By what means the papers out of which I have made a connected story came into my hands is the last point which the reader will learn from these pages. But it is necessary to prefix1 to my extracts from them a statement of the form in which I possess them.
They consist, then, partly of a series of collections for a book of travels, such a volume as was a common product of the forties and fifties. Horace Marryat’s Journal of a Residence in Jutland and the Danish Isles3 is a fair specimen4 of the class to which I allude5. These books usually treated of some unknown district on the Continent. They were illustrated6 with woodcuts or steel plates. They gave details of hotel accommodation and of means of communication, such as we now expect to find in any well-regulated guide-book, and they dealt largely in reported conversations with intelligent foreigners, racy innkeepers, and garrulous7 peasants. In a word, they were chatty.
Begun with the idea of furnishing material for such a book, my papers as they progressed assumed the character of a record of one single personal experience, and this record was continued up to the very eve, almost, of its termination.
The writer was a Mr Wraxall. For my knowledge of him I have to depend entirely8 on the evidence his writings afford, and from these I deduce that he was a man past middle age, possessed9 of some private means, and very much alone in the world. He had, it seems, no settled abode10 in England, but was a denizen11 of hotels and boarding-houses. It is probable that he entertained the idea of settling down at some future time which never came; and I think it also likely that the Pantechnicon fire in the early seventies must have destroyed a great deal that would have thrown light on his antecedents, for he refers once or twice to property of his that was warehoused at that establishment.
It is further apparent that Mr Wraxall had published a book, and that it treated of a holiday he had once taken in Brittany. More than this I cannot say about his work, because a diligent12 search in bibliographical13 works has convinced me that it must have appeared either anonymously14 or under a pseudonym15.
As to his character, it is not difficult to form some superficial opinion. He must have been an intelligent and cultivated man. It seems that he was near being a Fellow of his college at Oxford16 — Brasenose, as I judge from the Calendar. His besetting17 fault was pretty clearly that of over-inquisitiveness, possibly a good fault in a traveller, certainly a fault for which this traveller paid dearly enough in the end.
On what proved to be his last expedition, he was plotting another book. Scandinavia, a region not widely known to Englishmen forty years ago, had struck him as an interesting field. He must have alighted on some old books of Swedish history or memoirs19, and the idea had struck him that there was room for a book descriptive of travel in Sweden, interspersed20 with episodes from the history of some of the great Swedish families. He procured21 letters of introduction, therefore, to some persons of quality in Sweden, and set out thither22 in the early summer of 1863.
Of his travels in the North there is no need to speak, nor of his residence of some weeks in Stockholm. I need only mention that some savant resident there put him on the track of an important collection of family papers belonging to the proprietors23 of an ancient manor24-house in Vestergothland, and obtained for him permission to examine them.
The manor-house, or herrgard, in question is to be called R?b?ck (pronounced something like Roebeck), though that is not its name. It is one of the best buildings of its kind in all the country, and the picture of it in Dahlenberg’s Suecia antiqua et moderna, engraved25 in 1694, shows it very much as the tourist may see it today. It was built soon after 1600, and is, roughly speaking, very much like an English house of that period in respect of material — red-brick with stone facings — and style. The man who built it was a scion26 of the great house of De la Gardie, and his descendants possess it still. De la Gardie is the name by which I will designate them when mention of them becomes necessary.
