The jubilee1 of the Mountain Madonna fell on the feast of thePurification. It was mid-November, but with a sky of June. The autumnrains had ceased for the moment, and fields and orchards3 glistened4 witha late verdure.
Never had the faithful gathered in such numbers to do honour to thewonder-working Virgin5. A widespread resistance to the influences of freethought and Jansenism was pouring fresh life into the old formulas ofdevotion. Though many motives6 combined to strengthen this movement, itwas still mainly a simple expression of loyalty7 to old ideals, aninstinctive rallying around a threatened cause. It is the honestconviction underlying8 all great popular impulses that gives them theirreal strength; and in this case the thousands of pilgrims flocking onfoot to the mountain shrine9 embodied10 a greater moral force than thepowerful ecclesiastics11 at whose call they had gathered.
The clergy12 themselves were come from all sides; while those that wereunable to attend had sent costly13 gifts to the miraculous14 Virgin. TheBishops of Mantua, Modena, Vercelli and Cremona had travelled to Pianurain state, the people flocking out beyond the gates to welcome them. Fourmitred Abbots, several Monsignori, and Priors, Rectors, Vicars-generaland canons innumerable rode in the procession, followed on foot by thehumble army of parish priests and by interminable confraternities of allorders.
The approach of the great dignitaries was hailed with enthusiasm by thecrowds lining17 the roads. Even the Bishop16 of Pianura, never popular withthe people, received an unwonted measure of applause, and thewhite-cowled Prior of the Dominicans, riding by stern and close-lippedas a monk18 of Zurbaran's, was greeted with frenzied19 acclamations. Thereport that the Bishop and the heads of the religious houses in Pianurawere to set free suppers for the pilgrims had doubtless quickened thisoutburst of piety20; yet it was perhaps chiefly due to the sense of comingperil that had gradually permeated21 the dim consciousness of the crowd.
In the church, the glow of lights, the thrilling beauty of the music andthe glitter of the priestly vestments were blent in a melting harmony ofsound and colour. The shrine of the Madonna shone with unearthlyradiance. Hundreds of candles formed an elongated22 nimbus about herhieratic figure, which was surmounted23 by the canopy24 of cloth-of-goldpresented by the Duke of Modena. The Bishops15 of Vercelli and Cremona hadoffered a robe of silver brocade studded with coral and turquoises25, thedevout Princess Clotilda of Savoy an emerald necklace, the Bishop ofPianura a marvellous veil of rose-point made in a Flemish convent; whileon the statue's brow rested the Duke's jewelled diadem26.
The Duke himself, seated in his tribune above the choir27, observed thescene with a renewed appreciation28 of the Church's unfailing dramaticinstinct. At first he saw in the spectacle only this outer and symbolicside, of which the mere29 sensuous30 beauty had always deeply moved him; butas he watched the effect produced on the great throng31 filling theaisles, he began to see that this external splendour was but the veilbefore the sanctuary33, and to realise what de Crucis meant when he spokeof the deep hold of the Church upon the people. Every colour, everygesture, every word and note of music that made up the texture34 of thegorgeous ceremonial might indeed seem part of a long-studied andastutely-planned effect. Yet each had its root in some instinct of theheart, some natural development of the inner life, so that they were infact not the cunningly-adjusted fragments of an arbitrary pattern butthe inseparable fibres of a living organism. It was Odo's misfortune tosee too far ahead on the road along which his destiny was urging him. Ashe sat there, face to face with the people he was trying to lead, heheard above the music of the mass and the chant of the kneeling throngan echo of the question that Don Gervaso had once put to him:--"If youtake Christ from the people, what have you to give them instead?"He was roused by a burst of silver clarions. The mass was over, and theDuke and Duchess were to descend35 from their tribune and venerate36 theholy image before it was carried through the church.
Odo rose and gave his hand to his wife. They had not seen each other,save in public, since their last conversation in her closet. The Duchesswalked with set lips and head erect37, keeping her profile turned to himas they descended38 the steps and advanced to the choir. None knew betterhow to take her part in such a pageant39. She had the gift of drawing uponherself the undivided attention of any assemblage in which she moved;and the consciousness of this power lent a kind of Olympian buoyancy toher gait. The richness of her dress and her extravagant40 display ofjewels seemed almost a challenge to the sacred image blazing like arainbow beneath its golden canopy; and Odo smiled to think that hischildish fancy had once compared the brilliant being at his side to thehumble tinsel-decked Virgin of the church at Pontesordo.
