Of young ideas, painted on the mind
In the warm glowing colours fancy spreads
On objects not yet known, when all is new,
And all is lovely!
SACRED DRAMAS
We now return to Languedoc and to the mention of Count De Villefort, the nobleman, who succeeded to an estate of the Marquis De Villeroi situated1 near the monastery2 of St. Claire. It may be recollected3, that this chateau4 was uninhabited, when St. Aubert and his daughter were in the neighbourhood, and that the former was much affected5 on discovering himself to be so near Chateau-le-Blanc, a place, concerning which the good old La Voisin afterwards dropped some hints, that had alarmed Emily’s curiosity.
It was in the year 1584, the beginning of that, in which St. Aubert died, that Francis Beauveau, Count De Villefort, came into possession of the mansion6 and extensive domain7 called Chateau-le-Blanc, situated in the province of Languedoc, on the shore of the Mediterranean8. This estate, which, during some centuries, had belonged to his family, now descended9 to him, on the decease of his relative, the Marquis De Villeroi, who had been latterly a man of reserved manners and austere10 character; circumstances, which, together with the duties of his profession, that often called him into the field, had prevented any degree of intimacy11 with his cousin, the Count De Villefort. For many years, they had known little of each other, and the Count received the first intelligence of his death, which happened in a distant part of France, together with the instruments, that gave him possession of the domain Chateau-le-Blanc; but it was not till the following year, that he determined12 to visit that estate, when he designed to pass the autumn there. The scenes of Chateau-le- Blanc often came to his remembrance, heightened by the touches, which a warm imagination gives to the recollection of early pleasures; for, many years before, in the life-time of the Marchioness, and at that age when the mind is particularly sensible to impressions of gaiety and delight, he had once visited this spot, and, though he had passed a long intervening period amidst the vexations and tumults13 of public affairs, which too frequently corrode14 the heart, and vitiate the taste, the shades of Languedoc and the grandeur15 of its distant scenery had never been remembered by him with indifference16.
During many years, the chateau had been abandoned by the late Marquis, and, being inhabited only by an old steward17 and his wife, had been suffered to fall much into decay. To superintend the repairs, that would be requisite18 to make it a comfortable residence, had been a principal motive19 with the Count for passing the autumnal months in Languedoc; and neither the remonstrances20, or the tears of the Countess, for, on urgent occasions, she could weep, were powerful enough to overcome his determination. She prepared, therefore, to obey the command, which she could not conquer, and to resign the gay assemblies of Paris,— where her beauty was generally unrivalled and won the applause, to which her wit had but feeble claim — for the twilight21 canopy22 of woods, the lonely grandeur of mountains and the solemnity of gothic halls and of long, long galleries, which echoed only the solitary23 step of a domestic, or the measured clink, that ascended24 from the great clock — the ancient monitor of the hall below. From these melancholy25 expectations she endeavoured to relieve her spirits by recollecting26 all that she had ever heard, concerning the joyous27 vintage of the plains of Languedoc; but there, alas28! no airy forms would bound to the gay melody of Parisian dances, and a view of the rustic29 festivities of peasants could afford little pleasure to a heart, in which even the feelings of ordinary benevolence30 had long since decayed under the corruptions31 of luxury.
The Count had a son and a daughter, the children of a former marriage, who, he designed, should accompany him to the south of France; Henri, who was in his twentieth year, was in the French service; and Blanche, who was not yet eighteen, had been hitherto confined to the convent, where she had been placed immediately on her father’s second marriage. The present Countess, who had neither sufficient ability, or inclination32, to superintend the education of her daughter-in-law, had advised this step, and the dread33 of superior beauty had since urged her to employ every art, that might prevail on the Count to prolong the period of Blanche’s seclusion34; it was, therefore, with extreme mortification35, that she now understood he would no longer submit on this subject, yet it afforded her some consolation36 to consider, that, though the Lady Blanche would emerge from her convent, the shades of the country would, for some time, veil her beauty from the public eye.
