1839. Saturday 4th.—Out early, sketching18 at the Alcazar. After breakfast it set in a day of rain, and I was reduced to wander about the galleries overlooking the “patio.” Nothing so dreary19 and out of character as a rainy day in Spain. Whilst occupied in moralising over the dripping water-spouts, I observed a tall, gentlemanly-looking man, dressed in a zamarra, leaning over the balustrades, and apparently20 engaged in a similar manner with myself. Community of thoughts and occupation generally tends to bring people together. From the stranger’s complexion22, which was fair, but with brilliant black eyes, I concluded he was not a Spaniard; in short, there was something so remarkable23 in his appearance that it was difficult to say to what nation he might belong. He was tall, with a commanding appearance; yet, though apparently in the flower of manhood, his hair was so deeply tinged24 with the winter of either age or sorrow as to be nearly snow-white. Under these circumstances, I was rather puzzled as to what language I should address him in. At last, putting a bold face on the matter, I approached him with a “Bonjour, monsieur, quel triste temps!”
“Yes, sir,” replied he in the purest Parisian accent; “and it is very unusual weather here at this time of the year.”
“Does ‘monsieur’ intend to be any time at Seville?” asked I. He replied in the affirmative. We were soon on a friendly footing, and from his varied25 information I was both amused and instructed. Still I became more than ever in the dark as to his nationality; I found he could speak English as fluently as French. I tried him on the Italian track; again he was perfectly26 at home. He had a Greek servant, to whom he gave his orders in Romaïc. p. 132He conversed27 in good Castilian with “mine host”; exchanged a German salutation with an Austrian Baron28, at the time an inmate29 of the fonda; and on mentioning to him my morning visit to Triano, which led to some remarks on the gypsies, and the probable place from whence they derived30 their origin, he expressed his belief that it was from Moultan, and said that, even to this day, they retained many Moultanee and Hindoostanee expressions, such as “pánee” (water), “buree pánee” (the sea), etc. He was rather startled when I replied “in Hindee,” but was delighted on finding I was an Indian, and entered freely, and with depth and acuteness, on the affairs of the East, most of which part of the world he had visited.
In such varied discourse31 did the hours pass so swiftly away that we were not a little surprised when Pépé, the “mozo” (and I verily believe all Spanish waiters are called Pépé), announced the hour of dinner; after which we took a long walk together on the banks of the river. But, on our return, I was as much as ever in ignorance as to who might be my new and pleasant acquaintance.
I took the first opportunity of questioning Antonio Baillie (Buchini) on the subject, and his answer only tended to increase my curiosity. He said that nobody knew what nation the “mysterious Unknown” belonged to, nor what were his motives32 for travelling. In his passport he went by the name of —, and as a British subject, but in consequence of a suspicion being entertained that he was a Russian spy, the police kept a sharp look-out over him. Spy or no spy, I found him a very agreeable companion; and it was agreed that on the following day we should visit together the ruins of Italica.
May 5.—After breakfast, the “Unknown” and myself, mounting our horses, proceeded on our expedition to the ruins of Italica. Crossing the river, and proceeding33 through the populous34 suburb of Triano, already mentioned, we went over the same extensive plain that I had traversed in going to San Lucar, but keeping a little more to the right a short ride brought us in sight of the Convent of San Isidrio, surrounded by tall cypress35 and waving date-trees. This once richly-endowed religious establishment is, together with the small neighbouring village of Santi Ponci, I believe, the property of the Duke of Medina Coeli, at whose expense the excavations36 are now carried on at the latter place, which is the ancient site of the Roman Italica.
We sat down on a fragment of the walls, and sadly recalling the splendour of those times of yore, contrasted with the desolation around us, the “Unknown” began to feel the vein37 of poetry creeping through his inward soul, and gave vent14 to it by reciting, with great emphasis and effect, and to the astonishment38 of the wondering peasant, who must have thought him “loco,” the following well-known and beautiful lines:—
Matted and massed together, hillocks heap’d
Deeming it midnight; Temples, baths, or halls—
Pronounce who can: for all that Learning reap’d
From her research hath been, that these are walls.”
