(船等)失事,遇难 | |
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204 avarice | |
n.贪婪;贪心 | |
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205 fidelity | |
n.忠诚,忠实;精确 | |
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206 dwelling | |
n.住宅,住所,寓所 | |
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207 cupidity | |
n.贪心,贪财 | |
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208 laborious | |
adj.吃力的,努力的,不流畅 | |
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209 heed | |
v.注意,留意;n.注意,留心 | |
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210 clamorous | |
adj.吵闹的,喧哗的 | |
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211 jubilee | |
n.周年纪念;欢乐 | |
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212 sumptuous | |
adj.豪华的,奢侈的,华丽的 | |
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213 almighty | |
adj.全能的,万能的;很大的,很强的 | |
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214 rebuke | |
v.指责,非难,斥责 [反]praise | |
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215 craved | |
渴望,热望( crave的过去式 ); 恳求,请求 | |
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216 license | |
n.执照,许可证,特许;v.许可,特许 | |
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217 virgin | |
n.处女,未婚女子;adj.未经使用的;未经开发的 | |
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218 discourse | |
n.论文,演说;谈话;话语;vi.讲述,著述 | |
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219 briefly | |
adv.简单地,简短地 | |
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220 providence | |
n.深谋远虑,天道,天意;远见;节约;上帝 | |
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221 perilous | |
adj.危险的,冒险的 | |
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222 incurred | |
[医]招致的,遭受的; incur的过去式 | |
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223 besought | |
v.恳求,乞求(某事物)( beseech的过去式和过去分词 );(beseech的过去式与过去分词) | |
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224 renowned | |
adj.著名的,有名望的,声誉鹊起的 | |
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225 miserable | |
adj.悲惨的,痛苦的;可怜的,糟糕的 | |
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226 gulf | |
n.海湾;深渊,鸿沟;分歧,隔阂 | |
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227 blotted | |
涂污( blot的过去式和过去分词 ); (用吸墨纸)吸干 | |
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228 fable | |
n.寓言;童话;神话 | |
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229 lustre | |
n.光亮,光泽;荣誉 | |
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230 munificence | |
n.宽宏大量,慷慨给与 | |
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231 heroism | |
n.大无畏精神,英勇 | |
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232 graft | |
n.移植,嫁接,艰苦工作,贪污;v.移植,嫁接 | |
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233 domains | |
n.范围( domain的名词复数 );领域;版图;地产 | |
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234 vassals | |
n.奴仆( vassal的名词复数 );(封建时代)诸侯;从属者;下属 | |
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235 awe | |
n.敬畏,惊惧;vt.使敬畏,使惊惧 | |
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236 garrisons | |
守备部队,卫戍部队( garrison的名词复数 ) | |
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237 citizenship | |
n.市民权,公民权,国民的义务(身份) | |
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238 amalgamate | |
v.(指业务等)合并,混合 | |
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239 metropolis | |
n.首府;大城市 | |
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240 monarchy | |
n.君主,最高统治者;君主政体,君主国 | |
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241 pulsation | |
n.脉搏,悸动,脉动;搏动性 | |
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242 politic | |
adj.有智虑的;精明的;v.从政 | |
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243 cannibalism | |
n.同类相食;吃人肉 | |
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244 brutes | |
兽( brute的名词复数 ); 畜生; 残酷无情的人; 兽性 | |
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245 contagious | |
adj.传染性的,有感染力的 | |
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246 opulence | |
n.财富,富裕 | |
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247 splendor | |
n.光彩;壮丽,华丽;显赫,辉煌 | |
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248 loathsome | |
adj.讨厌的,令人厌恶的 | |
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249 ferocious | |
adj.凶猛的,残暴的,极度的,十分强烈的 | |
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250 fattened | |
v.喂肥( fatten的过去式和过去分词 );养肥(牲畜);使(钱)增多;使(公司)升值 | |
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251 shambles | |
n.混乱之处;废墟 | |
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252 outrages | |
引起…的义愤,激怒( outrage的第三人称单数 ) | |
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253 expunged | |
v.擦掉( expunge的过去式和过去分词 );除去;删去;消除 | |
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254 vindicated | |
v.澄清(某人/某事物)受到的责难或嫌疑( vindicate的过去式和过去分词 );表明或证明(所争辩的事物)属实、正当、有效等;维护 | |