They received Mr Wraxall with great kindness and courtesy, and pressed him to stay in the house as long as his researches lasted. But, preferring to be independent, and mistrusting his powers of conversing27 in Swedish, he settled himself at the village inn, which turned out quite sufficiently28 comfortable, at any rate during the summer months. This arrangement would entail29 a short walk daily to and from the manor-house of something under a mile. The house itself stood in a park, and was protected — we should say grown up — with large old timber. Near it you found the walled garden, and then entered a close wood fringing one of the small lakes with which the whole country is pitted. Then came the wall of the demesne30, and you climbed a steep knoll31 — a knob of rock lightly covered with soil — and on the top of this stood the church, fenced in with tall dark trees. It was a curious building to English eyes. The nave32 and aisles34 were low, and filled with pews and galleries. In the western gallery stood the handsome old organ, gaily35 painted, and with silver pipes. The ceiling was flat, and had been adorned36 by a seventeenth-century artist with a strange and hideous37 ‘Last Judgement’, full of lurid38 flames, falling cities, burning ships, crying souls, and brown and smiling demons39. Handsome brass41 coronae hung from the roof; the pulpit was like a doll’s-house covered with little painted wooden cherubs42 and saints; a stand with three hour-glasses was hinged to the preacher’s desk. Such sights as these may be seen in many a church in Sweden now, but what distinguished43 this one was an addition to the original building. At the eastern end of the north aisle33 the builder of the manor-house had erected44 a mausoleum for himself and his family. It was a largish eight-sided building, lighted by a series of oval windows, and it had a domed45 roof, topped by a kind of pumpkin-shaped object rising into a spire46, a form in which Swedish architects greatly delighted. The roof was of copper47 externally, and was painted black, while the walls, in common with those of the church, were staringly white. To this mausoleum there was no access from the church. It had a portal and steps of its own on the northern side.
Past the churchyard the path to the village goes, and not more than three or four minutes bring you to the inn door.
On the first day of his stay at R?b?ck Mr Wraxall found the church door open, and made these notes of the interior which I have epitomized. Into the mausoleum, however, he could not make his way. He could by looking through the keyhole just descry48 that there were fine marble effigies49 and sarcophagi of copper, and a wealth of armorial ornament50, which made him very anxious to spend some time in investigation51.
The papers he had come to examine at the manor-house proved to be of just the kind he wanted for his book. There were family correspondence, journals, and account-books of the earliest owners of the estate, very carefully kept and clearly written, full of amusing and picturesque52 detail. The first De la Gardie appeared in them as a strong and capable man. Shortly after the building of the mansion53 there had been a period of distress54 in the district, and the peasants had risen and attacked several chateaux and done some damage. The owner of R?b?ck took a leading part in supressing trouble, and there was reference to executions of ring-leaders and severe punishments inflicted55 with no sparing hand.
The portrait of this Magnus de la Gardie was one of the best in the house, and Mr Wraxall studied it with no little interest after his day’s work. He gives no detailed56 description of it, but I gather that the face impressed him rather by its power than by its beauty or goodness; in fact, he writes that Count Magnus was an almost phenomenally ugly man.
On this day Mr Wraxall took his supper with the family, and walked back in the late but still bright evening.
‘I must remember,’ he writes, ‘to ask the sexton if he can let me into the mausoleum at the church. He evidently has access to it himself, for I saw him tonight standing57 on the steps, and, as I thought, locking or unlocking the door.’
I find that early on the following day Mr Wraxall had some conversation with his landlord. His setting it down at such length as he does surprised me at first; but I soon realized that the papers I was reading were, at least in their beginning, the materials for the book he was meditating58, and that it was to have been one of those quasi-journalistic productions which admit of the introduction of an admixture of conversational59 matter.
His object, he says, was to find out whether any traditions of Count Magnus de la Gardie lingered on in the scenes of that gentleman’s activity, and whether the popular estimate of him were favourable60 or not. He found that the Count was decidedly not a favourite. If his tenants62 came late to their work on the days which they owed to him as Lord of the Manor, they were set on the wooden horse, or flogged and branded in the manor-house yard. One or two cases there were of men who had occupied lands which encroached on the lord’s domain63, and whose houses had been mysteriously burnt on a winter’s night, with the whole family inside. But what seemed to dwell on the innkeeper’s mind most — for he returned to the subject more than once — was that the Count had been on the Black Pilgrimage, and had brought something or someone back with him.
You will naturally inquire, as Mr Wraxall did, what the Black Pilgrimage may have been. But your curiosity on the point must remain unsatisfied for the time being, just as his did. The landlord was evidently unwilling64 to give a full answer, or indeed any answer, on the point, and, being called out for a moment, trotted65 out with obvious alacrity66, only putting his head in at the door a few minutes afterwards to say that he was called away to Skara, and should not be back till evening.
