Our discursive1 muse2 must now take her place in the little britzska in which Clive Newcome and his companions are travelling, and cross the Alps in that vehicle, beholding3 the snows on St. Gothard, and the beautiful region through which the Ticino rushes on its way to the Lombard lakes, and the corn-covered great plains of the Milanese; and that royal city, with the cathedral for its glittering crown, only less magnificent than the imperial dome5 of Rome. I have some long letters from Mr. Clive, written during this youthful tour, every step of which, from the departure at Baden, to the gate of Milan, he describes as beautiful; and doubtless, the delightful6 scenes through which the young man went, had their effect in soothing7 any private annoyances8 with which his journey commenced. The aspect of nature, in that fortunate route which he took, is so noble and cheering, that our private affairs and troubles shrink away abashed9 before that serene10 splendour. O sweet peaceful scene of azure11 lake, and snow-crowned mountain, so wonderfully lovely is your aspect, that it seems like heaven almost, and as if grief and care could not enter it! What young Clive’s private cares were I knew not as yet in those days; and he kept them out of his letters; it was only in the intimacy12 of future life that some of these pains were revealed to me.
Some three months after taking leave of Miss Ethel, our young gentleman found himself at Rome, with his friend Ridley still for a companion. Many of us, young or middle-aged13, have felt that delightful shock which the first sight of the great city inspires. There is one other place of which the view strikes one with an emotion even greater than that with which we look at Rome, where Augustus was reigning14 when He saw the day, whose birthplace is separated but by a hill or two from the awful gates of Jerusalem. Who that has beheld15 both can forget that first aspect of either? At the end of years the emotion occasioned by the sight still thrills in your memory, and it smites16 you as at the moment when you first viewed it.
The business of the present novel, however, lies neither with priest nor pagan, but with Mr. Clive Newcome, and his affairs and his companions at this period of his life. Nor, if the gracious reader expects to hear of cardinals18 in scarlet19, and noble Roman princes and princesses, will he find such in this history. The only noble Roman into whose mansion20 our friend got admission was the Prince Polonia, whose footmen wear the liveries of the English royal family, who gives gentlemen and even painters cash upon good letters of credit; and, once or twice in a season, opens his transtiberine palace and treats his customers to a ball. Our friend Clive used jocularly to say, he believed there were no Romans. There were priests in portentous21 hats; there were friars with shaven crowns; there were the sham22 peasantry, who dressed themselves out in masquerade costumes, with bagpipe23 and goatskin, with crossed leggings and scarlet petticoats, who let themselves out to artists at so many pauls per sitting; but he never passed a Roman’s door except to buy a cigar or to purchase a handkerchief. Thither24, as elsewhere, we carry our insular25 habits with us. We have a little England at Paris, a little England at Munich, Dresden, everywhere. Our friend is an Englishman, and did at Rome as the English do.
There was the polite English society, the society that flocks to see the Colosseum lighted up with blue fire, that flocks to the Vatican to behold4 the statues by torchlight, that hustles26 into the churches on public festivals in black veils and deputy-lieutenants’ uniforms, and stares, and talks, and uses opera-glasses while the pontiffs of the Roman Church are performing its ancient rites27, and the crowds of faithful are kneeling round the altars; the society which gives its balls and dinners, has its scandal and bickerings, its aristocrats28, parvenus29, toadies30 imported from Belgravia; has its club, its hunt, and its Hyde Park on the Pincio: and there is the other little English world, the broad-hatted, long-bearded, velvet-jacketed, jovial32 colony of the artists, who have their own feasts, haunts, and amusements by the side of their aristocratic compatriots, with whom but few of them have the honour to mingle33.
