Where are the portraits of those who have perished in spite of theirvows?
One bright March day in the year 1783 the bells of Pianura began to ringat sunrise, and with their first peal1 the townsfolk were abroad.
The city was already dressed for a festival. A canopy2 of crimson3 velvet4,surmounted5 by the ducal crown and by the "Humilitas" of the Valseccas,concealed the columns of the Cathedral porch and fell in royal foldsabout the featureless porphyry lions who had seen so many successiverulers ascend6 the steps between their outstretched paws. The frieze7 oframping and running animals around the ancient baptistery was concealedby heavy green garlands alternating with religious banners; and everychurch and chapel8 had draped its doorway9 with crimson and placed abovethe image of its patron saint the ducal crown of Pianura.
No less sumptuous10 was the adornment11 of the private dwellings12. The greatfamilies--the Trescorri, the Belverdi, the Pievepelaghi--had outdoneeach other in the display of golden-threaded tapestries13 and Genoesevelvets emblazoned with armorial bearings; and even the sombre facade14 ofthe Boscofolto palace showed a rich drapery surmounted by thequarterings of the new Marchioness.
But it was not only the palace-fronts that had put on a holiday dress.
The contagion15 had spread to the poorer quarters, and in many a narrowstreet and crooked16 lane, where surely no part of the coming pageantmight be expected to pass, the crazy balconies and unglazed windows weredecked out with scraps18 of finery: a yard or two of velvet filched19 fromthe state hangings of some noble house, a torn and discoloured churchbanner, even a cast-off sacque of brocade or a peasant's holidaykerchief, skilfully20 draped about the rusty21 iron and held in place bypots of clove-pink and sweet basil. The half-ruined palace which hadonce housed Gamba and Momola showed a few shreds22 of colour on its sullenfront, and the abate23 Crescenti's modest house, wedged in a corner of thecity walls, was dressed like the altar of a Lady Chapel; while even thetanners' quarter by the river displayed its festoons of coloured paperand tinsel, ingeniously twisted into the semblance24 of a crown.
For the new Duke, who was about to enter his capital in state, wasextraordinarily popular with all classes. His popularity, as yet, wasmainly due to a general detestation of the rule he had replaced; butsuch a sentiment gives to a new sovereign an impetus25 which, if he knowshow to use it, will carry him a long way toward success; and among thosein the Duke's confidence it was rumoured26 that he was qualified27 not onlyto profit by the expectations he had raised but to fulfil them. The lastmonths of the late Duke's life had plunged28 the duchy into such politicaland financial disorder29 that all parties were agreed in welcoming achange. Even those that had most to lose by the accession of the newsovereign, or most to fear from the policy he was known to favour,preferred the possibility of new evils to a continuance of presentconditions. The expertest angler in troubled waters may find waters tootroubled for his sport; and under a government where power is passedfrom hand to hand like the handkerchief in a children's game, the mostadroit time-server may find himself grasping the empty air.
It would indeed have been difficult to say who had ruled during the yearpreceding the Duke's death. Prime ministers had succeeded each otherlike the clowns in a harlequinade. Just as the Church seemed to havegained the upper hand some mysterious revulsion of feeling would flingthe Duke toward Trescorre and the liberals; and when these hadattempted, by some trifling31 concession32 to popular feeling, to restorethe credit of the government, their sovereign, seized by religiousscruples, would hastily recall the clerical party. So the administrationstaggered on, reeling from one policy to another, clutching now at thissupport and now at that, while Austria and the Holy See hung on itssteps, awaiting the inevitable33 fall.
A cruel winter and a fresh outbreak of the silkworm disease hadaggravated the misery34 of the people, while the mounting extravagance ofthe Duchess had put a last strain on the exhausted35 treasury36. Theconsequent increase of the salt-tax roused such popular fury that FatherIgnazio, who was responsible for the measure, was dismissed by thepanic-stricken Duke, and Trescorre, as usual, called in to repair hisrival's mistake. But it would have taken a greater statesman thanTrescorre to reach the root of such evils; and the new ministersucceeded neither in pacifying37 the people nor in reassuring38 hissovereign.
