Portuguese9 railways are slow, and it took an hour and a half to cover the eighteen miles between Barreiro and Setubal—the Saint Ubes of the English geographies. A clean spacious10 little town, beautifully situated11, is this metropolis12 of sardines14 and salt. The days of its saline preeminence15, it is true, have passed away—the times of humming prosperity at the salt-pans, when the harbours was wont17 to be crowded by ships loading salt for England and elsewhere; but still the local trade is considerable, and the great extension of the tinned sardine13 trade in Portugal has made up for everything, there being as many as thirty-four sardine-packing factories at present in full work at Setubal. Five minutes after we had got clear out of the Tagus valley and over the last ridge18, the aspect of the land had changed as if by magic. Oranges, lemons, and almond-trees stretch in groves20 and orchards21 on all sides; 266broad tracts22 of cereal land and dark olive plantations23 mix with the vineyards, telling of a country of overflowing24 fertility; whilst long lines of tall eucalyptus trees, with hanging strips of bark, add a strange and exotic note to the scene. This fertile plain descending25 to the sea on the south is enclosed by high mountain ranges, especially towards the west, upon an outlying spur of which, a great isolated27 hill, stands aloft Palmella, another of those stupendous fortresses30 for which Portugal bears the palm. At the foot of the plain, on the edge of the sea, sits the sparkling little town of Setubal, with Palmella, six miles away, looming32 behind it, but in the marvellous clear air looking as if within reach of one’s hand.
Before the town of Setubal, and three miles away across the estuary34, there extends a long sandy spit or island completely enclosing the harbour and river mouth on the south, the only entrance being from the west where a rocky point, an extreme spur of the great Arrabida range, runs out into the Atlantic facing the sandy point. This land-locked haven35 of clear blue water is one of the most beautiful I have ever seen, especially when entering it from the sea. The climate of Setubal is perhaps the warmest of any 267in Portugal, and the fertility of the country at the back is remarkable36, the hills behind it completely shutting off the winds from the north.
And yet the people in this part of the country present an undefinable trace of poverty and hardship, such as is never seen in North Portugal. They are hard-working and frugal37, but they are somehow less upstanding and independent in their bearing, and their conditions of life are evidently inferior. The difference is no doubt to some extent racial; for here the sturdy Teutonic and Celtic stocks left fewer traces than in the north: but the land in the south is mostly owned in large estates, and not by the small cultivators themselves, as it is in North Portugal, and this has probably more to do with it. A population of wage-earners is never so well conditioned as one of independent workers, and in some such direction as this, surely, must be sought the explanation for the marked difference between the people of the north and south of a country so small and so homogeneous as Portugal.
The long sandy island across the bay was my objective, and I lost no time in bargaining with the owner of a sardine-boat to carry me across. The boat was a heavy, clumsy craft, as it needs 268to be for the sardine fisheries, the shape of a crescent-moon with pointed39 prow40 and stern, a high-peaked lateen sail of red canvas stretched on canes41, and long sweeps which worked over a pin in the thwarts42, fitting into a hole in a mighty43 block of wood in the centre of the oars44 instead of between rollocks. If the craft was picturesque45 the crew was still more so: the owner, a sturdy old seaman46, and his son, a bright lad of twenty, wore the universal bag-cap, when they wore any head-covering at all, which was seldom. The old man had boots as well, evidently more for appearance than use, for he took them off for good as soon as the bargain with me was concluded. A flannel47 shirt and trousers tucked up to the knees, and girded at the waist by a red sash, completed the costume. The other member of the crew, presumably a hired hand, was a striking Levantine or Greek-looking fellow of about seven-and-twenty, far more intelligent than the patr?o or his son, brimming over with eager interest in the expedition, an incessant48 talker, with all sorts of queer lore49 and information about the strange place we were going to see. He, for all his intelligence and readiness, had but two ragged50 and scanty51 cotton garments 269to cover him, and made no pretence52 of head or foot covering.
Whilst the boat was being brought round to the stair, I explored the town and found a fine old Manueline door in the church S?o Juli?o at the corner of the spacious pra?a called after the eighteenth-century poet Bocage, who having been born at Setubal is the principal literary glory of the town.
Not a breath of wind was stirring, and the lumbering53 sardine-boat, with its big sweeps weighing nearly half a hundredweight each, was a heavy pull for two men. But the patr?o and his son put their backs into the work cheerfully and with good will, the vivacious54, black-eyed tatterdemalion of a crew chattering55 incessantly56 whilst he held the tiller; his being by far the easiest job, apparently57 as a concession58 to the superiority of mind over matter. No ripple59 stirred the blue, clear water as we slowly pushed out into the bay and got clear of the town. The air was of exquisite60 clarity and fineness, with some sort of subtle pungency61 in it that seemed to blend the freshness of the salt sea with the languor62 of the lotus land; and as we receded63 from the shore there gradually opened out 270behind us, in clear, sharp outline sparkling with colour and brilliancy, one of the most striking coast panoramas64 I have ever beheld66. The bay was almost land-locked, and at the brink67 of the blue water shone the town as white as snow in the sunlight. Behind, in a great amphitheatre, rose the hills from the deep green masses of the orange groves upon the broad plain at their feet. Bright red earth glowed in big gashes68 upon the slopes, amidst the varying verdure of olives, cork69, and pines; and then above the trees and hills towards the west soared the peaks and crags of the great Arrabida range, tinted70 in this golden morning from orange to ochre and from ochre to violet, with shadows here and there of deepest indigo71. Right behind the town the great stronghold of Palmella, upon its sudden hill six miles away, seemed to stand sentinel over the verdant72 plain and white houses: and there, in the near distance, on the west, upon a promontory73 of rock forming the point of the inner bay, was another ancient fortress29, that of St. Philip, looking sheer down into the sea. Beyond that as we advanced we saw still another castle on a point; and, farther off, the end of the Arrabida range, whose towering peaks 271dwarfed all the lower hills, pushes far into the sea its precipitous bluff74, bounding the landscape on that side.
An hour’s hard pull brought us close to the long island. A wild, uninhabited place it looked as we approached it, all blown sand in dunes76 and hillocks overgrown with coarse rank tussock and esparto. Even before we reached the sandy shore, fragments of walls and broken tiles in abundance could be seen through the pellucid77 water, half-buried in the soft, sandy bottom; and when I landed upon the beach of pure sand some twenty feet or more wide, a glance sufficed to show that this was the site of a place where many people had dwelt in the long ago. A long sand dune75, some fifteen feet high, runs parallel with the sea, and in the face of this dune strong walls, doorways78, and ruins of all sorts are embedded80. The sand in many places has been removed sufficiently81 to uncover entire rooms and passages, and the whole beach below is literally82 covered with broken tiles, apparently Roman, which presumably formed the roofs of the ruined dwellings83. The walls are usually formed of undressed stones, with some rubble84 cement almost as hard, the courses, and sometimes 272corners, being composed of coarse red bricks or tiles eighteen inches long by twelve broad and two thick.
Mounting the top of the dune I saw beneath me the houses that at various times had been excavated85, and partially86 cleared of sand by the successive adventurers, who, for the sake of profit or curiosity, have undertaken the work. It has been done unsystematically and unscientifically; but in the three-quarters of a century or so that have elapsed since renewed interest has been displayed in the place, an immense number of Roman coins, some of the latest period of the domination, have been found; and numerous relics89 of Roman, and, as I believe, of a much earlier civilisation90 have also been discovered, many of the objects being now in the Belem museum. Mr. Oswald Crawford wrote an amusing account of a visit he paid to the place about thirty years ago, and advanced some attractive theories with regard to it; but apparently the excavations92 that have taken place since his time must have been considerable, as some of the most significant features noticed by me were presumably not uncovered when he was there, as he does not mention them.