J. J. and Clive engaged pleasant lofty apartments in the Via Gregoriana. Generations of painters had occupied these chambers35 and gone their way. The windows of their painting-room looked into a quaint36 old garden, where there were ancient statues of the Imperial time, a babbling37 fountain and noble orange-trees with broad clustering leaves and golden balls of fruit, glorious to look upon. Their walks abroad were endlessly pleasant and delightful. In every street there were scores of pictures of the graceful38 characteristic Italian life, which our painters seem one and all to reject, preferring to depict39 their quack40 brigands41, contadini, pifferari, and the like, because Thompson painted them before Jones, and Jones before Thompson, and so on, backwards42 into time. There were the children at play, the women huddled43 round the steps of the open doorways44, in the kindly45 Roman winter; grim, portentous old hags, such as Michael Angelo painted, draped in majestic46 raggery; mothers and swarming47 bambins; slouching countrymen, dark of beard and noble of countenance48, posed in superb attitudes, lazy, tattered49, and majestic. There came the red troops, the black troops, the blue troops of the army of priests; the snuffy regiments50 of Capuchins, grave and grotesque51; the trim French abbes; my lord the bishop52, with his footman (those wonderful footmen); my lord the cardinal17, in his ramshackle coach and his two, nay53 three, footmen behind him; — flunkeys, that look as if they had been dressed by the costumier of a British pantomime; coach with prodigious54 emblazonments of hats and coats-of-arms, that seems as if it came out of the pantomime too, and was about to turn into something else. So it is, that what is grand to some persons’ eyes appears grotesque to others; and for certain sceptical persons, that step, which we have heard of, between the sublime55 and the ridiculous, is not visible.
“I wish it were not so,” writes Clive, in one of the letters wherein he used to pour his full heart out in those days. “I see these people at their devotions, and envy them their rapture56. A friend, who belongs to the old religion, took me, last week, into a church where the Virgin57 lately appeared in person to a Jewish gentleman, flashed down upon him from heaven in light and splendour celestial58, and, of course, straightway converted him. My friend bade me look at the picture, and, kneeling down beside me, I know prayed with all his honest heart that the truth might shine down upon me too; but I saw no glimpse of heaven at all. I saw but a poor picture, an altar with blinking candles, a church hung with tawdry strips of red and white calico. The good, kind W—— went away, humbly59 saying ‘that such might have happened again if heaven so willed it.’ I could not but feel a kindness and admiration60 for the good man. I know his works are made to square with his faith, that he dines on a crust, lives as chaste61 as a hermit62, and gives his all to the poor.
“Our friend J. J., very different to myself in so many respects, so superior in all, is immensely touched by these ceremonies. They seem to answer to some spiritual want of his nature, and he comes away satisfied as from a feast, where I have only found vacancy63. Of course our first pilgrimage was to St. Peter’s. What a walk! Under what noble shadows does one pass; how great and liberal the houses are, with generous casements64 and courts, and great grey portals which giants might get through and keep their turbans on. Why, the houses are twice as tall as Lamb Court itself; and over them hangs a noble dinge, a venerable mouldy splendour. Over the solemn portals are ancient mystic escutcheons — vast shields of princes and cardinals, such as Ariosto’s knights65 might take down; and every figure about them is a picture by himself. At every turn there is a temple: in every court a brawling67 fountain. Besides the people of the streets and houses, and the army of priests black and brown, there’s a great silent population of marble. There are battered68 gods tumbled out of Olympus and broken in the fall, and set up under niches69 and over fountains; there are senators namelessly, noselessly, noiselessly seated under archways, or lurking70 in courts and gardens. And then, besides these defunct71 ones, of whom these old figures may be said to be the corpses72, there is the reigning family, a countless73 carved hierarchy74 of angels, saints, confessors of the latter dynasty which has conquered the court of Jove. I say, Pen, I wish Warrington would write the history of the Last of the Pagans. Did you never have a sympathy for them as the monks75 came rushing into their temples, kicking down their poor altars, smashing the fair calm faces of their gods, and sending their vestals a-flying? They are always preaching here about the persecution76 of the Christians77. Are not the churches full of martyrs78 with choppers in their meek79 heads; virgins80 on gridirons; riddled81 St. Sebastians, and the like? But have they never persecuted82 in their turn? O me! You and I know better, who were bred up near to the pens of Smithfield, where Protestants and Catholics have taken their turn to be roasted.
“You pass through an avenue of angels and saints on the bridge across Tiber, all in action; their great wings seem clanking, their marble garments clapping; St. Michael, descending83 upon the Fiend, has been caught and bronzified just as he lighted on the Castle of St. Angelo: his enemy doubtless fell crushing through the roof and so downwards84. He is as natural as blank verse — that bronze angel-set, rhythmic85, grandiose86. You’ll see, some day or other, he’s a great sonnet87, sir, I’m sure of that. Milton wrote in bronze; I am sure Virgil polished off his Georgics in marble — sweet calm shapes! exquisite88 harmonies of line! As for the Aeneid; that, sir, I consider to be so many bas-reliefs, mural ornaments89 which affect me not much.