As the couple advanced, stillness fell on the church. The air was fullof the lingering haze41 of incense42, through which the sunlight from theclerestory poured in prismatic splendours on the statue of the Virgin.
Rigid, superhuman, a molten flamboyancy43 of gold and gems44, thewonder-working Madonna shone out above her worshippers. The Duke andDuchess paused, bowing deeply, below the choir. Then they mounted thesteps and knelt before the shrine. As they did so a crash broke thesilence, and the startled devotees saw that the ducal diadem had fallenfrom the Madonna's head.
The hush45 prolonged itself a moment; then a canon sprang forward to pickup46 the crown, and with the movement a murmur47 rose and spread through thechurch. The Duke's offering had fallen to the ground as he approached tovenerate the blessed image. That this was an omen2 no man could doubt. Itneeded no augur48 to interpret it. The murmur, gathering49 force as it sweptthrough the packed aisles32, passed from surprise to fear, from fear to adeep hum of anger;--for the people understood, as plainly as though shehad spoken, that the Virgin of the Valseccas had cast from her the giftof an unbeliever...
***The ceremonies over, the long procession was formed again and set outtoward the city. The crowd had surged ahead, and when the Duke rodethrough the gates the streets were already thronged50. Moving slowlybetween the compact mass of people he felt himself as closely observedas on the day of his state entry; but with far different effect.
Enthusiasm had given way to a cold curiosity. The excitement of thespectators had spent itself in the morning, and the sight of theirsovereign failed to rouse their flagging ardour. Now and then a cheerbroke out, but it died again without kindling51 another in theuninflammable mass. Odo could not tell how much of this indifference52 wasdue to a natural reaction from the emotions of the morning, how much tohis personal unpopularity, how much to the ominous53 impression producedby the falling of the Virgin's crown. He rode between his peopleoppressed by a sense of estrangement54 such as he had never known. He felthimself shut off from them by an impassable barrier of superstition55 andignorance; and every effort to reach them was like the wrong turn in alabyrinth, drawing him farther away from the issue to which it seemed tolead.
As he advanced under this indifferent or hostile scrutiny56, he thoughthow much easier it would be to face a rain of bullets than thiswithering glare of criticism. A sudden longing57 to escape, to be donewith it all, came over him with sickening force. His nerves ached withthe physical strain of holding himself upright on his horse, ofpreserving the statuesque erectness58 proper to the occasion. He felt likeone of his own ancestral effigies59, of which the wooden framework hadrotted under the splendid robes. A congestion60 at the head of a narrowstreet had checked the procession, and he was obliged to rein61 in hishorse. He looked about and found himself in the centre of the squarenear the Baptistery. A few feet off, directly in a line with him, wasthe weather-worn front of the Royal Printing-Press. He raised his headand saw a group of people on the balcony. Though they were close athand, he saw them in a blur62, against which Fulvia's figure suddenlydetached itself. She had told him that she was to view the processionwith the Andreonis; but through the mental haze which enveloped63 him herapparition struck a vague surprise. He looked at her intently, and theireyes met. A faint happiness stole over her face, but no recognition waspossible, and she continued to gaze out steadily64 upon the throng belowthe balcony. Involuntarily his glance followed hers, and he saw that shewas herself the centre of the crowd's attention. Her plain, almostQuakerish habit, and the tranquil65 dignity of her carriage, made her aconspicuous figure among the animated66 groups in the adjoining windows,and Odo, with the acuteness of perception which a public life develops,was instantly aware that her name was on every lip. At the same momenthe saw a woman close to his horse's feet snatch up her child and makethe sign against the evil eye. A boy who stood staring open-mouthed atFulvia caught the gesture and repeated it; a barefoot friar imitated theboy, and it seemed to Odo that the familiar sign was spreading withmalignant rapidity to the furthest limits of the crowd. The impressionwas only momentary67; for the cavalcade68 was again in motion, and withoutraising his eyes he rode on, sick at heart...
***At nightfall a man opened the gate of the ducal gardens below theChinese pavilion and stepped out into the deserted69 lane. He locked thegate and slipped the key into his pocket; then he turned and walkedtoward the centre of the town. As he reached the more populous70 quartershis walk slackened to a stroll; and now and then he paused to observe aknot of merry-makers or look through the curtains of the tents set up inthe squares.