On the morning, which commenced the journey, the postillions stopped at the convent, by the Count’s order, to take up Blanche, whose heart beat with delight, at the prospect37 of novelty and freedom now before her. As the time of her departure drew nigh, her impatience38 had increased, and the last night, during which she counted every note of every hour, had appeared the most tedious of any she had ever known. The morning light, at length, dawned; the matin-bell rang; she heard the nuns40 descending41 from their chambers43, and she started from a sleepless44 pillow to welcome the day, which was to emancipate45 her from the severities of a cloister46, and introduce her to a world, where pleasure was ever smiling, and goodness ever blessed — where, in short, nothing but pleasure and goodness reigned47! When the bell of the great gate rang, and the sound was followed by that of carriage wheels, she ran, with a palpitating heart, to her lattice, and, perceiving her father’s carriage in the court below, danced, with airy steps, along the gallery, where she was met by a nun39 with a summons from the abbess. In the next moment, she was in the parlour, and in the presence of the Countess who now appeared to her as an angel, that was to lead her into happiness. But the emotions of the Countess, on beholding48 her, were not in unison49 with those of Blanche, who had never appeared so lovely as at this moment, when her countenance50, animated51 by the lightning smile of joy, glowed with the beauty of happy innocence52.
After conversing53 for a few minutes with the abbess, the Countess rose to go. This was the moment, which Blanche had anticipated with such eager expectation, the summit from which she looked down upon the fairy-land of happiness, and surveyed all its enchantment55; was it a moment, then, for tears of regret? Yet it was so. She turned, with an altered and dejected countenance, to her young companions, who were come to bid her farewell, and wept! Even my lady abbess, so stately and so solemn, she saluted56 with a degree of sorrow, which, an hour before, she would have believed it impossible to feel, and which may be accounted for by considering how reluctantly we all part, even with unpleasing objects, when the separation is consciously for ever. Again, she kissed the poor nuns and then followed the Countess from that spot with tears, which she expected to leave only with smiles.
But the presence of her father and the variety of objects, on the road, soon engaged her attention, and dissipated the shade, which tender regret had thrown upon her spirits. Inattentive to a conversation, which was passing between the Countess and a Mademoiselle Bearn, her friend, Blanche sat, lost in pleasing reverie, as she watched the clouds floating silently along the blue expanse, now veiling the sun and stretching their shadows along the distant scene, and then disclosing all his brightness. The journey continued to give Blanche inexpressible delight, for new scenes of nature were every instant opening to her view, and her fancy became stored with gay and beautiful imagery.
It was on the evening of the seventh day, that the travellers came within view of Chateau-le-Blanc, the romantic beauty of whose situation strongly impressed the imagination of Blanche, who observed, with sublime57 astonishment58, the Pyrenean mountains, which had been seen only at a distance during the day, now rising within a few leagues, with their wild cliffs and immense precipices59, which the evening clouds, floating round them, now disclosed, and again veiled. The setting rays, that tinged60 their snowy summits with a roseate hue61, touched their lower points with various colouring, while the blueish tint62, that pervaded63 their shadowy recesses64, gave the strength of contrast to the splendour of light. The plains of Languedoc, blushing with the purple vine and diversified65 with groves66 of mulberry, almond and olives, spread far to the north and the east; to the south, appeared the Mediterranean, clear as crystal, and blue as the heavens it reflected, bearing on its bosom67 vessels68, whose white sails caught the sun-beams, and gave animation69 to the scene. On a high promontory70, washed by the waters of the Mediterranean, stood her father’s mansion, almost secluded71 from the eye by woods of intermingled pine, oak and chesnut, which crowned the eminence72, and sloped towards the plains, on one side; while, on the other, they extended to a considerable distance along the sea-shores.
As Blanche drew nearer, the gothic features of this antient mansion successively appeared — first an embattled turret73, rising above the trees — then the broken arch of an immense gate-way, retiring beyond them; and she almost fancied herself approaching a castle, such as is often celebrated74 in early story, where the knights75 look out from the battlements on some champion below, who, clothed in black armour76, comes, with his companions, to rescue the fair lady of his love from the oppression of his rival; a sort of legends, to which she had once or twice obtained access in the library of her convent, that, like many others, belonging to the monks77, was stored with these reliques of romantic fiction.
The carriages stopped at a gate, which led into the domain of the chateau, but which was now fastened; and the great bell, that had formerly78 served to announce the arrival of strangers, having long since fallen from its station, a servant climbed over a ruined part of the adjoining wall, to give notice to those within of the arrival of their lord.