So Mr Wraxall had to go unsatisfied to his day’s work at the manor-house. The papers on which he was just then engaged soon put his thoughts into another channel, for he had to occupy himself with glancing over the correspondence between Sophia Albertina in Stockholm and her married cousin Ulrica Leonora at R?b?ck in the years 1705–10. The letters were of exceptional interest from the light they threw upon the culture of that period in Sweden, as anyone can testify who has read the full edition of them in the publications of the Swedish Historical Manuscripts Commission.
In the afternoon he had done with these, and after returning the boxes in which they were kept to their places on the shelf, he proceeded, very naturally, to take down some of the volumes nearest to them, in order to determine which of them had best be his principal subject of investigation next day. The shelf he had hit upon was occupied mostly by a collection of account-books in the writing of the first Count Magnus. But one among them was not an account-book, but a book of alchemical and other tracts2 in another sixteenth-century hand. Not being very familiar with alchemical literature, Mr Wraxall spends much space which he might have spared in setting out the names and beginnings of the various treatises67: The book of the Phoenix68, book of the Thirty Words, book of the Toad69, book of Miriam, Turba philosophorum, and so forth70; and then he announces with a good deal of circumstance his delight at finding, on a leaf originally left blank near the middle of the book, some writing of Count Magnus himself headed ‘Liber nigrae peregrinationis’. It is true that only a few lines were written, but there was quite enough to show that the landlord had that morning been referring to a belief at least as old as the time of Count Magnus, and probably shared by him. This is the English of what was written:
‘If any man desires to obtain a long life, if he would obtain a faithful messenger and see the blood of his enemies, it is necessary that he should first go into the city of Chorazin, and there salute71 the prince. . . . ’ Here there was an erasure72 of one word, not very thoroughly73 done, so that Mr Wraxall felt pretty sure that he was right in reading it as aeris (‘of the air’). But there was no more of the text copied, only a line in Latin: Quaere reliqua hujus materiei inter18 secretiora. (See the rest of this matter among the more private things.)
It could not be denied that this threw a rather lurid light upon the tastes and beliefs of the Count; but to Mr Wraxall, separated from him by nearly three centuries, the thought that he might have added to his general forcefulness alchemy, and to alchemy something like magic, only made him a more picturesque figure, and when, after a rather prolonged contemplation of his picture in the hall, Mr Wraxall set out on his homeward way, his mind was full of the thought of Count Magnus. He had no eyes for his surroundings, no perception of the evening scents74 of the woods or the evening light on the lake; and when all of a sudden he pulled up short, he was astonished to find himself already at the gate of the churchyard, and within a few minutes of his dinner. His eyes fell on the mausoleum.
‘Ah,’ he said, ‘Count Magnus, there you are. I should dearly like to see you.’
‘Like many solitary75 men,’ he writes, ‘I have a habit of talking to myself aloud; and, unlike some of the Greek and Latin particles, I do not expect an answer. Certainly, and perhaps fortunately in this case, there was neither voice nor any that regarded: only the woman who, I suppose, was cleaning up the church, dropped some metallic76 object on the floor, whose clang startled me. Count Magnus, I think, sleeps sound enough.’
That same evening the landlord of the inn, who had heard Mr Wraxall say that he wished to see the clerk or deacon (as he would be called in Sweden) of the parish, introduced him to that official in the inn parlour. A visit to the De la Gardie tomb-house was soon arranged for the next day, and a little general conversation ensued.
Mr Wraxall, remembering that one function of Scandinavian deacons is to teach candidates for Confirmation77, thought he would refresh his own memory on a Biblical point.
‘Can you tell me,’ he said, ‘anything about Chorazin?’
The deacon seemed startled, but readily reminded him how that village had once been denounced.
‘To be sure,’ said Mr Wraxall; ‘it is, I suppose, quite a ruin now?’
