ROYAL BUILDER
Little Henry VI. was not crowned till he was nine years old, and one old writer says that "so small was he, he could not wear the crown, and a bracelet1 of his mother's was placed on his head." He was a dreamy, gentle boy, and, far from being excited or happy on his coronation day, we hear how "very sadly and gravely he beheld2 all the people round about him, at the sight of which he showed great humility3." His mother, Katherine, had married a Welshman named Owen Tudor, much to the anger of those about the court and the nobles, who considered that by so doing she had demeaned herself, and after this she was allowed to see very little of her son, who was therefore left entirely4 to his uncles, the Duke of Bedford and the Duke of Gloucester. Like Edward the Confessor, Henry was fit for a cloister5 but not for a crown, and he was called to reign6 in troublous times, when strength of will and purpose were more needed in a king than saintliness or simplicity7 of life. His uncles, who realised his weakness, arranged that he should marry Margaret of Anjou, a woman who was brave, ambitious, and masterful; but the fact that she soon got Henry completely under her control only brought about in the end his destruction and hers. In France the English lose all that they had won, for a deliverer of France had arisen in the girl Joan of Arc, who gave fresh courage and hope to her fellow-countrymen and led them on to victory as though she had been a saint sent by God. Then back to England came those many thousands of soldiers who had been fighting abroad all these years, and they were not inclined to settle down to a peaceful life; they wanted adventure, excitement, and plunder8, and they were ready to flock round any leader who could promise them the chance of a fight. You will remember how, when you looked at Edward III.'s tomb, with the figures of his sons kneeling round, I told you that the descendants of those sons brought civil war upon England; and it was in the reign of Henry VI. that this terrible war broke out. Henry, as you know, was descended9 from John of Gaunt, Duke of Lancaster, and his grandfather, Henry IV., had gained the throne by will of Parliament and by right of conquest, but not by right of inheritance. Now there was living Richard, Duke of York, who was descended from the Duke of Clarence, the elder brother of John of Gaunt, and when, owing to Henry's weakness and the jealousies10 of the great nobles, two parties gradually began to form themselves, these parties naturally became divided into those who supported the king, that is to say, the House of Lancaster, and those who supported the House of York. At first there was no thought of civil war; these two parties merely opposed each other and schemed one against the other; but before long feeling ran so high that open warfare11 became inevitable12, and each side took as its badge a rose.
So began the Wars of the Roses, and there followed those terrible battles of Northampton, Wakefield, St. Albans, Towton, Barnet, and Tewkesbury, in which thousands of Englishmen were slain13 (20,000 at Towton alone), the victory resting first on one side and then on the other, though finally with the Yorkists. The Duke of York had been killed early in the campaign, but his place had been filled by his young son, Edward, and at last, after the battle of Tewkesbury, King Henry and Queen Margaret were taken prisoners, their son Edward having been killed in battle or murdered afterwards. Both were taken to the Tower, and one night, between eleven and twelve, King Henry was put to death, the Duke of Gloucester and divers14 of his men being in the Tower that night. So Edward of York ascended15 the throne, the fourth king of that name, and the first stage of the War of the Roses was ended.
Henry was not buried at Westminster; in the darkness of the night his body was carried from the Tower, put on to a lighted barge16, and, "without singing or saying," conveyed up the dark waters of the Thames to his silent interment at Chertsey Abbey. And yet this gentle, humble17 king had loved the Abbey well, and had greatly longed to lie near to St. Edward, by his father and his ancestors, having chosen the spot where the relics18 had been kept, as a "good place."
Edward IV. reigned19 for twelve years, but he did not reign in peace; and once his wife Elizabeth was in such distress20 and danger that, with her three little girls, Elizabeth, Mary, and Cicely, and one faithful attendant, Lady Scrope, she fled to Westminster for sanctuary21, and threw herself on the mercy of Abbot Mylling. In this gloomy place of refuge her son was born, she being tended by a certain Mother Cobb, who also lived in sanctuary, while the Abbot sent her some few things for her comfort, and a kind butcher named Gould provided "half a beef and two muttons every week."