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255 exterminated | |
v.消灭,根绝( exterminate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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256 inflicted | |
把…强加给,使承受,遭受( inflict的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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257 inevitable | |
adj.不可避免的,必然发生的 | |
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258 patriotic | |
adj.爱国的,有爱国心的 | |
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259 conciliation | |
n.调解,调停 | |
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260 doom | |
n.厄运,劫数;v.注定,命定 | |
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261 consigned | |
v.把…置于(令人不快的境地)( consign的过去式和过去分词 );把…托付给;把…托人代售;丟弃 | |
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262 inaccessible | |
adj.达不到的,难接近的 | |
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263 literally | |
adv.照字面意义,逐字地;确实 | |
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264 celebrity | |
n.名人,名流;著名,名声,名望 | |
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265 strictly | |
adv.严厉地,严格地;严密地 | |
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266 impartial | |
adj.(in,to)公正的,无偏见的 | |
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267 peculiar | |
adj.古怪的,异常的;特殊的,特有的 | |
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268 obloquy | |
n.斥责,大骂 | |
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269 drawn | |
v.拖,拉,拔出;adj.憔悴的,紧张的 | |
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270 depicting | |
描绘,描画( depict的现在分词 ); 描述 | |
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271 atrocities | |
n.邪恶,暴行( atrocity的名词复数 );滔天大罪 | |
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272 civilized | |
a.有教养的,文雅的 | |
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273 kindles | |
(使某物)燃烧,着火( kindle的第三人称单数 ); 激起(感情等); 发亮,放光 | |
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274 bosom | |
n.胸,胸部;胸怀;内心;adj.亲密的 | |
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275 astonishment | |
n.惊奇,惊异 | |
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276 reiterated | |
反复地说,重申( reiterate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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277 prohibitions | |
禁令,禁律( prohibition的名词复数 ); 禁酒; 禁例 | |
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278 daunted | |
使(某人)气馁,威吓( daunt的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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279 consummate | |
adj.完美的;v.成婚;使完美 [反]baffle | |
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280 indigent | |
adj.贫穷的,贫困的 | |
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281 loyalty | |
n.忠诚,忠心 | |
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282 patriotism | |
n.爱国精神,爱国心,爱国主义 | |
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283 crevice | |
n.(岩石、墙等)裂缝;缺口 | |
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284 abide | |
vi.遵守;坚持;vt.忍受 | |
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285 remarkable | |
adj.显著的,异常的,非凡的,值得注意的 | |
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286 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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287 vivacity | |
n.快活,活泼,精神充沛 | |
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288 devoted | |
adj.忠诚的,忠实的,热心的,献身于...的 | |
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289 ethics | |
n.伦理学;伦理观,道德标准 | |
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290 revels | |
n.作乐( revel的名词复数 );狂欢;着迷;陶醉v.作乐( revel的第三人称单数 );狂欢;着迷;陶醉 | |
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291 muses | |
v.沉思,冥想( muse的第三人称单数 );沉思自语说(某事) | |
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292 muse | |
n.缪斯(希腊神话中的女神),创作灵感 | |
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293 esteemed | |
adj.受人尊敬的v.尊敬( esteem的过去式和过去分词 );敬重;认为;以为 | |
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294 texture | |
n.(织物)质地;(材料)构造;结构;肌理 | |
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295 intrigue | |
vt.激起兴趣,迷住;vi.耍阴谋;n.阴谋,密谋 | |
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296 intimacy | |
n.熟悉,亲密,密切关系,亲昵的言行 | |
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297 prologues | |
n.序言,开场白( prologue的名词复数 ) | |
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298 amiable | |
adj.和蔼可亲的,友善的,亲切的 | |
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299 suavity | |
n.温和;殷勤 | |
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300 elegance | |
n.优雅;优美,雅致;精致,巧妙 | |
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301 stimulated | |
a.刺激的 | |
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302 conscientious | |
adj.审慎正直的,认真的,本着良心的 | |