273The place has been called Troia by the Portuguese from time immemorial; but it agrees in position with, and probably is, the important Roman town of Cetobriga. The name of Cetobriga can hardly be of pure Latin origin, nor is the situation of the place, at the end of a barren, low-lying sandbank, such as Romans usually chose for a settlement. It is known, however, that a people called Bastuli, some of whom Strabo says lived upon a narrow strip of land by the sea in this part of Portugal were of Ph?nician origin, and inhabited this coast[8]; and this at once provides a clue to the original founders94 of the city. The Ph?nicians and their successors in the Peninsula, the Carthaginians, were a Semitic people whose trading dep?ts were carried to the extreme of the then known world. At first, and for many centuries, purely95 traders and men of peace, they made no attempt to dominate, but established their factories, with defensive96 stockades97 and walls around them in places, which, though unadapted for aggression98, were capable of easy defence. It is difficult to imagine an easily accessible place, well situated for maritime99 traffic, better calculated than Troia upon its 274sandy island opposite a fertile plain for the purposes of such a people as this; and the opinion of antiquarians since the re-discovery of Troia has been in favour of its Ph?nician origin.
The later Roman period, it is true, has provided most of the remains100 unearthed101. I saw and measured myself, amongst many other houses, two of undoubted Roman construction, one apparently a temple, to judge by the now empty niches102 which are constructed round three sides of the inner wall, and the doorway79 of well-dressed stone in the fourth side. Another house near it, of which the chief apartment was twenty-two feet in diameter, possessed103 a dressed stone piscina or font in the wall, and what appeared to be a bath of five feet in diameter and nearly six feet deep of rubble and tiles. These houses and practically all the others stood some fifteen feet below the present top of the dune, but in no case has the excavation91 been completed, sand silting104 up almost to the door lintels in most cases. On the beach itself near the point, I noticed what appeared to be the base of a hollow tower ten feet in diameter, which may well have been a pharos; and in many places not much above sea-level are 275square cemented tanks, which some authorities assert were used for fish salting, although its suggestion is not a very convincing one considering the position of the tanks.
The largest house that has been excavated is of undressed rubble for the walls, the angles and doors and window frames being squared with tiles, and the principal doorway topped by a flat arch of brick, the pitch of the roof being evidently angular. On the other side of a sandy peninsula facing the south, and farthest from Setubal, a very large villa105 has been partially uncovered, presenting the same construction as the rest, but with the base of a round tower at one corner; whilst on the point of the beach there is a house containing four uncovered very large square concreted tanks, sunk in the ground some twenty-five feet deep, apparently reservoirs—perhaps vivaria for edible106 fish. There is no indication—at least to a layman107 in the matter like myself—that these buildings are earlier than the Roman occupation, though, of course, some of them may have been, whilst a large building standing38 high at the very end of the point, which the energetic boatman who constituted himself my companion insisted was “the chapel108,” is evidently much later than 276Roman times, and may probably have been a Christian109 church.
Mr. Crawford advances a theory to account for the foundation of a populous110 settlement upon a mere111 sandbank. He is of opinion that when the town was originated the sand did not exist there, but has been blown or cast up since. Although the dune facing the beach has doubtless accumulated greatly since the city was finally abandoned, I cannot believe, after looking well at the buildings, that the level has changed more than perhaps a dozen or fifteen feet since the town was inhabited; and there must, I think, have been hills of sand here from Roman times at least. Still it is possible that a thorough excavation would establish that the remains of the Ph?nician town on solid earth underlie112 the Roman buildings now existing amidst the sand. The most interesting object that I saw at Troia is not mentioned by Mr. Crawford, though as it stands at the highest point of the sand dune (though perhaps with a base of solid earth beneath the sand) it is curious if it was not uncovered when he visited the place. In any case, there it is now, the most convincing proof possible that the city was Ph?nician, notwithstanding 277the extensive Roman remains of a later time. Upon a square base or plinth there rises a smooth conical column, some ten feet high, four feet in diameter at base and tapering113 conically to a diameter of less than two at its apex114. There is no mistaking the shape of this column or its significance by any one who has studied the beliefs of the ancient peoples and the symbols of their worship. The column is apparently composed of red tiles smoothly115 covered with fine white cement; and standing, as it does, in the most conspicuous116 position over the settlement, it seems to prove that the Nature-worshippers, Ph?nicians, Carthaginians, or those who inherited their traditions, must have been the constructors of this column supporting nothing. It may be advanced that this sign of ancient paganism would not have been allowed to remain by the Romans for four hundred years after the Christian era; but it is possible that even then the ritual symbolism of the column had been lost sight of or forgotten, and that it remained as a landmark117.
I was glad to embark118 in my sardine boat again, for the glare and heat of the sun beating down upon the shadeless sand was almost intolerable, 278and the treacherous119 black sandflies, so harmless looking and so venomous, in the three hours I had been at Troia had rendered my face unrecognisable by my nearest friends, and turned my hands to agonised dumplings. So, with a slight puff120 of breeze now and again to help us, we slowly crossed the blue bay to Setubal where much needed refreshment121 awaited me.
I was bound for the ancient city of Evora, and I could have gone by train to Pinhal Novo junction122, where the train to the south was to receive me. But the plain over which Palmella lords it had captivated me, and I decided123 to traverse by road the ten miles to the junction. As I drove out of Setubal, with its clean white houses, and gaily124 decked women in a long kneeling row washing their linen125 in the river, the glamour126 of the south was over all. Cactus127 hedges lined the way, the glistening128 green of the orange trees with the abundant fruit already showing, the bronzed vines and the grey olive orchards chequered the light red earth; the rolling slopes were thickly wooded to the summits, and nestling amidst the verdure on many hill-tops were glistening white houses, abandoned cloisters130, or shrines131 of pilgrimage. The aspect was Andalusian, as were 279the traits of the people, and North Portugal seemed very far away. Before us always towered the huge castle of Palmella, with its tremendous stretches of battlements and square towers, seen first from one side and then from another, as we gradually wound round and round the base of the eminence16 upon which it stands. The way is always upward, and on all sides spread below us, growing more extensive as we round each successive rising turn of the hill, is the fertile plain and the sea beyond. Wheat, maize132, olives, and oranges grow here luxuriantly, the lower folds of the sandy hillsides are covered with vines, and the rich brown velvet133 trunks of the stripped cork-trees are all along the way.
My coachman is one of the talkative type of south Portuguese, almost oriental in the voluble vehemence134 of his manner, and his eagerness to impart information. Ah! yes Troia, Setubal, and Palmella were all very well in their way: but Evora! That indeed is a place. What a pity his Excellency was not going to see Evora. His Excellency replied that Evora was his present destination, and the patriotic136 Eborense, for, of course, the voluble coachman came from Evora, broke out into unrestrained panegyric137 of 280his native city. Lisbon was nothing, Oporto was nothing, to Evora; why, Evora was a great city and a capital when they were villages: Evora made Portugal what it is—and much more to the same effect the wild-eyed coachman rattled138 off with much gesticulation, whilst the patient horses, left to themselves, slowly toiled139 up the winding140 road to the town of Palmella, now to the right now to the left, and anon straight overhead, apparently inaccessible141.
At length we entered the town, a poor squalid looking place upon the steep slope; and whilst the tired horses rested I climbed the top of the hill to the castle. The tremendous outer defences covered with yellow lichen142, and the round bastions of the inner circumvallation, are evidently of Moorish143 origin, whilst the great square battlemented towers inside appear to be medi?val. The whole of the top of the hill is occupied by the fortress; the outer walls following the contour, with corner bastions on the spurs of the summit. The views obtained from the battlements of the salient bastions are tremendous. The central keep, standing high above the rest, is veiled with mist, though where I stand upon the battlements is clear and bright. Over the vast 281plain spread below me bathed in sunlight dark patches of cloud wander, and, on the south side beyond it, is Setubal and the sea; whilst on the other, towards the north, far away stretches the broad estuary of the Tagus, and the distant mountains loom31 upon the west. Ancient as the castle is, it shows signs of more recent habitation than is usual, indeed a row of humble144 dependencies within the walls are still occupied by poor people. The roofs of the principal buildings are everywhere destroyed; and upon the very ancient walls of one portion there rises the ruin of a sixteenth-century palace; whilst by the side of the great medi?val keep is the shell of a beautiful chapel of Romanesque Gothic. The inner gateway145 of the fortress bears upon it a tablet with the arms of Portugal and the date of 1689; and I was informed by one of the residents in the row of dwellings that the place had only been entirely146 dismantled147 in living memory. All is silent and abandoned now; and the great Moorish stronghold which Affonso Henriques captured from the Moors148 in 1147, the royal fortress of the Commandery of the Order of Santiago, and the seat of the powerful Dukes of Palmella, as the place successively has been, has now become what for 282all future time it will remain, a worthy149 compeer with the rest of the proud old Portuguese hill-top fortresses, whose sturdy walls dismantled though they be, refuse to crumble150 into dust. Long may they rear their noble towers intact from man’s destroying hand, and tell their silent lesson of heroic times to a generation that sorely needs it.
