In Scotland, the unlucky name is "Stuart". Robert I, founder3 of the race, died at twenty-eight of a lingering illness. Robert II, the most fortunate of the family, was obliged to pass a part of his life, not merely in retirement4, but also in the dark, on account of inflammation of the eyes, which made them blood-red. Robert III succumbed5 to grief, the death of one son and the captivity6 of other. James I was stabbed by Graham in the abbey of the Black Monks7 of Perth. James II was killed at the siege of Roxburgh, by a splinter from a burst cannon8. James III was assassinated by an unknown hand in a mill, where he had taken refuge during the battle of Sauchie. James IV, wounded by two arrows and a blow from a halberd, fell amidst his nobles on the battlefield of Flodden. James V died of grief at the loss of his two sons, and of remorse9 for the execution of Hamilton. James VI, destined1 to unite on his head the two crowns of Scotland and England, son of a father who had been assassinated, led a melancholy10 and timorous11 existence, between the scaffold of his mother, Mary Stuart, and that of his son, Charles I. Charles II spent a portion of his life in exile. James II died in it. The Chevalier Saint-George, after having been proclaimed King of Scotland as James VIII, and of England and Ireland as James III, was forced to flee, without having been able to give his arms even the lustre13 of a defeat. His son, Charles Edward, after the skirmish at Derby and the battle of Culloden, hunted from mountain to mountain, pursued from rock to rock, swimming from shore to shore, picked up half naked by a French vessel14, betook himself to Florence to die there, without the European courts having ever consented to recognise him as a sovereign. Finally, his brother, Henry Benedict, the last heir of the Stuarts, having lived on a pension of three thousand pounds sterling16, granted him by George III, died completely forgotten, bequeathing to the House of Hanover all the crown jewels which James II had carried off when he passed over to the Continent in 1688—a tardy17 but complete recognition of the legitimacy18 of the family which had succeeded his.
In the midst of this unlucky race, Mary Stuart was the favourite of misfortune. As Brantome has said of her, "Whoever desires to write about this illustrious queen of Scotland has, in her, two very, large subjects, the one her life, the other her death," Brantome had known her on one of the most mournful occasions of her life—at the moment when she was quitting France for Scotland.
It was on the 9th of August, 1561, after having lost her mother and her husband in the same year, that Mary Stuart, Dowager of France and Queen of Scotland at nineteen, escorted by her uncles, Cardinals21 Guise22 and Lorraine, by the Duke and Duchess of Guise, by the Duc d'Aumale and M. de Nemours, arrived at Calais, where two galleys23 were waiting to take her to Scotland, one commanded by M. de Mevillon and the other by Captain Albize. She remained six days in the town. At last, on the 15th of the month, after the saddest adieus to her family, accompanied by Messieurs d'Aumale, d'Elboeuf, and Damville, with many nobles, among whom were Brantome and Chatelard, she embarked25 in M. Mevillon's galley24, which was immediately ordered to put out to sea, which it did with the aid of oars26, there not being sufficient wind to make use of the sails.
Mary Stuart was then in the full bloom of her beauty, beauty even more brilliant in its mourning garb—a beauty so wonderful that it shed around her a charm which no one whom she wished to please could escape, and which was fatal to almost everyone. About this time, too, someone made her the subject of a song, which, as even her rivals confessed, contained no more than the truth. It was, so it was said, by M. de Maison-Fleur, a cavalier equally accomplished27 in arms and letters: Here it is:—
"In robes of whiteness, lo, Full sad and mournfully, Went pacing to and fro Beauty's divinity; A shaft28 in hand she bore From Cupid's cruel store, And he, who fluttered round, Bore, o'er his blindfold29 eyes And o'er his head uncrowned, A veil of mournful guise, Whereon the words were wrought30: 'You perish or are caught.'"
Yes, at this moment, Mary Stuart, in her deep mourning of white, was more lovely than ever; for great tears were trickling31 down her cheeks, as, weaving a handkerchief, standing32 on the quarterdeck, she who was so grieved to set out, bowed farewell to those who were so grieved to remain.
At last, in half an hour's time, the harbour was left behind; the vessel was out at sea. Suddenly, Mary heard loud cries behind her: a boat coming in under press of sail, through her pilot's ignorance had struck upon a rock in such a manner that it was split open, and after having trembled and groaned33 for a moment like someone wounded, began to be swallowed up, amid the terrified screams of all the crew. Mary, horror-stricken, pale, dumb, and motionless, watched her gradually sink, while her unfortunate crew, as the keel disappeared, climbed into the yards and shrouds34, to delay their death-agony a few minutes; finally, keel, yards, masts, all were engulfed35 in the ocean's gaping36 jaws37. For a moment there remained some black specks38, which in turn disappeared one after another; then wave followed upon wave, and the spectators of this horrible tragedy, seeing the sea calm and solitary39 as if nothing had happened, asked themselves if it was not a vision that had appeared to them and vanished.