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303 scruples | |
n.良心上的不安( scruple的名词复数 );顾虑,顾忌v.感到于心不安,有顾忌( scruple的第三人称单数 ) | |
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304 zealously | |
adv.热心地;热情地;积极地;狂热地 | |
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305 virtue | |
n.德行,美德;贞操;优点;功效,效力 | |
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306 virtues | |
美德( virtue的名词复数 ); 德行; 优点; 长处 | |
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307 requited | |
v.报答( requite的过去式和过去分词 );酬谢;回报;报复 | |
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308 permanently | |
adv.永恒地,永久地,固定不变地 | |
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309 eminent | |
adj.显赫的,杰出的,有名的,优良的 | |
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310 predecessor | |
n.前辈,前任 | |
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311 predecessors | |
n.前任( predecessor的名词复数 );前辈;(被取代的)原有事物;前身 | |
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312 solace | |
n.安慰;v.使快乐;vt.安慰(物),缓和 | |
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313 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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314 condemn | |
vt.谴责,指责;宣判(罪犯),判刑 | |
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315 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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316 censure | |
v./n.责备;非难;责难 | |
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317 judicious | |
adj.明智的,明断的,能作出明智决定的 | |
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318 varied | |
adj.多样的,多变化的 | |
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319 compilation | |
n.编译,编辑 | |
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320 compilations | |
n.编辑,编写( compilation的名词复数 );编辑物 | |
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321 skilful | |
(=skillful)adj.灵巧的,熟练的 | |
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322 lamentably | |
adv.哀伤地,拙劣地 | |
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323 deficient | |
adj.不足的,不充份的,有缺陷的 | |
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324 defective | |
adj.有毛病的,有问题的,有瑕疵的 | |
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325 reverenced | |
v.尊敬,崇敬( reverence的过去式和过去分词 );敬礼 | |
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326 expend | |
vt.花费,消费,消耗 | |
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327 fixed | |
adj.固定的,不变的,准备好的;(计算机)固定的 | |
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328 picturesque | |
adj.美丽如画的,(语言)生动的,绘声绘色的 | |
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329 adventurous | |
adj.爱冒险的;惊心动魄的,惊险的,刺激的 | |
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330 splendors | |
n.华丽( splendor的名词复数 );壮丽;光辉;显赫 | |
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331 remarkably | |
ad.不同寻常地,相当地 | |
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332 kindling | |
n. 点火, 可燃物 动词kindle的现在分词形式 | |
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333 poetic | |
adj.富有诗意的,有诗人气质的,善于抒情的 | |
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334 narrative | |
n.叙述,故事;adj.叙事的,故事体的 | |
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335 falters | |
(嗓音)颤抖( falter的第三人称单数 ); 支吾其词; 蹒跚; 摇晃 | |
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336 liaison | |
n.联系,(未婚男女间的)暖昧关系,私通 | |
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337 contrived | |
adj.不自然的,做作的;虚构的 | |
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338 repose | |
v.(使)休息;n.安息 | |
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339 fatigues | |
n.疲劳( fatigue的名词复数 );杂役;厌倦;(士兵穿的)工作服 | |
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340 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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341 variegated | |
adj.斑驳的,杂色的 | |
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342 tints | |
色彩( tint的名词复数 ); 带白的颜色; (淡色)染发剂; 痕迹 | |
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343 verbose | |
adj.用字多的;冗长的;累赘的 | |
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344 meddles | |
v.干涉,干预(他人事务)( meddle的第三人称单数 ) | |
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345 envelop | |
vt.包,封,遮盖;包围 | |
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346 affected | |
adj.不自然的,假装的 | |
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347 propriety | |
n.正当行为;正当;适当 | |
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348 judgment | |
n.审判;判断力,识别力,看法,意见 | |
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349 perspicuity | |
n.(文体的)明晰 | |
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350 copiousness | |
n.丰裕,旺盛 | |
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351 copious | |
adj.丰富的,大量的 | |
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352 tumult | |
n.喧哗;激动,混乱;吵闹 | |
