The evening service in the Basilica of St. Peter was over; pilgrims, peasants and monks1 had departed; the last chant of the officiating Cardinal2’s train still trembled on the incense3-filled air and the slim novices4 were putting out the lights, when a man, richly and fantastically dressed, entered the bronze doors and advanced a little way down the centre aisle6.
He bent7 his head to the altar, then paused and looked about him with the air of a stranger. He was well used to magnificence, but this first sight of the chapel8 of the Vatican caused him to catch his breath. Surrounding him were near a hundred pillars, each of a different marble and carving9; they supported a roof that glittered with the manifold colours of mosaic10; the rich walls were broken by numerous chapels11, from which issued soft gleams of purple and violet light; mysterious shrines12 of porphyry and cipolin, jasper and silver showed here and there be-hind red lamps. A steady glow of candles shone on a mosaic and silver arch, beyond which the high altar sparkled like one great jewel; the gold lamps on it were still alight, and it was heaped with white lilies, whose strong perfume was noticeable even through the incense.
To one side of the high altar stood a purple chair, and a purple footstool, the seat of the Cardinal, some-times of the Pontiff. This splendid and holy beauty abashed14, yet inspired the stranger; he leant against one of the smooth columns and gazed at the altar.
The five aisles15 were crossed by various shafts16 of delicate trembling light that only half dispersed17 the lovely gloom; some of the columns were slender, some massive — the spoils from ancient palaces and temples, no two of them were alike; those in the distance took on a sea-green hue18, luminous19 and exquisite20; one or two were of deep rose red, others black or dark green, others again pure ghostly white, and all alike enveloped21 in soft shadows and quivering lights, violet, blue and red.
The novices were putting out the candles and preparing to close the church; their swift feet made no sound; silently the little stars about the high altar disappeared and deeper shadows fell over the aisles.
The stranger watched the white figures moving to and fro until no light remained, save the purple and scarlet22 lamps that cast rich rays over the gold and stained the pure lilies into colour, then he left his place and went slowly towards the door.
Already the bronze gates had been closed; only the entrance to the Vatican and one leading into a side street remained open.
Several monks issued from the chapels and left by this last; the stranger still lingered.
Down from the altar came the two novices, prostrated23 themselves, then proceeded along the body of the church.
They extinguished the candles in the candelabra set down the aisles, and a bejewelled darkness fell on the Basilica.
The stranger stood under a malachite and platinum24 shrine13 that blinded with the glimmer25 and sparkle of golden mosaic; before it burnt graduated tapers26; one of the novices came towards it, and the man waiting there moved towards him.
“Sir,” he said in a low voice, “may I speak to you?”
He spoke27 in Latin, with the accent of a scholar, and his tone was deep and pleasant.
The novice5 paused and looked at him, gazed intently and beheld28 a very splendid person, a man in the prime of life, tall above the ordinary, and, above the ordinary, gorgeous to the eyes; his face was sunburnt to a hue nearly as dark as his light bronze hair, and his Western eyes showed clearly bright and pale in contrast; in his ears hung long pearl and gold ornaments29 that touched his shoulders: his dress was half Eastern, of fine violet silk and embroidered30 leather; he carried in his belt a curved scimitar inset with turkis, by his side a short gold sword, and against his hip31 he held a purple cap ornamented32 with a plume33 of peacocks’ feathers, and wore long gloves fretted34 in the palm with the use of rein35 and sword.
But more than these details did the stranger’s face strike the novice; a face almost as perfect as the masks of the gods found in the temples; the rounded and curved features were over-full for a man, and the expression was too indifferent, troubled, almost weak, to be attractive, but taken in itself the face was noticeably beautiful.
Noting the novice’s intent gaze, a flush crept into the man’s dark cheek.
“I am a stranger,” he said. “I want to ask you of Cardinal Caprarola. He officiated here to — day?”
“Yea,” answered the novice. “What can I tell you of him? He is the greatest man in Rome —— now his Holiness is dying,” he added.
“Why, I have heard of him — even in Constantinople. I think I saw him — many years ago, before I went to the East.”
The novice began to extinguish the candles round the shrine.
“It may be, sir,” he said. “His Eminence36 was a poor youth as I might be; he came from Flanders.”