As Blanche leaned from the coach window, she resigned herself to the sweet and gentle emotions, which the hour and the scenery awakened80. The sun had now left the earth, and twilight began to darken the mountains; while the distant waters, reflecting the blush that still glowed in the west, appeared like a line of light, skirting the horizon. The low murmur81 of waves, breaking on the shore, came in the breeze, and, now and then, the melancholy dashing of oars82 was feebly heard from a distance. She was suffered to indulge her pensive83 mood, for the thoughts of the rest of the party were silently engaged upon the subjects of their several interests. Meanwhile, the Countess, reflecting, with regret, upon the gay parties she had left at Paris, surveyed, with disgust, what she thought the gloomy woods and solitary wildness of the scene; and, shrinking from the prospect of being shut up in an old castle, was prepared to meet every object with displeasure. The feelings of Henri were somewhat similar to those of the Countess; he gave a mournful sigh to the delights of the capital, and to the remembrance of a lady, who, he believed, had engaged his affections, and who had certainly fascinated his imagination; but the surrounding country, and the mode of life, on which he was entering, had, for him, at least, the charm of novelty, and his regret was softened84 by the gay expectations of youth. The gates being at length unbarred, the carriage moved slowly on, under spreading chesnuts, that almost excluded the remains85 of day, following what had been formerly a road, but which now, overgrown with luxuriant vegetation, could be traced only by the boundary, formed by trees, on either side, and which wound for near half a mile among the woods, before it reached the chateau. This was the very avenue that St. Aubert and Emily had formerly entered, on their first arrival in the neighbourhood, with the hope of finding a house, that would receive them, for the night, and had so abruptly86 quitted, on perceiving the wildness of the place, and a figure, which the postillion had fancied was a robber.
‘What a dismal87 place is this!’ exclaimed the Countess, as the carriage penetrated88 the deeper recesses of the woods. ‘Surely, my lord, you do not mean to pass all the autumn in this barbarous spot! One ought to bring hither a cup of the waters of Lethe, that the remembrance of pleasanter scenes may not heighten, at least, the natural dreariness89 of these.’
‘I shall be governed by circumstances, madam,’ said the Count, ‘this barbarous spot was inhabited by my ancestors.’
The carriage now stopped at the chateau, where, at the door of the great hall, appeared the old steward and the Parisian servants, who had been sent to prepare the chateau, waiting to receive their lord. Lady Blanche now perceived, that the edifice90 was not built entirely91 in the gothic style, but that it had additions of a more modern date; the large and gloomy hall, however, into which she now entered, was entirely gothic, and sumptuous92 tapestry93, which it was now too dark to distinguish, hung upon the walls, and depictured scenes from some of the antient Provencal romances. a vast gothic window, embroidered94 with CLEMATIS and eglantine, that ascended to the south, led the eye, now that the casements96 were thrown open, through this verdant97 shade, over a sloping lawn, to the tops of dark woods, that hung upon the brow of the promontory. Beyond, appeared the waters of the Mediterranean, stretching far to the south, and to the east, where they were lost in the horizon; while, to the north-east, they were bounded by the luxuriant shores of Languedoc and Provence, enriched with wood, and gay with vines and sloping pastures; and, to the south-west, by the majestic98 Pyrenees, now fading from the eye, beneath the gradual gloom.
Blanche, as she crossed the hall, stopped a moment to observe this lovely prospect, which the evening twilight obscured, yet did not conceal99. But she was quickly awakened from the complacent100 delight, which this scene had diffused101 upon her mind, by the Countess, who, discontented with every object around, and impatient for refreshment102 and repose103, hastened forward to a large parlour, whose cedar104 wainscot, narrow, pointed105 casements, and dark ceiling of carved cypress106 wood, gave it an aspect of peculiar107 gloom, which the dingy108 green velvet109 of the chairs and couches, fringed with tarnished110 gold, had once been designed to enliven.
While the Countess enquired111 for refreshment, the Count, attended by his son, went to look over some part of the chateau, and Lady Blanche reluctantly remained to witness the discontent and ill-humour of her step-mother.
‘How long have you lived in this desolate112 place?’ said her ladyship, to the old house keeper, who came to pay her duty.
‘Above twenty years, your ladyship, on the next feast of St. Jerome.’
‘How happened it, that you have lived here so long, and almost alone, too? I understood, that the chateau had been shut up for some years?’