I had been too much taken up with the scene, the verses, and the strange being who was repeating them with so much feeling, to notice the approach of one who now formed the fourth person of our party. This was a slight female figure, beautiful in the extreme, but whose tattered44 garments, raven45 hair (which fell in matted elf-locks over her naked shoulders), swarthy complexion, and flashing eyes, proclaimed to be of the wandering tribe of “gitanos.” From an intuitive sense of natural politeness she stood with crossed arms, and a slight smile on her dark and handsome countenance46, until my companion had ceased, and then addressed us in the usual whining47 tone of supplication48, with “Caballeritos, una limosita! Dios se lo pagara a ustedes!” (“Gentlemen, a little charity! God will repay it to you!”) The gypsy girl was so pretty, and her voice so sweet, that I involuntarily put my hand in my pocket.
“Stop!” said the “Unknown.” “Do you remember what I told you about the Eastern origin of these people? You shall see I am correct. Come here, my pretty child,” said he in Moultanee, “and tell me where are the rest of your tribe?”
The girl looked astounded49, replied in the same tongue, but in broken language; when, taking him by the arm, she said, in Spanish: “Come, caballero; come to one who will be able to answer you;” and she led the way down amongst the ruins towards one of the dens50 formerly51 occupied by the wild beasts, and disclosed to us a set of beings scarcely less savage52. The sombre walls of this gloomy abode53 were illumined by a fire, the smoke from which escaped through a deep fissure54 in the massy roof; whilst the flickering55 flames threw a blood-red glare on the bronzed features of a group of children, of two men, and a decrepit56 old hag; who appeared busily engaged in some culinary preparations.
On our entrance, the scowling57 glance of the males of the party, and a quick motion of the hand towards the folds of the “faja,” caused in me, at least, anything but a comfortable sensation; but their hostile intentions, if ever entertained, were immediately removed by a wave of the hand from our conductress, who, leading my companion towards the sibyl, whispered something in her ear. The old crone appeared incredulous. The “Unknown” uttered one word; but that word had the effect of magic; she prostrated58 herself at his feet, and in an instant, from an object of suspicion he became one of worship to the whole family, to whom, on taking leave, he made a handsome present, and departed with their united blessings59, to the astonishment of myself, and what looked very like terror in our Spanish guide.
p. 134I was, as the phrase goes, dying with curiosity, and, as soon as we mounted our horses, exclaimed, “Where, in the name of goodness, did you pick up your acquaintance and the language of these extraordinary people?” “Some years ago, in Moultan,” he replied. “And by what means do you possess such apparent influence over them?” But the “Unknown” had already said more than he perhaps wished on the subject. He drily replied that he had more than once owed his life to gipsies, and had reason to know them well; but this was said in a tone which precluded60 all further queries61 on my part. The subject was never again broached62, and we returned in silence to the fonda. . . .
May 7th.—Pouring with rain all day, during which I was mostly in the society of the “Unknown.” This is a most extraordinary character, and the more I see of him the more I am puzzled. He appears acquainted with everybody and everything, but apparently unknown to every one himself. Though his figure bespeaks63 youth—and by his own account his age does not exceed thirty—yet the snows of eighty winters could not have whitened his locks more completely than they are. But in his dark and searching eye there is an almost supernatural penetration64 and lustre65, which, were I inclined to superstition66, might induce me to set down its possessor as a second Melmoth; and in that character he often appears to me during the troubled rest I sometimes obtain through the medium of the great soother67, “laudanum.”