“It was in Courtrai I thought I saw him.”
“I know not if he was ever there; he became a disciple37 of Saint Ambrose of Menthon when very young, and after the saint’s death he joined the Convent of the Sacred Heart in Paris — you have heard that, sir?”
The stranger lowered his magnificent eyes.
“I have heard nothing — I have been away — many years; this man, Cardinal Caprarola — he is a saint also — is he not?...tell me more of him.”
The youth paused in his task, leaving half the candles alight to cast a trembling glow over the man’s gold and purple splendour; he smiled.
“Born of Dendermonde he was, sir, Louis his name, in our tongue Luigi, Blaise the name he took in the convent — he came to Rome, seven, nay38, it must be eight years ago. His Holiness created him Bishop39 of Ostia, then of Caprarola, which last name he retains now he is Cardinal —— he is the greatest man in Rome,” repeated the novice.
“And a saint?” asked the other with a wistful eagerness.
“Certes, when he was a youth he was famous for his holy austere40 life, now he lives in magnificence as befits a prince of the Church...he is very holy.”
The novice put out the remaining candles, leaving only the flickering41 red lamp.
“There was a great service here today?” the stranger asked.
“Yea, very many pilgrims were here.”
“I grieve that I was too late — think you Cardinal Caprarola would see one unknown to him?” “If the errand warranted it, sir.”
From the rich shadows came a sigh.
“I seek peace — if it be anywhere it is in the hands of this servant of God — my soul is sick, will he help me heal it?”
“Yea, I do think so.”
The youth turned, as he spoke, towards the little side door.
“I must close the Basilica, sir,” he added.
The stranger seemed to rouse himself from depths of unhappy thoughts, and followed through the quivering gloom.
“Where should I find the Cardinal?” he asked.
“His palace lies in the Via di San Giovanni in Laterano, any will tell you the way, sir.” The novice opened the door. “God be with you.”
“And with you;” the stranger stepped into the open and the church door was locked behind him.
The purple after-glow still lingered over Rome; it was May and sweetly warm; as the stranger crossed the Piazza42 of St. Peter the breeze was like the touch of silk on his face; he walked slowly and presently hesitated, looking round the ruined temples, broken palaces and walls; there were people about, not many, mostly monks; the man glanced back at the Vatican, where the lights had begun to sparkle in the windows, then made his way, as rapidly as his scant43 knowledge served, across the superb and despoiled44 city.
He reached the Via Sacra; it was filled with a gay and splendid crowd, in chariots, on foot, and on horse, that mingled45 unheeding with the long processions of penitents46 winding47 in and out the throng48, both here and in the Appian Way. He turned towards the Arch of Titus; the ladies laughed and stared as he passed; one took a flower from her hair and threw it after him, at which he frowned, blushed, and hastened on; he had never been equal to the admiration49 he roused in women, though he disliked neither them nor their admiration; he carried still on his wrist the mark of a knife left there by a Byzantine Princess who had found his face fair and his wooing cold; the laughter of the Roman ladies gave him the same feeling of hot inadequacy50 as when he felt that angry stab.
Passing the fountain of Meta Sudans and the remains51 of the Flavian Amphitheatre, he gained the Via di San Giovanni in Laterano leading to the C?limontana Gate.
Here he drew a little apart from the crowd and looked about him; in the distance the Vatican and Castel San Angelo showed faintly against the remote Apennines; he could distinguish the banner of the Emperor hanging slackly in the warm air, the little lights in St. Peter’s.
Behind him rose the Janiculum Hill set with magnificent palaces and immense gardens, beneath the city lay dark in the twilight52, and the trees rising from the silent temples made a fair murmur53 as they shook in their tipper branches.
The stranger sighed and stepped again into the crowd, composed now of all ranks and all nationalities; he touched a young German on the shoulder.
“Which is Cardinal Caprarola’s palace?”
“Sir, the first.” He pointed54 to a gorgeous building on the slope of the hill.
The stranger caught a glimpse of marble porticoes56 half obscured by soft foliage57.
With a “Thank you” he turned in the direction of the Palatine.
