And, to your quick-conceiving discontent,
I’ll read you matter deep and dangerous.
HENRY IV., PART I.
The Marquis of Montserrat and the Grand Master of the Knights1 Templars stood together in the front of the royal pavilion, within which this singular scene had passed, and beheld3 a strong guard of bills and bows drawn4 out to form a circle around it, and keep at distance all which might disturb the sleeping monarch5. The soldiers wore the downcast, silent, and sullen6 looks with which they trail their arms at a funeral, and stepped with such caution that you could not hear a buckler ring or a sword clatter7, though so many men in armour8 were moving around the tent. They lowered their weapons in deep reverence9 as the dignitaries passed through their files, but with the same profound silence.
“There is a change of cheer among these island dogs,” said the Grand Master to Conrade, when they had passed Richard’s guards. “What hoarse10 tumult11 and revel12 used to be before this pavilion! — nought13 but pitching the bar, hurling14 the ball, wrestling, roaring of songs, clattering15 of wine pots, and quaffing16 of flagons among these burly yeomen, as if they were holding some country wake, with a Maypole in the midst of them instead of a royal standard.”
“Mastiffs are a faithful race,” said Conrade; “and the King their Master has won their love by being ready to wrestle17, brawl18, or revel amongst the foremost of them, whenever the humour seized him.”
“He is totally compounded of humours,” said the Grand Master. “Marked you the pledge he gave us! instead of a prayer, over his grace-cup yonder.”
“He would have felt it a grace-cup, and a well-spiced one too,” said the Marquis, “were Saladin like any other Turk that ever wore turban, or turned him to Mecca at call of the muezzin. But he affects faith, and honour, and generosity19, as if it were for an unbaptized dog like him to practise the virtuous20 bearing of a Christian21 knight2. It is said he hath applied22 to Richard to be admitted within the pale of chivalry23.”
“By Saint Bernard!” exclaimed the Grand Master, “it were time then to throw off our belts and spurs, Sir Conrade, deface our armorial bearings, and renounce24 our burgonets, if the highest honour of Christianity were conferred on an unchristened Turk of tenpence.”
“You rate the Soldan cheap,” replied the Marquis; “yet though he be a likely man, I have seen a better heathen sold for forty pence at the bagnio.”
They were now near their horses, which stood at some distance from the royal tent, prancing25 among the gallant26 train of esquires and pages by whom they were attended, when Conrade, after a moment’s pause, proposed that they should enjoy the coolness of the evening breeze which had arisen, and, dismissing their steeds and attendants, walk homewards to their own quarters through the lines of the extended Christian camp. The Grand Master assented27, and they proceeded to walk together accordingly, avoiding, as if by mutual28 consent, the more inhabited parts of the canvas city, and tracing the broad esplanade which lay between the tents and the external defences, where they could converse29 in private, and unmarked, save by the sentinels as they passed them.
They spoke30 for a time upon the military points and preparations for defence; but this sort of discourse31, in which neither seemed to take interest, at length died away, and there was a long pause, which terminated by the Marquis of Montserrat stopping short, like a man who has formed a sudden resolution, and gazing for some moments on the dark, inflexible32 countenance33 of the Grand Master, he at length addressed him thus: “Might it consist with your valour and sanctity, reverend Sir Giles Amaury, I would pray you for once to lay aside the dark visor which you wear, and to converse with a friend barefaced34.”
The Templar half smiled.
“There are light-coloured masks,” he said, “as well as dark visors, and the one conceals35 the natural features as completely as the other.”
“Be it so,” said the Marquis, putting his hand to his chin, and withdrawing it with the action of one who unmasks himself; “there lies my disguise. And now, what think you, as touching36 the interests of your own order, of the prospects37 of this Crusade?”
“This is tearing the veil from my thoughts rather than exposing your own,” said the Grand Master; “yet I will reply with a parable38 told to me by a santon of the desert. ‘A certain farmer prayed to Heaven for rain, and murmured when it fell not at his need. To punish his impatience39, Allah,’ said the santon, ‘sent the Euphrates upon his farm, and he was destroyed, with all his possessions, even by the granting of his own wishes.’”