The man was plainly but decently dressed, like a petty tradesman or alawyer's clerk, and the night being chill he wore a cloak, and had drawnhis hat-brim over his forehead. He sauntered on, letting the crowd carryhim, with the air of one who has an hour to kill, and whoseholiday-making takes the form of an amused spectatorship. To such anobserver the streets offered ample entertainment. The shrewd airdiscouraged lounging and kept the crowd in motion; but the openplatforms built for dancing were thronged with couples, and everypeep-show, wine-shop and astrologer's booth was packed to the doors. Theshrines and street-lamps being all alight, and booths and platforms hungwith countless71 lanterns, the scene was as bright as day; but in theever-shifting medley72 of peasant-dresses, liveries, monkish73 cowls andcarnival disguises, a soberly-clad man might easily go unremarked.
Reaching the square before the Cathedral, the solitary74 observer pushedhis way through the idlers gathered about a dais with a curtain at theback. Before the curtain stood a Milanese quack75, dressed like a noblegentleman, with sword and plumed76 hat, and rehearsing his cures instentorian tones, while his zany, in the short mask and green-and-whitehabit of Brighella, cracked jokes and turned hand-springs for thediversion of the vulgar.
"Behold," the charlatan77 was shouting, "the marvellous Egyptianlove-philter distilled78 from the pearl that the great Emperor Antonydropped into Queen Cleopatra's cup. This infallible fluid, handed downfor generations in the family of my ancestor, the High Priest of Isis--"The bray79 of a neighbouring show-man's trumpet80 cut him short, andyielding to circumstances he drew back the curtain, and a tumbling-girlsprang out and began her antics on the front of the stage.
"What did he say was the price of that drink, Giannina?" asked a youngmaid-servant pulling her neighbour's sleeve.
"Are you thinking of buying it for Pietrino, my beauty?" the otherreturned with a laugh. "Believe me, it is a sound proverb that says:
When the fruit is ripe it falls of itself."The girl drew away angrily, and the quack took up his harangue:--"Thesame philter, ladies and gentlemen--though in confessing it I betray aprofessional secret--the same philter, I declare to you on the honour ofa nobleman, whereby, in your own city, a lady no longer young and no wayremarkable in looks or station, has captured and subjugated81 theaffections of one so high, so exalted82, so above all others in beauty,rank, wealth, power and dignities--""Oh, oh, that's the Duke!" sniggered a voice in the crowd.
"Ladies and gentlemen, I name no names!" cried the quack impressively.
"No need to," retorted the voice.
"They do say, though, she gave him something to drink," said a youngwoman to a youth in a clerk's dress. "The saying is she studied medicinewith the Turks.""The Moors83, you mean," said the clerk with an air of superiority.
"Well, they say her mother was a Turkey slave and her father a murdererfrom the Sultan's galleys84.""No, no, she's plain Piedmontese, I tell you. Her father was a physicianin Turin, and was driven out of the country for poisoning his patientsin order to watch their death-agonies.""They say she's good to the poor, though," said another voicedoubtfully.
"Good to the poor? Ay, that's what they said of her father. All I knowis that she heard Stefano the weaver's lad had the falling sickness, andshe carried him a potion with her own hands, and the next day the childwas dead, and a Carmelite friar, who saw the phial he drank from, saidit was the same shape and size as one that was found in a witch's gravewhen they were digging the foundations for the new monastery85.""Ladies and gentlemen," shrieked86 the quack, "what am I offered for adrop of this priceless liquor?"The listener turned aside and pushed his way toward the farther end ofthe square. As he did so he ran against a merry-andrew who thrust a longprinted sheet in his hand.
"Buy my satirical ballads87, ladies and gentlemen!" the fellow shouted.
"Two for a farthing, invented and written by an own cousin of the greatPasquino of Rome! What will you have, sir? Here's the secret history ofa famous Prince's amours with an atheist--here's the true scandal of anillustrious lady's necklace--two for a farthing...and my humblest thanksto your excellency." He pocketed the coin, and the other, thrusting thebroadsheets beneath his cloak, pushed on to the nearest coffee-house.