‘Yes, madam, it was for many years after my late lord, the Count, went to the wars; but it is above twenty years, since I and my husband came into his service. The place is so large, and has of late been so lonely, that we were lost in it, and, after some time, we went to live in a cottage at the end of the woods, near some of the tenants113, and came to look after the chateau, every now and then. When my lord returned to France from the wars, he took a dislike to the place, and never came to live here again, and so he was satisfied with our remaining at the cottage. Alas — alas! how the chateau is changed from what it once was! What delight my late lady used to take in it! I well remember when she came here a bride, and how fine it was. Now, it has been neglected so long, and is gone into such decay! I shall never see those days again!’
The Countess appearing to be somewhat offended by the thoughtless simplicity114, with which the old woman regretted former times, Dorothee added —‘But the chateau will now be inhabited, and cheerful again; not all the world could tempt115 me to live in it alone.’
‘Well, the experiment will not be made, I believe,’ said the Countess, displeased116 that her own silence had been unable to awe117 the loquacity118 of this rustic old housekeeper119, now spared from further attendance by the entrance of the Count, who said he had been viewing part of the chateau, and found, that it would require considerable repairs and some alterations120, before it would be perfectly121 comfortable, as a place of residence. ‘I am sorry to hear it, my lord,’ replied the Countess. ‘And why sorry, madam?’ ‘Because the place will ill repay your trouble; and were it even a paradise, it would be insufferable at such a distance from Paris.’
The Count made no reply, but walked abruptly to a window. ‘There are windows, my lord, but they neither admit entertainment, or light; they shew only a scene of savage122 nature.’
‘I am at a loss, madam,’ said the Count, ‘to conjecture123 what you mean by savage nature. Do those plains, or those woods, or that fine expanse of water, deserve the name?’
‘Those mountains certainly do, my lord,’ rejoined the Countess, pointing to the Pyrenees, ‘and this chateau, though not a work of rude nature, is, to my taste, at least, one of savage art.’ The Count coloured highly. ‘This place, madam, was the work of my ancestors,’ said he, ‘and you must allow me to say, that your present conversation discovers neither good taste, or good manners.’ Blanche, now shocked at an altercation124, which appeared to be increasing to a serious disagreement, rose to leave the room, when her mother’s woman entered it; and the Countess, immediately desiring to be shewn to her own apartment, withdrew, attended by Mademoiselle Bearn.
Lady Blanche, it being not yet dark, took this opportunity of exploring new scenes, and, leaving the parlour, she passed from the hall into a wide gallery, whose walls were decorated by marble pilasters, which supported an arched roof, composed of a rich mosaic125 work. Through a distant window, that seemed to terminate the gallery, were seen the purple clouds of evening and a landscape, whose features, thinly veiled in twilight, no longer appeared distinctly, but, blended into one grand mass, stretched to the horizon, coloured only with a tint of solemn grey.
The gallery terminated in a saloon, to which the window she had seen through an open door, belonged; but the increasing dusk permitted her only an imperfect view of this apartment, which seemed to be magnificent and of modern architecture; though it had been either suffered to fall into decay, or had never been properly finished. The windows, which were numerous and large, descended low, and afforded a very extensive, and what Blanche’s fancy represented to be, a very lovely prospect; and she stood for some time, surveying the grey obscurity and depicturing imaginary woods and mountains, vallies and rivers, on this scene of night; her solemn sensations rather assisted, than interrupted, by the distant bark of a watch- dog, and by the breeze, as it trembled upon the light foliage126 of the shrubs127. Now and then, appeared for a moment, among the woods, a cottage light; and, at length, was heard, afar off, the evening bell of a convent, dying on the air. When she withdrew her thoughts from these subjects of fanciful delight, the gloom and silence of the saloon somewhat awed128 her; and, having sought the door of the gallery, and pursued, for a considerable time, a dark passage, she came to a hall, but one totally different from that she had formerly seen. By the twilight, admitted through an open portico129, she could just distinguish this apartment to be of very light and airy architecture, and that it was paved with white marble, pillars of which supported the roof, that rose into arches built in the Moorish130 style. While Blanche stood on the steps of this portico, the moon rose over the sea, and gradually disclosed, in partial light, the beauties of the eminence, on which she stood, whence a lawn, now rude and overgrown with high grass, sloped to the woods, that, almost surrounding the chateau, extended in a grand sweep down the southern sides of the promontory to the very margin131 of the ocean. Beyond the woods, on the north-side, appeared a long tract132 of the plains of Languedoc; and, to the east, the landscape she had before dimly seen, with the towers of a monastery, illumined by the moon, rising over dark groves.