Meanwhile the Duke was sinking under the mysterious disease which hadhung upon him since his birth. It was hinted that his last hours weredarkened by hallucinations, and the pious39 pictured him as haunted byprofligate visions, while the free-thinkers maintained that he was thedupe of priestly jugglery40. Toward the end there was the inevitablerumour of acqua tofana, and the populace cried out that the Jesuits wereat work again. It seems more probable, however, that his Highness, whohad assisted at the annual festival of the Madonna del Monte, and hadmingled on foot with the swarm41 of devotees thronging42 thither43 from allparts, had contracted a pestilent disorder from one of the pilgrims.
Certain it is that death came in a dreadful form. The Duchess, alarmedfor the health of Prince Ferrante, fled with him to the dower-house bythe Piana; and the strange nature of his Highness's distemper causedmany to follow her example. Even the Duke's servants, and the quacksthat lived on his bounty44, were said to have abandoned the death-chamber;and an English traveller passing through Pianura boasted that, by thepayment of a small fee to the palace porter, he had obtained leave toenter his Highness's closet and peer through the doorway at the dyingman. However this may be, it would appear that the Duke's confessor--amonk of the Barnabite order--was not to be found when his Highnesscalled for him; and the servant sent forth46 in haste to fetch a priestreturned, strangely enough, with the abate Crescenti, whose suspectedorthodoxy had so long made him the object of the Duke's detestation. Heit was who alone witnessed the end of that tormented47 life, and knew uponwhat hopes or fears it closed.
Meanwhile it appeared that the Duchess's precautions were not unfounded;for Prince Ferrante presently sickened of the same malady48 which had cutoff his father, and when the Regent, travelling post-haste, arrived inPianura, he had barely time to pass from the Duke's obsequies to thedeath-bed of the heir.
Etiquette required that a year of mourning should elapse between theaccession of the new sovereign and his state entry into his capital; sothat if Duke Odo's character and intentions were still matter ofconjecture to his subjects, his appearance was already familiar to them.
His youth, his good looks, his open mien49, his known affability ofmanner, were so many arguments in his favour with an impressionable andimpulsive people; and it was perhaps natural that he should interpret asa tribute to his principles the sympathy which his person aroused.
It is certain that he fancied himself, at that time, as well-acquaintedwith his subjects as they believed themselves to be with him; and theunderstanding supposed to exist was productive of equal satisfaction toboth sides. The new Duke had thrown himself with extraordinary zeal50 intothe task of loving and understanding his people. It had been his refugefrom a hundred doubts and uncertainties51, the one clearly-defined objectin an obscure and troubled fate. And their response had, almostimmediately, turned his task into a pleasure. It was so easy to rule ifone's subjects loved one! And so easy to be loved if only one lovedenough in return! If he did not, like the Pope, describe himself to hispeople as the servant of the servants of God, he at least longed to makethem feel that this new gospel of service was the base on which allsovereignty must henceforth repose52.
It was not that his first year of power had been without moments ofdisillusionment. He had had more than one embittering53 experience ofintrigue and perfidy54, more than one glimpse of the pitfalls55 besettinghis course; but his confidence in his own powers and his faith in hispeople remained unshaken, and with two such beliefs to sustain him itseemed as though no difficulties would prove insurmountable.
Such at least was the mood in which, on the morning of his entry intoPianura, he prepared to face his subjects. Strangely enough, the stateentry began at Ponte di Po, the very spot where, on a stormy midnightsome seven years earlier, the new Duke had landed, a fugitive57 from hisfuture realm. Here, according to an ancient custom, the sovereignawaited the arrival of his ministers and court; and then, taking seat inhis state barge58, proceeded by water to Pianura, followed by an escort ofgalleys.