Here every table was thronged, and the babble88 of talk so loud that thestranger, hopeless of obtaining refreshment89, pressed his way into theremotest corner of the room and seated himself on an empty cask. Atfirst he sat motionless, silently observing the crowd; then he drewforth the ballads and ran his eye over them. He was still engaged inthis study when his notice was attracted by a loud discussion goingforward between a party of men at the nearest table. The disputants,petty tradesman or artisans by their dress, had evidently been warmed bya good flagon of wine, and their tones were so lively that every wordreached the listener on the cask.
"Reform, reform!" cried one, who appeared by his dress and manner to bethe weightiest of the company--"it's all very well to cry reform; butwhat I say is that most of those that are howling for it no more knowwhat they're asking than a parrot that's been taught the litany. Now thefirst question is: who benefits by your reform? And what's the answer tothat, eh? Is it the tradesmen? The merchants? The clerks, artisans,household servants, I ask you? I hear some of my fellow-tradesmencomplaining that the nobility don't pay their bills. Will they be betterpaid, think you, when the Duke has halved91 their revenues? Will thequality keep up as large households, employ as many lacqueys, set aslavish tables, wear as fine clothes, collect as many rarities, buy asmany horses, give us, in short, as many opportunities of making ourprofit out of their pleasure? What I say is, if we're to have new taxes,don't let them fall on the very class we live by!""That's true enough," said another speaker, a lean bilious92 man with apen behind his ear. "The peasantry are the only class that are going toprofit by this constitution.""And what do the peasantry do for us, I should like to know?" the firstspeaker went on triumphantly93. "As far as the fat friars go, I'm notsorry to see them squeezed a trifle, for they've wrung94 enough money outof our women-folk to lie between feathers from now till doomsday; but Isay, if you care for your pockets, don't lay hands on the nobility!""Gently, gently, my friend," exclaimed a cautious flaccid-looking mansetting down his glass. "Father and son, for four generations, my familyhave served Pianura with Church candles, and I can tell you that sincethese new atheistical95 notions came in, the nobility are not the goodpatrons they used to be. But as for the friars, I should be sorry to seethem meddled96 with. It's true they may get the best morsel97 in the pot andthe warmest seat on the hearth--and one of them, now and then, may taketoo long to teach a pretty girl her Pater Noster--but I'm not sure weshall be better off when they're gone. Formerly98, if a child too manycame to poor folk they could always comfort themselves with the thoughtthat, if there was no room for him at home, the Church was there toprovide for him. But if we drive out the good friars, a man will have tocount mouths before he dares look at his wife too lovingly.""Well," said the scribe with a dry smile, "I've a notion the good friarshave always taken more than they gave; and if it were not for the gapingmouths under the cowl even a poor man might have victuals99 enough for hisown."The first speaker turned on him contentiously100.
"Do I understand you are for this new charter, then?" he asked.
"No, no," said the other. "Better hot polenta than a cold ortolan.
Things are none too good as they are, but I never care to taste first ofa new dish. And in this case I don't fancy the cook.""Ah, that's it," said the soft man. "it's too much like the apothecary'swife mixing his drugs for him. Men of Roman lineage want no women togovern them!" He puffed101 himself out and thrust a hand in his bosom102.
"Besides, gentlemen," he added, dropping his voice and glancingcautiously about the room, "the saints are my witness I'm notsuperstitious--but frankly103, now, I don't much fancy this business of theVirgin's crown.""What do you mean?" asked a lean visionary-looking youth who had beendrinking and listening.
"Why, sir, I needn't say I'm the last man in Pianura to listen towomen's tattle; but my wife had it straight from Cino the barber, whosesister is portress of the Benedictines, that, two days since, one of thenuns foretold104 the whole business, precisely105 as it happened--and what'smore, many that were in the Church this morning will tell you that theydistinctly saw the blessed image raise both arms and tear the crown fromher head.""H'm," said the young man flippantly, "what became of the Bambinomeanwhile, I wonder?"The scribe shrugged106 his shoulders. "We all know," said he, "that Cinothe barber lies like a christened Jew; but I'm not surprised the thingwas known in advance, for I make no doubt the priests pulled the wiresthat brought down the crown."The fat man looked scandalised, and the first speaker waved the subjectaside as unworthy of attention.