“Most truly spoken,” said the Marquis Conrade. “Would that the ocean had swallowed up nineteen parts of the armaments of these Western princes! What remained would better have served the purpose of the Christian nobles of Palestine, the wretched remnant of the Latin kingdom of Jerusalem. Left to ourselves, we might have bent40 to the storm; or, moderately supported with money and troops, we might have compelled Saladin to respect our valour, and grant us peace and protection on easy terms. But from the extremity41 of danger with which this powerful Crusade threatens the Soldan, we cannot suppose, should it pass over, that the Saracen will suffer any one of us to hold possessions or principalities in Syria, far less permit the existence of the Christian military fraternities, from whom they have experienced so much mischief42.”
“Ay, but,” said the Templar, “these adventurous43 Crusaders may succeed, and again plant the Cross on the bulwarks44 of Zion.”
“And what will that advantage either the Order of the Templars, or Conrade of Montserrat?” said the Marquis.
“You it may advantage,” replied the Grand Master. “Conrade of Montserrat might become Conrade King of Jerusalem.”
“That sounds like something,” said the Marquis, “and yet it rings but hollow. Godfrey of Bouillon might well choose the crown of thorns for his emblem45. Grand Master, I will confess to you I have caught some attachment46 to the Eastern form of government — a pure and simple monarchy47 should consist but of king and subjects. Such is the simple and primitive48 structure — a shepherd and his flock. All this internal chain of feudal49 dependance is artificial and sophisticated; and I would rather hold the baton50 of my poor marquisate with a firm gripe, and wield51 it after my pleasure, than the sceptre of a monarch, to be in effect restrained and curbed52 by the will of as many proud feudal barons54 as hold land under the Assizes of Jerusalem. [The Assises de Jerusalem were the digest of feudal law, composed by Godfrey of Boulogne, for the government of the Latin kingdom of Palestine, when reconquered from the Saracens. “It was composed with advice of the patriarch and barons, the clergy55 and laity56, and is,” says the historian Gibbon, “a precious monument of feudatory jurisprudence, founded upon those principles of freedom which were essential to the system.”] A king should tread freely, Grand Master, and should not be controlled by here a ditch, and there a fence-here a feudal privilege, and there a mail-clad baron53 with his sword in his hand to maintain it. To sum the whole, I am aware that Guy de Lusignan’s claims to the throne would be preferred to mine, if Richard recovers, and has aught to say in the choice.”
“Enough,” said the Grand Master; “thou hast indeed convinced me of thy sincerity57. Others may hold the same opinions, but few, save Conrade of Montserrat, dared frankly58 avow59 that he desires not the restitution60 of the kingdom of Jerusalem, but rather prefers being master of a portion of its fragments — like the barbarous islanders, who labour not for the deliverance of a goodly vessel61 from the billows, expecting rather to enrich themselves at the expense of the wreck62.”
“Thou wilt63 not betray my counsel?” said Conrade, looking sharply and suspiciously. “Know, for certain, that my tongue shall never wrong my head, nor my hand forsake64 the defence of either. Impeach65 me if thou wilt — I am prepared to defend myself in the lists against the best Templar who ever laid lance in rest.”
“Yet thou start’st somewhat suddenly for so bold a steed,” said the Grand Master. “However, I swear to thee by the Holy Temple, which our Order is sworn to defend, that I will keep counsel with thee as a true comrade.”
“By which Temple?” said the Marquis of Montserrat, whose love of sarcasm66 often outran his policy and discretion67; “swearest thou by that on the hill of Zion, which was built by King Solomon, or by that symbolical68, emblematical69 edifice70, which is said to be spoken of in the councils held in the vaults71 of your Preceptories, as something which infers the aggrandizement72 of thy valiant73 and venerable Order?”
The Templar scowled74 upon him with an eye of death, but answered calmly, “By whatever Temple I swear, be assured, Lord Marquis, my oath is sacred. I would I knew how to bind75 THEE by one of equal obligation.”
