‘Mamma,’ said the little Venetia, ‘is this spring?’
‘This is spring, my child,’ replied Lady Annabel, ‘beautiful spring! The year is young and happy, like my little girl.’
‘If Venetia be like the spring, mamma is like the summer!’ replied the child; and the mother smiled. ‘And is not the summer young and happy?’ resumed Venetia.
‘It is not quite so young as the spring,’ said Lady Annabel, looking down with fondness on her little companion, ‘and, I fear, not quite so happy.’
‘But it is as beautiful,’ said Venetia.
‘It is not beauty that makes us happy,’ said Lady Annabel; ‘to be happy, my love, we must be good.’
‘Am I good?’ said Venetia.
‘Very good,’ said Lady Annabel
‘I am very happy,’ said Venetia; ‘I wonder whether, if I be always good, I shall always be happy?’
‘You cannot be happy without being good, my love; but happiness depends upon the will of God. If you be good he will guard over you.’
‘What can make me unhappy, mamma?’ inquired Venetia.
‘An evil conscience, my love.’
‘Conscience!’ said Venetia: ‘what is conscience?’
‘You are not yet quite old enough to understand,’ said Lady Annabel, ‘but some day I will teach you. Mamma is now going to take a long walk, and Venetia shall walk with her.’
So saying, the Lady Annabel summoned Mistress Pauncefort, a gentlewoman of not more discreet10 years than might have been expected in the attendant of so young a mistress; but one well qualified11 for her office, very zealous12 and devoted13, somewhat consequential14, full of energy and decision, capable of directing, fond of giving advice, and habituated to command. The Lady Annabel, leading her daughter, and accompanied by her faithful bloodhound, Marmion, ascended15 one of those sloping vistas that we have noticed, Mistress Pauncefort following them about a pace behind, and after her a groom16, at a respectful distance, leading Miss Herbert’s donkey.
They soon entered a winding17 path through the wood which was the background of their dwelling18. Lady Annabel was silent, and lost in her reflections; Venetia plucked the beautiful wild hyacinths that then abounded19 in the wood in such profusion20, that their beds spread like patches of blue enamel21, and gave them to Mistress Pauncefort, who, as the collection increased, handed them over to the groom; who, in turn, deposited them in the wicker seat prepared for his young mistress. The bright sun bursting through the tender foliage22 of the year, the clear and genial23 air, the singing of the birds, and the wild and joyous24 exclamations25 of Venetia, as she gathered her flowers, made it a cheerful party, notwithstanding the silence of its mistress.
When they emerged from the wood, they found themselves on the brow of the hill, a small down, over which Venetia ran, exulting26 in the healthy breeze which, at this exposed height, was strong and fresh. As they advanced to the opposite declivity27 to that which they had ascended, a wide and peculiar28 landscape opened before them. The extreme distance was formed by an undulating ridge29 of lofty and savage30 hills; nearer than these were gentler elevations31, partially32 wooded; and at their base was a rich valley, its green meads fed by a clear and rapid stream, which glittered in the sun as it coursed on, losing itself at length in a wild and sedgy lake that formed the furthest limit of a widely-spreading park. In the centre of this park, and not very remote from the banks of the rivulet33, was an ancient gothic building, that had once been an abbey of great repute and wealth, and had not much suffered in its external character, by having served for nearly two centuries and a half as the principal dwelling of an old baronial family.
Descending34 the downy hill, that here and there was studded with fine old trees, enriching by their presence the view from the abbey, Lady Annabel and her party entered the meads, and, skirting the lake, approached the venerable walls without crossing the stream.