"Such tales are for women and monks," he said impatiently. "But thebusiness has its serious side. I tell you we are being hurried to ourruin. Here's this matter of draining the marshes107 at Pontesordo. Who's topay for that? The class that profits by it? Not by a long way. It's wewho drain the land, and the peasants are to live on it."The visionary youth tossed back his hair. "But isn't that an inspirationto you, sir?" he exclaimed. "Does not your heart dilate108 at the thoughtof uplifting the condition of your down-trodden fellows?""My fellows? The peasantry my fellows?" cried the other. "I'd have youknow, my young master, that I come of a long and honourable109 line ofcloth-merchants, that have had their names on the Guild110 for two hundredyears and over. I've nothing to do with the peasantry, thank God!"The youth had emptied another glass. "What?" he screamed. "You deny theuniversal kinship of man? You disown your starving brothers? Proudtyrant, remember the Bastille!" He burst into tears and began to quoteAlfieri.
"Well," said the fat man, turning a disgusted shoulder on this displayof emotion, "to my mind this business of draining Pontesordo is too muchlike telling the Almighty111 what to do. If God made the land wet, whatright have we to dry it? Those that begin by meddling112 with the Creator'sworks may end by laying hands on the Creator.""You're right," said another. "There's no knowing where thesenew-fangled notions may land us. For my part, I was rather taken by themat first; but since I find that his Highness, to pay for all his goodworks, is cutting down his household and throwing decent people out of ajob--like my own son, for instance, that was one of the under-steward'sboys at the palace--why, since then, I begin to see a little fartherinto the game."A shabby shrewd-looking fellow in a dirty coat and snuff-stained stockhad sauntered up to the table and stood listening with an amused smile.
"Ah," said the scribe, glancing up, "here's a thoroughgoing reformer,who'll be asking us all to throw up our hats for the new charter."The new-comer laughed contemptuously. "I?" he said. "God forbid! The newcharter's none of my making. It's only another dodge113 for getting roundthe populace--for appearing to give them what they would rise up andtake if it were denied them any longer.""Why, I thought you were hot for these reforms?" exclaimed the fat manwith surprise.
The other shrugged. "You might as well say I was in favour of having thesun rise tomorrow. It would probably rise at the same hour if I votedagainst it. Reform is bound to come, whether your Dukes and Princes arefor it or against it; and those that grant constitutions instead ofrefusing them are like men who tie a string to their hats before goingout in a gale114. The string may hold for a while--but if it blows hardenough the hats will all come off in the end.""Ay, ay; and meanwhile we furnish the string from our own pockets," saidthe scribe with a chuckle115.
The shabby man grinned. "It won't be the last thing to come out of yourpockets," said he, turning to push his way toward another table.
The others rose and called for their reckoning; and the listener on thecask slipped out of his corner, elbowed a passage to the door andstepped forth90 into the square.
It was after midnight, a thin drizzle116 was falling, and the crowd hadscattered. The rain was beginning to extinguish the paper lanterns andthe torches, and the canvas sides of the tents flapped dismally117, likewet sheets on a clothes-line. The man drew his cloak closer, andavoiding the stragglers who crossed his path, turned into the firststreet that led to the palace. He walked fast over the slipperycobble-stones, buffeted118 by a rising wind and threading his way betweendark walls and sleeping house-fronts till he reached the lane below theducal gardens. He unlocked the door by which he had come forth, enteredthe gardens, and paused a moment on the terrace above the lane.
Behind him rose the palace, a dark irregular bulk, with a lighted windowshowing here and there. Before him lay the city, an indistinguishablehuddle of roofs and towers under the rainy night. He stood awhile gazingout over it; then he turned and walked toward the palace. The gardenalleys were deserted, the pleached walks dark as subterranean119 passages,with the wet gleam of statues starting spectrally120 out of the blackness.
The man walked rapidly, leaving the Borromini wing on his left, andskirting the outstanding mass of the older buildings. Behind the marblebuttresses of the chapel121, he crossed the dense122 obscurity of a courtbetween high walls, found a door under an archway, turned a key in thelock, and gained a spiral stairway as dark as the court. He groped hisway up the stairs and paused a moment on the landing to listen. Then heopened another door, lifted a heavy hanging of tapestry123, and steppedinto the Duke's closet. It stood empty, with a lamp burning low on thedesk.
The man threw off his cloak and hat, dropped into a chair beside thedesk, and hid his face in his hands.