‘So I expect,’ replied the deacon. ‘I have heard some of our old priests say that Antichrist is to be born there; and there are tales —’
‘Ah! what tales are those?’ Mr Wraxall put in.
‘Tales, I was going to say, which I have forgotten,’ said the deacon; and soon after that he said good night.
The landlord was now alone, and at Mr Wraxall’s mercy; and that inquirer was not inclined to spare him.
‘Herr Nielsen,’ he said, ‘I have found out something about the Black Pilgrimage. You may as well tell me what you know. What did the Count bring back with him?’
Swedes are habitually78 slow, perhaps, in answering, or perhaps the landlord was an exception. I am not sure; but Mr Wraxall notes that the landlord spent at least one minute in looking at him before he said anything at all. Then he came close up to his guest, and with a good deal of effort he spoke79:
‘Mr Wraxall, I can tell you this one little tale, and no more — not any more. You must not ask anything when I have done. In my grandfather’s time — that is, ninety-two years ago — there were two men who said: “The Count is dead; we do not care for him. We will go tonight and have a free hunt in his wood”— the long wood on the hill that you have seen behind R?b?ck. Well, those that heard them say this, they said: “No, do not go; we are sure you will meet with persons walking who should not be walking. They should be resting, not walking.” These men laughed. There were no forestmen to keep the wood, because no one wished to live there. The family were not here at the house. These men could do what they wished.
‘Very well, they go to the wood that night. My grandfather was sitting here in this room. It was the summer, and a light night. With the window open, he could see out to the wood, and hear.
‘So he sat there, and two or three men with him, and they listened. At first they hear nothing at all; then they hear someone — you know how far away it is — they hear someone scream, just as if the most inside part of his soul was twisted out of him. All of them in the room caught hold of each other, and they sat so for three-quarters of an hour. Then they hear someone else, only about three hundred ells off. They hear him laugh out loud: it was not one of those two men that laughed, and, indeed, they have all of them said that it was not any man at all. After that they hear a great door shut.
‘Then, when it was just light with the sun, they all went to the priest. They said to him:
‘“Father, put on your gown and your ruff, and come to bury these men, Anders Bjornsen and Hans Thorbjorn.”
‘You understand that they were sure these men were dead. So they went to the wood — my grandfather never forgot this. He said they were all like so many dead men themselves. The priest, too, he was in a white fear. He said when they came to him:
‘“I heard one cry in the night, and I heard one laugh afterwards. If I cannot forget that, I shall not be able to sleep again.”
‘So they went to the wood, and they found these men on the edge of the wood. Hans Thorbjorn was standing with his back against a tree, and all the time he was pushing with his hands — pushing something away from him which was not there. So he was not dead. And they led him away, and took him to the house at Nykjoping, and he died before the winter; but he went on pushing with his hands. Also Anders Bjornsen was there; but he was dead. And I tell you this about Anders Bjornsen, that he was once a beautiful man, but now his face was not there, because the flesh of it was sucked away off the bones. You understand that? My grandfather did not forget that. And they laid him on the bier which they brought, and they put a cloth over his head, and the priest walked before; and they began to sing the psalm80 for the dead as well as they could. So, as they were singing the end of the first verse, one fell down, who was carrying the head of the bier, and the others looked back, and they saw that the cloth had fallen off, and the eyes of Anders Bjornsen were looking up, because there was nothing to close over them. And this they could not bear. Therefore the priest laid the cloth upon him, and sent for a spade, and they buried him in that place.’