As we wind down the hill again from the poverty-stricken town beneath the castle walls, carts of little black grapes meet us winding up the hill for the belated vintage, and through the open doors of granges we see the wide shallow tubs being filled with grapes trodden under the feet of swarthy lads. The air is soft and close as the sun sets red and orange behind the tree-clad hills, and I pass the hour waiting for the train at Pinhal Novo under a grove19 of lofty eucalyptus trees, whilst the shrill151 twittering of millions of cicadas, and the languorous152 perfume in the air tell me that I have left the strenuous153 land behind, and am in a clime where to strive is folly154.
The next morning Evora revealed its quaint155 charms to me, for in the night when I arrived all seemed gloomy and threatening in its narrow tortuous156 ways. Under a glowing blue sky and 283the fierce sun the place was charming, and few cities in Portugal, if any, present so many attractions to the arch?ologist, the antiquarian, or the simple seeker after the picturesque. The long irregular space of the principal pra?a is lined by ancient arcades157 like the plazas158 in Spanish towns, and the people who flock hither and thither159 under the covered ways are purely Andalusian in appearance, the men wearing sheepskin zamarras over gaudy160 waistcoats, and upon their heads wide-brimmed velvet cala?eses surmount161 bright-coloured kerchiefs. We have almost lost sight now of the ox as a draught162 animal, and big mules163, drawing a somewhat light waggon164, are universal.
At unexpected corners and unlikely angles relics of unfathomed antiquity165 meet you: a Roman tower built into a sixteenth-century wall, a Moorish arch, a low-browed doorway that may go back to the time of the Goths, though the house to which it gives entrance may be comparatively modern, fragments of palaces and beautiful bits of Manueline are everywhere. For this city of Evora is an epitome166 of the historical vicissitudes167 of Portugal, and under each successive régime has played a principal part. Ebora of the Ph?nicians and Iberians, Liberalitas Julia of 284the Romans, seat of government of the patriot135 rebel Sertorius, who here defied the legions of the C?sars (80 B.C.), Gothic capital of Lusitania, Yebora of the Moslems for four hundred years, and now chief city of Alemtejo and the south—the walls and towers of its Latin and Gothic masters are still clearly traceable, and the medi?val defences still surround the ancient city.
Its modern Portuguese history dates from its capture from the Moors in 1165 by the freebooter Gerald and his band of desperadoes, who surrendered the place to King Affonso Henriques in exchange for pardon and reward; and from that time its archbishops have vied with those of Braga in the north in wealth and dignity. Infantes of Portugal have often worn its mitre, and one of them, Cardinal169 Henry, the last of his race, became king. It is difficult to realise, looking at this crumbling170 old city of fifteen thousand inhabitants, the magnificence of which it was the scene in times when the population must have been much smaller than at present. I have before me as I write an account written at the time by an Italian ecclesiastic171 in the train of the papal Legate, who came to Portugal in 1571, of the reception of the embassy by the Archbishop 285of Evora (Jo?o de Mello), on which occasion lavishness172 seems to have outdone itself. The king’s lieutenant173, with five hundred followers174 and ten thousand armed militia175 of the province, had met the Legate some miles outside the city, and at the gates the governor and magistracy awaited the visitors in full panoply176, with several bands of trumpeters dressed in cloth of gold and scarlet178 caps, many companies of halberdiers smartly garbed179 in various uniforms, black drummers and cymbal180 players on velvet-draped mules, the mayor and aldermen and civic181 officers with their respective armed escorts, followed by—
“Ten boys dressed in green, dancing a Morris-dance to the sound of tambourines182, and then ten more dressed in yellow with fife and drum, also dancing, each one carrying an arch which they intertwined and disentangled with great rapidity and dexterity183. Then came ten boys dressed as pilgrims dancing round a drum, and singing the praises of the Legate. Then came ten women gipsies dancing their usual dance to the sound of the drum, and performing dexterous184 tricks with wands and scarfs. Following them came ten gipsy men with a drum, and placing themselves alternately with the women, they made a very pretty chain. Finally at the gate of the city there were ten boys dressed in white with branches in their hands, dancing round a carrying chair of red velvet striped with gold, which was carried by eight little boys with white kilts, and golden haloes round their heads. They bowed low to the Legate as the rest did separately when they danced their measure, and then all together, the dances continuing all the while before the 286Legate. The archbishop of Evora entertained the Legate and prelates sumptuously186 at his palace, and the fidalgos splendidly received the rest in their houses. The apartments were lined with the finest Flanders hangings, and the floors were covered with green sprigs and rushes, which is the custom here at weddings and feasts. They usually remain at table two or three hours. Each person has a separate cup, and when dinner is half through the tablecloth187 is changed. The roast meats are placed upon the table already cut up and covered, and they are wont to put into these dishes and others, eggs, many spices, and sugar. The viands188 are not sumptuous185, but are abundant, and they say most of the dishes are Moorish. They only serve one dish at a time, and this it is that makes their dinners last so long, whilst they pass the time chatting, drinking healths, and helping189 each other to what is brought to table, they being very gay the while.”[9]
Of this splendour in the Evora of the past little is now apparent to the visitor, though the modern Barahona palace, of which, and its wealthy owner, the Eborenses seem very proud, could probably furnish forth190 a good twentieth-century equivalent for it; and behind the closed doors and frowning walls of many ancient noble palaces, now mostly in the hands of rich landowners and cultivators of the district, are doubtless luxurious191 interiors.
287From the Hotel Eborense, with its sixteenth-century outside staircase and trellised balcony-landing, looking upon a quaint, tree-shaded, little pra?a, I descend7 through narrow streets, that remind me of Toledo—streets that for the most part still bear historic names, though of course the inevitable192 “Serpa Pinto” has modernised one of them. Peace and stillness reign193 over all, for the sun stings shrewdly; and those who are obliged to be out linger drowsily194 under white walls and the frequent shade of acacias, cork-trees, and vine-trellises. A ruined church and a vast monastery195 attached, and now used as a barrack, first attract my attention, for the edifice196 shows signs of past magnificence, and the white, roofless walls and fa?ade against the indigo sky form a beautiful picture even in their decay. An Augustinian monastery-church, that of Our Lady of Grace, I am told it is; and over the broken portico197 I read that it was built “sub imp93. Divi Joannis III., Patris Patri?.” This John III. was the son of the “Fortunate” Manuel, and was one of the principal builders of Belem; so that we are justified198 in expecting something good from him in architecture. The expectation is not disappointed, for the work is a gem199 288in its uncommon200 way. It is, indeed, but little touched with the Manueline taste of the time it was built (1524); and has more affinity201 with the fine cloister129 of John III. at Thomar, built by the same monarch202. It is, in fact, almost the only specimen203 I have seen in Portugal of the pure Italian Renaissance204 in the style of Michael Angelo. Columns, trophies205, shields, and decorative206 statuary, all tell the same story of direct Florentine influence, as apart from the less virile207 Raphaelesque tendency of the French Renaissance, which is much more common in Portugal, and, indeed, elsewhere. Even in the later decorations of this very church of Gra?a the graved medallions, festoons, and delicate panel carving208 in low relief, show that, even a few years after the church was built, the French style was preferred.
It is but a step from the Gra?a to a splendid church which is deservedly one of the boasts of Evora, and, for skilful209 solidity of construction, one of the most extraordinary churches in Portugal, if not in Europe. Situated in a wide pra?a, and flanked on one side by shady groves of cork-trees, stands the great square church of S. Francisco, all that remains intact 289of an important Franciscan monastery of immense antiquity. Adjoining it, until recent times, stood a royal palace, of which this church and monastery were privileged to form a part; and the Franciscans of Evora were altogether very lordly monks210 indeed. Without a tower, as is usual with monastery churches, the big square building, with its rows of battlemented roof ridges211, looks more like a fortress than a church; and from the peculiarity213 of its construction, it is safe to say that, unless the hand of man or some great natural convulsion destroys it, the next four centuries will have as little effect upon it as the last four have had since its construction at the end of the fifteenth century.