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jubilee
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| n.周年纪念；欢乐 | |
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omen
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| n.征兆，预兆；vt.预示 | |
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orchards
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| （通常指围起来的）果园( orchard的名词复数 ) | |
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glistened
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| v.湿物闪耀，闪亮( glisten的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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virgin
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| n.处女，未婚女子；adj.未经使用的；未经开发的 | |
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motives
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| n.动机，目的( motive的名词复数 ) | |
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loyalty
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| n.忠诚，忠心 | |
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underlying
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| adj.在下面的，含蓄的，潜在的 | |
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shrine
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| n.圣地，神龛，庙；v.将...置于神龛内，把...奉为神圣 | |
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embodied
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| v.表现( embody的过去式和过去分词 )；象征；包括；包含 | |
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ecclesiastics
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| n.神职者，教会，牧师( ecclesiastic的名词复数 ) | |
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clergy
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| n.[总称]牧师，神职人员 | |
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costly
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| adj.昂贵的，价值高的，豪华的 | |
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miraculous
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| adj.像奇迹一样的，不可思议的 | |
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bishops
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| （基督教某些教派管辖大教区的）主教( bishop的名词复数 )； （国际象棋的）象 | |
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bishop
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| n.主教，（国际象棋）象 | |
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lining
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| n.衬里，衬料 | |
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monk
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| n.和尚，僧侣，修道士 | |
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frenzied
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| a.激怒的；疯狂的 | |
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piety
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| n.虔诚，虔敬 | |
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permeated
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| 弥漫( permeate的过去式和过去分词 )； 遍布； 渗入； 渗透 | |
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elongated
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| v.延长，加长( elongate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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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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canopy
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turquoises
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| n.绿松石( turquoise的名词复数 )；青绿色 | |
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diadem
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choir
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| n.唱诗班，唱诗班的席位，合唱团，舞蹈团；v.合唱 | |
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appreciation
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| n.评价；欣赏；感谢；领会，理解；价格上涨 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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sensuous
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| adj.激发美感的；感官的，感觉上的 | |
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throng
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| n.人群，群众；v.拥挤，群集 | |
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aisles
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| n. (席位间的)通道, 侧廊 | |
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sanctuary
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| n.圣所，圣堂，寺庙；禁猎区，保护区 | |
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texture
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| n.(织物)质地；(材料)构造；结构；肌理 | |
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35
descend
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| vt./vi.传下来，下来，下降 | |
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36
venerate
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| v.尊敬，崇敬，崇拜 | |
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37
erect
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| n./v.树立，建立，使竖立；adj.直立的，垂直的 | |
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38
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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39
pageant
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| n.壮观的游行；露天历史剧 | |
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40
extravagant
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| adj.奢侈的；过分的；(言行等)放肆的 | |
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41
haze
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| n.霾，烟雾；懵懂，迷糊；vi.(over)变模糊 | |
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42
incense
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| v.激怒；n.香，焚香时的烟，香气 | |
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43
flamboyancy
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| n.火焰状，浮华 | |
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44
gems
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| growth； economy； management； and customer satisfaction 增长 | |
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45
hush
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| int.嘘，别出声；n.沉默，静寂；v.使安静 | |
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46
pickup
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| n.拾起，获得 | |
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47
murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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48
augur
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| n.占卦师；v.占卦 | |
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49
gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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50
thronged
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| v.成群，挤满( throng的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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51
kindling
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| n. 点火, 可燃物 动词kindle的现在分词形式 | |
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52
indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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53
ominous
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| adj.不祥的，不吉的，预兆的，预示的 | |
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54
estrangement
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| n.疏远，失和，不和 | |
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55
superstition
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| n.迷信，迷信行为 | |
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56
scrutiny
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| n.详细检查，仔细观察 | |
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57
longing
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| n.（for）渴望 | |
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58
erectness
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| n.直立 | |
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59
effigies
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| n.（人的）雕像，模拟像，肖像( effigy的名词复数 ) | |
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60
congestion
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| n.阻塞，消化不良 | |
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61
rein
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| n.疆绳，统治，支配；vt.以僵绳控制，统治 | |
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62
blur
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| n.模糊不清的事物；vt.使模糊，使看不清楚 | |
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63
enveloped