The next day Mr Wraxall records that the deacon called for him soon after his breakfast, and took him to the church and mausoleum. He noticed that the key of the latter was hung on a nail just by the pulpit, and it occurred to him that, as the church door seemed to be left unlocked as a rule, it would not be difficult for him to pay a second and more private visit to the monuments if there proved to be more of interest among them than could be digested at first. The building, when he entered it, he found not unimposing. The monuments, mostly large erections of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, were dignified81 if luxuriant, and the epitaphs and heraldry were copious82. The central space of the domed room was occupied by three copper sarcophagi, covered with finely-engraved ornament. Two of them had, as is commonly the case in Denmark and Sweden, a large metal crucifix on the lid. The third, that of Count Magnus, as it appeared, had, instead of that, a full-length effigy83 engraved upon it, and round the edge were several bands of similar ornament representing various scenes. One was a battle, with cannon84 belching85 out smoke, and walled towns, and troops of pikemen. Another showed an execution. In a third, among trees, was a man running at full speed, with flying hair and outstretched hands. After him followed a strange form; it would be hard to say whether the artist had intended it for a man, and was unable to give the requisite86 similitude, or whether it was intentionally87 made as monstrous88 as it looked. In view of the skill with which the rest of the drawing was done, Mr Wraxall felt inclined to adopt the latter idea. The figure was unduly89 short, and was for the most part muffled90 in a hooded92 garment which swept the ground. The only part of the form which projected from that shelter was not shaped like any hand or arm. Mr Wraxall compares it to the tentacle93 of a devil-fish, and continues: ‘On seeing this, I said to myself, “This, then, which is evidently an allegorical representation of some kind — a fiend pursuing a hunted soul — may be the origin of the story of Count Magnus and his mysterious companion. Let us see how the huntsman is pictured: doubtless it will be a demon40 blowing his horn.’” But, as it turned out, there was no such sensational94 figure, only the semblance95 of a cloaked man on a hillock, who stood leaning on a stick, and watching the hunt with an interest which the engraver96 had tried to express in his attitude.
Mr Wraxall noted97 the finely-worked and massive steel padlocks — three in number — which secured the sarcophagus. One of them, he saw, was detached, and lay on the pavement. And then, unwilling to delay the deacon longer or to waste his own working-time, he made his way onward98 to the manor-house.
‘It is curious,’ he notes, ‘how, on retracing99 a familiar path, one’s thoughts engross101 one to the absolute exclusion102 of surrounding objects. Tonight, for the second time, I had entirely failed to notice where I was going (I had planned a private visit to the tomb-house to copy the epitaphs), when I suddenly, as it were, awoke to consciousness, and found myself (as before) turning in at the churchyard gate, and, I believe, singing or chanting some such words as, “Are you awake, Count Magnus? Are you asleep, Count Magnus?” and then something more which I have failed to recollect103. It seemed to me that I must have been behaving in this nonsensical way for some time.’
He found the key of the mausoleum where he had expected to find it, and copied the greater part of what he wanted; in fact, he stayed until the light began to fail him.
‘I must have been wrong,’ he writes, ‘in saying that one of the padlocks of my Counts sarcophagus was unfastened; I see tonight that two are loose. I picked both up, and laid them carefully on the window-ledge, after trying unsuccessfully to close them. The remaining one is still firm, and, though I take it to be a spring lock, I cannot guess how it is opened. Had I succeeded in undoing104 it, I am almost afraid I should have taken the liberty of opening the sarcophagus. It is strange, the interest I feel in the personality of this, I fear, somewhat ferocious105 and grim old noble.’
The day following was, as it turned out, the last of Mr Wraxall’s stay at R?b?ck. He received letters connected with certain investments which made it desirable that he should return to England; his work among the papers was practically done, and travelling was slow. He decided61, therefore, to make his farewells, put some finishing touches to his notes, and be off.