“I will swear truth to thee,” said the Marquis, laughing, “by the earl’s coronet, which I hope to convert, ere these wars are over, into something better. It feels cold on my brow, that same slight coronal; a duke’s cap of maintenance were a better protection against such a night-breeze as now blows, and a king’s crown more preferable still, being lined with comfortable ermine and velvet76. In a word, our interests bind us together; for think not, Lord Grand Master, that, were these allied77 princes to regain78 Jerusalem, and place a king of their own choosing there, they would suffer your Order, any more than my poor marquisate, to retain the independence which we now hold. No, by Our Lady! In such case, the proud Knights of Saint John must again spread plasters and dress plague sores in the hospitals; and you, most puissant80 and venerable Knights of the Temple, must return to your condition of simple men-at-arms, sleep three on a pallet, and mount two upon one horse, as your present seal still expresses to have been your ancient most simple custom.”
“The rank, privileges, and opulence81 of our Order prevent so much degradation82 as you threaten,” said the Templar haughtily83.
“These are your bane,” said Conrade of Montserrat; “and you, as well as I, reverend Grand Master, know that, were the allied princes to be successful in Palestine, it would be their first point of policy to abate84 the independence of your Order, which, but for the protection of our holy father the Pope, and the necessity of employing your valour in the conquest of Palestine, you would long since have experienced. Give them complete success, and you will be flung aside, as the splinters of a broken lance are tossed out of the tilt-yard.”
“There may be truth in what you say,” said the Templar, darkly smiling. “But what were our hopes should the allies withdraw their forces, and leave Palestine in the grasp of Saladin?”
“Great and assured,” replied Conrade. “The Soldan would give large provinces to maintain at his behest a body of well-appointed Frankish lances. In Egypt, in Persia, a hundred such auxiliaries85, joined to his own light cavalry86, would turn the battle against the most fearful odds87. This dependence79 would be but for a time — perhaps during the life of this enterprising Soldan; but in the East empires arise like mushrooms. Suppose him dead, and us strengthened with a constant succession of fiery88 and adventurous spirits from Europe, what might we not hope to achieve, uncontrolled by these monarchs89, whose dignity throws us at present into the shade — and, were they to remain here, and succeed in this expedition, would willingly consign90 us for ever to degradation and dependence?”
“You say well, my Lord Marquis,” said the Grand Master, “and your words find an echo in my bosom91. Yet must we be cautious — Philip of France is wise as well as valiant.”
“True, and will be therefore the more easily diverted from an expedition to which, in a moment of enthusiasm, or urged by his nobles, he rashly bound himself. He is jealous of King Richard, his natural enemy, and longs to return to prosecute92 plans of ambition nearer to Paris than Palestine. Any fair pretence93 will serve him for withdrawing from a scene in which he is aware he is wasting the force of his kingdom.”
“And the Duke of Austria?” said the Templar.
“Oh, touching the Duke,” returned Conrade, “his self-conceit and folly94 lead him to the same conclusions as do Philip’s policy and wisdom. He conceives himself, God help the while, ungratefully treated, because men’s mouths — even those of his own MINNE-SINGERS [The German minstrels were so termed.]— are filled with the praises of King Richard, whom he fears and hates, and in whose harm he would rejoice, like those unbred, dastardly curs, who, if the foremost of the pack is hurt by the gripe of the wolf, are much more likely to assail95 the sufferer from behind than to come to his assistance. But wherefore tell I this to thee, save to show that I am in sincerity in desiring that this league be broken up, and the country freed of these great monarchs with their hosts? And thou well knowest, and hast thyself seen, how all the princes of influence and power, one alone excepted, are eager to enter into treaty with the Soldan.”
“I acknowledge it,” said the Templar; “he were blind that had not seen this in their last deliberations. But lift yet thy mask an inch higher, and tell me thy real reason for pressing upon the Council that Northern Englishman, or Scot, or whatever you call yonder Knight of the Leopard96, to carry their proposals for a treaty?”
“There was a policy in it,” replied the Italian. “His character of native of Britain was sufficient to meet what Saladin required, who knew him to belong to the band of Richard; while his character of Scot, and certain other personal grudges97 which I wot of, rendered it most unlikely that our envoy98 should, on his return, hold any communication with the sick-bed of Richard, to whom his presence was ever unacceptable.”
“Oh, too finespun policy,” said the Grand Master; “trust me, that Italian spiders’ webs will never bind this unshorn Samson of the Isle99 — well if you can do it with new cords, and those of the toughest. See you not that the envoy whom you have selected so carefully hath brought us, in this physician, the means of restoring the lion-hearted, bull-necked Englishman to prosecute his Crusading enterprise. And so soon as he is able once more to rush on, which of the princes dare hold back? They must follow him for very shame, although they would march under the banner of Satan as soon.”