A few moments brought him to the magnificent gates of the Villa58 Caprarola; they stood open upon a garden of flowers just gleamingly visible in the dusk; the stranger hesitated in the entrance, fixing his gaze on the luminous white walls of the palace that showed between the boughs59 of citron and cypress60.
This Cardinal, this Prince, who was the greatest man in Rome, which was to say in Christendom, had strangely captured his imagination; he liked to think of him as an obscure and saintly youth devoting his life to the service of God, rising by no arts or intrigues61 but by the pure will of his Master solely62 until he dominated the great Empire of the West; the stranger now at his beautiful gates had been searching for peace for many years, in many lands, and always in vain.
In Constantinople he had heard of the holy Frankish priest who was already a greater power than the old and slowly dying Pope, and it had comforted his tired heart to think that there was one man in a high place set there by God alone — one, too, of a pure life and a noble soul; if any could give him promise of salvation63, if any could help him to redeem64 his wasted, weak life, it would be he — this Cardinal who could not know evil save as a name.
With this object he came to Rome; he wished to lay his sins and penitence65 at the feet of him who had been a meek66 and poor novice, and now by his virtues67 was Luigi Caprarola as mighty68 as the Emperor and as innocent as the angels.
Shame and awe69 for a while held him irresolute70, how could he dare relate his miserable71 and horrible story to this saint?... but God had bidden him, and the holy were always the merciful.
He walked slowly between the dim flowers and bushes to the stately columned portico55; with a thickly beating heart and a humble72 carriage he mounted the low wide steps and stood at the Cardinal’s door, which stood open on a marble vestibule dimly lit with a soft roseate violet colour; the sound of a fountain came to his ears, and pungent73 aromas74 mingled with the perfume of the blossoms.
Two huge negroes, wearing silver collars and tiger-skins, were on guard at each column of the door, and as the new-comer set foot within the portals one of them struck the silver bell attached to his wrist.
Instantly appeared a slim and gorgeous youth, habited in black, a purple flower fastened at his throat.
The stranger took off his cap.
“This is the residence of his Eminence, Cardinal Caprarola?” he asked, and the hint of hesitation75 always in his manner was accentuated76.
“Yea,” the youth bowed gracefully77; “I am his Eminence’s secretary, Messer Paolo Orsini.” “I do desire to see the Cardinal.”
The young Roman’s dark eyes flashed over the person of the speaker.
“What is your purpose, sir?”
“One neither political nor worldly;” he paused, flushed, then added, “I would confess to his Eminence; I have come from Constantinople for that — for that alone.”
Paolo Orsini answered courteously78.
“The Cardinal hears confession79 in the Basilica.”
“Certes, I know, yet I would crave80 to see him privately81, I have matters relating to my soul to put before him, surely he will not refuse me.” The stranger’s voice was unequal, his bearing troubled, as the secretary curiously82 observed; penitents anxious for their souls did not often trouble the Cardinal, but Orsini’s aristocratic manner showed no surprise.
“His Eminence,” he said, “is ever loath83 to refuse himself to the faithful; I will ask him if he will give you audience; what, sir, is your quality and your name?”
“I am unknown here,” answered the other humbly84; “lately have I come from Constantinople, where I held an office at the court of Basil, but by birth I am a Frank, of the Cardinal’s own country.”
“Sir, your name?” repeated the elegant secretary.
The stranger’s beautiful face clouded.
“I have been known by many...but let his Eminence have the truth — I am Theirry, born of Dendermonde.”
Paolo Orsini bowed again.
“I will acquaint the Cardinal,” he said. “Will you await me here?”
He was gone as swiftly and silently as he had come; Theirry put his hand to a hot brow and gazed about him.
The vestibule was composed of Numidian marble toned by time to a deep orange hue; the capitals of the Byzantine columns were encrusted with gold and supported a ceiling that glittered with violet glass mosaic; gilt85 lamps, screened with purple or crimson86 silk, cast a coloured glow down the sloping walls; a double staircase sprang from the serpentine87 and malachite floor, and where the gold hand-rails ended a silver lion stood on a cipolin pillar, holding between his paws a dish on which burnt aromatic88 incense; in the space between the staircases was an alabaster89 fountain — the basin, raised on the backs of other silver lions, and filled with iridescent90 sea shells, over which the water splashed and fell, changed by the lamplight to a glimmering92 rose purple.