It was a strange birthplace for an English prince; but his christening, which took place in the Abbey, was not without honour, though the ceremony was carried out as though he were a poor man's son. He was given the honoured name of Edward, the Abbot was his godfather, and the Duchess of Bedford with Lady Scrope stood as his godmothers. When peace was restored, Edward IV. at once came to Westminster to comfort his queen, and he did not forget to reward those who had helped Elizabeth in the hour of her distress. To Nurse Cobb he gave £12 a year; from the butcher he ordered a royal shipful of hides and tallow; while the Abbot, for "his great civility," was made a Privy22 Councillor, and afterwards Bishop23 of Hereford.
But though Elizabeth left the Sanctuary, she was once more to return to its kindly24 shelter. She had always a mistrust of her husband's favourite brother, the Duke of Gloucester, and when King Edward died in 1473, she at once went back to Westminster with her daughters and her second son, the Duke of York. Her eldest25 boy, Edward, was already in his uncle's power and in the Tower, although the Duke of Gloucester had made him enter London in state, he riding bare-headed before him, and saying to the people loudly, "Behold26 your prince and sovereign." But the queen was not to be deceived by this. "Woe27 worth him," she said bitterly; "he goeth about to destroy me and my blood."
This time Elizabeth and her children were given room in the Abbot's palace, probably in the dining-hall, and there the Archbishop of York came to her to deliver up, for the use of her son, the Great Seal, entrusted28 to him by Edward IV. He found her sitting on the floor, "alone on the rushes, desolate29 and dismayed, and about her was much rumble30, haste, and business with conveyance31 of her household stuff into sanctuary. Every man was busy to carry, bear, and convey these stuffs, chests, and fardels, and no man was unoccupied." In the distance could be heard the noise of the workmen already beginning the preparations for the coronation of King Edward, which the Duke of Gloucester was apparently32 pushing forward with all haste. But as the Archbishop looked out of his window on to the Thames, he saw the river covered with boats full of the Duke of Gloucester's servants, keeping a watch over the queen's hiding-place.
Richard of Gloucester's next move was to get possession of the little Duke of York, and as he was now appointed Protector, having altogether deceived the Council as to his real intent, this was no very difficult matter. And the poor queen had only a mother's love and a mother's fears to set against these mighty33 men and the fair sounding argument "that the little king was melancholy34 and desired his brother for a playmate."
"I deliver him into your keeping, my lord," she said to the Archbishop of Canterbury, her face white, her voice trembling, "of whom I shall ask him again before God and the world. And I pray you, for the trust which his father reposed35 in you, that as you think I fear too much, so you be cautious that you fear not too little."
Then she threw her arms round the boy and covered him with kisses.
"Farewell, mine own sweet son," she sobbed36; "God send you good keeping. And God knoweth when we shall kiss together again."
Her worst fears were realised. She never saw her boys again, never knew how they were murdered in the Tower, or even where they were buried. And from her dwelling-place within the Sanctuary precincts she could see and hear all the preparations that were being made for the coronation of Richard III., while she "sobbed and wept and pulled her fair hair, as she called by name her two sweet babes, and cried to God to comfort her."
For nearly a year she remained where she was, then Richard, having taken an oath before the Lord Mayor and the Council to protect her and her daughters, she moved out of Sanctuary into some humble lodgings37 near Westminster, where her one friend seems to have been a doctor named Lewis, who was also a priest, and apparently something of a politician too, for he began to plan with the queen for the marriage of her eldest daughter, Elizabeth, with Harry38 of Richmond, who, through his mother, Margaret Beaufort, was the hope of the Lancastrian party.
Richard III. was already hated in England, and as the story of the way in which he had caused his little nephews to be murdered became generally known, the hatred39 increased tenfold. So the Lancastrian party thought the moment had come for them to make another effort. Harry Richmond landed at Milford Haven40 from France with 3000 men, and soon an eager, willing army flocked to his standard. At Bosworth field he met Richard in battle.
"Let courage supply the want of our numbers," he cried. "And as for me, I propose to live with honour hereafter, or die with honour here."
Evening found him the victor of the day; Richard lay dead on the field, and his crown, which he had worn into battle, was found hanging on a bush. There on the scene of his triumph the crown was set on Henry's head, while the soldiers shouted joyfully41, "God save King Henry VII.," and then burst into a solemn Te Deum.