"Alas40!" cried Mary, falling on a seat and leaning both arms an the vessel's stern, "what a sad omen19 for such a sad voyage!" Then, once more fixing on the receding41 harbour her eyes, dried for a moment by terror, and beginning to moisten anew, "Adieu, France!" she murmured, "adieu, France!" and for five hours she remained thus, weeping and murmuring, "Adieu, France! adieu, France!"
Darkness fell while she was still lamenting43; and then, as the view was blotted44 out and she was summoned to supper, "It is indeed now, dear France," said she, rising, "that I really lose you, since jealous night heaps mourning upon mourning, casting a black veil before my sight. Adieu then, one last time, dear France; for never shall I see you more."
With these words, she went below, saying that she was the very opposite of Dido, who, after the departure of AEneas, had done nothing but look at the waves, while she, Mary, could not take her eyes off the land. Then everyone gathered round her to try to divert and console her. But she, growing sadder, and not being able to respond, so overcome was she with tears, could hardly eat; and, having had a bed got ready on the stern deck, she sent for the steersman, and ordered him if he still saw land at daybreak, to come and wake her immediately. On this point Mary was favoured; for the wind having dropped, when daybreak came the vessel was still within sight of France.
It was a great joy when, awakened45 by the steersman, who had not forgotten the order he had received, Mary raised herself on her couch, and through the window that she had had opened, saw once more the beloved shore. But at five o'clock in the morning, the wind having freshened, the vessel rapidly drew farther away, so that soon the land completely disappeared. Then Mary fell back upon her bed, pale as death, murmuring yet once again—"Adieu, France! I shall see thee no more."
Indeed, the happiest years of her life had just passed away in this France that she so much regretted. Born amid the first religious troubles, near the bedside of her dying father, the cradle mourning was to stretch for her to the grave, and her stay in France had been a ray of sunshine in her night. Slandered46 from her birth, the report was so generally spread abroad that she was malformed, and that she could not live to grow up, that one day her mother, Mary of Guise, tired of these false rumours47, undressed her and showed her naked to the English ambassador, who had come, on the part of Henry VIII, to ask her in marriage for the Prince of Wales, himself only five years old. Crowned at nine months by Cardinal20 Beaton, archbishop of St. Andrews, she was immediately hidden by her mother, who was afraid of treacherous49 dealing50 in the King of England, in Stirling Castle. Two years later, not finding even this fortress51 safe enough, she removed her to an island in the middle of the Lake of Menteith, where a priory, the only building in the place, provided an asylum52 for the royal child and for four young girls born in the same year as herself, having like her the sweet name which is an anagram of the word "aimer," and who, quitting her neither in her good nor in her evil fortune, were called the "Queen's Marys". They were Mary Livingston, Mary Fleming, Mary Seyton, and Mary Beaton. Mary stayed in this priory till Parliament, having approved her marriage with the French dauphin, son of Henry II, she was taken to Dumbarton Castle, to await the moment of departure. There she was entrusted53 to M. de Breze, sent by Henry II to-fetch her. Having set out in the French galleys anchored at the mouth of the Clyde, Mary, after having been hotly pursued by the English fleet, entered Brest harbour, 15th August, 1548, one year after the death of Francis! Besides the queen's four Marys, the vessels54 also brought to France three of her natural brothers, among whom was the Prior of St. Andrews, James Stuart, who was later to abjure55 the Catholic faith, and with the title of Regent, and under the name of the Earl of Murray, to become so fatal to poor Mary. From Brest, Mary went to St. Germain-en-Laye, where Henry II, who had just ascended56 the throne, overwhelmed her with caresses57, and then sent her to a convent where the heiresses of the noblest French houses were brought up. There Mary's happy qualities developed. Born with a woman's heart and a man's head, Mary not only acquired all the accomplishments58 which constituted the education of a future queen, but also that real knowledge which is the object of the truly learned.
Thus, at fourteen, in the Louvre, before Henry II, Catherine de Medici, and the whole court, she delivered a discourse59 in Latin of her own composition, in which she maintained that it becomes women to cultivate letters, and that it is unjust and tyrannical to deprive flowery of their perfumes, by banishing60 young girls from all but domestic cares. One can imagine in what manner a future queen, sustaining such a thesis, was likely to be welcomed in the most lettered and pedantic61 court in Europe. Between the literature of Rabelais and Marot verging62 on their decline, and that of Ronsard and Montaigne reaching their zenith, Mary became a queen of poetry, only too happy never to have to wear another crown than that which Ronsard, Dubellay, Maison-Fleur, and Brantome placed daily on her head. But she was predestined. In the midst of those fetes which a waning63 chivalry64 was trying to revive came the fatal joust65 of Tournelles: Henry II, struck by a splinter of a lance for want of a visor, slept before his time with his ancestors, and Mary Stuart ascended the throne of France, where, from mourning for Henry, she passed to that for her mother, and from mourning for her mother to that for her husband. Mary felt this last loss both as woman and as poet; her heart burst forth66 into bitter tears and plaintive67 harmonies. Here are some lines that she composed at this time:—
"Into my song of woe68, Sung to a low sad air, My cruel grief I throw, For loss beyond compare; In bitter sighs and tears Go by my fairest years.