“Be content,” said Conrade of Montserrat; “ere this physician, if he work by anything short of miraculous100 agency, can accomplish Richard’s cure, it may be possible to put some open rupture101 betwixt the Frenchman — at least the Austrian — and his allies of England, so that the breach102 shall be irreconcilable103; and Richard may arise from his bed, perhaps to command his own native troops, but never again, by his sole energy, to wield the force of the whole Crusade.”
“Thou art a willing archer,” said the Templar; “but, Conrade of Montserrat, thy bow is over-slack to carry an arrow to the mark.”
He then stopped short, cast a suspicious glance to see that no one overheard him, and taking Conrade by the hand, pressed it eagerly as he looked the Italian in the face, and repeated slowly, “Richard arise from his bed, sayest thou? Conrade, he must never arise!”
The Marquis of Montserrat started. “What! spoke you of Richard of England — of Coeur de Lion — the champion of Christendom?”
His cheek turned pale and his knees trembled as he spoke. The Templar looked at him, with his iron visage contorted into a smile of contempt.
“Knowest thou what thou look’st like, Sir Conrade, at this moment? Not like the politic104 and valiant Marquis of Montserrat, not like him who would direct the Council of Princes and determine the fate of empires — but like a novice105, who, stumbling upon a conjuration in his master’s book of gramarye, has raised the devil when he least thought of it, and now stands terrified at the spirit which appears before him.”
“I grant you,” said Conrade, recovering himself, “that — unless some other sure road could be discovered — thou hast hinted at that which leads most direct to our purpose. But, blessed Mary! we shall become the curse of all Europe, the malediction107 of every one, from the Pope on his throne to the very beggar at the church gate, who, ragged108 and leprous, in the last extremity of human wretchedness, shall bless himself that he is neither Giles Amaury nor Conrade of Montserrat.”
“If thou takest it thus,” said the Grand Master, with the same composure which characterized him all through this remarkable109 dialogue, “let us hold there has nothing passed between us — that we have spoken in our sleep — have awakened110, and the vision is gone.”
“It never can depart,” answered Conrade.
“Visions of ducal crowns and kingly diadems111 are, indeed, somewhat tenacious112 of their place in the imagination,” replied the Grand Master.
“Well,” answered Conrade, “let me but first try to break peace between Austria and England.”
They parted. Conrade remained standing113 still upon the spot, and watching the flowing white cloak of the Templar as he stalked slowly away, and gradually disappeared amid the fast-sinking darkness of the Oriental night. Proud, ambitious, unscrupulous, and politic, the Marquis of Montserrat was yet not cruel by nature. He was a voluptuary and an epicurean, and, like many who profess114 this character, was averse115, even upon selfish motives116, from inflicting118 pain or witnessing acts of cruelty; and he retained also a general sense of respect for his own reputation, which sometimes supplies the want of the better principle by which reputation is to be maintained.
“I have,” he said, as his eyes still watched the point at which he had seen the last slight wave of the Templar’s mantle119 —“I have, in truth, raised the devil with a vengeance120! Who would have thought this stern, ascetic121 Grand Master, whose whole fortune and misfortune is merged122 in that of his order, would be willing to do more for its advancement123 than I who labour for my own interest? To check this wild Crusade was my motive117, indeed, but I durst not think on the ready mode which this determined124 priest has dared to suggest. Yet it is the surest — perhaps even the safest.”
Such were the Marquis’s meditations125, when his muttered soliloquy was broken by a voice from a little distance, which proclaimed with the emphatic126 tone of a herald127, “Remember the Holy Sepulchre!”