In October Henry was formally crowned in the Abbey, and in the Abbey, too, a few months later, he married the Princess Elizabeth, once the helpless, homeless Sanctuary child. So were the Houses of York and Lancaster made one; so were the red roses and white roses grafted42 together, and the people of London celebrated43 the happy event with bonfires, dancing, songs, and banquet. Cardinal44 Bourchier, himself of Plantagenet stock, performed the marriage ceremony, and so, as an old writer prettily45 puts it, "his hand held the sweet posie wherein the white and red roses were first tied together."
Not till a year later was Elizabeth crowned, and by then a little son had been born to her, named Arthur at his father's wish, in memory of the stainless46 King Arthur, whom Henry VII. claimed as an ancestor through his Welsh grandfather, Owen Tudor.
It was about this time that a great change came over the people of England in regard to their opinion of Henry VI. They had begun by pitying him for his misfortunes; then they had called to mind his patience and humility, his kind deeds, his love of learning, and his pure life, till at last in their eyes he became nothing short of a saint. Richard III. had caused his body to be removed from Chertsey to Windsor, much to the anger of the priests at Chertsey, who had spread abroad stories of wonderful miracles performed at his tomb, which stories, being readily believed, had drawn47 many pilgrims to the place. And pilgrims never came empty-handed.
Henry VII. came under the influence of this feeling, and he resolved that honour should now be done to this king, whom men had liked and pitied, but had never honoured in life. He had already decided48 to build a new chapel49 to the Virgin50 Mary in the Abbey, or rather to entirely rebuild the Lady Chapel of Henry III., and here he intended Henry VI. should be reburied under a costly51 tomb. He went so far as to petition the Pope to add King Henry's name to the list of saints; but the Pope would only agree to do so for an extravagant52 sum of money, and Henry Tudor thought the money could be more profitably spent in other ways. So the matter was allowed to drop, and although the council which had been summoned to decide where Henry should finally be buried—in Windsor, Chertsey, or Westminster—gave their judgment53 in favour of Westminster, it is very doubtful if his body was ever moved to the Abbey at all. Certainly no monument was raised to his memory. However, the building of the Lady Chapel went on apace, only its purpose was changed. It was no longer to be the chantry of Henry VI., but the chapel of Henry VII., the burying-place of the Tudor kings and queens of his race.
Henry was a curious mixture of a desire to hoard54 up money, and a desire to build what he undertook on a very lavish55 scale. He saved more money than any other English king, and he certainly spent less, for he was simple in all his tastes, a silent, gloomy man. But he has left behind him in Westminster Abbey a piece of work as beautiful as wealth and art could make it, a building "stately and surprising, which brought this church to her highest pitch of glory," and though his original ideas as to its purpose were frustrated56, his longings57 that here "three chantry monks59 should say prayers for his soul so long as the world endured," being ruthlessly disregarded by his own son, Henry VIII., his chapel still stands, so that with Edward the Confessor and Henry III. he ranks among the three great royal builders of the Abbey.
Before you go into this chapel stand for a minute in King Edward's shrine60, with its stately simplicity; then pass under the chantry of Henry V., simple too, but telling of strength, of life, and vigour61; walk up the steps of Henry's Chapel into the dark entrance, and then stay still in the doorway62 to drink in the matchless beauty before your eyes. Here, simplicity is a word unknown; everywhere, inside and out, is a wealth of carving63; no spot or corner was deemed too hidden away to be ornamented64; roof and walls alike are covered with delicate lacework and rich embroidery65 made out of stone.
"They dreamed not of a perishable66 house who thus could build."
The foundation-stone was laid one afternoon in the January of 1502 by Islip, "that wise and holy man who was Abbot of the Westminster monks," and the building was solemnly dedicated67 to the Blessed Virgin Mary by order of Henry VII., king of England and France and Lord of Ireland. The work went on quickly, for money was not lacking. Abbot Islip was a man of action, and Henry was feverishly68 anxious that the building should be completed in his lifetime. Here it was that he meant to be buried, for just because his claim to the throne was not a very good one, he was doubly anxious to link himself on by many different ways to the kings of the past. Everywhere in his chapel, round his tomb, on the roof, and on the doorways69, you will find his different badges set up, as if to say, "Each one of these badges gave me the right to be king of England." You will see over and over again the York and Lancaster roses; the portcullis and the greyhound, both of them Beaufort badges, which had come to him through his mother, Margaret Beaufort, the direct descendant of John of Gaunt, Duke of Lancaster; the red dragon of Cadwallader of Wales, the last British king, whom Henry alone of all the English kings proudly claimed as his ancestor, through Owen Tudor, his father; and the lion, which always figured in the royal arms of England. These badges, everywhere carved, were Henry's challenge to any one who might dispute his claim.