Was ever grief like mine Imposed by destiny? Did ever lady pine, In high estate, like me, Of whom both heart and eye Within the coffin69 lie?
Who, in the tender spring And blossom of my youth, Taste all the sorrowing Of life's extremest ruth, And take delight in nought70 Save in regretful thought.
All that was sweet and gay Is now a pain to see; The sunniness of day Is black as night to me; All that was my delight Is hidden from my sight.
My heart and eye, indeed, One face, one image know, The which this mournful weed On my sad face doth show, Dyed with the violet's tone That is the lover's own.
Tormented71 by my ill, I go from place to place, But wander as I will My woes72 can nought efface73; My most of bad and good I find in solitude74.
But wheresoe'er I stay, In meadow or in copse, Whether at break of day Or when the twilight75 drops, My heart goes sighing on, Desiring one that's gone.
If sometimes to the skies My weary gaze I lift, His gently shining eyes Look from the cloudy drift, Or stooping o'er the wave I see him in the grave.
Or when my bed I seek, And-sleep begins to steal, Again I hear him speak, Again his touch I feel; In work or leisure, he Is ever near to me.
No other thing I see, However fair displayed, By which my heart will be A tributary76 made, Not having the perfection Of that, my lost affection.
Here make an end, my verse, Of this thy sad lament42, Whose burden shall rehearse Pure love of true intent, Which separation's stress Will never render less."
"It was then," says Brantorne, "that it was delightful77 to see her; for the whiteness of her countenance78 and of her veil contended together; but finally the artificial white yielded, and the snow-like pallor of her face vanquished79 the other. For it was thus," he adds, "that from the moment she became a widow, I always saw her with her pale hue80, as long as I had the honour of seeing her in France, and Scotland, where she had to go in eighteen months' time, to her very great regret, after her widowhood, to pacify81 her kingdom, greatly divided by religious troubles. Alas! she had neither the wish nor the will for it, and I have often heard her say so, with a fear of this journey like death; for she preferred a hundred times to dwell in France as a dowager queen, and to content herself with Touraine and Poitou for her jointure, than to go and reign15 over there in her wild country; but her uncles, at least some of them, not all, advised her, and even urged her to it, and deeply repented82 their error."
Mary was obedient, as we have seen, and she began her journey under such auspices83 that when she lost sight of land she was like to die. Then it was that the poetry of her soul found expression in these famous lines:
"Farewell, delightful land of France,
My motherland,
The best beloved!
Foster-nurse of my young years!
Farewell, France, and farewell my happy days!
The ship that separates our loves
Has borne away but half of me;
One part is left thee and is throe,
That thou may'st hold in mind the other part."'
[Translator's note.-It has not been found possible to make a rhymed version of these lines without sacrificing the simplicity85 which is their chief charm.]
This part of herself that Mary left in France was the body of the young king, who had taken with him all poor Mary's happiness into his tomb.
Mary had but one hope remaining, that the sight of the English fleet would compel her little squadron to turn back; but she had to fulfil her destiny. This same day, a fog, a very unusual occurrence in summer-time, extended all over the Channel, and caused her to escape the fleet; for it was such a dense86 fog that one could not see from stern to mast. It lasted the whole of Sunday, the day after the departure, and did not lift till the following day, Monday, at eight o'clock in the morning. The little flotilla, which all this time had been sailing haphazard87, had got among so many reefs that if the fog had lasted some minutes longer the galley would certainly have grounded on some rock, and would have perished like the vessel that had been seen engulfed on leaving port. But, thanks to the fog's clearing, the pilot recognised the Scottish coast, and, steering88 his four boats with great skill through all the dangers, on the 20th August he put in at Leith, where no preparation had been made for the queen's reception. Nevertheless, scarcely had she arrived there than the chief persons of the town met together and came to felicitate her. Meanwhile, they hastily collected some wretched nags89, with harness all falling in pieces, to conduct the queen to Edinburgh.
At sight of this, Mary could not help weeping again; for she thought of the splendid palfreys and hackneys of her French knights90 and ladies, and at this first view Scotland appeared to-her in all its poverty. Next day it was to appear to her in all its wildness.
After having passed one night at Holyrood Palace, "during which," says Brantome, "five to six hundred rascals91 from the town, instead of letting her sleep, came to give her a wild morning greeting on wretched fiddles92 and little rebecks," she expressed a wish to hear mass. Unfortunately, the people of Edinburgh belonged almost entirely93 to the Reformed religion; so that, furious at the queen's giving such a proof of papistry at her first appearance, they entered the church by force, armed with knives, sticks and stones, with the intention of putting to death the poor priest, her chaplain. He left the altar, and took refuge near the queen, while Mary's brother, the Prior of St. Andrews, who was more inclined from this time forward to be a soldier than an ecclesiastic94, seized a sword, and, placing himself between the people and the queen, declared that he would kill with his own hand the first man who should take another step. This firmness, combined with the queen's imposing95 and dignified96 air, checked the zeal97 of the Reformers.