A great tent hung with tapestries had been set up on the river-bank; andhere Odo awaited the approach of the barge. As it touched at thelanding-stage he stepped out, and his prime minister, Count Trescorre,advanced toward him, accompanied by the dignitaries of the court.
Trescorre had aged59 in the intervening years. His delicate features hadwithered like a woman's, and the fine irony60 of his smile had taken anedge of cruelty. His face suggested a worn engraving61, the lines of whichhave been deepened by a too-incisive instrument.
The functionaries62 attending him were, with few exceptions, the same whohad figured in a like capacity at the late sovereign's court. With thepassing of the years they had grown heavier or thinner, more ponderousor stiffer in their movements, and as they advanced, in their splendidbut unwieldy court dress, they seemed to Odo like superannuatedmarionettes whose springs and wires have rusted63 from disuse.
The barge was a magnificent gilded64 Bucentaur, presented to the lateDuke's father by the Doge of Venice, and carved by his Serenity's mostfamous sculptors65 in wood. Tritons and sea-goddesses encircled the prowand throned above the stern, and the interior of the deck-house wasadorned with delicate rilievi and painted by Tiepolo with scenes fromthe myth of Amphitrite. Here the new Duke seated himself, surrounded byhis household, and presently the heavy craft, rowed by sixtygalley-slaves, was moving slowly up the river toward Pianura.
In the clear spring light the old walled city, with its domes66 andtowers, rose pleasantly among budding orchards67 and fields. Close at handwere the crenellations of Bracciaforte's keep, and just beyond, theornate cupola of the royal chapel, symbolising in their proximity68 thesuccessive ambitions of the ducal race; while the round-arched campanileof the Cathedral and the square tower of the mediaeval town-hall sprangup side by side, marking the centre of the free city which the Valseccashad subjugated69. It seemed to the new Duke, who was given to suchreflections, that he could read his race's history in that brokenskyline; but he was soon snatched from its perusal70 by the cheers of thecrowd who thronged71 the river-bank to greet his approach.
As the Bucentaur touched at the landing-stage and Odo stepped out on thered carpet strewn with flowers, while cannon72 thundered from the wallsand the bells burst into renewed jubilation73, he felt himself for thefirst time face to face with his people. The very ceremonial which inother cases kept them apart was now a means of closer communication; forit was to show himself to them that he was making a public entry intohis capital, and it was to see him that the city had poured forth hershouting throngs74. The shouts rose and widened as he advanced, envelopinghim in a mounting tide of welcome, in which cannon, bells andvoices--the decreed and the spontaneous acclamations--wereindistinguishably merged75. In like manner, approbation76 of his person wasmingled with a simple enjoyment77 of the show of which he formed a part;and it must have taken a more experienced head than Odo's to distinguishbetween the two currents of enthusiasm on which he felt himself sweptforward.
The pageant17 was indeed brilliant enough to justify78 the populartransport; and the fact that the new Duke formed a worthy79 centre to somuch magnificence was not lost on his splendour-loving subjects. Thelate sovereign had so long held himself aloof80 that the city wasunaccustomed to such shows, and as the procession wound into the squarebefore the Cathedral, where the thickest of the crowd was massed, thevery pealing81 of the church-bells was lost in the roar of human voices.
Don Serafino, the Bishop82's nephew, and now Master of the Horse, rodefirst, on a splendid charger, preceded by four trumpets83 and followed byhis esquires; then came the court dignitaries, attended by their pagesand staffieri in gala liveries, the marshals with their staves, themasters of ceremony, and the clergy84 mounted on mules86 trapped withvelvet, each led by two running footmen. The Duke rode next, alone andsomewhat pale. Two pages of arms, helmeted and carrying lances, walkedat his horse's bridle87; and behind him came his household and ministers,with their gentlemen and a long train of servants, followed by theregiment of light horse which closed the procession.