The exhortation128 was echoed from post to post, for it was the duty of the sentinels to raise this cry from time to time upon their periodical watch, that the host of the Crusaders might always have in their remembrance the purpose of their being in arms. But though Conrade was familiar with the custom, and had heard the warning voice on all former occasions as a matter of habit, yet it came at the present moment so strongly in contact with his own train of thought, that it seemed a voice from Heaven warning him against the iniquity129 which his heart meditated130. He looked around anxiously, as if, like the patriarch of old, though from very different circumstances, he was expecting some ram106 caught in a thicket131 some substitution for the sacrifice which his comrade proposed to offer, not to the Supreme132 Being, but to the Moloch of their own ambition. As he looked, the broad folds of the ensign of England, heavily distending133 itself to the failing night-breeze, caught his eye. It was displayed upon an artificial mound134, nearly in the midst of the camp, which perhaps of old some Hebrew chief or champion had chosen as a memorial of his place of rest. If so, the name was now forgotten, and the Crusaders had christened it Saint George’s Mount, because from that commanding height the banner of England was supereminently displayed, as if an emblem of sovereignty over the many distinguished135, noble, and even royal ensigns, which floated in lower situations.
A quick intellect like that of Conrade catches ideas from the glance of a moment. A single look on the standard seemed to dispel136 the uncertainty137 of mind which had affected138 him. He walked to his pavilion with the hasty and determined step of one who has adopted a plan which he is resolved to achieve, dismissed the almost princely train who waited to attend him, and, as he committed himself to his couch, muttered his amended139 resolution, that the milder means are to be tried before the more desperate are resorted to.
“To-morrow,” he said, “I sit at the board of the Archduke of Austria. We will see what can be done to advance our purpose before prosecuting140 the dark suggestions of this Templar.”
点击收听单词发音
1 knights | |
骑士; (中古时代的)武士( knight的名词复数 ); 骑士; 爵士; (国际象棋中)马 | |
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2 knight | |
n.骑士,武士;爵士 | |
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3 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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4 drawn | |
v.拖,拉,拔出;adj.憔悴的,紧张的 | |
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5 monarch | |
n.帝王,君主,最高统治者 | |
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6 sullen | |
adj.愠怒的,闷闷不乐的,(天气等)阴沉的 | |
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7 clatter | |
v./n.(使)发出连续而清脆的撞击声 | |
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8 armour | |
(=armor)n.盔甲;装甲部队 | |
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9 reverence | |
n.敬畏,尊敬,尊严;Reverence:对某些基督教神职人员的尊称;v.尊敬,敬畏,崇敬 | |
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10 hoarse | |
adj.嘶哑的,沙哑的 | |
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11 tumult | |
n.喧哗;激动,混乱;吵闹 | |
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12 revel | |
vi.狂欢作乐,陶醉;n.作乐,狂欢 | |
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13 nought | |
n./adj.无,零 | |
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14 hurling | |
n.爱尔兰式曲棍球v.猛投,用力掷( hurl的现在分词 );大声叫骂 | |
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15 clattering | |
发出咔哒声(clatter的现在分词形式) | |
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16 quaffing | |
v.痛饮( quaff的现在分词 );畅饮;大口大口将…喝干;一饮而尽 | |
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17 wrestle | |
vi.摔跤,角力;搏斗;全力对付 | |
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18 brawl | |
n.大声争吵,喧嚷;v.吵架,对骂 | |
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19 generosity | |
n.大度,慷慨,慷慨的行为 | |
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20 virtuous | |
adj.有品德的,善良的,贞洁的,有效力的 | |
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21 Christian | |
adj.基督教徒的;n.基督教徒 | |
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22 applied | |
adj.应用的;v.应用,适用 | |
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23 chivalry | |
n.骑士气概,侠义;(男人)对女人彬彬有礼,献殷勤 | |
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24 renounce | |
v.放弃;拒绝承认,宣布与…断绝关系 | |
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25 prancing | |
v.(马)腾跃( prance的现在分词 ) | |
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26 gallant | |
adj.英勇的,豪侠的;(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
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27 assented | |
同意,赞成( assent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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28 mutual | |
adj.相互的,彼此的;共同的,共有的 | |
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29 converse | |
vi.谈话,谈天,闲聊;adv.相反的,相反 | |
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30 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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31 discourse | |