As we have said, Mary had arrived in the midst of all the heat of the first religious wars. A zealous98 Catholic, like all her family on the maternal99 side, she inspired the Huguenots with the gravest fears: besides, a rumour48 had got about that Mary, instead of landing at Leith, as she had been obliged by the fog, was to land at Aberdeen. There, it was said, she would have found the Earl of Huntly, one of the peers who had remained loyal to the Catholic faith, and who, next to the family of Hamilton, was, the nearest and most powerful ally of the royal house. Seconded by him and by twenty thousand soldiers from the north, she would then have marched upon Edinburgh, and have re-established the Catholic faith throughout Scotland. Events were not slow to prove that this accusation100 was false.
As we have stated, Mary was much attached to the Prior of St. Andrews, a son of James V and of a noble descendant of the Earls of Mar12, who had been very handsome in her youth, and who, in spite of the well-known love for her of James V, and the child who had resulted, had none the less wedded101 Lord Douglas of Lochleven, by whom she had had two other sons, the elder named William and the younger George, who were thus half-brothers of the regent. Now, scarcely had she reascended the throne than Mary had restored to the Prior of St. Andrews the title of Earl of Mar, that of his maternal ancestors, and as that of the Earl of Murray had lapsed102 since the death of the famous Thomas Randolph, Mary, in her sisterly friendship for James Stuart, hastened to add, this title to those which she had already bestowed103 upon him.
But here difficulties and complications arose; for the new Earl of Murray, with his character, was not a man to content himself with a barren title, while the estates which were crown property since the extinction104 of the male branch of the old earls, had been gradually encroached upon by powerful neighbours, among whom was the famous Earl of Huntly, whom we have already mentioned: the result was that, as the queen judged that in this quarter her orders would probably encounter opposition105, under pretext106 of visiting her possessions in the north, she placed herself at the head of a small army, commanded by her brother, the Earl of Mar and Murray.
The Earl of Huntly was the less duped by the apparent pretext of this expedition, in that his son, John Cordon107, for some abuse of his powers, had just been condemned108 to a temporary imprisonment109. He, notwithstanding, made every possible submission110 to the queen, sending messengers in advance to invite-her to rest in his castle; and following up the messengers in person, to renew his invitation viva voce. Unfortunately, at the very moment when he was about to join the queen, the governor of Inverness, who was entirely devoted111 to him, was refusing to allow Mary to enter this castle, which was a royal one. It is true that Murray, aware that it does not do to hesitate in the face of such rebellions, had already had him executed for high treason.
This new act of firmness showed Huntly that the young queen was not disposed to allow the Scottish lords a resumption of the almost sovereign power humbled112 by her father; so that, in spite of the extremely kind reception she accorded him, as he learned while in camp that his son, having escaped from prison, had just put himself at the head of his vassals113, he was afraid that he should be thought, as doubtless he was, a party to the rising, and he set out the same night to assume command of his troops, his mind made up, as Mary only had with her seven to eight thousand men, to risk a battle, giving out, however, as Buccleuch had done in his attempt to snatch James V from the hands of the Douglases, that it was not at the queen he was aiming, but solely114 at the regent, who kept her under his tutelage and perverted115 her good intentions.
Murray, who knew that often the entire peace of a reign depends on the firmness one displays at its beginning, immediately summoned all the northern barons116 whose estates bordered on his, to march against Huntly. All obeyed, for the house of Cordon was already so powerful that each feared it might become still more so; but, however, it was clear that if there was hatred117 for the subject there was no great affection for the queen, and that the greater number came without fixed118 intentions and with the idea of being led by circumstances.
The two armies encountered near Aberdeen. Murray at once posted the troops he had brought from Edinburgh, and of which he was sure, on the top of rising ground, and drew up in tiers on the hill slope all his northern allies. Huntly advanced resolutely119 upon them, and attacked his neighbours the Highlanders, who after a short resistance retired121 in disorder122. His men immediately threw away their lances, and, drawing their swords, crying, "Cordon, Cordon!" pursued the fugitives123, and believed they had already gained the battle, when they suddenly ran right against the main body of Murray's army, which remained motionless as a rampart of iron, and which, with its long lances, had the advantage of its adversaries124, who were armed only with their claymores. It was then the turn of the Cordons125 to draw back, seeing which, the northern clans126 rallied and returned to the fight, each soldier having a sprig of heather in his cap that his comrades might recognise him. This unexpected movement determined127 the day: the Highlanders ran down the hillside like a torrent128, dragging along with them everyone who could have wished to oppose their passage. Then Murray seeing that the moment had come for changing the defeat into a rout129, charged with his entire cavalry130: Huntly, who was very stout131 and very heavily armed, fell and was crushed beneath the horses' feet; John Cordon, taken prisoner in his flight, was executed at Aberdeen three days afterwards; finally, his brother, too young to undergo the same fate at this time, was shut up in a dungeon132 and executed later, the day he reached the age of sixteen.