The next most interesting figure in the Borrow gallery of this period is Don Luis de Usóz y Rio, who was a good friend to Borrow during the whole of his sojourn68 in Spain. It was he who translated Borrow’s appeal to the Spanish Prime Minister to be permitted to distribute Scio’s New Testament69. He watched over Borrow with brotherly solicitude70, and wrote him more than one excellent letter, of which the two following from my Borrow Papers, the last written at the close of the Spanish period, are the most interesting:
To Mr. George Borrow
(Translated from the Spanish)
Dear Friend,—I received your letter, and thank you for the same. I know the works under the name of “Boz,” about which you write, and also the Memoirs72 of the Pickwick Club, and although they seemed to me good, I have failed to appreciate properly their qualities, because much of the dramatic style and dialogue in the same are very difficult for those who know English merely from books. I made here a better acquaintance p. 135than that of Mezzofanti (who knows nothing), namely, that of Prof. Michel-Angelo Lanci, already well known on account of his work, La sacra scrittura illustrata con5 monumenti fenico-assiri ed egiziani, etc., etc. (The Scriptures73, illustrated74 with Phœnician-Assyrian and Egyptian monuments), which I am reading at present, and find very profound and interesting, and more particularly very original. He has written and presented me a book, Esposizione dei versetti del Giobbe intorno al cavallo (Explanation of verses of Job about a horse), and in these and other works he proves himself to be a great philologist75 and Oriental scholar. I meet him almost daily, and I assure you that he seems to me to know everything he treats thoroughly76, and not like Gayangos or Calderon, etc., etc. His philosophic77 works have created a great stir here, and they do not please much the friars here; but as here they are not like the police barbarians78 there, they do not forbid it, as they cannot. Lanci is well known in Russia and in Germany, and when I bring his works there, and you are there and have not read them, you will read them and judge for yourself.
Wishing you well, and always at your service, I remain, always yours,
Luis de Usoz y Rio.
To Mr. George Borrow
(Translated from the Spanish)
Naples, 28 August, 1839.
Dear Friend,—I received your letter of the 28 July written from Sevilla, and I am waiting for that which you promise me from Tangier.
I am glad that you liked Sevilla, and I am still more glad of the successful shipment of the beloved book. In distributing it, you are rendering79 the greatest service that generous foreigners (I mean Englishmen) can render to the real freedom and enlightenment in Spain, and any Spaniard who is at heart a gentleman must be grateful for this service to the Society and to its agent. In my opinion, if Spain had maintained the customs, character, and opinions that it had three centuries ago, it ought to have maintained also unity21 in religious opinions: but that at present the circumstances have changed, and the moral character and the advancement80 of my unfortunate country would not lose anything in its purification and progress by (the grant of) religious liberty.
You are saying that I acted very light-mindedly in judging Mezzofanti without speaking to him. You know that the other time when I was in Italy I had dealings and spoke81 with him, and that I said to you that he had a great facility for speaking languages, but that otherwise he was no good. Because I have seen him several times in the Papal chapels82 with a certain air p. 136of an ass2 and certain grimaces83 of a blockhead that cannot happen to a man of talent. I am told, moreover, that he is a spy, and that for that reason he was given the hat. I know, moreover, that he has not written anything at all. For that reason I do not wish to take the trouble of seeing him.
As regards Lanci, I am not saying anything except that I am waiting until you have read his work without passion, and that if my books have arrived at Madrid, you can ask my brother in Santiago.
You are judging of him and of Pahlin in the way you reproach me with judging Mezzofanti; I thank you, and I wish for the dedication84 Gabricote; and I also wish for your return to Madrid, so that in going to Toledo you would get a copy of Aristophanes with the order that will be given to you by my brother, who has got it.
If for the Gabricote or other work you require my clumsy pen, write to Florence and send me a rough copy of what is to be done, in English or in Spanish, and I will supply the finished work. From Florence I intend to go to London, and I should be obliged if you would give me letters and instructions that would be of use to me in literary matters, but you must know that my want of knowledge of speaking English makes it necessary that the Englishmen who speak to me should know Spanish, French, or Italian.
As regards robberies, of which you accuse Southern people, from the literatures of the North, do you think that the robberies committed by the Northerners from the Southern literature would be left behind? Erunt vitia donec homines.—Always yours,
Eleutheros.
Yet another acquaintance of these Spanish days was Baron Taylor—Isidore Justin Séverin Taylor, to give him his full name—who had a career of wandering achievement, with Government pay, that must have appealed to Borrow. Although his father was an Englishman he became a naturalised Frenchman, and he was for a time in the service of the French Government as Director of the Théâtre Français, when he had no little share in the production of the dramas of Victor Hugo and Dumas. Later he was instrumental in bringing the Luxor obelisk85 from Egypt to Paris. He wrote books upon his travels in Spain, Portugal and Morocco. He wandered all over Europe in search of art treasures for the French Government, and may very well have met Borrow again and again. Borrow tells us that he had met Taylor in France, in Russia, and in Ireland, before he met him in Andalusia, collecting pictures for the French Government. Borrow’s description of their meetings is inimitable:—
p. 137Whenever he descries86 me, whether in the street or the desert, the brilliant hall or amongst Bedouin haimas, at Novogorod or Stambul, he flings up his arms and exclaims, “O ciel! I have again the felicity of seeing my cherished and most respectable Borrow.”