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353 refreshing | |
adj.使精神振作的,使人清爽的,使人喜欢的 | |
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354 antiquity | |
n.古老;高龄;古物,古迹 | |
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355 displeasing | |
不愉快的,令人发火的 | |
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356 deception | |
n.欺骗,欺诈;骗局,诡计 | |
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357 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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358 eloquence | |
n.雄辩;口才,修辞 | |
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359 wig | |
n.假发 | |
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360 strutted | |
趾高气扬地走,高视阔步( strut的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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361 foe | |
n.敌人,仇敌 | |
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362 negligence | |
n.疏忽,玩忽,粗心大意 | |
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363 ascends | |
v.上升,攀登( ascend的第三人称单数 ) | |
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364 discriminates | |
分别,辨别,区分( discriminate的第三人称单数 ); 歧视,有差别地对待 | |
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365 testimony | |
n.证词;见证,证明 | |
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366 bigotry | |
n.偏见,偏执,持偏见的行为[态度]等 | |
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367 fanaticism | |
n.狂热,盲信 | |
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368 philosophic | |
adj.哲学的,贤明的 | |
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369 labors | |
v.努力争取(for)( labor的第三人称单数 );苦干;详细分析;(指引擎)缓慢而困难地运转 | |
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370 uncommon | |
adj.罕见的,非凡的,不平常的 | |
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371 benighted | |
adj.蒙昧的 | |
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372 subjugation | |
n.镇压,平息,征服 | |
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373 acting | |
n.演戏,行为,假装;adj.代理的,临时的,演出用的 | |
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374 militia | |
n.民兵,民兵组织 | |
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375 motive | |
n.动机,目的;adv.发动的,运动的 | |
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376 motives | |
n.动机,目的( motive的名词复数 ) | |
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377 chivalry | |
n.骑士气概,侠义;(男人)对女人彬彬有礼,献殷勤 | |
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378 aspire | |
vi.(to,after)渴望,追求,有志于 | |
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379 preoccupied | |
adj.全神贯注的,入神的;被抢先占有的;心事重重的v.占据(某人)思想,使对…全神贯注,使专心于( preoccupy的过去式) | |
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380 bastard | |
n.坏蛋,混蛋;私生子 | |
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381 winked | |
v.使眼色( wink的过去式和过去分词 );递眼色(表示友好或高兴等);(指光)闪烁;闪亮 | |
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382 gloss | |
n.光泽,光滑;虚饰;注释;vt.加光泽于;掩饰 | |
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383 transgressions | |
n.违反,违法,罪过( transgression的名词复数 ) | |
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384 wholesale | |
n.批发;adv.以批发方式;vt.批发,成批出售 | |
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385 discrepancy | |
n.不同;不符;差异;矛盾 | |
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386 sinister | |
adj.不吉利的,凶恶的,左边的 | |
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387 blemish | |
v.损害;玷污;瑕疵,缺点 | |
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388 panegyric | |
n.颂词,颂扬 | |
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389 candid | |
adj.公正的,正直的;坦率的 | |
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390 refinements | |
n.(生活)风雅;精炼( refinement的名词复数 );改良品;细微的改良;优雅或高贵的动作 | |
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391 exquisite | |
adj.精美的;敏锐的;剧烈的,感觉强烈的 | |
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392 corroborating | |
v.证实,支持(某种说法、信仰、理论等)( corroborate的现在分词 ) | |
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393 impaired | |
adj.受损的;出毛病的;有(身体或智力)缺陷的v.损害,削弱( impair的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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394 random | |
adj.随机的;任意的;n.偶然的(或随便的)行动 | |
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395 enlisted | |
adj.应募入伍的v.(使)入伍, (使)参军( enlist的过去式和过去分词 );获得(帮助或支持) | |
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396 missionary | |
adj.教会的,传教(士)的;n.传教士 | |
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397 recital | |
n.朗诵,独奏会,独唱会 | |
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398 circumspect | |
adj.慎重的,谨慎的 | |
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399 undoubtedly | |
adv.确实地,无疑地 | |
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400 transcript | |
n.抄本,誊本,副本,肄业证书 | |
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