The great west porch extends the whole width of the building in fine Romanesque-Gothic. The arches of this porch are almost Moorish in form, with elaborated twisted-cord capitals; and the peculiar212 arrangement of supports noticed in the nave214 at Alcoba?a is also seen here, where the great inner supports of the arches do not reach the ground, but start suddenly three-quarters up the pillar, producing the effect of the lower portion having 290been cut away. The double doorway itself is fine early Manueline marble, surmounted215 by the pelican216 and young, the device of John II., and the armillary sphere, which was that of his son, King Manuel the Fortunate. The inside of the church is very striking. The immense width of nave (42 feet) is unbroken by pillars or aisles217, the side chapels218 being apparently embedded in the walls and separated from each other by fine pure Gothic pillars on the wall surface, each pillar being carried right up to the spring of the roof and its uninterrupted arch carried over to the corresponding pillar on the other side, the effect being one of great width and spaciousness219, as the length of the nave to the chancel arch is no less than eighty-eight feet.
The chapels, some of which are very beautiful with carved figures of the good sixteenth and seventeenth century Spanish period, are separated from the nave by a handsome black and white marble balustrade of the same period. The transepts are exceptionally majestic220, and, like the nave, of good unadorned Romanesque-Gothic, but the tiled walls and overloaded221 altars—the latter still greatly venerated222 by the 291faithful—sadly mar33 the simple grandeur223 of their main plan. The chancel is magnificent, with its elaborately bossed and groined roof, and fine carved choir224-stalls, the work of the Fleming, Oliver of Ghent, who carved the now plundered225 stalls for the Templars’ church at Thomar; and over the noble chancel arch again the devices of John II. and Manuel, with the arms of Portugal, are carved.
In the chapels, and especially in one of the transepts, are some paintings of the highest interest; but the light is so bad that it is impossible to inspect them carefully. They can, however, be seen sufficiently well—notwithstanding their deplorable condition—to prove that some of the great mysterious Flemish-Portuguese masters of the late fifteenth and early sixteenth centuries must have painted them. One representing St. Anthony preaching to the fishes is perfectly226 exquisite in its minute conscientiousness227. I was informed that in the bishop168’s palace twelve fine paintings of the same school, attributed to the brothers Van Eyck, are kept in similar semi-darkness and neglect; but these I could not see. It is a thousand pities that these art treasures and 292others of the same sort which I have mentioned,[10] should not be rescued and reverently228 kept.
A peculiarity of this church of St. Francisco, as of the cathedral of Evora, which I shall mention presently, is that the brown granite230 blocks of which it is constructed are clearly marked out with staring white divisions of cement, either real or simulated. The effect is one of very questionable231 taste, but the peculiarity is not a modern innovation, and the series of white transverse lines traced upon the brown background has some attraction from its very strangeness. The story goes that this monastery-church, founded originally in 1224, twice fell down, and when, after the second disaster late in the fifteenth century, the famous architect, Martin Louren?o, was commissioned to construct a new church, he swore that his building, at least, should never share the fate of its predecessors232. Instead of a single main outer wall he built two on each side of the church, all of similar height, the space between the inner and outer walls being about five feet or less, and in the lower portion of this space the 293side chapels are accommodated. The two walls were tied together by transverse walls of similar strength and height between the chapels, and upon each of these transverse walls, which are carried over the roof to the opposite pair of walls, similarly constructed, the roof arches rest. The roof is, therefore, divided into six independent sections, each one supported by its own separate walls and arch. As if this were not enough, a similar arrangement was made below the ground, where corresponding sets of transverse walls were carried across to the other side, and thus the whole nave consisted of six complete and self-supporting bodies joined together. Even this did not satisfy Martin Louren?o. He built yet another wall longitudinally along the central ridge of the roof, and a similar one underground along the same axis233 binding234 together both above and below the transverse sections from end to end, and increasing the stability of the building by the added weight. All this it is, of course, impossible to see from the inside, but from the pra?a the top battlements of the four long lines of wall and the roof-ridge are discernible, and the skeleton of the church, so to speak, can be understood.
A door in the transept leads to an extraordinary 294chapel of considerable size (58 feet long by 34 broad), divided into a nave and two aisles, the whole of the walls, pillars, and ceiling of which are lined or constructed of skulls235 and other human bones, arranged in symmetrical patterns. The remains of many thousands of human beings are contained in this ghastly chamber236, probably constructed by the monks in the seventeenth century from the contents of ancient crypts and charnel-houses. The specially26 venerated figure of our Lord, of which this was formerly237 the chapel, has now been transferred to an adjoining apartment better adapted for modern worship.
Evora stands upon a gentle eminence in the midst of a vast fertile plain, surrounded by distant mountains, and upon the very summit of the hill, hidden away between narrow, winding streets leading up from the main arcaded238 pra?a, stands the venerable Sé—the cathedral of the archbishopric. In a quiet little open space it rears its two solid, square, granite Romanesque towers of the twelfth century, flanked by the whitewashed239, monastic-looking palace of the archbishop, the two towers being united by a pure Gothic doorway porch which fills the space between them. The inner doorway pillars are 295adorned by early Gothic statues of the disciples240, all so direct and vivid as to put to shame the affected241 elaborations of a later time. Slabs242 in the porch over ancient sarcophagi in Gothic niches tell that all this has been restored in recent years; but it is easy to see that here, at least, the restorer has been reverent229 and has spoilt nothing.
Like most of the Portuguese cathedrals of the period the first effect produced by the interior is that of grave massiveness. The narrow nave and aisles separated by clustered Romanesque pillars, supporting early Gothic arches, very slightly pointed, and a graceful243 triforium, have all the beauty of serene244 severity.[11] Here again, the clustered pillars shoot sheer up to the spring of the roof, and carry an arch over to the other side, and the cimborio or lantern at the intersection245 of the transepts and the nave is especially striking. The pillars that support it on four sides, chancel, nave, and two transepts, are as bold and aspiring246 as those of Ely, and seem to cry out aloud in exalted247 triumphant248 devotion. To gaze up at this cimborio with its lovely 296groining and its graceful spandrils carried to a prodigious249 height at one sweep is a sensation worth coming from England to experience.
High up on the wall of the nave there is roughly sculptured the life-sized figure of a man, bearing upon his breast a cartouche with the Gothic letters C. C. E. cut upon it, representing, as local antiquarians insist, the figure of the twelfth-century architect of the building, Martin Dominguez, and the coats-of-arms and sepulchral250 figures in chapels and on walls are many. One florid Gothic sarcophagus in the south transept is that of André de Resende, a relative of Garcia de Resende, the earliest Portuguese historian, whose house, with its beautiful Manueline windows, still stands in Evora. The chapels on each side of the cathedral are much disfigured by tawdry decorations and curly gilt251 wood carvings252, but several have finely painted altar-pieces, badly lit and uncared for; and one altar, Our Lady of the Angel, against a pillar in the nave, evidently much venerated, for it is hung all over with votive offerings, is grotesquely253 hideous254, with its ill-carved, big, staring doll upon a gilt monstrosity of a stand.
The little choir loft28 over the west end of 297the nave, like that at Braga, is filled with finely carved oaken choir-stalls, and the episcopal throne, with Scripture255 scenes in high relief carved upon the panelling, probably French or Italian work of the Renaissance period. The Eborenses complain that the French plundered the cathedral of most of its valuable treasures; but the church plate and vestments are still of very great richness, and I was much struck by a great jewelled altar cross said to contain a fragment of the True Cross. The precious stones upon it amount altogether to 1425, of which 840 are diamonds; and a chalice256 of enamel257 and gold of the sixteenth century is a veritable thing of beauty. The chancel and high altar of the eighteenth century, though of precious marbles, are quite out of keeping with the church, and I was glad to turn away from them and linger in the pretty little ruined cloister of the monks, of simple devotional Gothic.