The soft and shadowy tint, that overspread the scene, the waves, undulating in the moon-light, and their low and measured murmurs133 on the beach, were circumstances, that united to elevate the unaccustomed mind of Blanche to enthusiasm.
‘And have I lived in this glorious world so long,’ said she, ‘and never till now beheld134 such a prospect — never experienced these delights! Every peasant girl, on my father’s domain, has viewed from her infancy135 the face of nature; has ranged, at liberty, her romantic wilds, while I have been shut in a cloister from the view of these beautiful appearances, which were designed to enchant54 all eyes, and awaken79 all hearts. How can the poor nuns and friars feel the full fervour of devotion, if they never see the sun rise, or set? Never, till this evening, did I know what true devotion is; for, never before did I see the sun sink below the vast earth! To-morrow, for the first time in my life, I will see it rise. O, who would live in Paris, to look upon black walls and dirty streets, when, in the country, they might gaze on the blue heavens, and all the green earth!’
This enthusiastic soliloquy was interrupted by a rustling136 noise in the hall; and, while the loneliness of the place made her sensible to fear, she thought she perceived something moving between the pillars. For a moment, she continued silently observing it, till, ashamed of her ridiculous apprehensions137, she recollected courage enough to demand who was there. ‘O my young lady, is it you?’ said the old housekeeper, who was come to shut the windows, ‘I am glad it is you.’ The manner, in which she spoke138 this, with a faint breath, rather surprised Blanche, who said, ‘You seemed frightened, Dorothee, what is the matter?’
‘No, not frightened, ma’amselle,’ replied Dorothee, hesitating and trying to appear composed, ‘but I am old, and — a little matter startles me.’ The Lady Blanche smiled at the distinction. ‘I am glad, that my lord the Count is come to live at the chateau, ma’amselle,’ continued Dorothee, ‘for it has been many a year deserted139, and dreary140 enough; now, the place will look a little as it used to do, when my poor lady was alive.’ Blanche enquired how long it was, since the Marchioness died? ‘Alas! my lady,’ replied Dorothee, ‘so long — that I have ceased to count the years! The place, to my mind, has mourned ever since, and I am sure my lord’s vassals141 have! But you have lost yourself, ma’amselle,— shall I shew you to the other side of the chateau?’
Blanche enquired how long this part of the edifice had been built. ‘Soon after my lord’s marriage, ma’am,’ replied Dorothee. ‘The place was large enough without this addition, for many rooms of the old building were even then never made use of, and my lord had a princely household too; but he thought the antient mansion gloomy, and gloomy enough it is!’ Lady Blanche now desired to be shewn to the inhabited part of the chateau; and, as the passages were entirely dark, Dorothee conducted her along the edge of the lawn to the opposite side of the edifice, where, a door opening into the great hall, she was met by Mademoiselle Bearn. ‘Where have you been so long?’ said she, ‘I had begun to think some wonderful adventure had befallen you, and that the giant of this enchanted142 castle, or the ghost, which, no doubt, haunts it, had conveyed you through a trap-door into some subterranean143 vault144, whence you was never to return.’
‘No,’ replied Blanche, laughingly, ‘you seem to love adventures so well, that I leave them for you to achieve.’
‘Well, I am willing to achieve them, provided I am allowed to describe them.’
‘My dear Mademoiselle Bearn,’ said Henri, as he met her at the door of the parlour, ‘no ghost of these days would be so savage as to impose silence on you. Our ghosts are more civilized145 than to condemn146 a lady to a purgatory147 severer even, than their own, be it what it may.’
Mademoiselle Bearn replied only by a laugh; and, the Count now entering the room, supper was served, during which he spoke little, frequently appeared to be abstracted from the company, and more than once remarked, that the place was greatly altered, since he had last seen it. ‘Many years have intervened since that period,’ said he; ‘and, though the grand features of the scenery admit of no change, they impress me with sensations very different from those I formerly experienced.’