n.论文,演说;谈话;话语;vi.讲述,著述 | |
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32 inflexible | |
adj.不可改变的,不受影响的,不屈服的 | |
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33 countenance | |
n.脸色,面容;面部表情;vt.支持,赞同 | |
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34 barefaced | |
adj.厚颜无耻的,公然的 | |
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35 conceals | |
v.隐藏,隐瞒,遮住( conceal的第三人称单数 ) | |
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36 touching | |
adj.动人的,使人感伤的 | |
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37 prospects | |
n.希望,前途(恒为复数) | |
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38 parable | |
n.寓言,比喻 | |
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39 impatience | |
n.不耐烦,急躁 | |
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40 bent | |
n.爱好,癖好;adj.弯的;决心的,一心的 | |
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41 extremity | |
n.末端,尽头;尽力;终极;极度 | |
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42 mischief | |
n.损害,伤害,危害;恶作剧,捣蛋,胡闹 | |
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43 adventurous | |
adj.爱冒险的;惊心动魄的,惊险的,刺激的 | |
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44 bulwarks | |
n.堡垒( bulwark的名词复数 );保障;支柱;舷墙 | |
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45 emblem | |
n.象征,标志;徽章 | |
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46 attachment | |
n.附属物,附件;依恋;依附 | |
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47 monarchy | |
n.君主,最高统治者;君主政体,君主国 | |
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48 primitive | |
adj.原始的;简单的;n.原(始)人,原始事物 | |
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49 feudal | |
adj.封建的,封地的,领地的 | |
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50 baton | |
n.乐队用指挥杖 | |
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51 wield | |
vt.行使,运用,支配;挥,使用(武器等) | |
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52 curbed | |
v.限制,克制,抑制( curb的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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53 baron | |
n.男爵;(商业界等)巨头,大王 | |
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54 barons | |
男爵( baron的名词复数 ); 巨头; 大王; 大亨 | |
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55 clergy | |
n.[总称]牧师,神职人员 | |
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56 laity | |
n.俗人;门外汉 | |
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57 sincerity | |
n.真诚,诚意;真实 | |
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58 frankly | |
adv.坦白地,直率地;坦率地说 | |
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59 avow | |
v.承认,公开宣称 | |
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60 restitution | |
n.赔偿;恢复原状 | |
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61 vessel | |
n.船舶;容器,器皿;管,导管,血管 | |
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62 wreck | |
n.失事,遇难;沉船;vt.(船等)失事,遇难 | |
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63 wilt | |
v.(使)植物凋谢或枯萎;(指人)疲倦,衰弱 | |
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64 forsake | |
vt.遗弃,抛弃;舍弃,放弃 | |
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65 impeach | |
v.弹劾;检举 | |
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66 sarcasm | |
n.讥讽,讽刺,嘲弄,反话 (adj.sarcastic) | |
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67 discretion | |
n.谨慎;随意处理 | |
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68 symbolical | |
a.象征性的 | |
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69 emblematical | |
adj.标志的,象征的,典型的 | |
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70 edifice | |
n.宏伟的建筑物(如宫殿,教室) | |
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71 vaults | |
n.拱顶( vault的名词复数 );地下室;撑物跳高;墓穴 | |
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72 aggrandizement | |
n.增大,强化,扩大 | |
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73 valiant | |
adj.勇敢的,英勇的;n.勇士,勇敢的人 | |
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74 scowled | |
怒视,生气地皱眉( scowl的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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75 bind | |
vt.捆,包扎;装订;约束;使凝固;vi.变硬 | |
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76 velvet | |
n.丝绒,天鹅绒;adj.丝绒制的,柔软的 | |
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77 allied | |
adj.协约国的;同盟国的 | |
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78 regain | |
vt.重新获得,收复,恢复 | |
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79 dependence | |
n.依靠,依赖;信任,信赖;隶属 | |
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80 puissant | |
adj.强有力的 | |
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81 opulence | |
n.财富,富裕 | |
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82 degradation | |
n.降级;低落;退化;陵削;降解;衰变 | |
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83 haughtily | |
adv. 傲慢地, 高傲地 | |
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84 abate | |
vi.(风势,疼痛等)减弱,减轻,减退 | |
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85 auxiliaries | |
n.助动词 ( auxiliary的名词复数 );辅助工,辅助人员 | |
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86 cavalry | |
n.骑兵;轻装甲部队 | |
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87 odds | |