The last and most distinguished87 of Borrow’s colleagues while in Spain was George Villiers, fourth Earl of Clarendon, whom we judge to have been in private life one of the most lovable men of his epoch88. George Villiers was born in London in 1800, and was the grandson of the first Earl, Thomas Villiers, who received his title when holding office in Lord North’s administration, but is best known from his association in diplomacy89 with Frederick the Great. His grandson was born, as it were, into diplomacy, and at twenty years of age was an attaché to the British Embassy in St. Petersburg. Later he was associated with Sir John Bowring in negotiating a commercial treaty with France. In August, 1833, he was sent as British Minister—“envoy extraordinary” he was called—to Madrid, and he had been two years in that seething-pot of Spanish affairs, with Christinos and Carlists at one another’s throats, when Borrow arrived in the Peninsula. His influence was the greater with a succession of Spanish Prime Ministers in that in 1838 he had been largely instrumental in negotiating the quadruple alliance between England, France, Spain, and Portugal. In March, 1839—exactly a year before Borrow took his departure—he resigned his position at Madrid, having then for some months exchanged the title of Sir George Villiers for that of Earl of Clarendon through the death of his uncle; Borrow thereafter having to launch his various complaints and grievances90 at his successor, Mr.—afterwards Sir George—Jerningham, who, it has been noted91, had his home in Norfolk, at Costessey, four miles from Norwich. Villiers returned to England with a great reputation, although his Spanish policy was attacked in the House of Lords. In that same year, 1839, he joined Lord Melbourne’s administration as Lord Privy92 Seal, O’Connell at the time declaring that he ought to be made Lord-Lieutenant of Ireland, so sympathetic was he towards concession93 and conciliation94 in that then feverishly95 excited country. This office actually came to him in 1847, and he was Lord-Lieutenant through that dark period of Ireland’s history, p. 138including the Famine, the Young Ireland rebellion, and the Smith O’Brien rising. He pleased no one in Ireland. No English statesman could ever have done so under such ideals of government as England would have tolerated then, and for long years afterwards. The Whigs defended him, the Tories abused him, in their respective organs. He left Ireland in 1852 and was more than once mentioned as possible Prime Minister in the ensuing years. He was Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs in Lord Aberdeen’s administration during the Crimean War, and he held the same office under Lord Palmerston, again under Lord John Russell in 1865, and under Mr. Gladstone in 1868. He might easily have become Prime Minister. Greville in his Diary writes of Prince Albert’s desire that he should succeed Lord John Russell, but Clarendon said that no power on earth would make him take that position. He said he could not speak, and had not had parliamentary experience enough. He died in 1870, leaving a reputation as a skilful96 diplomatist and a disinterested97 politician, if not that of a great statesman. He had twice refused the Governor-Generalship of India, and three times a marquisate.
Sir George Villiers seems to have been very courteous98 to Borrow during the whole of the time they were together in Spain. It would have been easy for him to have been quite otherwise. Borrow’s Bible mission synchronised with a very delicate diplomatic mission of his own, and in a measure clashed with it. The government of Spain was at the time fighting the ultra-clericals. Physical and moral strife99 were rife100 in the land. Neither Royalists nor Carlists could be expected to sympathise with Borrow’s schemes, which were fundamentally to attack their Church. But Villiers was at all times friendly, and, as far as he could be, helpful. Borrow seems to have had ready access to him, and he answered his many letters. He gave Borrow an opportunity of an interview with the formidable Prime Minister Mendizábal, and he interviewed another minister and persuaded him to permit Borrow to print and circulate his Bibles. He intervened successfully to release Borrow from his Madrid prison. But Villiers could not have had any sympathy with Borrow other than as a British subject to be protected on the Roman citizen principle. We do not suppose that when The Bible in Spain appeared he was one p. 139of those who were captivated by its extraordinary qualities. When Borrow crossed his path in later life he received no special consideration, such as would be given very promptly101 in our day by a Cabinet minister to a man of letters of like distinction. We find him on one occasion writing to the ex-minister, now Lord Clarendon, asking his help for a consulship102. Clarendon replied kindly103 enough, but sheltered himself behind the statement that the Prime Minister was overwhelmed with applications for patronage104. Yet Clarendon, who held many high offices in the following years, might have helped if he had cared to do so. Some years later—in 1847—there was further correspondence when Borrow desired to become a Magistrate105 of Suffolk. Here again Clarendon wrote three courteous letters, and appears to have done his best in an unenthusiastic way. But nothing came of it all.