"We will," said Henry, "that this chapel be wholly and perfectlie fynished with all spede; and the windows glazed70 with stories, imagies, badgies, and cognoisants; that the walles, doors, archies, windows, vaults71, and imagies, within and without be painted, garnished72, and adorned73 in as goodly and rich manner as such a work requireth and as to a king's work appertaigneth."
But in spite of all the speed the king died before the work was finished, and never saw his chapel in all its costly beauty. Only a few days before his death he gave the Abbot £5000 more, "in redy money by the hande," for the carrying on of the work, and his will showed how deep his interest lay, for he solemnly charged his executors to advance whatever money was needful, and to choose for the high altar "the greatest Image of our Lady we have in our Juel house; a Crosse of plate of gold upon tymber, chalices74, altar suits, vestments, candlesticks, and ornaments75," all of them to bear the royal badges. "And for the price and value of them," he concluded, "our mynde is, that thei bei of suche as appertaigneth to the gifte of a prynce; and therefore we wol that our executours in that partie have a special regarde to the lawe of God, the weal of our soule and our honour royal."
Queen Elizabeth had died some years before her husband, and had been impressively laid in some side chapel of the Abbey. Now, on Henry's death, both were buried together in the tomb which the king had ordered should be in the middle of the Chapel by the high altar, and about which he had left minute instructions as to the images of himself and the queen, the inscription77, the tabernacles round the tomb with the images of saints and angels, and the grating of copper78 and gilt79 for its protection.
Certainly the tomb was made worthy80 of the exquisite81 chapel which enshrined it, and Henry's wishes were faithfully carried out in this respect. An Italian, Torregiano, made the images of the king and queen in gilt bronze, and Torregiano was something of a genius, for all his images have a wonderful life of their own. Yet he must have been anything but a pleasant visitor to the monastery82 precincts, for he was a bold man, with a loud voice, frowning eyebrows83, and fierce gestures, who daily boasted of his feats84 among the beasts of Englishmen, and told how he had broken the nose of his rival Michael Angelo; or how he had shattered to pieces an image of the Virgin, because there was some dispute about the price to be paid him. However, we must forgive him his violent temper out of gratitude85 for his beautiful work.
The grating round the tomb was made by English workmen, and here again you will see everywhere the king's badges. And I want you to notice, too, the little angels who stand round the king and queen, for they look as if they had just flown there for a moment, so lightly are they poised86. Then you must look at the carvings87 round the tomb, those Saints whom the king had chosen to be his guardians88: the Virgin Mary with Christ in her arms and St. Michael at her side; St. John the Baptist pointing to a picture of the Lamb of God; St. John the Evangelist holding his Gospel in his hand, an eagle standing89 at his feet; St. George of England standing on the vanquished90 Dragon, and with him St. Anthony dressed as a monk58; Mary Magdalene with her box of precious ointment91; St. Barbara holding a three-windowed tower; St. Christopher bearing on his shoulder the Christ Child, and St. Edward the Confessor crowned in glory.
Just outside the screen must have stood a beautiful altar, also the work of Torrigiano, an altar of white marble, gilded92 with fine gold, enriched by inlay and carving, the central figure being "an image, erth coloured of Christ dead;" but this was wrecked93 by a fanatic94 named Marlow in the time of the Commonwealth95, whose "ignorant zeal96 was such that he brake it into shivers, though it was a raritie not to be matched in any part of the world."
As you stand in the chapel I want you to gaze up at the vaulted97 roof, which seems as though it hung in mid76 air, so wonderful is the design with its fairy grace and lightness; for here you see a beautiful example of that fan-tracery vaulting98 which was peculiarly English in its style, and which in this case was probably the work of two English masons, John Hyharn and William Vertue. Then you must look around at the army of Saints and Martyrs99 who guard the walls; king, apostle, saint confessor, all are here, and the niches100 in which they stand are delicately carved and decorated. And you must try to imagine the glory of the windows in those early days when, filled with "goode, clene, sure, and perfyte glasse of oryent colours, and the imagery of the story of the olde lawe and the new lawe," they reflected their rich hues101 around. Now only one little part of those many painted windows remains102, but that is a figure of Henry VII., who looks down over the chapel which he raised.