These finishing touches and farewells, as it turned out, took more time than he had expected. The hospitable106 family insisted on his staying to dine with them — they dined at three — and it was verging107 on half past six before he was outside the iron gates of R?b?ck. He dwelt on every step of his walk by the lake, determined108 to saturate109 himself, now that he trod it for the last time, in the sentiment of the place and hour. And when he reached the summit of the churchyard knoll, he lingered for many minutes, gazing at the limitless prospect110 of woods near and distant, all dark beneath a sky of liquid green. When at last he turned to go, the thought struck him that surely he must bid farewell to Count Magnus as well as the rest of the De la Gardies. The church was but twenty yards away, and he knew where the key of the mausoleum hung. It was not long before he was standing over the great copper coffin111, and, as usual, talking to himself aloud: ‘You may have been a bit of a rascal112 in your time, Magnus,’ he was saying, ‘but for all that I should like to see you, or, rather —’
‘Just at that instant,’ he says, ‘I felt a blow on my foot. Hastily enough I drew it back, and something fell on the pavement with a clash. It was the third, the last of the three padlocks which had fastened the sarcophagus. I stooped to pick it up, and — Heaven is my witness that I am writing only the bare truth — before I had raised myself there was a sound of metal hinges creaking, and I distinctly saw the lid shifting upwards113. I may have behaved like a coward, but I could not for my life stay for one moment. I was outside that dreadful building in less time than I can write — almost as quickly as I could have said — the words; and what frightens me yet more, I could not turn the key in the lock. As I sit here in my room noting these facts, I ask myself (it was not twenty minutes ago) whether that noise of creaking metal continued, and I cannot tell whether it did or not. I only know that there was something more than I have written that alarmed me, but whether it was sound or sight I am not able to remember. What is this that I have done?’
* * * * *
Poor Mr Wraxall! He set out on his journey to England on the next day, as he had planned, and he reached England in safety; and yet, as I gather from his changed hand and inconsequent jottings, a broken man. One of the several small note-books that have come to me with his papers gives, not a key to, but a kind of inkling of, his experiences. Much of his journey was made by canal-boat, and I find not less than six painful attempts to enumerate114 and describe his fellow-passengers. The entries are of this kind:
24. Pastor115 of village in Skane. Usual black coat and soft black hat.
25. Commercial traveller from Stockholm going to Trollh?ttan. Black cloak, brown hat.
26. Man in long black cloak, broad-leafed hat, very old-fashioned.
This entry is lined out, and a note added: ‘Perhaps identical with No. 13. Have not yet seen his face.’ On referring to No. 13, I find that he is a Roman priest in a cassock.
The net result of the reckoning is always the same. Twenty-eight people appear in the enumeration116, one being always a man in a long black cloak and broad hat, and another a ‘short figure in dark cloak and hood91’. On the other hand, it is always noted that only twenty-six passengers appear at meals, and that the man in the cloak is perhaps absent, and the short figure is certainly absent.
On reaching England, it appears that Mr Wraxall landed at Harwich, and that he resolved at once to put himself out of the reach of some person or persons whom he never specifies117, but whom he had evidently come to regard as his pursuers. Accordingly he took a vehicle — it was a closed fly — not trusting the railway and drove across country to the village of Belchamp St Paul. It was about nine o’clock on a moonlight August night when he neared the place. He was sitting forward, and looking out of the window at the fields and thickets118 — there was little else to be seen — racing100 past him. Suddenly he came to a cross-road. At the corner two figures were standing motionless; both were in dark cloaks; the taller one wore a hat, the shorter a hood. He had no time to see their faces, nor did they make any motion that he could discern. Yet the horse shied violently and broke into a gallop119, and Mr Wraxall sank back into his seat in something like desperation. He had seen them before.
Arrived at Belchamp St Paul, he was fortunate enough to find a decent furnished lodging120, and for the next twenty-four hours he lived, comparatively speaking, in peace. His last notes were written on this day. They are too disjointed and ejaculatory to be given here in full, but the substance of them is clear enough. He is expecting a visit from his pursuers — how or when he knows not — and his constant cry is ‘What has he done?’ and ‘Is there no hope?’ Doctors, he knows, would call him mad, policemen would laugh at him. The parson is away. What can he do but lock his door and cry to God?