Mary had been present at the battle, and the calm and courage she displayed had made a lively impression on her wild defenders133, who all along the road had heard her say that she would have liked to be a man, to pass her days on horseback, her nights under a tent, to wear a coat of mail, a helmet, a buckler, and at her side a broadsword.
Mary made her entry into Edinburgh amid general enthusiasm; for this expedition against the Earl of Huntly, who was a Catholic, had been very popular among the inhabitants, who had no very clear idea of the real motives134 which had caused her to undertake it: They were of the Reformed faith, the earl was a papist, there was an enemy the less; that is all they thought about. Now, therefore; the Scotch135, amid their acclamations, whether viva voce or by written demands, expressed the wish that their queen, who was without issue by Francis II, should re-marry: Mary agreed to this, and, yielding to the prudent136 advice of those about her, she decided137 to consult upon this marriage Elizabeth, whose heir she was, in her title of granddaughter of Henry VII, in the event of the Queen of England's dying without posterity138. Unfortunately, she had not always acted with like circumspection139; for at the death of Mary Tudor, known as Bloody140. Mary, she had laid claim to the throne of Henry VIII, and, relying on the illegitimacy of Elizabeth's birth, had with the dauphin assumed sovereignty over Scotland, England, and Ireland, and had had coins struck with this new title, and plate engraved141 with these new armorial bearings.
Elizabeth was nine years older than Mary—that is to say, that at this time she had not yet attained142 her thirtieth year; she was not merely her rival as queen, then, but as woman. As regards education, she could sustain comparison with advantage; for if she had less charm of mind, she had more solidity of judgment143: versed144 in politics, philosophy, history; rhetoric145, poetry and music, besides English, her maternal tongue, she spoke146 and wrote to perfection Greek, Latin, French, Italian and Spanish; but while Elizabeth excelled Mary on this point, in her turn Mary was more beautiful, and above all more attractive, than her rival. Elizabeth had, it is true, a majestic147 and agreeable appearance, bright quick eyes, a dazzlingly white complexion148; but she had red hair, a large foot,—[Elizabeth bestowed a pair of her shoes on the University of Oxford149; their size would point to their being those of a man of average stature150.]—and a powerful hand, while Mary, on the contrary, with her beautiful ashy-fair hair,—[Several historians assert that Mary Stuart had black hair; but Brantome, who had seen it, since, as we have said, he accompanied her to Scotland, affirms that it was fair. And, so saying, he (the executioner) took off her headdress, in a contemptuous manner, to display her hair already white, that while alive, however, she feared not to show, nor yet to twist and frizz as in the days when it was so beautiful and so fair.]—her noble open forehead, eyebrows151 which could be only blamed for being so regularly arched that they looked as if drawn152 by a pencil, eyes continually beaming with the witchery of fire, a nose of perfect Grecian outline, a mouth so ruby153 red and gracious that it seemed that, as a flower opens but to let its perfume escape, so it could not open but to give passage to gentle words, with a neck white and graceful154 as a swan's, hands of alabaster155, with a form like a goddess's and a foot like a child's, Mary was a harmony in which the most ardent156 enthusiast157 for sculptured form could have found nothing to reproach.
This was indeed Mary's great and real crime: one single imperfection in face or figure, and she would not have died upon the scaffold. Besides, to Elizabeth, who had never seen her, and who consequently could only judge by hearsay158, this beauty was a great cause of uneasiness and of jealousy159, which she could not even disguise, and which showed itself unceasingly in eager questions. One day when she was chatting with James Melville about his mission to her court, Mary's offer to be guided by Elizabeth in her choice of a husband,—a choice which the queen of England had seemed at first to wish to see fixed on the Earl of Leicester,—she led the Scotch ambassador into a cabinet, where she showed him several portraits with labels in her own handwriting: the first was one of the Earl of Leicester. As this nobleman was precisely160 the suitor chosen by Elizabeth, Melville asked the queen to give it him to show to his mistress; but Elizabeth refused, saying that it was the only one she had. Melville then replied, smiling, that being in possession of the original she might well part with the copy; but Elizabeth would on no account consent. This little discussion ended, she showed him the portrait of Mary Stuart, which she kissed very tenderly, expressing to Melville a great wish to see his mistress. "That is very easy, madam," he replied: "keep your room, on the pretext that you are indisposed, and set out incognito161 for Scotland, as King James V set out for France when he wanted to see Madeleine de Valois, whom he afterwards married."
"Alas!" replied Elizabeth, "I would like to do so, but it is not so easy as you think. Nevertheless, tell your queen that I love her tenderly, and that I wish we could live more in friendship than we have done up to the present". Then passing to a subject which she seemed to have wanted to broach162 for a long time, "Melville," she continued, "tell me frankly163, is my sister as beautiful as they say?"
"She has that reputation," replied Melville; "but I cannot give your Majesty164 any idea of hex beauty, having no point of comparison."
"I will give you one," the queen said. "Is she more beautiful than I?"
"Madam," replied Melville, "you are the most beautiful woman in England, and Mary Stuart is the most beautiful woman in Scotland."