It was difficult to conceive a scene more silent and more desolate35. There was no sign of life, and not a sound save the occasional cawing of a rook. Advancing towards the abbey, they passed a pile of buildings that, in the summer, might be screened from sight by the foliage of a group of elms, too scanty36 at present to veil their desolation. Wide gaps in the roof proved that the vast and dreary37 stables were no longer used; there were empty granaries, whose doors had fallen from their hinges; the gate of the courtyard was prostrate38 on the ground; and the silent clock that once adorned39 the cupola over the noble entrance arch, had long lost its index. Even the litter of the yard appeared dusty and grey with age. You felt sure no human foot could have disturbed it for years. At the back of these buildings were nailed the trophies40 of the gamekeeper: hundreds of wild cats, dried to blackness, stretched their downward heads and legs from the mouldering41 wall; hawks42, magpies43, and jays hung in tattered44 remnants! but all grey, and even green, with age; and the heads of birds in plenteous rows, nailed beak45 upward, and so dried and shrivelled by the suns and winds and frosts of many seasons, that their distinctive46 characters were lost.
‘Do you know, my good Pauncefort,’ said Lady Annabel, ‘that I have an odd fancy today to force an entrance into the old abbey. It is strange, fond as I am of this walk, that we have never yet entered it. Do you recollect47 our last vain efforts? Shall we be more fortunate this time, think you?’
Mistress Pauncefort smiled and smirked48, and, advancing to the old gloomy porch, gave a determined49 ring at the bell. Its sound might be heard echoing through the old cloisters50, but a considerable time elapsed without any other effect being produced. Perhaps Lady Annabel would have now given up the attempt, but the little Venetia expressed so much regret at the disappointment, that her mother directed the groom to reconnoitre in the neighbourhood, and see if it were possible to discover any person connected with the mansion53.
‘I doubt our luck, my lady,’ said Mistress Pauncefort, ‘for they do say that the abbey is quite uninhabited.’
”Tis a pity,’ said Lady Annabel, ‘for, with all its desolation, there is something about this spot which ever greatly interests me.’
‘Mamma, why does no one live here?’ said Venetia.
‘The master of the abbey lives abroad, my child.’
‘Why does he, mamma?’
‘Never ask questions, Miss Venetia,’ said Mistress Pauncefort, in a hushed and solemn tone; ‘it is not pretty.’ Lady Annabel had moved away.
The groom returned, and said he had met an old man, picking water-cresses, and he was the only person who lived in the abbey, except his wife, and she was bedridden. The old man had promised to admit them when he had completed his task, but not before, and the groom feared it would be some time before he arrived.
‘Come, Pauncefort, rest yourself on this bench,’ said Lady Annabel, seating herself in the porch; ‘and Venetia, my child, come hither to me.’
‘Mamma,’ said Venetia, ‘what is the name of the gentleman to whom this abbey belongs?’
‘Lord Cadurcis, love.’
‘I should like to know why Lord Cadurcis lives abroad?’ said Venetia, musingly54.
‘There are many reasons why persons may choose to quit their native country, and dwell in another, my love,’ said Lady Annabel, very quietly; ‘some change the climate for their health.’
‘Did Lord Cadurcis, mamma?’ asked Venetia.
‘I do not know Lord Cadurcis, dear, or anything of him, except that he is a very old man, and has no family.’
At this moment there was a sound of bars and bolts withdrawn55, and the falling of a chain, and at length the massy door slowly opened, and the old man appeared and beckoned56 to them to enter.
”Tis eight years, come Martinmas, since I opened this door,’ said the old man, ‘and it sticks a bit. You must walk about by yourselves, for I have no breath, and my mistress is bedridden. There, straight down the cloister51, you can’t miss your way; there is not much to see.’
The interior of the abbey formed a quadrangle, surrounded by the cloisters, and in this inner court was a curious fountain, carved with exquisite57 skill by some gothic artist in one of those capricious moods of sportive invention that produced those grotesque58 medleys59 for which the feudal60 sculptor61 was celebrated62. Not a sound was heard except the fall of the fountain and the light echoes that its voice called up.