People still remember last year at Belchamp St Paul how a strange gentleman came one evening in August years back; and how the next morning but one he was found dead, and there was an inquest; and the jury that viewed the body fainted, seven of ’em did, and none of ’em wouldn’t speak to what they see, and the verdict was visitation of God; and how the people as kep’ the ’ouse moved out that same week, and went away from that part. But they do not, I think, know that any glimmer121 of light has ever been thrown, or could be thrown, on the mystery. It so happened that last year the little house came into my hands as part of a legacy122. It had stood empty since 1863, and there seemed no prospect of letting it; so I had it pulled down, and the papers of which I have given you an abstract were found in a forgotten cupboard under the window in the best bedroom.
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specimen
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allude
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denizen
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bibliographical
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anonymously
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pseudonym
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Oxford
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besetting
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procured
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| v.（努力）取得， （设法）获得( procure的过去式和过去分词 )；拉皮条 | |
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thither
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| adv.向那里；adj.在那边的，对岸的 | |
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proprietors
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| n.所有人，业主( proprietor的名词复数 ) | |
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manor
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| n.庄园，领地 | |
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engraved
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| v.在（硬物）上雕刻（字，画等）( engrave的过去式和过去分词 )；将某事物深深印在（记忆或头脑中） | |
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26
scion
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| n.嫩芽，子孙 | |
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27
conversing
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| v.交谈，谈话( converse的现在分词 ) | |
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28
sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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29
entail
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| vt.使承担，使成为必要，需要 | |
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30
demesne
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| n.领域，私有土地 | |
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31
knoll
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| n.小山，小丘 | |
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32
nave
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| n.教堂的中部；本堂 | |
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33
aisle
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| n.（教堂、教室、戏院等里的）过道，通道 | |
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34
aisles
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| n. (席位间的)通道, 侧廊 | |
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35
gaily
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| adv.欢乐地，高兴地 | |
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36
adorned
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| [计]被修饰的 | |
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37
hideous
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| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
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38
lurid
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| adj.可怕的；血红的；苍白的 | |
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39
demons
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| n.恶人( demon的名词复数 )；恶魔；精力过人的人；邪念 | |
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40
demon
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| n.魔鬼，恶魔 | |
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41
brass
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| n.黄铜；黄铜器，铜管乐器 | |
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42
cherubs
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| 小天使，胖娃娃( cherub的名词复数 ) | |
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43
distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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44
ERECTED
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| adj. 直立的，竖立的，笔直的 vt. 使 ... 直立，建立 | |
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45
domed
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| adj. 圆屋顶的, 半球形的, 拱曲的 动词dome的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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46
spire
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| n.(教堂)尖顶，尖塔，高点 | |
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47
copper
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| n.铜；铜币；铜器；adj.铜(制)的；(紫)铜色的 | |
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48
descry
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| v.远远看到；发现；责备 | |
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49
effigies
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| n.（人的）雕像，模拟像，肖像( effigy的名词复数 ) | |
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50
ornament
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| v.装饰，美化；n.装饰，装饰物 | |
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51
investigation
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| n.调查，调查研究 | |
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52
picturesque
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| adj.美丽如画的，（语言）生动的，绘声绘色的 | |
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53
mansion
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| n.大厦，大楼；宅第 | |
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54
distress
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| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
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inflicted
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| 把…强加给，使承受，遭受( inflict的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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detailed
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| adj.详细的，详尽的，极注意细节的，完全的 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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58
meditating
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| a.沉思的，冥想的 | |
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59
conversational
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| adj.对话的，会话的 | |
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60
favourable
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| adj.赞成的，称赞的，有利的，良好的，顺利的 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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62
tenants
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| n.房客( tenant的名词复数 )；佃户；占用者；占有者 | |
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63
domain
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| n.(活动等)领域，范围；领地，势力范围 | |
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64
unwilling
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| adj.不情愿的 | |
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65
trotted
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| 小跑，急走( trot的过去分词 )； 匆匆忙忙地走 | |
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66
alacrity
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| n.敏捷，轻快，乐意 | |
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67