The carved oaken stalls intended for the monks were not all finished at this time, and as is so often the case with such stalls, there is nothing sacred about the character of the ornaments carved on them. On the contrary, they aim at being amusing; and you will find quaint103 figures of monkeys winnowing104 corn; of foxes in armour105 riding on the backs of cocks; of fiends seizing a miser106; of turkeys chasing a boy; a bear playing on bagpipes107, and so on. In the year 1725 George I. reconstructed the old order of Knights109 of the Bath, and as from the days of Richard II. it had been the custom only to create such knights at a coronation and when a Prince of Wales was created, the Order had many associations with Westminster. So this Chapel of Henry VII. was set apart as the Chapel of the Order, just as the Chapel of St. George's, Windsor, was set apart for the Order of the Garter; and here for nearly a hundred years every knight108 was installed; here was hung his banner; and here was fastened up over his stall the plate on which was emblazoned his coat of arms. But gradually the Order became so large that the many ceremonies connected with it had to cease, and now only the banners which hang here tell us of bygone days.
GATES OF HENRY VII.'s CHAPEL.
GATES OF HENRY VII.'s CHAPEL.
As you come out, take a last look at the massive gates of oak and metal serried110 with badges, and then stand once more in the middle of the sixteenth century, when that mass of carving was made yet more rich and beautiful by the colours which blazed everywhere, from the crimson111, blue, and purple of the windows; the gold and silver vessels112 on the altar; the gleaming brass113 of the images; the gorgeous vestments of the priests; the dazzling whiteness of the marble; the glitter of the tapers114 round the tomb. Think of how Abbot Islip must have gloried in this new gem115 of dazzling beauty now added to the Abbey, already so rich in treasure; for Islip was of "a wakeful conscience" and held himself the steward116 of the house of God, so that he too did some building to this place, and evidently won the confidence of the king, who made him paymaster of the workmen.
As for Henry himself, the chapel has become a far greater memorial of him than he can ever have deemed possible. It matters little to us now what was his real motive117 in raising it, even if it were possible to point to any one unmixed motive which inspired him. For us it is enough that the chapel stands, and though we need not, with Fabyan the chronicler, wax enthusiastic over "the excellent wysdome, sugared eloquence118, wonderfull dyscression, the exceedynge treasure and rychesse innumerabyll" of this silent, almost gloomy king, let us with the same chronicler "remember his beautyfull buildyngs and his liberell endowments at Westminster, and pray that he may attain119 that celestyall mansion120 whych he and all trew Christen soules are inheritors unto, the whyche God hym graunt."
点击收听单词发音
1 bracelet | |
n.手镯,臂镯 | |
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2 beheld | |
v.看,注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 );瞧;看呀;(叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现)哎哟 | |
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3 humility | |
n.谦逊,谦恭 | |
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4 entirely | |
ad.全部地,完整地;完全地,彻底地 | |
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5 cloister | |
n.修道院;v.隐退,使与世隔绝 | |
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6 reign | |
n.统治时期,统治,支配,盛行;v.占优势 | |
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7 simplicity | |
n.简单,简易;朴素;直率,单纯 | |
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8 plunder | |
vt.劫掠财物,掠夺;n.劫掠物,赃物;劫掠 | |
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9 descended | |
a.为...后裔的,出身于...的 | |
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10 jealousies | |
n.妒忌( jealousy的名词复数 );妒羡 | |
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11 warfare | |
n.战争(状态);斗争;冲突 | |
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12 inevitable | |
adj.不可避免的,必然发生的 | |
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13 slain | |
杀死,宰杀,杀戮( slay的过去分词 ); (slay的过去分词) | |
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14 divers | |
adj.不同的;种种的 | |
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15 ascended | |
v.上升,攀登( ascend的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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16 barge | |
n.平底载货船,驳船 | |
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17 humble | |
adj.谦卑的,恭顺的;地位低下的;v.降低,贬低 | |
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18 relics | |
[pl.]n.遗物,遗迹,遗产;遗体,尸骸 | |
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19 reigned | |
vi.当政,统治(reign的过去式形式) | |
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20 distress | |