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1 personalities | |
n. 诽谤,(对某人容貌、性格等所进行的)人身攻击; 人身攻击;人格, 个性, 名人( personality的名词复数 ) | |
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2 ass | |
n.驴;傻瓜,蠢笨的人 | |
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3 narratives | |
记叙文( narrative的名词复数 ); 故事; 叙述; 叙述部分 | |
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4 narrative | |
n.叙述,故事;adj.叙事的,故事体的 | |
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5 con | |
n.反对的观点,反对者,反对票,肺病;vt.精读,学习,默记;adv.反对地,从反面;adj.欺诈的 | |
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6 quaint | |
adj.古雅的,离奇有趣的,奇怪的 | |
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7 landlady | |
n.女房东,女地主 | |
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8 eloquent | |
adj.雄辩的,口才流利的;明白显示出的 | |
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9 ingrate | |
n.忘恩负义的人 | |
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10 pensioner | |
n.领养老金的人 | |
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n.猫头鹰,枭 | |
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12 incorrigible | |
adj.难以纠正的,屡教不改的 | |
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a.富于启发性的,有助阐明的 | |
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n.通风口,排放口;开衩;vt.表达,发泄 | |
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15 regiment | |
n.团,多数,管理;v.组织,编成团,统制 | |
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adj.隐退的,退休的,退役的 | |
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17 pretension | |
n.要求;自命,自称;自负 | |
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18 sketching | |
n.草图 | |
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19 dreary | |
adj.令人沮丧的,沉闷的,单调乏味的 | |
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adv.显然地;表面上,似乎 | |
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n.团结,联合,统一;和睦,协调 | |
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n.肤色;情况,局面;气质,性格 | |
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adj.显著的,异常的,非凡的,值得注意的 | |
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24 tinged | |
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26 perfectly | |
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27 conversed | |
v.交谈,谈话( converse的过去式 ) | |
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28 baron | |
n.男爵;(商业界等)巨头,大王 | |
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29 inmate | |
n.被收容者;(房屋等的)居住人;住院人 | |
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30 derived | |
vi.起源;由来;衍生;导出v.得到( derive的过去式和过去分词 );(从…中)得到获得;源于;(从…中)提取 | |
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n.论文,演说;谈话;话语;vi.讲述,著述 | |
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n.挖掘( excavation的名词复数 );开凿;开凿的洞穴(或山路等);(发掘出来的)古迹 | |
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n.血管,静脉;叶脉,纹理;情绪;vt.使成脉络 | |
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38 astonishment | |
n.惊奇,惊异 | |
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39 ivy | |
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40 chambers | |
n.房间( chamber的名词复数 );(议会的)议院;卧室;会议厅 | |
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41 vaults | |
n.拱顶( vault的名词复数 );地下室;撑物跳高;墓穴 | |
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42 frescoes | |
n.壁画( fresco的名词复数 );温壁画技法,湿壁画 | |
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43 subterranean | |
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44 tattered | |
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45 raven | |
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47 whining | |
n. 抱怨,牢骚 v. 哭诉,发牢骚 | |
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48 supplication | |
n.恳求,祈愿,哀求 | |
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49 astounded | |
v.使震惊(astound的过去式和过去分词);愕然;愕;惊讶 | |
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n.牙齿,齿状部分;兽窝( den的名词复数 );窝点;休息室;书斋 | |
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51 formerly | |
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53 abode | |
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54 fissure | |
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55 flickering | |
adj.闪烁的,摇曳的,一闪一闪的 | |
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56 decrepit | |
adj.衰老的,破旧的 | |
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57 scowling | |
怒视,生气地皱眉( scowl的现在分词 ) | |
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58 prostrated | |
v.使俯伏,使拜倒( prostrate的过去式和过去分词 );(指疾病、天气等)使某人无能为力 | |
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59 blessings | |