treatises
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| n.专题著作，专题论文，专著( treatise的名词复数 ) | |
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68
phoenix
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| n.凤凰，长生(不死)鸟；引申为重生 | |
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toad
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| n.蟾蜍，癞蛤蟆 | |
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70
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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71
salute
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| vi.行礼，致意，问候，放礼炮；vt.向…致意，迎接，赞扬；n.招呼，敬礼，礼炮 | |
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72
erasure
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| n.擦掉，删去；删掉的词；消音；抹音 | |
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73
thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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74
scents
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| n.香水( scent的名词复数 )；气味；（动物的）臭迹；（尤指狗的）嗅觉 | |
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75
solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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76
metallic
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| adj.金属的；金属制的；含金属的；产金属的；像金属的 | |
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77
confirmation
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| n.证实，确认，批准 | |
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78
habitually
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| ad.习惯地，通常地 | |
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79
spoke
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| 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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80
psalm
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| n.赞美诗，圣诗 | |
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81
dignified
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| a.可敬的，高贵的 | |
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82
copious
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| adj.丰富的，大量的 | |
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83
effigy
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| n.肖像 | |
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84
cannon
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| n.大炮，火炮；飞机上的机关炮 | |
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85
belching
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| n. 喷出，打嗝 动词belch的现在分词形式 | |
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86
requisite
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| adj.需要的，必不可少的；n.必需品 | |
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87
intentionally
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| ad.故意地，有意地 | |
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88
monstrous
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| adj.巨大的；恐怖的；可耻的，丢脸的 | |
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89
unduly
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| adv.过度地，不适当地 | |
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90
muffled
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| adj.（声音）被隔的；听不太清的；（衣服）裹严的；蒙住的v.压抑，捂住( muffle的过去式和过去分词 )；用厚厚的衣帽包着（自己） | |
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91
hood
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| n.头巾，兜帽，覆盖；v.罩上，以头巾覆盖 | |
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92
hooded
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| adj.戴头巾的；有罩盖的；颈部因肋骨运动而膨胀的 | |
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93
tentacle
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| n.触角，触须，触手 | |
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94
sensational
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| adj.使人感动的，非常好的，轰动的，耸人听闻的 | |
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95
semblance
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| n.外貌，外表 | |
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96
engraver
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| n.雕刻师，雕工 | |
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97
noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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98
onward
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| adj.向前的，前进的；adv.向前，前进，在先 | |
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99
retracing
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| v.折回( retrace的现在分词 )；回忆；回顾；追溯 | |
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100
racing
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| n.竞赛，赛马；adj.竞赛用的，赛马用的 | |
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101
engross
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| v.使全神贯注 | |
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102
exclusion
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| n.拒绝，排除，排斥，远足，远途旅行 | |
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103
recollect
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| v.回忆，想起，记起，忆起，记得 | |
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104
undoing
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| n.毁灭的原因，祸根；破坏，毁灭 | |
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105
ferocious
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| adj.凶猛的，残暴的，极度的，十分强烈的 | |
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106
hospitable
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| adj.好客的；宽容的；有利的，适宜的 | |
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107
verging
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| 接近，逼近（verge的现在分词形式） | |
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108
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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109
saturate
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| vt.使湿透，浸透；使充满，使饱和 | |
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110
prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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111
coffin
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| n.棺材，灵柩 | |
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112
rascal
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| n.流氓；不诚实的人 | |
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113
upwards
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| adv.向上，在更高处...以上 | |
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114
enumerate
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| v.列举，计算，枚举，数 | |
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115
pastor
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| n.牧师，牧人 | |
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116
enumeration
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| n.计数，列举；细目；详表；点查 | |
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117
specifies
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| v.指定( specify的第三人称单数 )；详述；提出…的条件；使具有特性 | |
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118
thickets
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| n.灌木丛( thicket的名词复数 )；丛状物 | |
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119
gallop
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| v./n.(马或骑马等)飞奔；飞速发展 | |
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120
lodging
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| n.寄宿，住所；(大学生的)校外宿舍 | |
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121
glimmer
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| v.发出闪烁的微光；n.微光，微弱的闪光 | |
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122
legacy
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| n.遗产，遗赠；先人(或过去)留下的东西 | |
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