"Then which of the two is the taller?" asked Elizabeth, who was not entirely satisfied by this answer, clever as it was.
"My mistress, madam," responded Melville; "I am obliged to confess it."
"Then she is too tall," Elizabeth said sharply, "for I am tall enough. And what are her favourite amusements?" she continued.
"Is she skilled upon the latter?" Elizabeth inquired. "Oh yes, madam," answered Melville; "skilled enough for a queen."
There the conversation stopped; but as Elizabeth was herself an excellent musician, she commanded Lord Hunsdon to bring Melville to her at a time when she was at her harpischord, so that he could hear her without her seeming to have the air of playing for him. In fact, the same day, Hunsdon, agreeably to her instructions, led the ambassador into a gallery separated from the queen's apartment merely by tapestry165, so that his guide having raised it. Melville at his leisure could hear Elizabeth, who did not turn round until she had finished the piece, which, however, she was playing with much skill. When she saw Melville, she pretended to fly into a passion, and even wanted to strike him; but her anger calmed down by little and little at the ambassador's compliments, and ceased altogether when he admitted that Mary Stuart was not her equal. But this was not all: proud of her triumph, Elizabeth desired also that Melville should see her dance. Accordingly, she kept back her despatches for two days that he might be present at a ball that she was giving. These despatches, as we have said, contained the wish that Mary Stuart should espouse166 Leicester; but this proposal could not be taken seriously. Leicester, whose personal worth was besides sufficiently167 mediocre168, was of birth too inferior to aspire169 to the hand of the daughter of so many kings; thus Mary replied that such an alliance would not become her. Meanwhile, something strange and tragic170 came to pass.
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1 destined | |
adj.命中注定的;(for)以…为目的地的 | |
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2 assassinated | |
v.暗杀( assassinate的过去式和过去分词 );中伤;诋毁;破坏 | |
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3 Founder | |
n.创始者,缔造者 | |
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4 retirement | |
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16 sterling | |
adj.英币的(纯粹的,货真价实的);n.英国货币(英镑) | |
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17 tardy | |
adj.缓慢的,迟缓的 | |
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18 legitimacy | |
n.合法,正当 | |
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19 omen | |
n.征兆,预兆;vt.预示 | |
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20 cardinal | |
n.(天主教的)红衣主教;adj.首要的,基本的 | |
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21 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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22 guise | |
n.外表,伪装的姿态 | |
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23 galleys | |
n.平底大船,战舰( galley的名词复数 );(船上或航空器上的)厨房 | |
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24 galley | |
n.(飞机或船上的)厨房单层甲板大帆船;军舰舰长用的大划艇; | |
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25 embarked | |
乘船( embark的过去式和过去分词 ); 装载; 从事 | |
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26 oars | |
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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27 accomplished | |
adj.有才艺的;有造诣的;达到了的 | |
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28 shaft | |
n.(工具的)柄,杆状物 | |
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29 blindfold | |
vt.蒙住…的眼睛;adj.盲目的;adv.盲目地;n.蒙眼的绷带[布等]; 障眼物,蒙蔽人的事物 | |
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30 wrought | |
v.引起;以…原料制作;运转;adj.制造的 | |
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31 trickling | |
n.油画底色含油太多而成泡沫状突起v.滴( trickle的现在分词 );淌;使)慢慢走;缓慢移动 | |
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32 standing | |
n.持续,地位;adj.永久的,不动的,直立的,不流动的 | |
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33 groaned | |
v.呻吟( groan的过去式和过去分词 );发牢骚;抱怨;受苦 | |
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34 shrouds | |
n.裹尸布( shroud的名词复数 );寿衣;遮蔽物;覆盖物v.隐瞒( shroud的第三人称单数 );保密 | |
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35 engulfed | |
v.吞没,包住( engulf的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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36 gaping | |
adj.口的;张口的;敞口的;多洞穴的v.目瞪口呆地凝视( gape的现在分词 );张开,张大 | |
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37 jaws | |
n.口部;嘴 | |
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38 specks | |
n.眼镜;斑点,微粒,污点( speck的名词复数 ) | |
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39 solitary | |
adj.孤独的,独立的,荒凉的;n.隐士 | |
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40 alas | |
int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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41 receding | |
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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42 lament | |
n.悲叹,悔恨,恸哭;v.哀悼,悔恨,悲叹 | |
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43 lamenting | |
adj.悲伤的,悲哀的v.(为…)哀悼,痛哭,悲伤( lament的现在分词 ) | |
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44 blotted | |
涂污( blot的过去式和过去分词 ); (用吸墨纸)吸干 | |
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45 awakened | |
v.(使)醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 );(使)觉醒;弄醒;(使)意识到 | |
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46 slandered | |
造谣中伤( slander的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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47 rumours | |
n.传闻( rumour的名词复数 );风闻;谣言;谣传 | |
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48 rumour | |
n.谣言,谣传,传闻 | |
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49 treacherous | |