But the exterior258 of the old Sé after all is more picturesque than the interior. Glimpses of shady little white courtyards, with acacias, orange-trees, and abundant flowers; corners and gateways259 of ancient palaces, with florid and beautiful Manueline doorways; here and there 298a Roman tower or arch; narrow white streets, almost alleys260, with supporting arches from side to side across the way; and over all a blue, blue sky. The bold, long, battlemented ridges of the aisles and nave of the cathedral, and the pointed round tower of the wonderful cimborio, with its eight turrets261 ranged around it, seem to force upon the mind the dignified262 antiquity of the place, hardly marred263 by the modern classicism of the trivial chancel apse tacked264 on to it. Outside the north-west corner of the cathedral is a Roman tower and arch in perfect preservation265, and adjoining it a quaint triangular266 pra?a called S. Miguel, gives entrance to a ruined medi?val palace of the Counts of Basto. But, take a few steps to the north of this, turn the corner of the archbishop’s palace and the choir-boys’ college, and there bursts upon your view, silhouetted267 against the blue sky, an object that draws an exclamation268 of surprise and delight from the most apathetic269. In an open space, almost surrounded by ancient battlemented buildings, there stands alone in the midst a majestic ruin, which makes even their hoary270 antiquity but a thing of yesterday. A Roman temple, almost complete, with six Corinthian 299columns at the end of its parallelogram and five out of the ten that formerly existed on each side. The supporting wall upon which they stand is of rough stone with well-dressed granite plinths and corners, all perfect and complete, and standing over eleven feet from the ground. Upon this rise the beautiful fluted271 columns of granite, with bases and carved capitals of white marble, the granite entablature over the pillars being almost perfect.
At what was the entrance of the temple the remains of a noble flight of steps, the whole width of the edifice and twelve feet high, exist, and it requires no effort of the imagination, turning one’s back to the cathedral, to repeople the space before us with figures of the long past. Up the steps to the lovely temple under the blue sky mount the white-clad citizens of imperial Rome. Slaves there are in many, and half-civilised Iberian tribesmen, still, perhaps, recalcitrant272 to the yoke273. Trembling, perchance, for the savage274 vengeance275 of Diocletian, they sullenly276 look upon the sacrifice to the pagan gods, whilst they in their hearts hold with the strange new creed277 of the Nazarene; for this temple must have been raised in the second 300century after the advent87 of Christ, when already the trumpet177 sound of Christianity had pierced the hearts of the Celtiberian peoples, and had awakened278 vague longings279 for emancipation281 from the oppressive unconsoling gods of old.
And I turn back and contemplate282 the grave old medi?val cathedral close by, with its modern addition covered with flourishing cardinals283 hats and saintly frippery; and I see there, too, the temple of a creed that is losing its hold upon the hearts and minds of men. For the great cathedral I have just left is as empty and silent now as the temple to the unknown God before me. In successive ages surely the same old yearning284 is re-born for direct appeal and nearer personal access to God, free from the trammels and man-made mediations with which all creeds285 in time burden the simplicity286 of their faith. Here in this temple—called of Diana with no historical warrant—devout souls offered their sacrifice without misgiving287; and in the old Sé hearts have pierced the church-raised clouds and reached the Throne any day this nine hundred years. But as the thirst for equal direct appeal for all souls overthrew288 the gods of the temple, so the same longing280 empties the great fane that has departed from the severe sincerity289 of the age that founded it; and thus the gods do come and go, whilst God lives on for ever.
The “Temple of Diana,” Evora
301It is difficult to shake oneself free from retrospective visions when standing between this stately ruin and the cathedral that has supplanted290 it; but regarded simply as a Roman material relic88, the ruin is remarkable. It is of a similar period and much resembles the Maison Carrée at Nimes, although as I recollect291 it appeared much larger. The temple at Evora is about eighty feet long and nearly fifty feet broad, the height of the columns being twenty-five feet. Behind the temple there is a pretty shady public garden, ending in a balustrade where the hill drops suddenly away to the plain spread out at the foot for miles to the mountains far away. It was a spot which will linger in my memory to the last; and I left it sorrowfully.
Opposite the temple is the Arch?ological Museum of Evora, containing a large collection of Roman and medi?val relics, found in the city and rescued from ruined buildings; and in the streets still the remains of ancient architecture greet the visitor at every turn. Evora, indeed, is a 302museum of itself; and it is impossible even to mention a quarter of the objects in it that would appeal to an antiquarian or arch?ologist. Two buildings there are, however, that cannot be entirely passed over. The so-called palace of Dom Manuel is now used as an agricultural museum, and some of the upper portion has been rebuilt in semi-Moorish style; but the lower portion is intact, and is a splendid specimen of early sixteenth-century stonework. The hall is low but tremendously massive, the walls being three yards thick, and the octagonal pillars supporting the simple groined roof in the centre being massive in proportion.
From the beautiful semi-tropical public garden in which this palace stands, just beyond the medi?val walls of the city, it is but a step across the road to the extraordinary hermitage church of St. Braz. A great plague had assailed292 Evora in 1479, and here a temporary pesthouse was established outside the walls. The bishop vowed293 that if St. Braz would free the place from the epidemic294 he would build here a permanent temple to his honour. When the plague disappeared in the following year, 1480, the bishop kept his word, and the present church has stood here ever 303since. The style, in my experience, is unique—Norman-Gothic local arch?ologists call it—the building being a long, low, fortress-like structure, with six pointed turrets along each side, and with battlemented parapets; the two first turrets supporting a massive battlemented ante-porch, with plain pointed arches and Byzantine capitals, the porch being perhaps a third the length of the church, and of the same height. For a building so late as the end of the fifteenth century, just on the verge295 of the period that went crazy over the exuberant296 Manueline, this survival of the Norman-Byzantine tradition is extraordinary.
Evora was all aglow297 with the glories of the setting sun when I left it. Long lines of lofty eucalyptus trees stretched as far as the eye reached along the railway, the long hanging strips of bark and the bright clean trunks shining a brilliant orange, whilst the drooping298 foliage299 was a bright bronze tipped with gold. Wistaria and clematis hung in wondrous300 bunches and masses over walls and in wayside gardens, and no sign of coming winter marred the beauty of the day. Long rows of trucks and waggons301 filled with cork lined the way, and open doors of dep?ts and warehouses302 disclosed overflowing stores of cork in bales ready 304for transport; for Evora is the centre of this profitable industry, and derives303 from it much of its prosperity. Over all the gold and emerald after-glow cast its strange glamour; high overhead the deep blue of the sky was just flecked by purple cloud, and the soft scented304 air was like a breath from the Arabian Nights.
Once only in the four hours’ journey through the night to Barreiro and Lisbon was I aroused from the series of reveries into which the impressions of these scenes had cast me. It was at a station by the way, dimly lit with smoky oil lamps. Some bundles of rags topped by nightcaps lounged about in the gloom of the platform, and across the way a few white cottages stood out from a background of trees and the hills beyond, whilst overhead, through the high branches of the eucalyptus, the stars shone brilliantly. There was nothing special in all this, for the same picture is presented by most Portuguese and Spanish railway stations by night during the interminable waits inherent to travelling by a train whose first interest is the conveyance305 of merchandise; but what did strike me as I looked was the name of the place: Montemor.
From here, then, from this humble remote 305place, came the man, the poet, Jorge de Montemor—or Montemayor as he came to be called—who set all cultured Europe running again after the preposterous306 pastoral romances of lovelorn shepherds and shepherdesses, which had been forgotten since the eclogues and bucolics of classical Italy had been voted old-fashioned. From here came the inspiration that made Cervantes write the “Galatea,” Sidney write the “Arcadia,” and Spenser write the “Fairy Queen”: these sweet fertile hillsides and vales of southern Portugal were the scenes which the native poet peopled with the erotic swains of his Spanish pastoral, “Diana Enamorada.” It was a style utterly307 foreign to arid Spain, for there the flocks had to travel in vast multitudes from desert to desert in search of the scanty pasture; but it caught the fancy of a people sated with knights-errant, and the pastoral became the rage. That Spain itself should have given it new birth was incredible, though Jorge de Montemor wrote in Spanish. The neighbourhood of his birthplace gives us the key; for here in rich pastures and lush, half-tropical valleys flocks would need but little tending or travelling, and here beneath the sunny skies shepherds and their lasses might as 306easily as in Italy be imagined piping, singing, and telling their long-winded love stories to their hearts’ content.