‘Did these scenes, sir,’ said Blanche, ‘ever appear more lovely, than they do now? To me this seems hardly possible.’ The Count, regarding her with a melancholy smile, said, ‘They once were as delightful148 to me, as they are now to you; the landscape is not changed, but time has changed me; from my mind the illusion, which gave spirit to the colouring of nature, is fading fast! If you live, my dear Blanche, to re-visit this spot, at the distance of many years, you will, perhaps, remember and understand the feelings of your father.’
Lady Blanche, affected by these words, remained silent; she looked forward to the period, which the Count anticipated, and considering, that he, who now spoke, would then probably be no more, her eyes, bent149 to the ground, were filed with tears. She gave her hand to her father, who, smiling affectionately, rose from his chair, and went to a window to conceal his emotion.
The fatigues150 of the day made the party separate at an early hour, when Blanche retired151 through a long oak gallery to her chamber42, whose spacious152 and lofty walls, high antiquated153 casements, and, what was the effect of these, its gloomy air, did not reconcile her to its remote situation, in this antient building. The furniture, also, was of antient date; the bed was of blue damask, trimmed with tarnished gold lace, and its lofty tester rose in the form of a canopy, whence the curtains descended, like those of such tents as are sometimes represented in old pictures, and, indeed, much resembling those, exhibited on the faded tapestry, with which the chamber was hung. To Blanche, every object here was matter of curiosity; and, taking the light from her woman to examine the tapestry, she perceived, that it represented scenes from the wars of Troy, though the almost colourless worsted now mocked the glowing actions they once had painted. She laughed at the ludicrous absurdity154 she observed, till, recollecting, that the hands, which had wove it, were, like the poet, whose thoughts of fire they had attempted to express, long since mouldered155 into dust, a train of melancholy ideas passed over her mind, and she almost wept.
Having given her woman a strict injunction to awaken her, before sun- rise, she dismissed her; and then, to dissipate the gloom, which reflection had cast upon her spirits, opened one of the high casements, and was again cheered by the face of living nature. The shadowy earth, the air, and ocean — all was still. Along the deep serene156 of the heavens, a few light clouds floated slowly, through whose skirts the stars now seemed to tremble, and now to emerge with purer splendour. Blanche’s thoughts arose involuntarily to the Great Author of the sublime objects she contemplated157, and she breathed a prayer of finer devotion, than any she had ever uttered beneath the vaulted158 roof of a cloister. At this casement95, she remained till the glooms of midnight were stretched over the prospect. She then retired to her pillow, and, ‘with gay visions of to-morrow,’ to those sweet slumbers159, which health and happy innocence only know.
To-morrow to fresh woods and pastures new.
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situated
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| adj.坐落在...的，处于某种境地的 | |
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monastery
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| n.修道院，僧院，寺院 | |
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recollected
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| adj.冷静的；镇定的；被回忆起的；沉思默想的v.记起，想起( recollect的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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chateau
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| n.城堡，别墅 | |
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affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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mansion
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| n.大厦，大楼；宅第 | |
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domain
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| n.(活动等)领域，范围；领地，势力范围 | |
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Mediterranean
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| adj.地中海的；地中海沿岸的 | |
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descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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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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intimacy
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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tumults
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| 吵闹( tumult的名词复数 )； 喧哗； 激动的吵闹声； 心烦意乱 | |
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corrode
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| v.使腐蚀，侵蚀，破害；v.腐蚀，被侵蚀 | |
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grandeur
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| n.伟大，崇高，宏伟，庄严，豪华 | |
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indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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steward
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| n.乘务员，服务员；看管人；膳食管理员 | |
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requisite
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| adj.需要的，必不可少的；n.必需品 | |
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motive
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| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
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remonstrances
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| n.抱怨，抗议( remonstrance的名词复数 ) | |
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twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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canopy
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solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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24
ascended
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| v.上升，攀登( ascend的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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25
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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26
recollecting
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| v.记起，想起( recollect的现在分词 ) | |
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27
joyous
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| adj.充满快乐的；令人高兴的 | |
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28
alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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29
rustic
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| adj.乡村的，有乡村特色的；n.乡下人，乡巴佬 | |
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30
benevolence
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| n.慈悲，捐助 | |
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31
corruptions
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| n.堕落( corruption的名词复数 )；腐化；腐败；贿赂 | |
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32
inclination
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| n.倾斜；点头；弯腰；斜坡；倾度；倾向；爱好 | |
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33
dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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34
seclusion
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| n.隐遁，隔离 | |
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35
mortification
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| n.耻辱，屈辱 | |
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36
consolation
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| n.安慰，慰问 | |
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37
prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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38
impatience
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| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
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39
nun
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| n.修女，尼姑 | |
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40
nuns
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| n.（通常指基督教的）修女， （佛教的）尼姑( nun的名词复数 ) | |