Either side the fountain were placed great bronze bowls of roses, pink and white, and their petals93 were scattered94 over the marble pavement. Against the walls ran low seats, cushioned with dark rich tapestries95, and above them, at intervals96, marvellous antique statues showed white in deep niches97.
Theirry had seen nothing more lavishly98 splendid; Cardinal Caprarola was no ascetic99 whatever the youth Blaise may have been, and for a moment Theirry was bewildered and disappointed —— could a saint live thus?
Then he reflected; good it was to consider that God, and not the Devil, who so often used beauty and wealth for his lures100, had given a man this.
He walked up and down, none to watch him but the four silent and motionless negroes; the exquisite lights, the melody of the fountain, the sweet odours that rose from the slow-curling blue vapours, the gorgeous surroundings, lulled101 and soothed102; he felt that at last, after his changeful wanderings, his restless unhappiness, he had found his goal and his haven103.
In this man’s hands was redemption, this man was housed as befitted an Ambassador of the Lord of Heaven.
Paolo Orsini, in person as rare and splendid as the palace, returned.
“The Cardinal will receive you, sir,” he said; if the message astonished him he did not show it; he bowed before Theirry, and preceded him up the magnificent stairs.
The first landing was entirely104 hung with scarlet embroidery105 worked with peacocks’ feathers, and lit by pendent crystal lamps; at either end a silver archway led into a chamber106.
The secretary, slim and black against the vivid colours, turned to the left; Theirry followed him into a long hall illuminated107 by bronze statues placed at intervals and holding scented108 flambeaux; between them were set huge porphyry bowls containing orange trees and oleanders; the walls and ceiling were of rose-hued marble inlaid with basalt, the floor of a rich mosaic.
Theirry caught his breath; the Cardinal must possess the fabled109 wealth of India...
Paolo Orsini opened a gilt door and held it wide while Theirry entered, then he bowed himself away, saying —
“His Eminence will be with you presently.”
Theirry found himself in a fair-sized chamber, walls, floor and ceiling composed of ebony and mother-of-pearl.
Door and window were curtained by hangings of pale colours, on which were stitched in glittering silks stories from Ovid.
In the centre of the floor was a Persian carpet of a faint hue of mauve and pink; three jasper and silver lamps hung by silken cords from the ceiling and gave the pale glow of moonlight; an ivory chair and table raised on an ebony step stood in one corner; on the table was a sand clock, a blood-red glass filled with lilies and a gold book with lumps of turkis set in the covers; on the chair was a purple velvet110 cushion.
Opposite this hung a crucifix, a scarlet light burning beneath it; to this, the first holy thing Theirry had seen in the palace, he bent the knee.
Incense burnt in a gold brazier, the rich scent91 of it growing almost insupportable in the close confined space.
A silver footstool and a low ebony chair completed the furniture; against the wall facing the door was a gilt and painted shrine, of which the glittering wings were closed, but Theirry, turning from the crucifix, bent his head to that.
A great excitement crept into his blood, he could not feel that he was in a holy or sacred place, awaiting the coming of the saint who was to ease the burden of his sin, yet what but this feeling of relief, of righteous joy should be heating his blood now...
The dim blue light, the strong perfumes were confusing to the senses; his pulses throbbed111, his heart leapt; it did not seem as if he could speak to the Cardinal...then it seemed as if he could tell him everything and leave — absolved112.
Yet — and yet — what was there in the place reviving memories that had been thrust deep into his heart for years...a certain room in an old house in Antwerp with the August sunlight over the figure of a young man gilding113 a devil...a chamber in the college at Basle and two youths bending over a witch’s fire...a dark wet night, and the sound of a weak voice coming to him...Frankfort and a garden blazing with crimson roses, other scenes, crowded, horrible...why did he think of them here...in this remote land, among strangers...here where he had come to purge114 his soul?
He began to murmur a prayer; giddiness touched him, and the blue light seemed to ripple115 and dim before his eyes.
He walked up and down the soft carpet clasping his hands.
All at once he paused and turned.