n.苦恼,痛苦,不舒适;不幸;vt.使悲痛 | |
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21 sanctuary | |
n.圣所,圣堂,寺庙;禁猎区,保护区 | |
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22 privy | |
adj.私用的;隐密的 | |
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23 bishop | |
n.主教,(国际象棋)象 | |
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24 kindly | |
adj.和蔼的,温和的,爽快的;adv.温和地,亲切地 | |
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25 eldest | |
adj.最年长的,最年老的 | |
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26 behold | |
v.看,注视,看到 | |
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27 woe | |
n.悲哀,苦痛,不幸,困难;int.用来表达悲伤或惊慌 | |
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28 entrusted | |
v.委托,托付( entrust的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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29 desolate | |
adj.荒凉的,荒芜的;孤独的,凄凉的;v.使荒芜,使孤寂 | |
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30 rumble | |
n.隆隆声;吵嚷;v.隆隆响;低沉地说 | |
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31 conveyance | |
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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32 apparently | |
adv.显然地;表面上,似乎 | |
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33 mighty | |
adj.强有力的;巨大的 | |
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34 melancholy | |
n.忧郁,愁思;adj.令人感伤(沮丧)的,忧郁的 | |
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35 reposed | |
v.将(手臂等)靠在某人(某物)上( repose的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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36 sobbed | |
哭泣,啜泣( sob的过去式和过去分词 ); 哭诉,呜咽地说 | |
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37 lodgings | |
n. 出租的房舍, 寄宿舍 | |
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38 harry | |
vt.掠夺,蹂躏,使苦恼 | |
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39 hatred | |
n.憎恶,憎恨,仇恨 | |
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40 haven | |
n.安全的地方,避难所,庇护所 | |
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41 joyfully | |
adv. 喜悦地, 高兴地 | |
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42 grafted | |
移植( graft的过去式和过去分词 ); 嫁接; 使(思想、制度等)成为(…的一部份); 植根 | |
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43 celebrated | |
adj.有名的,声誉卓著的 | |
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44 cardinal | |
n.(天主教的)红衣主教;adj.首要的,基本的 | |
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45 prettily | |
adv.优美地;可爱地 | |
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46 stainless | |
adj.无瑕疵的,不锈的 | |
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47 drawn | |
v.拖,拉,拔出;adj.憔悴的,紧张的 | |
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48 decided | |
adj.决定了的,坚决的;明显的,明确的 | |
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49 chapel | |
n.小教堂,殡仪馆 | |
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50 virgin | |
n.处女,未婚女子;adj.未经使用的;未经开发的 | |
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51 costly | |
adj.昂贵的,价值高的,豪华的 | |
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52 extravagant | |
adj.奢侈的;过分的;(言行等)放肆的 | |
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53 judgment | |
n.审判;判断力,识别力,看法,意见 | |
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54 hoard | |
n./v.窖藏,贮存,囤积 | |
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55 lavish | |
adj.无节制的;浪费的;vt.慷慨地给予,挥霍 | |
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56 frustrated | |
adj.挫败的,失意的,泄气的v.使不成功( frustrate的过去式和过去分词 );挫败;使受挫折;令人沮丧 | |
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57 longings | |
渴望,盼望( longing的名词复数 ) | |
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58 monk | |
n.和尚,僧侣,修道士 | |
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59 monks | |
n.修道士,僧侣( monk的名词复数 ) | |
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60 shrine | |
n.圣地,神龛,庙;v.将...置于神龛内,把...奉为神圣 | |
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61 vigour | |
(=vigor)n.智力,体力,精力 | |
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62 doorway | |
n.门口,(喻)入门;门路,途径 | |
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63 carving | |
n.雕刻品,雕花 | |
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64 ornamented | |
adj.花式字体的v.装饰,点缀,美化( ornament的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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65 embroidery | |
n.绣花,刺绣;绣制品 | |
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66 perishable | |
adj.(尤指食物)易腐的,易坏的 | |
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67 dedicated | |
adj.一心一意的;献身的;热诚的 | |
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68 feverishly | |
adv. 兴奋地 | |
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69 doorways | |
n.门口,门道( doorway的名词复数 ) | |
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70 glazed | |
adj.光滑的,像玻璃的;上过釉的;呆滞无神的v.装玻璃( glaze的过去式);上釉于,上光;(目光)变得呆滞无神 | |
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71 vaults | |