“I think I have lost sight of St. Peter’s, haven’t I? Yet it is big enough. How it makes your heart beat when you first see it! Ours did as we came in at night from Civita Vecchia, and saw a great ghostly darkling dome rising solemnly up into the grey night, and keeping us company ever so long as we drove, as if it had been an orb91 fallen out of heaven with its light put out. As you look at it from the Pincio, and the sun sets behind it, surely that aspect of earth and sky is one of the grandest in the world. I don’t like to say that the facade92 of the church is ugly and obtrusive93. As long as the dome overawes, that facade is supportable. You advance towards it — through, oh, such a noble court! with fountains flashing up to meet the sunbeams; and right and left of you two sweeping94 half-crescents of great columns; but you pass by the courtiers and up to the steps of the throne, and the dome seems to disappear behind it. It is as if the throne was upset, and the king had toppled over.
“There must be moments, in Rome especially, when every man of friendly heart, who writes himself English and Protestant, must feel a pang95 at thinking that he and his countrymen are insulated from European Christendom. An ocean separates us. From one shore or the other one can see the neighbour cliffs on clear days: one must wish sometimes that there were no stormy gulf96 between us; and from Canterbury to Rome a pilgrim could pass, and not drown beyond Dover. Of the beautiful parts of the great Mother Church I believe among us many people have no idea; we think of lazy friars, of pining cloistered97 virgins, of ignorant peasants worshipping wood and stones, bought and sold indulgences, absolutions, and the like commonplaces of Protestant satire98. Lo! yonder inscription99, which blazes round the dome of the temple, so great and glorious it looks like heaven almost, and as if the words were written in stars, it proclaims to all the world, this is that Peter, and on this rock the Church shall be built, against which Hell shall not prevail. Under the bronze canopy100 his throne is lit with lights that have been burning before it for ages. Round this stupendous chamber34 are ranged the grandees101 of his court. Faith seems to be realised in their marble figures. Some of them were alive but yesterday; others, to be as blessed as they, walk the world even now doubtless; and the commissioners102 of heaven, here holding their court a hundred years hence, shall authoritatively103 announce their beatification. The signs of their power shall not be wanting. They heal the sick, open the eyes of the blind, cause the lame104 to walk today as they did eighteen centuries ago. Are there not crowds ready to bear witness to their wonders? Isn’t there a tribunal appointed to try their claims; advocates to plead for and against; prelates and clergy105 and multitudes of faithful to back and believe them? Thus you shall kiss the hand of a priest today, who has given his to a friar whose bones are already beginning to work miracles, who has been the disciple106 of another whom the Church has just proclaimed a saint — hand in hand they hold by one another till the line is lost up in heaven. Come, friend, let us acknowledge this, and go and kiss the toe of St. Peter. Alas107! there’s the Channel always between us; and we no more believe in the miracles of St. Thomas of Canterbury, than that the bones of His Grace John Bird, who sits in St. Thomas’s chair presently, will work wondrous108 cures in the year 2000: that his statue will speak, or his portrait by Sir Thomas Lawrence will wink109.
“So, you see, at those grand ceremonies which the Roman Church exhibits at Christmas, I looked on as a Protestant. Holy Father on his throne or in his palanquin, cardinals with their tails and their train-bearers, mitred bishops110 and abbots, regiments of friars and clergy, relics111 exposed for adoration112, columns draped, altars illuminated113, incense114 smoking, organs pealing115, and boxes of piping soprani, Swiss guards with slashed116 breeches and fringed halberts; — between us and all this splendour of old-world ceremony, there’s an ocean flowing: and yonder old statue of Peter might have been Jupiter again, surrounded by a procession of flamens and augurs117, and Augustus as Pontifex Maximus, to inspect the sacrifices — and my feelings at the spectacle had been, doubtless, pretty much the same.