There was a shiver of silks, and the Cardinal stepped into the chamber.
Theirry sank on his knees and bowed his throbbing116 head.
The Cardinal slowly closed the door; a low rumble117 of thunder sounded; a great storm was gathering118 over the Tyrrhenian Sea.
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monks
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| n.修道士，僧侣( monk的名词复数 ) | |
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cardinal
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| n.(天主教的)红衣主教；adj.首要的，基本的 | |
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incense
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| v.激怒；n.香，焚香时的烟，香气 | |
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novices
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| n.新手( novice的名词复数 )；初学修士（或修女）；（修会等的）初学生；尚未赢过大赛的赛马 | |
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novice
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| adj.新手的，生手的 | |
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aisle
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| n.（教堂、教室、戏院等里的）过道，通道 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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chapel
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| n.小教堂，殡仪馆 | |
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carving
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| n.雕刻品，雕花 | |
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mosaic
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| n./adj.镶嵌细工的，镶嵌工艺品的，嵌花式的 | |
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chapels
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shrines
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| 圣地，圣坛，神圣场所( shrine的名词复数 ) | |
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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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abashed
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| adj.窘迫的，尴尬的v.使羞愧，使局促，使窘迫( abash的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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aisles
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| n. (席位间的)通道, 侧廊 | |
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shafts
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| n.轴( shaft的名词复数 )；（箭、高尔夫球棒等的）杆；通风井；一阵（疼痛、害怕等） | |
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dispersed
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| adj. 被驱散的, 被分散的, 散布的 | |
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hue
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| n.色度；色调；样子 | |
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luminous
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| adj.发光的，发亮的；光明的；明白易懂的；有启发的 | |
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exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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enveloped
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scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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prostrated
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platinum
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| n.白金 | |
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glimmer
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| v.发出闪烁的微光；n.微光，微弱的闪光 | |
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tapers
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| （长形物体的）逐渐变窄( taper的名词复数 )； 微弱的光； 极细的蜡烛 | |
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spoke
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| 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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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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ornaments
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| n.装饰( ornament的名词复数 )；点缀；装饰品；首饰v.装饰，点缀，美化( ornament的第三人称单数 ) | |
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embroidered
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| adj．绣花的 | |
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hip
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| n.臀部，髋；屋脊 | |
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ornamented
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| adj.花式字体的v.装饰，点缀，美化( ornament的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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plume
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| n.羽毛；v.整理羽毛，骚首弄姿，用羽毛装饰 | |
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fretted
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| 焦躁的，附有弦马的，腐蚀的 | |
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rein
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| n.疆绳，统治，支配；vt.以僵绳控制，统治 | |
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eminence
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| n.卓越，显赫；高地，高处；名家 | |
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disciple
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| n.信徒，门徒，追随者 | |
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nay
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| adv.不；n.反对票，投反对票者 | |
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bishop
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| n.主教，（国际象棋）象 | |
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austere
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| adj.艰苦的；朴素的，朴实无华的；严峻的 | |
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flickering
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| adj.闪烁的，摇曳的，一闪一闪的 | |
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piazza
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| n.广场；走廊 | |
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scant
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| adj.不充分的，不足的；v.减缩，限制，忽略 | |
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despoiled
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| v.掠夺，抢劫( despoil的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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mingled
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| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
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penitents
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| n.后悔者( penitent的名词复数 )；忏悔者 | |
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winding
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| n.绕，缠，绕组，线圈 | |
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throng
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| n.人群，群众；v.拥挤，群集 | |
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admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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inadequacy
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| n.无法胜任，信心不足 | |
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51
remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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52
twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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53
murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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54
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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55
portico
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| n.柱廊，门廊 | |
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porticoes
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| n.柱廊，（有圆柱的）门廊( portico的名词复数 ) | |
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foliage
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| n.叶子，树叶，簇叶 | |
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58
villa
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| n.别墅，城郊小屋 | |
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59
boughs
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| 大树枝( bough的名词复数 ) | |
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60