n.拱顶( vault的名词复数 );地下室;撑物跳高;墓穴 | |
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72 garnished | |
v.给(上餐桌的食物)加装饰( garnish的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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73 adorned | |
[计]被修饰的 | |
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74 chalices | |
n.高脚酒杯( chalice的名词复数 );圣餐杯;金杯毒酒;看似诱人实则令人讨厌的事物 | |
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75 ornaments | |
n.装饰( ornament的名词复数 );点缀;装饰品;首饰v.装饰,点缀,美化( ornament的第三人称单数 ) | |
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76 mid | |
adj.中央的,中间的 | |
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77 inscription | |
n.(尤指石块上的)刻印文字,铭文,碑文 | |
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78 copper | |
n.铜;铜币;铜器;adj.铜(制)的;(紫)铜色的 | |
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79 gilt | |
adj.镀金的;n.金边证券 | |
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80 worthy | |
adj.(of)值得的,配得上的;有价值的 | |
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81 exquisite | |
adj.精美的;敏锐的;剧烈的,感觉强烈的 | |
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82 monastery | |
n.修道院,僧院,寺院 | |
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83 eyebrows | |
眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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84 feats | |
功绩,伟业,技艺( feat的名词复数 ) | |
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85 gratitude | |
adj.感激,感谢 | |
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86 poised | |
a.摆好姿势不动的 | |
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87 carvings | |
n.雕刻( carving的名词复数 );雕刻术;雕刻品;雕刻物 | |
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88 guardians | |
监护人( guardian的名词复数 ); 保护者,维护者 | |
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89 standing | |
n.持续,地位;adj.永久的,不动的,直立的,不流动的 | |
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90 vanquished | |
v.征服( vanquish的过去式和过去分词 );战胜;克服;抑制 | |
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91 ointment | |
n.药膏,油膏,软膏 | |
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92 gilded | |
a.镀金的,富有的 | |
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93 wrecked | |
adj.失事的,遇难的 | |
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94 fanatic | |
n.狂热者,入迷者;adj.狂热入迷的 | |
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95 commonwealth | |
n.共和国,联邦,共同体 | |
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96 zeal | |
n.热心,热情,热忱 | |
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97 vaulted | |
adj.拱状的 | |
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98 vaulting | |
n.(天花板或屋顶的)拱形结构 | |
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99 martyrs | |
n.martyr的复数形式;烈士( martyr的名词复数 );殉道者;殉教者;乞怜者(向人诉苦以博取同情) | |
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100 niches | |
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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101 hues | |
色彩( hue的名词复数 ); 色调; 信仰; 观点 | |
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102 remains | |
n.剩余物,残留物;遗体,遗迹 | |
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103 quaint | |
adj.古雅的,离奇有趣的,奇怪的 | |
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104 winnowing | |
v.扬( winnow的现在分词 );辨别;选择;除去 | |
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105 armour | |
(=armor)n.盔甲;装甲部队 | |
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106 miser | |
n.守财奴,吝啬鬼 (adj.miserly) | |
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107 bagpipes | |
n.风笛;风笛( bagpipe的名词复数 ) | |
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108 knight | |
n.骑士,武士;爵士 | |
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109 knights | |
骑士; (中古时代的)武士( knight的名词复数 ); 骑士; 爵士; (国际象棋中)马 | |
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110 serried | |
adj.拥挤的;密集的 | |
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111 crimson | |
n./adj.深(绯)红色(的);vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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112 vessels | |
n.血管( vessel的名词复数 );船;容器;(具有特殊品质或接受特殊品质的)人 | |
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113 brass | |
n.黄铜;黄铜器,铜管乐器 | |
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114 tapers | |
(长形物体的)逐渐变窄( taper的名词复数 ); 微弱的光; 极细的蜡烛 | |
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115 gem | |
n.宝石,珠宝;受爱戴的人 [同]jewel | |
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116 steward | |
n.乘务员,服务员;看管人;膳食管理员 | |
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117 motive | |
n.动机,目的;adv.发动的,运动的 | |
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118 eloquence | |
n.雄辩;口才,修辞 | |
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119 attain | |
vt.达到,获得,完成 | |
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120 mansion | |
n.大厦,大楼;宅第 | |
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