Lisbon was all smiles when I arrived; clear and crisp as if no rain-clouds and wreaths of wet mist had ever crept up the Tagus and put her out of temper. But the big steamer was lying in the harbour ready to sail for England, and though Lisbon tempted308 me, I could not choose but go. Forth from the splendid panorama65 we went, past the great white fortress high on the hill, the city piled up on its amphitheatre and set in verdant frames, the majestic square palace of Ajuda looking down upon Belem and its glorious church, and the sturdy old tower rising from the water dumbly protesting against its desecration309 by the gasworks that surround it.
LISBON FROM THE NORTH.
The next day at noon I stood and gazed over an indigo sea, from whose waves the light breeze lifted the white foam310 and cast it wantonly to leeward311 in a shower of diamonds. All along the coast gleaming towns nestled in the laps of the hills. The mountains of fair Lusitania, pine-clad to the tops, were slowly receding312 from my view, covered with a glory of opal grey and gold, touched here and there where the shadows fell 307with tints313 of darkling green and lavender, whilst the sky over all melted from a horizon of palest primrose314, through turquoise315, to an illimitable vault316 of sapphire317. As the lovely scene faded in the distance, and the bold jagged rocks of Spain loomed318 ahead, I turned away full of thankfulness for the ineffable319 beauty of the world: but I could find no word to say more than the quaint outburst of the simple-minded priest whom the Emperor sent to bring home his Portuguese bride five centuries ago: “O Portugallia, O Portugallia, bona regio!” Fifty-two hours afterwards I was shrinking from the chill embrace of a November fog in London.
8. Oswald Crawford, “Portugal: Old and New.”
9. The manuscript quoted is in the Vatican Library, and is reproduced at length by Herculano in an article called Archeologia Portugeza in “Opusculos.”
10. There are fourteen of the same sort in the Cathedral of Viseu, one the famous St. Peter.
11. The whole interior width of the church is only 46 feet, much less than the nave alone of Toledo, Seville, or York.
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hindrance
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| n.妨碍，障碍 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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arid
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| adj.干旱的；(土地)贫瘠的 | |
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watershed
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| n.转折点，分水岭，分界线 | |
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eucalyptus
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| n.桉树，桉属植物 | |
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descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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descend
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| vt./vi.传下来，下来，下降 | |
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oxide
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| n.氧化物 | |
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Portuguese
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| n.葡萄牙人；葡萄牙语 | |
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spacious
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| adj.广阔的，宽敞的 | |
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situated
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| adj.坐落在...的，处于某种境地的 | |
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metropolis
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| n.首府；大城市 | |
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sardine
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| n.[C]沙丁鱼 | |
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sardines
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| n. 沙丁鱼 | |
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preeminence
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| n.卓越,杰出 | |
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eminence
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| n.卓越，显赫；高地，高处；名家 | |
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wont
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| adj.习惯于；v.习惯；n.习惯 | |
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ridge
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| n.山脊；鼻梁；分水岭 | |
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grove
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| n.林子，小树林，园林 | |
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groves
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| 树丛，小树林( grove的名词复数 ) | |
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orchards
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tracts
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| 大片土地( tract的名词复数 )； 地带； （体内的）道； （尤指宣扬宗教、伦理或政治的）短文 | |
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plantations
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| n.种植园，大农场( plantation的名词复数 ) | |
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overflowing
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| n. 溢出物,溢流 adj. 充沛的，充满的 动词overflow的现在分词形式 | |
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descending
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| n. 下行 adj. 下降的 | |
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specially
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isolated
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loft
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fortress
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| n.堡垒，防御工事 | |
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fortresses
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loom
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looming
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mar
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estuary
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haven
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remarkable
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frugal
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standing
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pointed
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prow
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canes
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| n.（某些植物，如竹或甘蔗的）茎( cane的名词复数 )；（用于制作家具等的）竹竿；竹杖 | |
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thwarts
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mighty
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oars
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| n.桨，橹( oar的名词复数 )；划手v.划（行）( oar的第三人称单数 ) | |
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picturesque
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seaman
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| n.海员，水手，水兵 | |
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flannel
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| n.法兰绒；法兰绒衣服 | |
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incessant
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| adj.不停的，连续的 | |
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lore
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ragged
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scanty
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| adj.缺乏的，仅有的，节省的，狭小的，不够的 | |
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pretence
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lumbering
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| n.采伐林木 | |
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vivacious
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| adj.活泼的，快活的 | |
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chattering
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| n. （机器振动发出的）咔嗒声，(鸟等)鸣，啁啾 adj. 喋喋不休的，啾啾声的 动词chatter的现在分词形式 | |
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incessantly
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| ad.不停地 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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concession
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| n.让步，妥协；特许(权) | |
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ripple
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| n.涟波，涟漪，波纹，粗钢梳；vt.使...起涟漪，使起波纹； vi.呈波浪状，起伏前进 | |
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60
exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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61
pungency
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| n.（气味等的）刺激性；辣；（言语等的）辛辣；尖刻 | |
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62
languor
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| n.无精力，倦怠 | |
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63
receded
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| v.逐渐远离( recede的过去式和过去分词 )；向后倾斜；自原处后退或避开别人的注视；尤指问题 | |
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64
panoramas
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| 全景画( panorama的名词复数 )； 全景照片； 一连串景象或事 | |
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65
panorama
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| n.全景，全景画，全景摄影，全景照片[装置] | |
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66
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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67
brink
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| n.(悬崖、河流等的)边缘，边沿 | |
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68
gashes
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| n.深长的切口（或伤口）( gash的名词复数 )v.划伤，割破( gash的第三人称单数 ) | |
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69
cork
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| n.软木，软木塞 | |
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70
tinted
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| adj. 带色彩的 动词tint的过去式和过去分词 | |
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71
indigo
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| n.靛青，靛蓝 | |
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72
verdant
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| adj.翠绿的，青翠的，生疏的，不老练的 | |
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73
promontory
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| n.海角；岬 | |
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74
bluff
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| v.虚张声势，用假象骗人；n.虚张声势，欺骗 | |
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75
dune
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| n.(由风吹积而成的)沙丘 | |
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76
dunes
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| 沙丘( dune的名词复数 ) | |
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77
pellucid
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| adj.透明的，简单的 | |
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78
doorways
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| n.门口，门道( doorway的名词复数 ) | |
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79
doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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80
embedded
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| a.扎牢的 | |
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81
sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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82
literally
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| adv.照字面意义，逐字地；确实 | |
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83
dwellings
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| n.住处，处所( dwelling的名词复数 ) | |
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84
rubble
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| n.（一堆）碎石，瓦砾 | |
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85
excavated
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| v.挖掘( excavate的过去式和过去分词 )；开凿；挖出；发掘 | |
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86
partially
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| adv.部分地，从某些方面讲 | |
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87
advent
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| n.(重要事件等的)到来，来临 | |
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88
relic
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| n.神圣的遗物，遗迹，纪念物 | |
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89
relics
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| [pl.］n.遗物，遗迹，遗产；遗体，尸骸 | |
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90
civilisation
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| n.文明，文化，开化，教化 | |
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91
excavation
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| n.挖掘，发掘；被挖掘之地 | |
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92
excavations
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| n.挖掘( excavation的名词复数 )；开凿；开凿的洞穴（或山路等）；（发掘出来的）古迹 | |
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93
imp
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| n.顽童 | |
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94
founders
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| n.创始人( founder的名词复数 ) | |
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95
purely
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| adv.纯粹地，完全地 | |
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96
defensive
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| adj.防御的；防卫的；防守的 | |
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97
stockades
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| n.（防御用的）栅栏，围桩( stockade的名词复数 ) | |
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98
aggression
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| n.进攻，侵略，侵犯，侵害 | |
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99
maritime
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| adj.海的，海事的，航海的，近海的，沿海的 | |
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100
remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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101
unearthed
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| 出土的（考古） | |
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102
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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103
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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104
silting
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| n.淤积，淤塞，充填v.（河流等）为淤泥淤塞( silt的现在分词 )；（使）淤塞 | |
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105
villa
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| n.别墅，城郊小屋 | |
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106
edible
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| n.食品，食物；adj.可食用的 | |
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107
layman
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| n.俗人，门外汉，凡人 | |
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108
chapel
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| n.小教堂，殡仪馆 | |
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109
Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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110
populous
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| adj.人口稠密的，人口众多的 | |
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111
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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112
underlie
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| v.位于...之下，成为...的基础 | |
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113
tapering
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| adj.尖端细的 | |
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114
apex
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| n.顶点，最高点 | |
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115
smoothly
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| adv.平滑地，顺利地，流利地，流畅地 | |
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116
conspicuous
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| adj.明眼的，惹人注目的；炫耀的，摆阔气的 | |
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117
landmark
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| n.陆标，划时代的事，地界标 | |
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118
embark
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| vi.乘船，着手，从事，上飞机 | |
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119
treacherous
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| adj.不可靠的，有暗藏的危险的；adj.背叛的，背信弃义的 | |
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120
puff
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| n.一口(气)；一阵(风)；v.喷气，喘气 | |
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121
refreshment
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| n.恢复，精神爽快，提神之事物；（复数）refreshments:点心，茶点 | |
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122
junction
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| n.连接，接合；交叉点，接合处，枢纽站 | |
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123
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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124
gaily
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| adv.欢乐地，高兴地 | |
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125
linen
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| n.亚麻布，亚麻线，亚麻制品；adj.亚麻布制的，亚麻的 | |
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126
glamour
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| n.魔力，魅力；vt.迷住 | |
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127
cactus
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| n.仙人掌 | |
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128
glistening
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| adj.闪耀的，反光的v.湿物闪耀，闪亮( glisten的现在分词 ) | |
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129
cloister
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| n.修道院；v.隐退，使与世隔绝 | |
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130
cloisters
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| 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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131
shrines
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| 圣地，圣坛，神圣场所( shrine的名词复数 ) | |
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132
maize
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| n.玉米 | |
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133
velvet
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| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
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134
vehemence
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| n.热切；激烈；愤怒 | |
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135
patriot
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| n.爱国者，爱国主义者 | |
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136
patriotic
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| adj.爱国的，有爱国心的 | |
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137
panegyric
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| n.颂词，颂扬 | |
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138
rattled
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| 慌乱的，恼火的 | |
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139
toiled
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| 长时间或辛苦地工作( toil的过去式和过去分词 )； 艰难缓慢地移动，跋涉 | |
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140
winding
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| n.绕，缠，绕组，线圈 | |
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141
inaccessible
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| adj.达不到的，难接近的 | |
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142
lichen
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| n.地衣, 青苔 | |
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143
moorish
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| adj.沼地的，荒野的，生[住]在沼地的 | |
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144
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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145
gateway
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| n.大门口，出入口，途径，方法 | |
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146
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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147
dismantled
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| 拆开( dismantle的过去式和过去分词 )； 拆卸； 废除； 取消 | |
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148
moors
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| v.停泊，系泊（船只）( moor的第三人称单数 ) | |
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149
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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150
crumble
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| vi.碎裂，崩溃；vt.弄碎，摧毁 | |
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151
shrill
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| adj.尖声的；刺耳的；v尖叫 | |
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152
languorous
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| adj.怠惰的，没精打采的 | |
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153
strenuous
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| adj.奋发的，使劲的；紧张的；热烈的，狂热的 | |
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154
folly
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| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
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155
quaint
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| adj.古雅的，离奇有趣的，奇怪的 | |
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156
tortuous
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| adj.弯弯曲曲的，蜿蜒的 | |
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157
arcades
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| n.商场( arcade的名词复数 )；拱形走道（两旁有商店或娱乐设施）；连拱廊；拱形建筑物 | |
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158
plazas
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| n.（尤指西班牙语城镇的）露天广场( plaza的名词复数 )；购物中心 | |
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159
thither
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| adv.向那里；adj.在那边的，对岸的 | |
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160
gaudy
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| adj.华而不实的；俗丽的 | |
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161
surmount
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| vt.克服；置于…顶上 | |
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162
draught
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| n.拉，牵引，拖；一网（饮，吸，阵)；顿服药量，通风；v.起草，设计 | |
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163
mules
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| 骡( mule的名词复数 )； 拖鞋； 顽固的人； 越境运毒者 | |
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164
waggon
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| n.运货马车，运货车；敞篷车箱 | |
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165
antiquity
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| n.古老；高龄；古物，古迹 | |
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166
epitome
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| n.典型，梗概 | |
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167
vicissitudes
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| n.变迁，世事变化；变迁兴衰( vicissitude的名词复数 )；盛衰兴废 | |
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168
bishop
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| n.主教，（国际象棋）象 | |
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169
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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170
crumbling
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| adj.摇摇欲坠的 | |
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171
ecclesiastic
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| n.教士，基督教会；adj.神职者的，牧师的，教会的 | |
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172
lavishness
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| n.浪费，过度 | |
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173
lieutenant
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| n.陆军中尉，海军上尉；代理官员，副职官员 | |
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174
followers
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| 追随者( follower的名词复数 )； 用户； 契据的附面； 从动件 | |
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175
militia
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| n.民兵，民兵组织 | |
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176
panoply
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| n.全副甲胄，礼服 | |
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177
trumpet
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| n.喇叭，喇叭声；v.吹喇叭，吹嘘 | |
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178
scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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179
garbed
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| v.（尤指某类人穿的特定）服装，衣服，制服( garb的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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180
cymbal
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| n.铙钹 | |
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181
civic
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| adj.城市的，都市的，市民的，公民的 | |
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182
tambourines
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| n.铃鼓，手鼓( tambourine的名词复数 )；（鸣声似铃鼓的）白胸森鸠 | |
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183
dexterity
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| n.(手的)灵巧，灵活 | |
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184
dexterous
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| adj.灵敏的；灵巧的 | |
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185
sumptuous
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| adj.豪华的，奢侈的，华丽的 | |
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186
sumptuously
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| 奢侈地，豪华地 | |
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187
tablecloth
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| n.桌布，台布 | |
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188
viands
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| n.食品，食物 | |
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189
helping
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| n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的，辅助的 | |
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190
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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191
luxurious
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| adj.精美而昂贵的；豪华的 | |
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192
inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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193
reign
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| n.统治时期，统治，支配，盛行；v.占优势 | |
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194
drowsily
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| adv.睡地，懒洋洋地，昏昏欲睡地 | |
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195
monastery
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| n.修道院，僧院，寺院 | |
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196
edifice
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| n.宏伟的建筑物(如宫殿，教室) | |
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197
portico
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| n.柱廊，门廊 | |
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198
justified
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| a.正当的，有理的 | |
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199
gem
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| n.宝石，珠宝；受爱戴的人 [同]jewel | |
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200
uncommon
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| adj.罕见的，非凡的，不平常的 | |
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201
affinity
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| n.亲和力，密切关系 | |
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202
monarch
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| n.帝王，君主，最高统治者 | |
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203
specimen
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| n.样本，标本 | |
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204
renaissance
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| n.复活，复兴，文艺复兴 | |
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205
trophies
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|
| 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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206
decorative
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| adj.装饰的，可作装饰的 | |
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207
virile
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| adj.男性的；有男性生殖力的；有男子气概的；强有力的 | |
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208
carving
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| n.雕刻品，雕花 | |
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209
skilful
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| (=skillful)adj.灵巧的，熟练的 | |
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210
monks
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| n.修道士，僧侣( monk的名词复数 ) | |
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211
ridges
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| n.脊( ridge的名词复数 )；山脊；脊状突起；大气层的)高压脊 | |
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212
peculiar
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|
| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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213
peculiarity
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| n.独特性，特色；特殊的东西；怪癖 | |
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214
nave
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| n.教堂的中部；本堂 | |
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215
surmounted
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|
| 战胜( surmount的过去式和过去分词 )； 克服（困难）； 居于…之上； 在…顶上 | |
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216
pelican
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| n.鹈鹕，伽蓝鸟 | |
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217
aisles
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| n. (席位间的)通道, 侧廊 | |