n.(上帝的)祝福( blessing的名词复数 );好事;福分;因祸得福 | |
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60 precluded | |
v.阻止( preclude的过去式和过去分词 );排除;妨碍;使…行不通 | |
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61 queries | |
n.问题( query的名词复数 );疑问;询问;问号v.质疑,对…表示疑问( query的第三人称单数 );询问 | |
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62 broached | |
v.谈起( broach的过去式和过去分词 );打开并开始用;用凿子扩大(或修光);(在桶上)钻孔取液体 | |
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63 bespeaks | |
v.预定( bespeak的第三人称单数 );订(货);证明;预先请求 | |
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64 penetration | |
n.穿透,穿人,渗透 | |
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65 lustre | |
n.光亮,光泽;荣誉 | |
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66 superstition | |
n.迷信,迷信行为 | |
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67 soother | |
n.抚慰者,橡皮奶头 | |
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68 sojourn | |
v./n.旅居,寄居;逗留 | |
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69 testament | |
n.遗嘱;证明 | |
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70 solicitude | |
n.焦虑 | |
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71 piazza | |
n.广场;走廊 | |
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72 memoirs | |
n.回忆录;回忆录传( mem,自oir的名词复数) | |
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73 scriptures | |
经文,圣典( scripture的名词复数 ); 经典 | |
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74 illustrated | |
adj. 有插图的,列举的 动词illustrate的过去式和过去分词 | |
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75 philologist | |
n.语言学者,文献学者 | |
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76 thoroughly | |
adv.完全地,彻底地,十足地 | |
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77 philosophic | |
adj.哲学的,贤明的 | |
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78 barbarians | |
n.野蛮人( barbarian的名词复数 );外国人;粗野的人;无教养的人 | |
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79 rendering | |
n.表现,描写 | |
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80 advancement | |
n.前进,促进,提升 | |
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81 spoke | |
n.(车轮的)辐条;轮辐;破坏某人的计划;阻挠某人的行动 v.讲,谈(speak的过去式);说;演说;从某种观点来说 | |
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82 chapels | |
n.小教堂, (医院、监狱等的)附属礼拜堂( chapel的名词复数 );(在小教堂和附属礼拜堂举行的)礼拜仪式 | |
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83 grimaces | |
n.(表蔑视、厌恶等)面部扭曲,鬼脸( grimace的名词复数 )v.扮鬼相,做鬼脸( grimace的第三人称单数 ) | |
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84 dedication | |
n.奉献,献身,致力,题献,献辞 | |
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85 obelisk | |
n.方尖塔 | |
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86 descries | |
v.被看到的,被发现的,被注意到的( descried的现在分词 ) | |
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87 distinguished | |
adj.卓越的,杰出的,著名的 | |
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88 epoch | |
n.(新)时代;历元 | |
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89 diplomacy | |
n.外交;外交手腕,交际手腕 | |
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90 grievances | |
n.委屈( grievance的名词复数 );苦衷;不满;牢骚 | |
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91 noted | |
adj.著名的,知名的 | |
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92 privy | |
adj.私用的;隐密的 | |
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93 concession | |
n.让步,妥协;特许(权) | |
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94 conciliation | |
n.调解,调停 | |
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95 feverishly | |
adv. 兴奋地 | |
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96 skilful | |
(=skillful)adj.灵巧的,熟练的 | |
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97 disinterested | |
adj.不关心的,不感兴趣的 | |
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98 courteous | |
adj.彬彬有礼的,客气的 | |
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99 strife | |
n.争吵,冲突,倾轧,竞争 | |
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100 rife | |
adj.(指坏事情)充斥的,流行的,普遍的 | |
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101 promptly | |
adv.及时地,敏捷地 | |
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102 consulship | |
领事的职位或任期 | |
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103 kindly | |
adj.和蔼的,温和的,爽快的;adv.温和地,亲切地 | |
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104 patronage | |
n.赞助,支援,援助;光顾,捧场 | |
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105 magistrate | |
n.地方行政官,地方法官,治安官 | |
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