“Shall I utter any more heresies118? I am an unbeliever in Raphael’s ‘Transfiguration’— the scream of that devil-possessed boy, in the lower part of the figure of eight (a stolen boy too), jars the whole music of the composition. On Michael Angelo’s great wall, the grotesque and terrible are not out of place. What an awful achievement! Fancy the state of mind of the man who worked it — as alone, day after day, he devised and drew those dreadful figures! Suppose in the days of the Olympian dynasty, the subdued119 Titan rebels had been set to ornament90 a palace for Jove, they would have brought in some such tremendous work: or suppose that Michael descended120 to the Shades, and brought up this picture out of the halls of Limbo121. I like a thousand and a thousand times better to think of Raphael’s loving spirit. As he looked at women and children, his beautiful face must have shone like sunshine: his kind hand must have caressed122 the sweet figures as he formed them. If I protest against the ‘Transfiguration,’ and refuse to worship at that altar before which so many generations have knelt, there are hundreds of others which I salute123 thankfully. It is not so much in the set harangues124 (to take another metaphor), as in the daily tones and talk that his voice is so delicious. Sweet poetry, and music, and tender hymns125 drop from him: he lifts his pencil, and something gracious falls from it on the paper. How noble his mind must have been! it seems but to receive, and his eye seems only to rest on, what is great, and generous, and lovely. You walk through crowded galleries, where are pictures ever so large and pretentious126; and come upon a grey paper, or a little fresco127, bearing his mark-and over all the brawl66 and the throng128 recognise his sweet presence. ‘I would like to have you been Giulio Romano,’ J. J. says (who does not care for Giulio’s pictures), ‘because then I would have been Raphael’s favourite pupil.’ We agreed that we would rather have seen him and William Shakspeare, than all the men we ever read of. Fancy poisoning a fellow out of envy — as Spagnoletto did! There are some men whose admiration takes that bilious129 shape. There’s a fellow in our mess at the Lepre, a clever enough fellow too — and not a bad fellow to the poor. He was a Gandishite. He is a genre130 and portrait painter, by the name of Haggard. He hates J. J. because Lord Fareham, who is here, has given J. J. an order; and he hates me, because I wear a clean shirt, and ride a cock-horse.
“I wish you could come to our mess at the Lepre. It’s such a dinner: such a tablecloth131: such a waiter: such a company! Every man has a beard and a sombrero: and you would fancy we were a band of brigands. We are regaled with woodcocks, snipes, wild swans, ducks, robins132, and owls133 and oionoisi te pasi for dinner; and with three pauls’ worth of wines and victuals134 the hungriest has enough, even Claypole the sculptor135. Did you ever know him? He used to come to the Haunt. He looks like the Saracen’s head with his beard now. There is a French table still more hairy than ours, a German table, an American table. After dinner we go and have coffee and mezzo-caldo at the Cafe Greco over the way. Mezzo-caldo is not a bad drink — a little rum — a slice of fresh citron — lots of pounded sugar, and boiling water for the rest. Here in various parts of the cavern136 (it is a vaulted137 low place) the various nations have their assigned quarters, and we drink our coffee and strong waters, and abuse Guido, or Rubens, or Bernini selon les gouts, and blow such a cloud of smoke as would make Warrington’s lungs dilate138 with pleasure. We get very good cigars for a bajoccho and half — that is very good for us, cheap tobaccanalians; and capital when you have got no others. M’Collop is here: he made a great figure at a cardinal’s reception in the tartan of the M’Collop. He is splendid at the tomb of the Stuarts, and wanted to cleave139 Haggard down to the chine with his claymore for saying that Charles Edward was often drunk.
“Some of us have our breakfasts at the Cafe Greco at dawn. The birds are very early birds here; and you’ll see the great sculptors140 — the old Dons, you know, who look down on us young fellows — at their coffee here when it is yet twilight141. As I am a swell142, and have a servant, J. J. and I breakfast at our lodgings143. I wish you could see Terribile our attendant, and Ottavia our old woman! You will see both of them on the canvas one day. When he hasn’t blacked our boots and has got our breakfast, Terribile the valet-de-chambre becomes Terribile the model. He has figured on a hundred canvases ere this, and almost ever since he was born. All his family were models. His mother having been a Venus, is now a Witch of Endor. His father is in the patriarchal line: he has himself done the cherubs144, the shepherd-boys, and now is a grown man, and ready as a warrior145, a pifferaro, a capuchin, or what you will.