The houses surrounding the square afforded the best point of view tothose unwilling88 to mix with the crowd in the streets; and among thespectators thronging the windows and balconies, and leaning over theedge of the leads, were many who, from one motive89 or another, felt apersonal interest in the new Duke. The Marchioness of Boscofolto hadaccepted a seat in the windows of the Pievepelaghi palace, which formedan angle of the square, and she and her hostess--the same lady who hadbeen relieved of her diamond necklace by footpads suspected of wearingthe Duchess's livery--sat observing the scene behind the garlandedbalconies of the piano nobile. In the mezzanin windows of a neighbouringwine-shop the bookseller Andreoni, with half a dozen members of thephilosophical society to which Odo had belonged, peered above the headsof the crowd thronging the arcade90, and through a dormer of the leadsCarlo Gamba, the assistant in the ducal library, looked out on thetriumph of his former patron. Among the Church dignities grouped abouthis Highness was Father Ignazio, the late Duke's confessor, now Prior ofthe Dominicans, and said to be withdrawn91 from political life. Seated onhis richly-trapped mule85 he observed the scene with impassive face; whilefrom his place in the long line of minor92 clergy, the abate Crescenti,with eyes of infinite tenderness and concern, watched the young Dukesolemnly ascending93 the Cathedral steps.
In the porch the Bishop waited, impressive as ever in his white and golddalmatic, against the red robes of the chapter. Preceded by twochamberlains Odo mounted the steps amid the sudden silence of thepeople. The great bronze portals of the Cathedral, which were neveropened save on occasions of state, swung slowly inward, pouring a waveof music and incense94 out upon the hushed sunlit square; then they closedagain, engulphing the brilliant procession--the Duke, the Bishop, theclergy and the court--and leaving the populace to scatter95 in search ofthe diversions prepared for them at every street-corner.
It was not till late that night that the new Duke found himself alone.
He had withdrawn at last from the torch-lit balcony overlooking thesquare, whither the shouts of his subjects had persistently96 recalledhim. Silence was falling on the illuminated97 streets, and the dimness ofmidnight upon the sky through which rocket after rocket had torn itsbrilliant furrows98. In the palace a profounder stillness reigned99. Sincehis accession Odo, out of respect for the late Duke, had lodged100 in oneof the wings of the great building; but tradition demanded that heshould henceforth inhabit the ducal apartments, and thither, at theclose of the day's ceremonies, his gentlemen had conducted him.
Trescorre had asked permission to wait on him before he slept; and heknew that the prime minister would be kept late by his conference withthe secret police, whose nightly report could not be handed in till thefestivities were over. Meanwhile Odo was in no mood for sleep. He satalone in the closet, still hung with saints' images and jewelledreliquaries, where his cousin had so often given him audience, andwhence, through the open door, he could see the embroidered101 curtains andplumed baldachin of the state bed which was presently to receive him.
All day his heart had beat with high ambitions; but now a weight sankupon his spirit. The reaction from the tumultuous welcome of the streetsto the closely-guarded silence of the palace made him feel how unrealwas the fancied union between himself and his people, how insuperablethe distance that tradition and habit had placed between them. In thenarrow closet where his predecessor102 had taken refuge from the detestedtask of reigning103, the new Duke felt the same moral lassitude steal overhim. How was such a puny104 will as his to contend against the great forcesof greed and prejudice? All the influences arrayed againsthim--tradition, superstition105, the lust106 of power, the arrogance107 ofrace--seemed concentrated in the atmosphere of that silent room, withits guarded threshold, its pious relics108, and lying on the desk in theembrasure of the window, the manuscript litany which the late Duke hadnot lived to complete.