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41
descending
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| n. 下行 adj. 下降的 | |
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42
chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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43
chambers
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| n.房间( chamber的名词复数 )；（议会的）议院；卧室；会议厅 | |
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44
sleepless
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| adj.不睡眠的，睡不著的，不休息的 | |
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45
emancipate
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| v.解放，解除 | |
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46
cloister
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| n.修道院；v.隐退，使与世隔绝 | |
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47
reigned
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| vi.当政，统治（reign的过去式形式） | |
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48
beholding
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| v.看，注视( behold的现在分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
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49
unison
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| n.步调一致，行动一致 | |
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50
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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51
animated
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| adj.生气勃勃的，活跃的，愉快的 | |
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52
innocence
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| n.无罪；天真；无害 | |
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53
conversing
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| v.交谈，谈话( converse的现在分词 ) | |
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54
enchant
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| vt.使陶醉，使入迷；使着魔，用妖术迷惑 | |
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55
enchantment
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| n.迷惑，妖术，魅力 | |
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56
saluted
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| v.欢迎，致敬( salute的过去式和过去分词 )；赞扬，赞颂 | |
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57
sublime
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| adj.崇高的，伟大的；极度的，不顾后果的 | |
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58
astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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59
precipices
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| n.悬崖，峭壁( precipice的名词复数 ) | |
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60
tinged
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| v.（使）发丁丁声( ting的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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61
hue
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| n.色度；色调；样子 | |
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62
tint
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| n.淡色，浅色；染发剂；vt.着以淡淡的颜色 | |
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63
pervaded
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| v.遍及，弥漫( pervade的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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64
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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65
diversified
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| adj.多样化的，多种经营的v.使多样化，多样化( diversify的过去式和过去分词 )；进入新的商业领域 | |
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66
groves
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| 树丛，小树林( grove的名词复数 ) | |
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67
bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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68
vessels
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| n.血管( vessel的名词复数 )；船；容器；（具有特殊品质或接受特殊品质的）人 | |
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69
animation
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| n.活泼，兴奋，卡通片／动画片的制作 | |
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70
promontory
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| n.海角；岬 | |
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71
secluded
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| adj.与世隔绝的；隐退的；偏僻的v.使隔开，使隐退( seclude的过去式和过去分词) | |
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72
eminence
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| n.卓越，显赫；高地，高处；名家 | |
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73
turret
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| n.塔楼，角塔 | |
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74
celebrated
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| adj.有名的，声誉卓著的 | |
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75
knights
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| 骑士； （中古时代的）武士( knight的名词复数 )； 骑士； 爵士； （国际象棋中）马 | |
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76
armour
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| （=armor）n.盔甲；装甲部队 | |
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77
monks
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| n.修道士，僧侣( monk的名词复数 ) | |
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78
formerly
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| adv.从前，以前 | |
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79
awaken
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| vi.醒，觉醒；vt.唤醒，使觉醒，唤起，激起 | |
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80
awakened
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| v.（使）醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
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81
murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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82
oars
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| n.桨，橹( oar的名词复数 )；划手v.划（行）( oar的第三人称单数 ) | |
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83
pensive
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| a.沉思的,哀思的,忧沉的 | |
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84
softened
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| （使）变软( soften的过去式和过去分词 )； 缓解打击； 缓和； 安慰 | |
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85
remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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86
abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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87
dismal
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| adj.阴沉的，凄凉的，令人忧郁的，差劲的 | |
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88
penetrated
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| adj. 击穿的，鞭辟入里的 动词penetrate的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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89
dreariness
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| 沉寂，可怕，凄凉 | |
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90
edifice
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| n.宏伟的建筑物(如宫殿，教室) | |
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91
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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92
sumptuous
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| adj.豪华的，奢侈的，华丽的 | |
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93
tapestry
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| n.挂毯，丰富多采的画面 | |
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94
embroidered
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| adj．绣花的 | |
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95
casement
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| n.竖铰链窗；窗扉 | |
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96
casements
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| n.窗扉( casement的名词复数 ) | |
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97
verdant
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| adj.翠绿的，青翠的，生疏的，不老练的 | |
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98
majestic
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| adj.雄伟的，壮丽的，庄严的，威严的，崇高的 | |
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99
conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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100
complacent
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| adj.自满的；自鸣得意的 | |
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101
diffused
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| 散布的，普及的，扩散的 | |
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102
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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103
repose
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| v.(使)休息；n.安息 | |
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104
cedar
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| n.雪松，香柏(木) | |
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105
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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106
cypress
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| n.柏树 | |
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107
peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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108
dingy
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| adj.昏暗的，肮脏的 | |
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109
velvet
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| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
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110
tarnished
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| （通常指金属）（使）失去光泽，（使）变灰暗( tarnish的过去式和过去分词 )； 玷污，败坏 | |
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111
enquired
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| 打听( enquire的过去式和过去分词 )； 询问； 问问题； 查问 | |
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112
desolate
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| adj.荒凉的，荒芜的；孤独的，凄凉的；v.使荒芜，使孤寂 | |
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113
tenants
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| n.房客( tenant的名词复数 )；佃户；占用者；占有者 | |
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114
simplicity
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| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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115
tempt
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| vt.引诱，勾引，吸引，引起…的兴趣 | |
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116
displeased
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| a.不快的 | |
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117
awe
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| n.敬畏，惊惧；vt.使敬畏，使惊惧 | |
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118
loquacity
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| n.多话，饶舌 | |
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119
housekeeper
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| n.管理家务的主妇，女管家 | |
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120
alterations
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| n.改动( alteration的名词复数 )；更改；变化；改变 | |
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121
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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122
savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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123
conjecture
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| n./v.推测，猜测 | |
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124
altercation
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| n.争吵，争论 | |
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125
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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126
foliage
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| n.叶子，树叶，簇叶 | |
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127
shrubs
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| 灌木( shrub的名词复数 ) | |
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128
awed
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| adj.充满敬畏的，表示敬畏的v.使敬畏，使惊惧( awe的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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129
portico
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| n.柱廊，门廊 | |
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130
moorish
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| adj.沼地的，荒野的，生[住]在沼地的 | |
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131
margin
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| n.页边空白；差额；余地，余裕；边，边缘 | |
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132
tract
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| n.传单，小册子，大片(土地或森林) | |
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133
murmurs
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| n.低沉、连续而不清的声音( murmur的名词复数 )；低语声；怨言；嘀咕 | |
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134
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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135
infancy
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| n.婴儿期；幼年期；初期 | |
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136
rustling
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| n. 瑟瑟声，沙沙声 adj. 发沙沙声的 | |
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137
apprehensions
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| 疑惧 | |
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138
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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139
deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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140
dreary
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| adj.令人沮丧的，沉闷的，单调乏味的 | |
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141
vassals
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| n.奴仆( vassal的名词复数 )；（封建时代）诸侯；从属者；下属 | |
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142
enchanted
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| adj. 被施魔法的，陶醉的，入迷的 动词enchant的过去式和过去分词 | |
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143
subterranean
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| adj.地下的，地表下的 | |
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144
vault
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| n.拱形圆顶，地窖，地下室 | |
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145
civilized
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| a.有教养的，文雅的 | |
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146
condemn
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| vt.谴责，指责；宣判(罪犯)，判刑 | |
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147
purgatory
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| n.炼狱；苦难；adj.净化的，清洗的 | |
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148
delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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149
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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150
fatigues
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| n.疲劳( fatigue的名词复数 )；杂役；厌倦；（士兵穿的）工作服 | |
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151
retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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152
spacious
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| adj.广阔的，宽敞的 | |
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153
antiquated
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| adj.陈旧的，过时的 | |
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154
absurdity
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| n.荒谬，愚蠢；谬论 | |
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155
mouldered
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| v.腐朽( moulder的过去式和过去分词 )；腐烂，崩塌 | |
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156
serene
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| adj. 安详的，宁静的，平静的 | |
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157
contemplated
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| adj. 预期的 动词contemplate的过去分词形式 | |
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158
vaulted
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| adj.拱状的 | |
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159
slumbers
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| 睡眠，安眠( slumber的名词复数 ) | |
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