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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50 dealing | |
n.经商方法,待人态度 | |
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51 fortress | |
n.堡垒,防御工事 | |
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52 asylum | |
n.避难所,庇护所,避难 | |
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53 entrusted | |
v.委托,托付( entrust的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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54 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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55 abjure | |
v.发誓放弃 | |
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56 ascended | |
v.上升,攀登( ascend的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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57 caresses | |
爱抚,抚摸( caress的名词复数 ) | |
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58 accomplishments | |
n.造诣;完成( accomplishment的名词复数 );技能;成绩;成就 | |
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59 discourse | |
n.论文,演说;谈话;话语;vi.讲述,著述 | |
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60 banishing | |
v.放逐,驱逐( banish的现在分词 ) | |
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61 pedantic | |
adj.卖弄学问的;迂腐的 | |
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62 verging | |
接近,逼近(verge的现在分词形式) | |
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63 waning | |
adj.(月亮)渐亏的,逐渐减弱或变小的n.月亏v.衰落( wane的现在分词 );(月)亏;变小;变暗淡 | |
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64 chivalry | |
n.骑士气概,侠义;(男人)对女人彬彬有礼,献殷勤 | |
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65 joust | |
v.马上长枪比武,竞争 | |
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66 forth | |
adv.向前;向外,往外 | |
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67 plaintive | |
adj.可怜的,伤心的 | |
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68 woe | |
n.悲哀,苦痛,不幸,困难;int.用来表达悲伤或惊慌 | |
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69 coffin | |
n.棺材,灵柩 | |
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70 nought | |
n./adj.无,零 | |
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71 tormented | |
饱受折磨的 | |
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72 woes | |
困境( woe的名词复数 ); 悲伤; 我好苦哇; 某人就要倒霉 | |
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73 efface | |
v.擦掉,抹去 | |
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74 solitude | |
n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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75 twilight | |
n.暮光,黄昏;暮年,晚期,衰落时期 | |
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76 tributary | |
n.支流;纳贡国;adj.附庸的;辅助的;支流的 | |
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77 delightful | |
adj.令人高兴的,使人快乐的 | |
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78 countenance | |
n.脸色,面容;面部表情;vt.支持,赞同 | |
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79 vanquished | |
v.征服( vanquish的过去式和过去分词 );战胜;克服;抑制 | |
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80 hue | |
n.色度;色调;样子 | |
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81 pacify | |
vt.使(某人)平静(或息怒);抚慰 | |
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82 repented | |
对(自己的所为)感到懊悔或忏悔( repent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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83 auspices | |
n.资助,赞助 | |
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84 confide | |
v.向某人吐露秘密 | |
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85 simplicity | |
n.简单,简易;朴素;直率,单纯 | |
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86 dense | |
a.密集的,稠密的,浓密的;密度大的 | |
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87 haphazard | |
adj.无计划的,随意的,杂乱无章的 | |
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88 steering | |
n.操舵装置 | |
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89 nags | |
n.不断地挑剔或批评(某人)( nag的名词复数 );不断地烦扰或伤害(某人);无休止地抱怨;不断指责v.不断地挑剔或批评(某人)( nag的第三人称单数 );不断地烦扰或伤害(某人);无休止地抱怨;不断指责 | |
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90 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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91 rascals | |
流氓( rascal的名词复数 ); 无赖; (开玩笑说法)淘气的人(尤指小孩); 恶作剧的人 | |
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92 fiddles | |
n.小提琴( fiddle的名词复数 );欺诈;(需要运用手指功夫的)细巧活动;当第二把手v.伪造( fiddle的第三人称单数 );篡改;骗取;修理或稍作改动 | |
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93 entirely | |
ad.全部地,完整地;完全地,彻底地 | |
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94 ecclesiastic | |
n.教士,基督教会;adj.神职者的,牧师的,教会的 | |
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95 imposing | |
adj.使人难忘的,壮丽的,堂皇的,雄伟的 | |
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96 dignified | |
a.可敬的,高贵的 | |
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97 zeal | |
n.热心,热情,热忱 | |
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98 zealous | |
adj.狂热的,热心的 | |
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99 maternal | |
adj.母亲的,母亲般的,母系的,母方的 | |
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100 accusation | |
n.控告,指责,谴责 | |
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101 wedded | |
adj.正式结婚的;渴望…的,执著于…的v.嫁,娶,(与…)结婚( wed的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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102 lapsed | |
adj.流失的,堕落的v.退步( lapse的过去式和过去分词 );陷入;倒退;丧失 | |
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103 bestowed | |
赠给,授予( bestow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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104 extinction | |
n.熄灭,消亡,消灭,灭绝,绝种 | |
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105 opposition | |
n.反对,敌对 | |
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106 pretext | |
n.借口,托词 | |
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107 cordon | |
n.警戒线,哨兵线 | |
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108 condemned | |