Oppressed by his surroundings, Odo rose and entered the bed-chamber. Alamp burned before the image of the Madonna at the head of the bed, andtwo lighted flambeaux flanked the picture of the Last Judgment109 on theopposite wall. Odo remembered the look of terror which the Duke hadfixed on the picture during their first strange conversation. Apraying-stool stood beneath it, and it was said that here, rather thanbefore the Virgin's image, the melancholy110 prince performed his privatedevotions. The horrors of the scene were depicted111 with a childishminuteness of detail, as though the painter had sought to produce animpression of moral anguish112 by the accumulation of physical sufferings;and just such puerile113 images of the wrath114 to come may have haunted themysterious recesses115 of the Duke's imagination. Crescenti had told Odohow the dying man's thoughts had seemed to centre upon this dreadfulsubject, and how again and again, amid his ravings, he had cried outthat the picture must be burned, as though the sight of it was becomeintolerable to him.
Odo's own mind, across which the events and emotions of the day stillthrew the fantastic shadows of an expiring illumination, was wrought116 tothe highest state of impressionability. He saw in a flash all that thepicture must have symbolised to his cousin's fancy; and in his desire toreconstruct that dying vision of fleshly retribution, he stepped closeto the diptych, resting a knee on the stool beneath it. As he did so,the picture suddenly opened, disclosing the inner panel. Odo caught upone of the flambeaux, and in its light, as on a sunlit wave, therestepped forth to him the lost Venus of Giorgione.
He knew the picture in an instant. There was no mistaking the glow ofthe limbs, the midsummer languor117 of the smile, the magical atmosphere inwhich the gold of sunlight, of autumn leaves, of amber45 grapes, seemedfused by some lost alchemy of the brush. As he gazed, the scene changed,and he saw himself in a darkened room with cabalistic hangings. He sawHeiligenstern's tall figure, towering in supernatural light, the Dukeleaning eagerly forward, the Duchess with set lips and troubled eyes,the little prince bent118 wonderingly above the magic crystal...
A step in the antechamber announced Trescorre's approach. Odo returnedto the cabinet and the minister advanced with a low bow. The two men hadhad time to grow accustomed to the new relation in which they stood toone another, yet there were moments when, to Odo, the past seemed to lielike fallen leaves beneath Trescorre's steps--Donna Laura, fond andfoolish in her weeds, Gamba, Momola, and the pure featherhead Cerveno,dying at nineteen of a distemper because he had stood in the other'sway. The impression was strong on him now--but it was only momentary119.
Habit reasserted itself, and the minister effaced120 the man. Odo signed toTrescorre to seat himself and the latter silently presented his report.
He was a diligent121 and capable administrator122, and however mixed might bethe motives123 which attached him to his sovereign, they did not interferewith the exact performance of his duties. Odo knew this and was gratefulfor it. He knew that Trescorre, ambitious of the regency, had intriguedagainst him to the last. He knew that an intemperate124 love of power wasthe mainspring of that seemingly dispassionate nature. But death hadcrossed Trescorre's schemes; and he was too adroit30 an opportunist not tosee that his best chance now lay in making himself indispensable to hisnew sovereign. Of all this Odo was aware; but his own motives inappointing Trescorre did not justify his looking for greatdisinterestedness in his minister. The irony of circumstances had forcedthem upon each other, and each knew that the other understood thesituation and was prepared to make the best of it.
The Duke presently rose, and handed back to Trescorre the reports of thesecret police. They were the documents he most disliked to handle.
"You have acquitted125 yourself admirably of your disagreeable duties," hesaid with a smile. "I hope I have done as well. At any rate the day isover."Trescorre returned the smile, with his usual tinge126 of irony. "Anotherhas already begun," said he.
"Ah," said Odo, with a touch of impatience127, "are we not to sleep on ourlaurels?"Trescorre bowed. "Austria, your Highness, never sleeps."Odo looked at him with surprise. "What do you mean?""That I have to remind your Highness--""Of what--?"Trescorre had one of his characteristic pauses.