The staircase led Lady Annabel and her party through several small rooms, scantily63 garnished64 with ancient furniture, in some of which were portraits of the family, until they at length entered a noble saloon, once the refectory of the abbey, and not deficient65 in splendour, though sadly soiled and worm-eaten. It was hung with tapestry66 representing the Cartoons of Raffael, and their still vivid colours contrasted with the faded hangings and the dingy67 damask of the chairs and sofas. A mass of Cromwellian armour68 was huddled69 together in a corner of a long monkish70 gallery, with a standard, encrusted with dust, and a couple of old drums, one broken. From one of the windows they had a good view of the old walled garden, which did not tempt52 them to enter it; it was a wilderness71, the walks no longer distinguishable from the rank vegetation of the once cultivated lawns; the terraces choked up with the unchecked shrubberies; and here and there a leaden statue, a goddess or a satyr, prostrate, and covered with moss72 and lichen73.
‘It makes me melancholy,’ said Lady Annabel; ‘let us return.’
‘Mamma,’ said Venetia, ‘are there any ghosts in this abbey?’
‘You may well ask me, love,’ replied Lady Annabel; ‘it seems a spell-bound place. But, Venetia, I have often told you there are no such things as ghosts.’
‘Is it naughty to believe in ghosts, mamma, for I cannot help believing in them?’
‘When you are older, and have more knowledge, you will not believe in them, Venetia,’ replied Lady Annabel.
Our friends left Cadurcis Abbey. Venetia mounted her donkey, her mother walked by her side; the sun was beginning to decline when they again reached Cherbury, and the air was brisk. Lady Annabel was glad to find herself by her fireside in her little terrace-room, and Venetia fetching her book, read to her mother until their dinner hour.
点击收听单词发音
1 vistas | |
长条形景色( vista的名词复数 ); 回顾; 展望; (未来可能发生的)一系列情景 | |
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2 strutted | |
趾高气扬地走,高视阔步( strut的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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3 enjoyment | |
n.乐趣;享有;享用 | |
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4 forth | |
adv.向前;向外,往外 | |
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5 renovating | |
翻新,修复,整修( renovate的现在分词 ) | |
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6 scented | |
adj.有香味的;洒香水的;有气味的v.嗅到(scent的过去分词) | |
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7 scattered | |
adj.分散的,稀疏的;散步的;疏疏落落的 | |
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8 primroses | |
n.报春花( primrose的名词复数 );淡黄色;追求享乐(招至恶果) | |
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9 picturesque | |
adj.美丽如画的,(语言)生动的,绘声绘色的 | |
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10 discreet | |
adj.(言行)谨慎的;慎重的;有判断力的 | |
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11 qualified | |
adj.合格的,有资格的,胜任的,有限制的 | |
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12 zealous | |
adj.狂热的,热心的 | |
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13 devoted | |
adj.忠诚的,忠实的,热心的,献身于...的 | |
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14 consequential | |
adj.作为结果的,间接的;重要的 | |
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15 ascended | |
v.上升,攀登( ascend的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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16 groom | |
vt.给(马、狗等)梳毛,照料,使...整洁 | |
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17 winding | |
n.绕,缠,绕组,线圈 | |
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18 dwelling | |
n.住宅,住所,寓所 | |
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19 abounded | |
v.大量存在,充满,富于( abound的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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20 profusion | |
n.挥霍;丰富 | |
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21 enamel | |
n.珐琅,搪瓷,瓷釉;(牙齿的)珐琅质 | |
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22 foliage | |
n.叶子,树叶,簇叶 | |
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23 genial | |
adj.亲切的,和蔼的,愉快的,脾气好的 | |
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24 joyous | |
adj.充满快乐的;令人高兴的 | |
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25 exclamations | |
n.呼喊( exclamation的名词复数 );感叹;感叹语;感叹词 | |
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26 exulting | |
vi. 欢欣鼓舞,狂喜 | |
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27 declivity | |
n.下坡,倾斜面 | |