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218
chapels
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| n.小教堂， （医院、监狱等的）附属礼拜堂( chapel的名词复数 )；（在小教堂和附属礼拜堂举行的）礼拜仪式 | |
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219
spaciousness
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| n.宽敞 | |
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220
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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221
overloaded
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| a.超载的，超负荷的 | |
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222
venerated
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| 敬重（某人或某事物），崇敬( venerate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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223
grandeur
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| n.伟大，崇高，宏伟，庄严，豪华 | |
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224
choir
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| n.唱诗班，唱诗班的席位，合唱团，舞蹈团；v.合唱 | |
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225
plundered
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| 掠夺，抢劫( plunder的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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226
perfectly
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|
| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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227
conscientiousness
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| 责任心 | |
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228
reverently
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| adv.虔诚地 | |
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229
reverent
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| adj.恭敬的，虔诚的 | |
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230
granite
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|
| adj.花岗岩，花岗石 | |
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231
questionable
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|
| adj.可疑的，有问题的 | |
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232
predecessors
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|
| n.前任( predecessor的名词复数 )；前辈；（被取代的）原有事物；前身 | |
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233
axis
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| n.轴，轴线，中心线；坐标轴，基准线 | |
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234
binding
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| 有约束力的，有效的，应遵守的 | |
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235
skulls
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|
| 颅骨( skull的名词复数 )； 脑袋； 脑子； 脑瓜 | |
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236
chamber
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|
| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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237
formerly
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|
| adv.从前，以前 | |
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238
arcaded
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|
| adj.成为拱廊街道的，有列拱的 | |
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239
whitewashed
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| 粉饰，美化，掩饰( whitewash的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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240
disciples
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|
| n.信徒( disciple的名词复数 )；门徒；耶稣的信徒；（尤指）耶稣十二门徒之一 | |
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241
affected
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|
| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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242
slabs
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|
| n.厚板，平板，厚片( slab的名词复数 )；厚胶片 | |
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243
graceful
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|
| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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244
serene
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|
| adj. 安详的，宁静的，平静的 | |
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245
intersection
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|
| n.交集，十字路口，交叉点；[计算机] 交集 | |
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246
aspiring
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|
| adj.有志气的；有抱负的；高耸的v.渴望；追求 | |
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247
exalted
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|
| adj.(地位等)高的，崇高的；尊贵的，高尚的 | |
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248
triumphant
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|
| adj.胜利的，成功的；狂欢的，喜悦的 | |
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249
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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250
sepulchral
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|
| adj.坟墓的，阴深的 | |
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251
gilt
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|
| adj.镀金的；n.金边证券 | |
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252
carvings
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|
| n.雕刻( carving的名词复数 )；雕刻术；雕刻品；雕刻物 | |
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253
grotesquely
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|
| adv. 奇异地,荒诞地 | |
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254
hideous
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|
| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
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255
scripture
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|
| n.经文，圣书，手稿；Scripture:(常用复数)《圣经》，《圣经》中的一段 | |
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256
chalice
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|
| n.圣餐杯；金杯毒酒 | |
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257
enamel
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|
| n.珐琅，搪瓷，瓷釉；(牙齿的)珐琅质 | |
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258
exterior
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|
| adj.外部的，外在的；表面的 | |
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259
gateways
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|
| n.网关( gateway的名词复数 )；门径；方法；大门口 | |
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260
alleys
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| 胡同，小巷( alley的名词复数 )； 小径 | |
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261
turrets
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| （六角）转台( turret的名词复数 )； （战舰和坦克等上的）转动炮塔； （摄影机等上的）镜头转台； （旧时攻城用的）塔车 | |
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262
dignified
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|
| a.可敬的，高贵的 | |
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263
marred
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|
| adj. 被损毁, 污损的 | |
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264
tacked
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|
| 用平头钉钉( tack的过去式和过去分词 )； 附加，增补； 帆船抢风行驶，用粗线脚缝 | |
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265
preservation
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|
| n.保护，维护，保存，保留，保持 | |
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266
triangular
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|
| adj.三角（形）的，三者间的 | |
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267
silhouetted
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| 显出轮廓的，显示影像的 | |
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268
exclamation
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|
| n.感叹号，惊呼，惊叹词 | |
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269
apathetic
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|
| adj.冷漠的，无动于衷的 | |
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270
hoary
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|
| adj.古老的；鬓发斑白的 | |
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271
fluted
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|
| a.有凹槽的 | |
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272
recalcitrant
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|
| adj.倔强的 | |
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273
yoke
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|
| n.轭；支配；v.给...上轭，连接，使成配偶 | |
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274
savage
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|
| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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275
vengeance
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|
| n.报复，报仇，复仇 | |
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276
sullenly
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|
| 不高兴地，绷着脸，忧郁地 | |
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277
creed
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|
| n.信条；信念，纲领 | |
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278
awakened
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|
| 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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279
longings
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|
| 渴望，盼望( longing的名词复数 ) | |
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280
longing
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|
| n.（for）渴望 | |
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281
emancipation
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|
| n.（从束缚、支配下）解放 | |
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282
contemplate
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|
| vt.盘算，计议；周密考虑；注视，凝视 | |
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283
cardinals
|
|
| 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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284
yearning
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|
| a.渴望的；向往的；怀念的 | |
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285
creeds
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| （尤指宗教）信条，教条( creed的名词复数 ) | |
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286
simplicity
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|
| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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287
misgiving
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|
| n.疑虑，担忧，害怕 | |
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288
overthrew
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| overthrow的过去式 | |
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289
sincerity
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|
| n.真诚，诚意；真实 | |
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290
supplanted
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|
| 把…排挤掉，取代( supplant的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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291
recollect
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|
| v.回忆，想起，记起，忆起，记得 | |
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292
assailed
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|
| v.攻击( assail的过去式和过去分词 )；困扰；质问；毅然应对 | |
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293
vowed
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|
| 起誓，发誓（vow的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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294
epidemic
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|
| n.流行病；盛行；adj.流行性的，流传极广的 | |
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295
verge
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|
| n.边，边缘；v.接近，濒临 | |
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296
exuberant
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|
| adj.充满活力的；（植物）繁茂的 | |
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297
aglow
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|
| adj.发亮的；发红的；adv.发亮地 | |
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298
drooping
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|
| adj. 下垂的，无力的 动词droop的现在分词 | |
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299
foliage
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| n.叶子，树叶，簇叶 | |
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300
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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301
waggons
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|
| 四轮的运货马车( waggon的名词复数 )； 铁路货车； 小手推车 | |
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302
warehouses
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| 仓库，货栈( warehouse的名词复数 ) | |
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303
derives
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|
| v.得到( derive的第三人称单数 )；（从…中）得到获得；源于；（从…中）提取 | |
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304
scented
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|
| 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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305
conveyance
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|
| n.(不动产等的)转让，让与；转让证书；传送；运送；表达；（正）运输工具 | |
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306
preposterous
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|
| adj.荒谬的，可笑的 | |
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307
utterly
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|
| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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308
tempted
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|
| v.怂恿（某人）干不正当的事；冒…的险（tempt的过去分词） | |
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309
desecration
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|
| n. 亵渎神圣, 污辱 | |
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310
foam
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|
| v./n.泡沫，起泡沫 | |
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311
leeward
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|
| adj.背风的；下风的 | |
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312
receding
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|
| v.逐渐远离( recede的现在分词 )；向后倾斜；自原处后退或避开别人的注视；尤指问题 | |
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313
tints
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|
| 色彩( tint的名词复数 )； 带白的颜色； （淡色）染发剂； 痕迹 | |
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314
primrose
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|
| n.樱草，最佳部分， | |
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315
turquoise
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| n.绿宝石；adj.蓝绿色的 | |
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316
vault
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| n.拱形圆顶，地窖，地下室 | |
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317
sapphire
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| n.青玉，蓝宝石；adj.天蓝色的 | |
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318
loomed
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| v.隐约出现，阴森地逼近( loom的过去式和过去分词 )；隐约出现，阴森地逼近 | |
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319
ineffable
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| adj.无法表达的，不可言喻的 | |
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