"That the Duke of Monte Alloro is in failing health--and that herHighness's year of widowhood ended yesterday."There was a silence. Odo, who had reseated himself, rose and walked tothe window. The shutters128 stood open and he looked out over the formlessobscurity of the gardens. Above the intervening masses of foliage129 theBorromini wing raised its vague grey bulk. He saw lights in MariaClementina's apartments and wondered if she still waked. An hour or twoearlier she had given him her hand in the contra-dance at the stateball. It was her first public appearance since the late Duke's death,and with the laying off of her weeds she had regained130 something of herformer brilliancy. At the moment he had hardly observed her: she hadseemed a mere131 inanimate part of the pageant of which he formed thethrobbing centre. But now the sense of her nearness pressed upon him.
She seemed close to him, ingrown with his fate; and with the curiousduality of vision that belongs to such moments he beheld132 her again asshe had first shone on him--the imperious child whom he had angered bystroking her spaniel, the radiant girl who had welcomed him on hisreturn to Pianura. Trescorre's voice aroused him.
"At any moment," the minister was saying, "her Highness may fall heir toMonte Alloro. It is the moment for which Austria waits. There is alwaysan Archduke ready--and her Highness is still a young woman."Odo turned slowly from the window. "I have told you that this isimpossible," he murmured.
Trescorre looked down and thoughtfully fingered the documents in hishands.
"Your Highness," said he, "is as well-acquainted as your ministers withthe difficulties that beset56 us. Monte Alloro is one of the richeststates in Italy. It is a pity to alienate133 such revenues from Pianura."The new Duke was silent. His minister's words were merely the audibleexpression of his own thoughts. He knew that the future welfare ofPianura depended on the annexation134 of Monte Alloro. He owed it to hispeople to unite the two sovereignties.
At length he said: "You are building on an unwarrantable assumption."Trescorre raised an interrogative glance.
"You assume her Highness's consent."The minister again paused; and his pause seemed to flash an ironicallight on the poverty of the other's defences.
"I come straight from her Highness," said he quietly, "and I assumenothing that I am not in a position to affirm."Odo turned on him with a start. "Do I understand that you havepresumed--?"His minister raised a deprecating hand. "Sir," said he, "the Archduke'senvoy is in Pianura."
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peal
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| n.钟声；v.鸣响 | |
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canopy
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| n.天篷，遮篷 | |
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crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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velvet
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| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
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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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ascend
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| vi.渐渐上升，升高；vt.攀登，登上 | |
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frieze
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| n.(墙上的)横饰带，雕带 | |
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chapel
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| n.小教堂，殡仪馆 | |
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doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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sumptuous
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| adj.豪华的，奢侈的，华丽的 | |
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adornment
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| n.装饰；装饰品 | |
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dwellings
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| n.住处，处所( dwelling的名词复数 ) | |
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tapestries
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| n.挂毯( tapestry的名词复数 )；绣帷，织锦v.用挂毯（或绣帷）装饰( tapestry的第三人称单数 ) | |
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facade
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| n.(建筑物的)正面，临街正面；外表 | |
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contagion
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| n.(通过接触的疾病)传染；蔓延 | |
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crooked
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| adj.弯曲的；不诚实的，狡猾的，不正当的 | |
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pageant
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| n.壮观的游行；露天历史剧 | |
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scraps
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| 油渣 | |
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filched
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skilfully
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rusty
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| adj.生锈的；锈色的；荒废了的 | |
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shreds
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abate
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| vi.(风势，疼痛等)减弱，减轻，减退 | |
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semblance
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impetus
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rumoured
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qualified
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| adj.合格的，有资格的，胜任的，有限制的 | |
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plunged
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disorder
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adroit
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| adj.熟练的，灵巧的 | |
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trifling
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| adj.微不足道的；没什么价值的 | |
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concession
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| n.让步，妥协；特许(权) | |
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inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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misery
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exhausted
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treasury
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| n.宝库；国库，金库；文库 | |
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pacifying
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| 使（某人）安静( pacify的现在分词 )； 息怒； 抚慰； 在（有战争的地区、国家等）实现和平 | |
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38
reassuring
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| a.使人消除恐惧和疑虑的，使人放心的 | |