“After the coffee and the Cafe Greco we all go to the Life Academy. After the Life Academy, those who belong to the world dress and go out to tea-parties just as if we were in London. Those who are not in society have plenty of fun of their own — and better fun than the tea-party fun too. Jack31 Screwby has a night once a week, sardines146 and ham for supper, and a cask of Marsala in the corner. Your humble147 servant entertains on Thursdays: which is Lady Fitch’s night too; and I flatter myself some of the London dandies who are passing the winter here, prefer the cigars and humble liquors which we dispense148, to tea and Miss Fitch’s performance on the pianoforte.
“What is that I read in Galignani about Lord K— and an affair of honour at Baden? Is it my dear kind jolly Kew with whom some one has quarrelled? I know those who will be even more grieved than I am, should anything happen to the best of good fellows. A great friend of Lord Kew’s, Jack Belsize commonly called, came with us from Baden through Switzerland, and we left him at Milan. I see by the paper that his elder brother is dead and so poor Jack will be a great man some day. I wish the chance had happened sooner if it was to befall at all. So my amiable149 cousin, Barnes Newcome Newcome, Esq., has married my Lady Clara Pulleyn; I wish her joy of her bridegroom. All I have heard of that family is from the newspaper. If you meet them, tell me anything about them. — We had a very pleasant time altogether at Baden. I suppose the accident to Kew will put off his marriage with Miss Newcome. They have been engaged, you know, ever so long. — And — do, do write to me and tell me something about London. It’s best I should — should stay here and work this winter and the next. J. J. has done a famous picture, and if I send a couple home, you’ll give them a notice in the Pall150 Mall Gazette — won’t you? — for the sake of old times and yours affectionately, Clive Newcome.”
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discursive
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| adj.离题的，无层次的 | |
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muse
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| n.缪斯（希腊神话中的女神），创作灵感 | |
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beholding
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| v.看，注视( behold的现在分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
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behold
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| v.看，注视，看到 | |
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dome
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| n.圆屋顶，拱顶 | |
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delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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soothing
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| adj.慰藉的；使人宽心的；镇静的 | |
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annoyances
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| n.恼怒( annoyance的名词复数 )；烦恼；打扰；使人烦恼的事 | |
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abashed
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| adj.窘迫的，尴尬的v.使羞愧，使局促，使窘迫( abash的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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serene
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| adj. 安详的，宁静的，平静的 | |
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azure
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| adj.天蓝色的，蔚蓝色的 | |
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intimacy
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| n.熟悉，亲密，密切关系，亲昵的言行 | |
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middle-aged
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| adj.中年的 | |
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reigning
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| adj.统治的，起支配作用的 | |
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beheld
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| v.看，注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
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smites
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cardinal
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| n.(天主教的)红衣主教；adj.首要的，基本的 | |
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cardinals
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| 红衣主教( cardinal的名词复数 )； 红衣凤头鸟（见于北美，雄鸟为鲜红色）； 基数 | |
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scarlet
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mansion
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portentous
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| adj.不祥的，可怕的，装腔作势的 | |
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sham
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| n./adj.假冒(的)，虚伪(的) | |
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bagpipe
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thither
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insular
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| adj.岛屿的，心胸狭窄的 | |
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hustles
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| 忙碌，奔忙( hustle的名词复数 ) | |
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rites
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| 仪式，典礼( rite的名词复数 ) | |
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aristocrats
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parvenus
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| n.暴富者( parvenu的名词复数 )；暴发户；新贵；傲慢自负的人 | |
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toadies
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jack
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| n.插座，千斤顶，男人；v.抬起，提醒，扛举；n.（Jake）杰克 | |
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jovial
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| adj.快乐的，好交际的 | |
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mingle
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chamber
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chambers
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quaint
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babbling
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| n.胡说，婴儿发出的咿哑声adj.胡说的v.喋喋不休( babble的现在分词 )；作潺潺声（如流水）；含糊不清地说话；泄漏秘密 | |
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graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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depict
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| vt.描画，描绘；描写，描述 | |
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quack
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| n.庸医；江湖医生；冒充内行的人；骗子 | |
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brigands
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| n.土匪，强盗( brigand的名词复数 ) | |
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backwards
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| adv.往回地，向原处，倒，相反，前后倒置地 | |
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huddled
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| 挤在一起（huddle的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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doorways
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| n.门口，门道( doorway的名词复数 ) | |
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45
kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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46