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28 peculiar | |
adj.古怪的,异常的;特殊的,特有的 | |
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29 ridge | |
n.山脊;鼻梁;分水岭 | |
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30 savage | |
adj.野蛮的;凶恶的,残暴的;n.未开化的人 | |
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31 elevations | |
(水平或数量)提高( elevation的名词复数 ); 高地; 海拔; 提升 | |
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32 partially | |
adv.部分地,从某些方面讲 | |
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33 rivulet | |
n.小溪,小河 | |
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34 descending | |
n. 下行 adj. 下降的 | |
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35 desolate | |
adj.荒凉的,荒芜的;孤独的,凄凉的;v.使荒芜,使孤寂 | |
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36 scanty | |
adj.缺乏的,仅有的,节省的,狭小的,不够的 | |
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37 dreary | |
adj.令人沮丧的,沉闷的,单调乏味的 | |
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38 prostrate | |
v.拜倒,平卧,衰竭;adj.拜倒的,平卧的,衰竭的 | |
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39 adorned | |
[计]被修饰的 | |
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40 trophies | |
n.(为竞赛获胜者颁发的)奖品( trophy的名词复数 );奖杯;(尤指狩猎或战争中获得的)纪念品;(用于比赛或赛跑名称)奖 | |
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41 mouldering | |
v.腐朽( moulder的现在分词 );腐烂,崩塌 | |
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42 hawks | |
鹰( hawk的名词复数 ); 鹰派人物,主战派人物 | |
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43 magpies | |
喜鹊(magpie的复数形式) | |
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44 tattered | |
adj.破旧的,衣衫破的 | |
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45 beak | |
n.鸟嘴,茶壶嘴,钩形鼻 | |
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46 distinctive | |
adj.特别的,有特色的,与众不同的 | |
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47 recollect | |
v.回忆,想起,记起,忆起,记得 | |
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48 smirked | |
v.傻笑( smirk的过去分词 ) | |
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49 determined | |
adj.坚定的;有决心的 | |
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50 cloisters | |
n.(学院、修道院、教堂等建筑的)走廊( cloister的名词复数 );回廊;修道院的生活;隐居v.隐退,使与世隔绝( cloister的第三人称单数 ) | |
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51 cloister | |
n.修道院;v.隐退,使与世隔绝 | |
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52 tempt | |
vt.引诱,勾引,吸引,引起…的兴趣 | |
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53 mansion | |
n.大厦,大楼;宅第 | |
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54 musingly | |
adv.沉思地,冥想地 | |
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55 withdrawn | |
vt.收回;使退出;vi.撤退,退出 | |
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56 beckoned | |
v.(用头或手的动作)示意,召唤( beckon的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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57 exquisite | |
adj.精美的;敏锐的;剧烈的,感觉强烈的 | |
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58 grotesque | |
adj.怪诞的,丑陋的;n.怪诞的图案,怪人(物) | |
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59 medleys | |
n.混杂物( medley的名词复数 );混合物;混杂的人群;混成曲(多首声乐曲或器乐曲串联在一起) | |
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60 feudal | |
adj.封建的,封地的,领地的 | |
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61 sculptor | |
n.雕刻家,雕刻家 | |
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62 celebrated | |
adj.有名的,声誉卓著的 | |
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63 scantily | |
adv.缺乏地;不充足地;吝啬地;狭窄地 | |
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64 garnished | |
v.给(上餐桌的食物)加装饰( garnish的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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65 deficient | |
adj.不足的,不充份的,有缺陷的 | |
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66 tapestry | |
n.挂毯,丰富多采的画面 | |
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67 dingy | |
adj.昏暗的,肮脏的 | |
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68 armour | |
(=armor)n.盔甲;装甲部队 | |
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69 huddled | |
挤在一起(huddle的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
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70 monkish | |
adj.僧侣的,修道士的,禁欲的 | |
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71 wilderness | |
n.杳无人烟的一片陆地、水等,荒漠 | |
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72 moss | |
n.苔,藓,地衣 | |
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73 lichen | |
n.地衣, 青苔 | |
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