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39
pious
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| adj.虔诚的；道貌岸然的 | |
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40
jugglery
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| n.杂耍，把戏 | |
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41
swarm
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| n.(昆虫)等一大群；vi.成群飞舞；蜂拥而入 | |
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42
thronging
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| v.成群，挤满( throng的现在分词 ) | |
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43
thither
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| adv.向那里；adj.在那边的，对岸的 | |
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44
bounty
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| n.慷慨的赠予物，奖金；慷慨，大方；施与 | |
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45
amber
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| n.琥珀；琥珀色；adj.琥珀制的 | |
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46
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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47
tormented
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| 饱受折磨的 | |
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48
malady
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| n.病，疾病(通常做比喻) | |
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49
mien
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| n.风采；态度 | |
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50
zeal
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| n.热心，热情，热忱 | |
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51
uncertainties
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| 无把握( uncertainty的名词复数 )； 不确定； 变化不定； 无把握、不确定的事物 | |
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52
repose
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| v.(使)休息；n.安息 | |
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53
embittering
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| v.使怨恨，激怒( embitter的现在分词 ) | |
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54
perfidy
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| n.背信弃义，不忠贞 | |
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55
pitfalls
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| （捕猎野兽用的）陷阱( pitfall的名词复数 )； 意想不到的困难，易犯的错误 | |
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56
beset
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| v.镶嵌；困扰，包围 | |
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57
fugitive
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| adj.逃亡的，易逝的；n.逃犯，逃亡者 | |
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58
barge
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| n.平底载货船，驳船 | |
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59
aged
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| adj.年老的，陈年的 | |
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60
irony
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| n.反语，冷嘲；具有讽刺意味的事，嘲弄 | |
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61
engraving
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| n.版画；雕刻（作品）；雕刻艺术；镌版术v.在（硬物）上雕刻（字，画等）( engrave的现在分词 )；将某事物深深印在（记忆或头脑中） | |
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62
functionaries
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| n.公职人员，官员( functionary的名词复数 ) | |
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63
rusted
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| v.（使）生锈( rust的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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64
gilded
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| a.镀金的，富有的 | |
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65
sculptors
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| 雕刻家，雕塑家( sculptor的名词复数 )； [天]玉夫座 | |
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66
domes
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| n.圆屋顶( dome的名词复数 )；像圆屋顶一样的东西；圆顶体育场 | |
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67
orchards
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| （通常指围起来的）果园( orchard的名词复数 ) | |
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68
proximity
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| n.接近，邻近 | |
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69
subjugated
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| v.征服，降伏( subjugate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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70
perusal
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| n.细读，熟读；目测 | |
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71
thronged
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| v.成群，挤满( throng的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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72
cannon
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| n.大炮，火炮；飞机上的机关炮 | |
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73
jubilation
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| n.欢庆，喜悦 | |
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74
throngs
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| n.人群( throng的名词复数 )v.成群，挤满( throng的第三人称单数 ) | |
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75
merged
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| （使）混合( merge的过去式和过去分词 )； 相融； 融入； 渐渐消失在某物中 | |
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76
approbation
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| n.称赞；认可 | |
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77
enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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78
justify
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| vt.证明…正当(或有理)，为…辩护 | |
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79
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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80
aloof
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| adj.远离的；冷淡的，漠不关心的 | |
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81
pealing
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| v.（使）（钟等）鸣响，（雷等）发出隆隆声( peal的现在分词 ) | |
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82
bishop
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| n.主教，（国际象棋）象 | |
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83
trumpets
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| 喇叭( trumpet的名词复数 )； 小号； 喇叭形物； （尤指）绽开的水仙花 | |
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84
clergy
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| n.[总称]牧师，神职人员 | |
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85
mule
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| n.骡子，杂种，执拗的人 | |
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86
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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87