majestic
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| adj.雄伟的，壮丽的，庄严的，威严的，崇高的 | |
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47
swarming
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| 密集( swarm的现在分词 )； 云集； 成群地移动； 蜜蜂或其他飞行昆虫成群地飞来飞去 | |
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48
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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49
tattered
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| adj.破旧的，衣衫破的 | |
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50
regiments
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| （军队的）团( regiment的名词复数 )； 大量的人或物 | |
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51
grotesque
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| adj.怪诞的，丑陋的；n.怪诞的图案，怪人（物） | |
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52
bishop
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| n.主教，（国际象棋）象 | |
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53
nay
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| adv.不；n.反对票，投反对票者 | |
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54
prodigious
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| adj.惊人的，奇妙的；异常的；巨大的；庞大的 | |
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55
sublime
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| adj.崇高的，伟大的；极度的，不顾后果的 | |
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56
rapture
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| n.狂喜；全神贯注；着迷；v.使狂喜 | |
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57
virgin
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| n.处女，未婚女子；adj.未经使用的；未经开发的 | |
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58
celestial
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| adj.天体的；天上的 | |
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59
humbly
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| adv. 恭顺地，谦卑地 | |
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60
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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61
chaste
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| adj.贞洁的；有道德的；善良的；简朴的 | |
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62
hermit
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| n.隐士，修道者；隐居 | |
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63
vacancy
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| n.（旅馆的）空位，空房，（职务的）空缺 | |
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64
casements
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| n.窗扉( casement的名词复数 ) | |
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65
knights
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| 骑士； （中古时代的）武士( knight的名词复数 )； 骑士； 爵士； （国际象棋中）马 | |
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66
brawl
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| n.大声争吵，喧嚷；v.吵架，对骂 | |
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67
brawling
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| n.争吵，喧嚷 | |
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68
battered
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| adj.磨损的；v.连续猛击；磨损 | |
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69
niches
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| 壁龛( niche的名词复数 )； 合适的位置[工作等]； （产品的）商机； 生态位（一个生物所占据的生境的最小单位） | |
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70
lurking
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| 潜在 | |
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71
defunct
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| adj.死亡的；已倒闭的 | |
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72
corpses
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| n.死尸，尸体( corpse的名词复数 ) | |
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73
countless
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| adj.无数的，多得不计其数的 | |
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74
hierarchy
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| n.等级制度；统治集团，领导层 | |
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75
monks
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| n.修道士，僧侣( monk的名词复数 ) | |
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76
persecution
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| n. 迫害,烦扰 | |
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77
Christians
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| n.基督教徒( Christian的名词复数 ) | |
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78
martyrs
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| n.martyr的复数形式；烈士( martyr的名词复数 )；殉道者；殉教者；乞怜者（向人诉苦以博取同情） | |
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79
meek
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| adj.温顺的，逆来顺受的 | |
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80
virgins
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| 处女，童男( virgin的名词复数 )； 童贞玛利亚（耶稣之母） | |
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81
riddled
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| adj.布满的；充斥的；泛滥的v.解谜，出谜题(riddle的过去分词形式) | |
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82
persecuted
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| （尤指宗教或政治信仰的）迫害(~sb. for sth.)( persecute的过去式和过去分词 )； 烦扰，困扰或骚扰某人 | |
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83
descending
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| n. 下行 adj. 下降的 | |
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84
downwards
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| adj./adv.向下的（地），下行的（地） | |
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85
rhythmic
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| adj.有节奏的，有韵律的 | |
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86
grandiose
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| adj.宏伟的，宏大的，堂皇的，铺张的 | |
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87
sonnet
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| n.十四行诗 | |
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88
exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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89
ornaments
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| 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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90
ornament
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| v.装饰，美化；n.装饰，装饰物 | |
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91
orb
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| n.太阳；星球；v.弄圆；成球形 | |
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92
facade
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| n.(建筑物的)正面，临街正面；外表 | |
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93
obtrusive
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| adj.显眼的；冒失的 | |
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94
sweeping
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| adj.范围广大的，一扫无遗的 | |
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95
pang
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| n.剧痛，悲痛，苦闷 | |
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96
gulf
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| n.海湾；深渊，鸿沟；分歧，隔阂 | |
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97
cloistered
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| adj.隐居的，躲开尘世纷争的v.隐退，使与世隔绝( cloister的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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98
satire