adj. 被责难的, 被宣告有罪的 动词condemn的过去式和过去分词 | |
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109 imprisonment | |
n.关押,监禁,坐牢 | |
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110 submission | |
n.服从,投降;温顺,谦虚;提出 | |
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111 devoted | |
adj.忠诚的,忠实的,热心的,献身于...的 | |
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112 humbled | |
adj. 卑下的,谦逊的,粗陋的 vt. 使 ... 卑下,贬低 | |
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113 vassals | |
n.奴仆( vassal的名词复数 );(封建时代)诸侯;从属者;下属 | |
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114 solely | |
adv.仅仅,唯一地 | |
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115 perverted | |
adj.不正当的v.滥用( pervert的过去式和过去分词 );腐蚀;败坏;使堕落 | |
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116 barons | |
男爵( baron的名词复数 ); 巨头; 大王; 大亨 | |
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117 hatred | |
n.憎恶,憎恨,仇恨 | |
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118 fixed | |
adj.固定的,不变的,准备好的;(计算机)固定的 | |
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119 resolutely | |
adj.坚决地,果断地 | |
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120 lute | |
n.琵琶,鲁特琴 | |
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121 retired | |
adj.隐退的,退休的,退役的 | |
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122 disorder | |
n.紊乱,混乱;骚动,骚乱;疾病,失调 | |
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123 fugitives | |
n.亡命者,逃命者( fugitive的名词复数 ) | |
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124 adversaries | |
n.对手,敌手( adversary的名词复数 ) | |
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125 cordons | |
n.警戒线,警戒圈( cordon的名词复数 ) | |
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126 clans | |
宗族( clan的名词复数 ); 氏族; 庞大的家族; 宗派 | |
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127 determined | |
adj.坚定的;有决心的 | |
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128 torrent | |
n.激流,洪流;爆发,(话语等的)连发 | |
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129 rout | |
n.溃退,溃败;v.击溃,打垮 | |
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130 cavalry | |
n.骑兵;轻装甲部队 | |
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132 dungeon | |
n.地牢,土牢 | |
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133 defenders | |
n.防御者( defender的名词复数 );守卫者;保护者;辩护者 | |
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134 motives | |
n.动机,目的( motive的名词复数 ) | |
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135 scotch | |
n.伤口,刻痕;苏格兰威士忌酒;v.粉碎,消灭,阻止;adj.苏格兰(人)的 | |
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136 prudent | |
adj.谨慎的,有远见的,精打细算的 | |
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137 decided | |
adj.决定了的,坚决的;明显的,明确的 | |
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138 posterity | |
n.后裔,子孙,后代 | |
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139 circumspection | |
n.细心,慎重 | |
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140 bloody | |
adj.非常的的;流血的;残忍的;adv.很;vt.血染 | |
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141 engraved | |
v.在(硬物)上雕刻(字,画等)( engrave的过去式和过去分词 );将某事物深深印在(记忆或头脑中) | |
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142 attained | |
(通常经过努力)实现( attain的过去式和过去分词 ); 达到; 获得; 达到(某年龄、水平、状况) | |
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143 judgment | |
n.审判;判断力,识别力,看法,意见 | |
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144 versed | |
adj. 精通,熟练 | |
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145 rhetoric | |
n.修辞学,浮夸之言语 | |
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146 spoke | |
n.(车轮的)辐条;轮辐;破坏某人的计划;阻挠某人的行动 v.讲,谈(speak的过去式);说;演说;从某种观点来说 | |
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147 majestic | |
adj.雄伟的,壮丽的,庄严的,威严的,崇高的 | |
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148 complexion | |
n.肤色;情况,局面;气质,性格 | |
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149 Oxford | |
n.牛津(英国城市) | |
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150 stature | |
n.(高度)水平,(高度)境界,身高,身材 | |
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151 eyebrows | |
眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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152 drawn | |
v.拖,拉,拔出;adj.憔悴的,紧张的 | |
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153 ruby | |
n.红宝石,红宝石色 | |
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154 graceful | |
adj.优美的,优雅的;得体的 | |
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155 alabaster | |
adj.雪白的;n.雪花石膏;条纹大理石 | |
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156 ardent | |
adj.热情的,热烈的,强烈的,烈性的 | |
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157 enthusiast | |
n.热心人,热衷者 | |
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158 hearsay | |
n.谣传,风闻 | |
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159 jealousy | |
n.妒忌,嫉妒,猜忌 | |
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160 precisely | |
adv.恰好,正好,精确地,细致地 | |
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161 incognito | |
adv.匿名地;n.隐姓埋名;adj.化装的,用假名的,隐匿姓名身份的 | |
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162 broach | |
v.开瓶,提出(题目) | |
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163 frankly | |
adv.坦白地,直率地;坦率地说 | |
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164 majesty | |
n.雄伟,壮丽,庄严,威严;最高权威,王权 | |
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165 tapestry | |
n.挂毯,丰富多采的画面 | |
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166 espouse | |
v.支持,赞成,嫁娶 | |
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167 sufficiently | |
adv.足够地,充分地 | |
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168 mediocre | |
adj.平常的,普通的 | |
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169 aspire | |
vi.(to,after)渴望,追求,有志于 | |
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170 tragic | |
adj.悲剧的,悲剧性的,悲惨的 | |
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