cypress
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| n.柏树 | |
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61
intrigues
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| n.密谋策划( intrigue的名词复数 )；神秘气氛；引人入胜的复杂情节v.搞阴谋诡计( intrigue的第三人称单数 )；激起…的好奇心 | |
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62
solely
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| adv.仅仅，唯一地 | |
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salvation
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| n.（尤指基督）救世，超度，拯救，解困 | |
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redeem
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| v.买回，赎回，挽回，恢复，履行（诺言等） | |
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65
penitence
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| n.忏悔，赎罪；悔过 | |
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66
meek
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| adj.温顺的，逆来顺受的 | |
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67
virtues
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| 美德( virtue的名词复数 )； 德行； 优点； 长处 | |
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68
mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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69
awe
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| n.敬畏，惊惧；vt.使敬畏，使惊惧 | |
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irresolute
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| adj.无决断的，优柔寡断的，踌躇不定的 | |
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miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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73
pungent
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| adj.（气味、味道）刺激性的，辛辣的；尖锐的 | |
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aromas
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| n.芳香( aroma的名词复数 )；气味；风味；韵味 | |
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75
hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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76
accentuated
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| v.重读( accentuate的过去式和过去分词 )；使突出；使恶化；加重音符号于 | |
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gracefully
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| ad.大大方方地；优美地 | |
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78
courteously
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| adv.有礼貌地，亲切地 | |
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confession
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| n.自白，供认，承认 | |
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crave
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| vt.渴望得到，迫切需要，恳求，请求 | |
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privately
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| adv.以私人的身份，悄悄地，私下地 | |
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curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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83
loath
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| adj.不愿意的；勉强的 | |
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84
humbly
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| adv. 恭顺地，谦卑地 | |
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85
gilt
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| adj.镀金的；n.金边证券 | |
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86
crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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87
serpentine
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| adj.蜿蜒的，弯曲的 | |
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88
aromatic
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| adj.芳香的，有香味的 | |
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89
alabaster
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| adj.雪白的；n.雪花石膏；条纹大理石 | |
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iridescent
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| adj.彩虹色的，闪色的 | |
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scent
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| n.气味，香味，香水，线索，嗅觉；v.嗅，发觉 | |
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glimmering
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| n.微光，隐约的一瞥adj.薄弱地发光的v.发闪光，发微光( glimmer的现在分词 ) | |
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petals
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| n.花瓣( petal的名词复数 ) | |
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scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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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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intervals
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| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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niches
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| 壁龛( niche的名词复数 )； 合适的位置[工作等]； （产品的）商机； 生态位（一个生物所占据的生境的最小单位） | |
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98
lavishly
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| adv.慷慨地，大方地 | |
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99
ascetic
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| adj.禁欲的；严肃的 | |
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100
lures
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| 吸引力，魅力（lure的复数形式） | |
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101
lulled
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| vt.使镇静，使安静（lull的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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102
soothed
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| v.安慰( soothe的过去式和过去分词 )；抚慰；使舒服；减轻痛苦 | |
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103
haven
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| n.安全的地方，避难所，庇护所 | |
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104
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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105
embroidery
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| n.绣花，刺绣；绣制品 | |
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106
chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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107
illuminated
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| adj.被照明的；受启迪的 | |
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108
scented
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| adj.有香味的；洒香水的；有气味的v.嗅到(scent的过去分词) | |
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109
fabled
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| adj.寓言中的，虚构的 | |
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110
velvet
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| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
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111
throbbed
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| 抽痛( throb的过去式和过去分词 )； （心脏、脉搏等）跳动 | |
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112
absolved
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| 宣告…无罪，赦免…的罪行，宽恕…的罪行( absolve的过去式和过去分词 )； 不受责难，免除责任 [义务] ,开脱（罪责） | |
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113
gilding
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| n.贴金箔，镀金 | |
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114
purge
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| n.整肃，清除，泻药，净化；vt.净化，清除，摆脱；vi.清除，通便，腹泻，变得清洁 | |
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115
ripple
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| n.涟波，涟漪，波纹，粗钢梳；vt.使...起涟漪，使起波纹； vi.呈波浪状，起伏前进 | |
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116
throbbing
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| a. 跳动的,悸动的 | |
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117
rumble
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| n.隆隆声；吵嚷；v.隆隆响；低沉地说 | |
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118
gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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