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| n.讽刺，讽刺文学，讽刺作品 | |
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99
inscription
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| n.（尤指石块上的）刻印文字，铭文，碑文 | |
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100
canopy
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| n.天篷，遮篷 | |
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101
grandees
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| n.贵族，大公，显贵者( grandee的名词复数 ) | |
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102
commissioners
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| n.专员( commissioner的名词复数 )；长官；委员；政府部门的长官 | |
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103
authoritatively
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| 命令式地，有权威地，可信地 | |
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104
lame
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| adj.跛的，(辩解、论据等)无说服力的 | |
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105
clergy
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| n.[总称]牧师，神职人员 | |
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106
disciple
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| n.信徒，门徒，追随者 | |
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107
alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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108
wondrous
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| adj.令人惊奇的，奇妙的；adv.惊人地；异乎寻常地；令人惊叹地 | |
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109
wink
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| n.眨眼，使眼色，瞬间；v.眨眼，使眼色，闪烁 | |
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110
bishops
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| （基督教某些教派管辖大教区的）主教( bishop的名词复数 )； （国际象棋的）象 | |
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111
relics
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| [pl.］n.遗物，遗迹，遗产；遗体，尸骸 | |
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112
adoration
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| n.爱慕，崇拜 | |
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113
illuminated
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| adj.被照明的；受启迪的 | |
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114
incense
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| v.激怒；n.香，焚香时的烟，香气 | |
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115
pealing
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| v.（使）（钟等）鸣响，（雷等）发出隆隆声( peal的现在分词 ) | |
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116
slashed
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| v.挥砍( slash的过去式和过去分词 )；鞭打；割破；削减 | |
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117
augurs
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| n.（古罗马的）占兆官( augur的名词复数 )；占卜师，预言者v.预示，预兆，预言( augur的第三人称单数 )；成为预兆；占卜 | |
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118
heresies
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| n.异端邪说，异教( heresy的名词复数 ) | |
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119
subdued
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| adj. 屈服的，柔和的，减弱的 动词subdue的过去式和过去分词 | |
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120
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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121
limbo
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| n.地狱的边缘；监狱 | |
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122
caressed
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| 爱抚或抚摸…( caress的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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123
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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124
harangues
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| n.高谈阔论的长篇演讲( harangue的名词复数 )v.高谈阔论( harangue的第三人称单数 ) | |
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125
hymns
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| n.赞美诗，圣歌，颂歌( hymn的名词复数 ) | |
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126
pretentious
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| adj.自命不凡的，自负的，炫耀的 | |
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127
fresco
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| n.壁画；vt.作壁画于 | |
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128
throng
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| n.人群，群众；v.拥挤，群集 | |
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129
bilious
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| adj.胆汁过多的；易怒的 | |
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130
genre
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| n.(文学、艺术等的)类型，体裁，风格 | |
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131
tablecloth
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| n.桌布，台布 | |
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132
robins
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| n.知更鸟，鸫( robin的名词复数 )；（签名者不分先后，以避免受责的）圆形签名抗议书（或请愿书） | |
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133
owls
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| n.猫头鹰( owl的名词复数 ) | |
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134
victuals
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| n.食物；食品 | |
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135
sculptor
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| n.雕刻家，雕刻家 | |
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136
cavern
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| n.洞穴，大山洞 | |
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137
vaulted
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| adj.拱状的 | |
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138
dilate
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| vt.使膨胀，使扩大 | |
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139
cleave
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| v．(clave；cleaved)粘着，粘住；坚持；依恋 | |
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140
sculptors
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| 雕刻家，雕塑家( sculptor的名词复数 )； [天]玉夫座 | |
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141
twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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142
swell
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| vi.膨胀，肿胀；增长，增强 | |
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143
lodgings
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| n. 出租的房舍, 寄宿舍 | |
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144
cherubs
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| 小天使，胖娃娃( cherub的名词复数 ) | |
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145
warrior
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| n.勇士，武士，斗士 | |
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146
sardines
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| n. 沙丁鱼 | |
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147
humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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148
dispense
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| vt.分配，分发；配(药)，发(药)；实施 | |
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149
amiable
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| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
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150
pall
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| v.覆盖，使平淡无味；n.柩衣，棺罩；棺材；帷幕 | |
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