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| v.包围，笼罩，包住( envelop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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64
steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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65
tranquil
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| adj. 安静的, 宁静的, 稳定的, 不变的 | |
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66
animated
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| adj.生气勃勃的，活跃的，愉快的 | |
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67
momentary
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| adj.片刻的，瞬息的；短暂的 | |
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68
cavalcade
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| n.车队等的行列 | |
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69
deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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populous
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| adj.人口稠密的，人口众多的 | |
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71
countless
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| adj.无数的，多得不计其数的 | |
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72
medley
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| n.混合 | |
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73
monkish
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| adj.僧侣的，修道士的，禁欲的 | |
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74
solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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75
quack
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| n.庸医；江湖医生；冒充内行的人；骗子 | |
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76
plumed
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| 饰有羽毛的 | |
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77
charlatan
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| n.骗子；江湖医生；假内行 | |
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78
distilled
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| adj.由蒸馏得来的v.蒸馏( distil的过去式和过去分词 )；从…提取精华 | |
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79
bray
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| n.驴叫声, 喇叭声；v.驴叫 | |
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trumpet
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| n.喇叭，喇叭声；v.吹喇叭，吹嘘 | |
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81
subjugated
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| v.征服，降伏( subjugate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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82
exalted
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| adj.(地位等)高的，崇高的；尊贵的，高尚的 | |
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83
moors
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| v.停泊，系泊（船只）( moor的第三人称单数 ) | |
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84
galleys
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| 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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85
monastery
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| n.修道院，僧院，寺院 | |
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86
shrieked
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| v.尖叫( shriek的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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87
ballads
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| 民歌，民谣，特别指叙述故事的歌( ballad的名词复数 )； 讴 | |
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88
babble
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| v.含糊不清地说，胡言乱语地说，儿语 | |
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89
refreshment
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| n.恢复，精神爽快，提神之事物；（复数）refreshments:点心，茶点 | |
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90
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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91
halved
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| v.把…分成两半( halve的过去式和过去分词 )；把…减半；对分；平摊 | |
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92
bilious
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| adj.胆汁过多的；易怒的 | |
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93
triumphantly
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| ad.得意洋洋地；得胜地；成功地 | |
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94
wrung
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| 绞( wring的过去式和过去分词 )； 握紧（尤指别人的手）； 把（湿衣服）拧干； 绞掉（水） | |
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95
atheistical
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| adj.无神论（者）的 | |
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96
meddled
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| v.干涉，干预（他人事务）( meddle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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97
morsel
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| n.一口，一点点 | |
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98
formerly
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| adv.从前，以前 | |
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99
victuals
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| n.食物；食品 | |
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100
contentiously
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101
puffed
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| adj.疏松的v.使喷出( puff的过去式和过去分词 )；喷着汽（或烟）移动；吹嘘；吹捧 | |
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102
bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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103
frankly
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| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
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104
foretold
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| v.预言，预示( foretell的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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105
precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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106
shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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107
marshes
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| n.沼泽，湿地( marsh的名词复数 ) | |
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108
dilate
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| vt.使膨胀，使扩大 | |
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109
honourable
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| adj.可敬的；荣誉的，光荣的 | |
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110
guild
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| n.行会，同业公会，协会 | |
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111
almighty
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| adj.全能的，万能的；很大的，很强的 | |
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112
meddling
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| v.干涉，干预（他人事务）( meddle的现在分词 ) | |
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113
dodge
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| v.闪开，躲开，避开；n.妙计，诡计 | |
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114
gale
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| n.大风，强风，一阵闹声（尤指笑声等） | |
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115
chuckle
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| vi.／n.轻声笑，咯咯笑 | |
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116
drizzle
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| v.下毛毛雨；n.毛毛雨，蒙蒙细雨 | |
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117
dismally
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| adv.阴暗地，沉闷地 | |
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118
buffeted
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| 反复敲打( buffet的过去式和过去分词 )； 连续猛击； 打来打去； 推来搡去 | |
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119
subterranean
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| adj.地下的，地表下的 | |
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120
spectrally
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| adv.幽灵似地，可怕地 | |
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121
chapel
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| n.小教堂，殡仪馆 | |
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122
dense
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| a.密集的，稠密的，浓密的；密度大的 | |
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123
tapestry
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| n.挂毯，丰富多采的画面 | |
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