n.让步,机率,可能性,比率;胜败优劣之别 | |
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88 fiery | |
adj.燃烧着的,火红的;暴躁的;激烈的 | |
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89 monarchs | |
君主,帝王( monarch的名词复数 ) | |
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90 consign | |
vt.寄售(货品),托运,交托,委托 | |
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91 bosom | |
n.胸,胸部;胸怀;内心;adj.亲密的 | |
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92 prosecute | |
vt.告发;进行;vi.告发,起诉,作检察官 | |
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93 pretence | |
n.假装,作假;借口,口实;虚伪;虚饰 | |
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94 folly | |
n.愚笨,愚蠢,蠢事,蠢行,傻话 | |
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95 assail | |
v.猛烈攻击,抨击,痛斥 | |
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96 leopard | |
n.豹 | |
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97 grudges | |
不满,怨恨,妒忌( grudge的名词复数 ) | |
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98 envoy | |
n.使节,使者,代表,公使 | |
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99 isle | |
n.小岛,岛 | |
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100 miraculous | |
adj.像奇迹一样的,不可思议的 | |
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101 rupture | |
n.破裂;(关系的)决裂;v.(使)破裂 | |
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102 breach | |
n.违反,不履行;破裂;vt.冲破,攻破 | |
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103 irreconcilable | |
adj.(指人)难和解的,势不两立的 | |
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104 politic | |
adj.有智虑的;精明的;v.从政 | |
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105 novice | |
adj.新手的,生手的 | |
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106 ram | |
(random access memory)随机存取存储器 | |
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107 malediction | |
n.诅咒 | |
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108 ragged | |
adj.衣衫褴褛的,粗糙的,刺耳的 | |
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109 remarkable | |
adj.显著的,异常的,非凡的,值得注意的 | |
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110 awakened | |
v.(使)醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 );(使)觉醒;弄醒;(使)意识到 | |
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111 diadems | |
n.王冠,王权,带状头饰( diadem的名词复数 ) | |
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112 tenacious | |
adj.顽强的,固执的,记忆力强的,粘的 | |
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113 standing | |
n.持续,地位;adj.永久的,不动的,直立的,不流动的 | |
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114 profess | |
v.声称,冒称,以...为业,正式接受入教,表明信仰 | |
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115 averse | |
adj.厌恶的;反对的,不乐意的 | |
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116 motives | |
n.动机,目的( motive的名词复数 ) | |
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117 motive | |
n.动机,目的;adv.发动的,运动的 | |
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118 inflicting | |
把…强加给,使承受,遭受( inflict的现在分词 ) | |
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119 mantle | |
n.斗篷,覆罩之物,罩子;v.罩住,覆盖,脸红 | |
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120 vengeance | |
n.报复,报仇,复仇 | |
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121 ascetic | |
adj.禁欲的;严肃的 | |
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122 merged | |
(使)混合( merge的过去式和过去分词 ); 相融; 融入; 渐渐消失在某物中 | |
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123 advancement | |
n.前进,促进,提升 | |
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124 determined | |
adj.坚定的;有决心的 | |
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125 meditations | |
默想( meditation的名词复数 ); 默念; 沉思; 冥想 | |
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126 emphatic | |
adj.强调的,着重的;无可置疑的,明显的 | |
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127 herald | |
vt.预示...的来临,预告,宣布,欢迎 | |
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128 exhortation | |
n.劝告,规劝 | |
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129 iniquity | |
n.邪恶;不公正 | |
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130 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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131 thicket | |
n.灌木丛,树林 | |
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132 supreme | |
adj.极度的,最重要的;至高的,最高的 | |
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133 distending | |
v.(使)膨胀,肿胀( distend的现在分词 ) | |
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134 mound | |
n.土墩,堤,小山;v.筑堤,用土堆防卫 | |
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135 distinguished | |
adj.卓越的,杰出的,著名的 | |
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136 dispel | |
vt.驱走,驱散,消除 | |
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137 uncertainty | |
n.易变,靠不住,不确知,不确定的事物 | |
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138 affected | |
adj.不自然的,假装的 | |
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139 Amended | |
adj. 修正的 动词amend的过去式和过去分词 | |
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140 prosecuting | |
检举、告发某人( prosecute的现在分词 ); 对某人提起公诉; 继续从事(某事物); 担任控方律师 | |
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