bridle
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| n.笼头，束缚；vt.抑制，约束；动怒 | |
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88
unwilling
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| adj.不情愿的 | |
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89
motive
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| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
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90
arcade
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| n.拱廊；(一侧或两侧有商店的)通道 | |
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91
withdrawn
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| vt.收回；使退出；vi.撤退，退出 | |
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92
minor
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| adj.较小(少)的，较次要的；n.辅修学科；vi.辅修 | |
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93
ascending
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| adj.上升的，向上的 | |
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94
incense
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| v.激怒；n.香，焚香时的烟，香气 | |
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95
scatter
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| vt.撒，驱散，散开；散布/播；vi.分散，消散 | |
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96
persistently
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| ad.坚持地；固执地 | |
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97
illuminated
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| adj.被照明的；受启迪的 | |
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98
furrows
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| n.犁沟( furrow的名词复数 )；（脸上的）皱纹v.犁田，开沟( furrow的第三人称单数 ) | |
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99
reigned
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| vi.当政，统治（reign的过去式形式） | |
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100
lodged
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| v.存放( lodge的过去式和过去分词 )；暂住；埋入；（权利、权威等）归属 | |
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101
embroidered
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| adj．绣花的 | |
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102
predecessor
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| n.前辈，前任 | |
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103
reigning
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| adj.统治的，起支配作用的 | |
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104
puny
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| adj.微不足道的，弱小的 | |
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105
superstition
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| n.迷信，迷信行为 | |
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106
lust
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| n.性(淫)欲；渴(欲)望；vi.对…有强烈的欲望 | |
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107
arrogance
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| n.傲慢，自大 | |
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108
relics
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| [pl.］n.遗物，遗迹，遗产；遗体，尸骸 | |
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109
judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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110
melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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111
depicted
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| 描绘，描画( depict的过去式和过去分词 )； 描述 | |
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112
anguish
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| n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦，烦恼 | |
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113
puerile
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| adj.幼稚的，儿童的 | |
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114
wrath
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| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
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115
recesses
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| n.壁凹( recess的名词复数 )；（工作或业务活动的）中止或暂停期间；学校的课间休息；某物内部的凹形空间v.把某物放在墙壁的凹处( recess的第三人称单数 )；将（墙）做成凹形，在（墙）上做壁龛；休息，休会，休庭 | |
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116
wrought
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| v.引起；以…原料制作；运转；adj.制造的 | |
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117
languor
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| n.无精力，倦怠 | |
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118
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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119
momentary
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| adj.片刻的，瞬息的；短暂的 | |
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120
effaced
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| v.擦掉( efface的过去式和过去分词 )；抹去；超越；使黯然失色 | |
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121
diligent
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| adj.勤勉的，勤奋的 | |
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122
administrator
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| n.经营管理者，行政官员 | |
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123
motives
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| n.动机，目的( motive的名词复数 ) | |
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124
intemperate
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| adj.无节制的，放纵的 | |
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125
acquitted
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| 宣判…无罪( acquit的过去式和过去分词 )； 使（自己）作出某种表现 | |
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126
tinge
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| vt.(较淡)着色于，染色；使带有…气息；n.淡淡色彩，些微的气息 | |
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127
impatience
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| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
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128
shutters
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| 百叶窗( shutter的名词复数 )； （照相机的）快门 | |
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129
foliage
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| n.叶子，树叶，簇叶 | |
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130
regained
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| 复得( regain的过去式和过去分词 )； 赢回； 重回； 复至某地 | |
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131
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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132
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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133
alienate
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| vt.使疏远，离间；转让(财产等) | |
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134
annexation
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| n.吞并，合并 | |
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