“I have been talking for more than an hour with Casimir. He has told me everything. What wonders you have seen! And are you not happy, dearest? Are you not strong and satisfied?”
“Perfectly2!” I replied. “But, O Zara! what a pity that all the world should not know what we know!”
“All have not a desire for knowledge,” replied Zara. “Even in your vision of the garden you possessed3, there were only a few who still sought you; for those few you would have done anything, but for the others your best efforts were in vain.”
“They might not have been always in vain,” I said musingly4.
“No, they might not,” agreed Zara. “That is just the case of the world to-day. While there is life in it, there is also hope. And talking of the world, let me remind you that you are back in it now, and must therefore be hampered5 with tiresome6 trivialities. Two of these are as follows; First, here is a letter for you, which has just come; secondly7, breakfast will be ready in twenty minutes!”
I looked at her smiling face attentively8. She was the very embodiment of vigorous physical health and beauty; it seemed like a dream to remember her in the past night, guarded by that invincible9 barrier, the work of no mortal hand. I uttered nothing, however, of these thoughts, and responding to her evident gaiety of heart, I smiled also.
“I will be down punctually at the expiration10 of the twenty minutes,” I said. “I assure you, Zara, I am quite sensible of the claims of earthly existence upon me. For instance, I am very hungry, and I shall enjoy breakfast immensely if you will make the coffee.”
Zara, who among her other accomplishments11 had the secret of making coffee to perfection, promised laughingly to make it extra well, and flitted from the room, singing softly as she went a fragment of the Neapolitan Stornello:
“Fior di mortelle
Queste manine tue son tanto belle12!
Fior di limone
Ti voglio far morire di passione
Salta! lari — lira.”
The letter Zara had brought me was from Mrs. Everard, announcing that she would arrive in Paris that very day, Sunday.
“By the time you get this note,” so ran her words, “we shall have landed at the Grand Hotel. Come and see us at once, if you can. The Colonel is anxious to judge for himself how you are looking. If you are really recovered sufficiently13 to leave your medical pension, we shall be delighted to have you with us again. I, in particular, shall be glad, for it is real lonesome when the Colonel is out, and I do hate to go shopping by myself, So take pity upon your affectionate
“AMY.”
Seated at breakfast, I discussed this letter with Heliobas and Zara, and decided14 that I would call at the Grand Hotel that morning.
“I wish you would come with me, Zara,” I said wistfully.
To my surprise, she answered:
“Certainly I will, if you like. But we will attend High Mass at Notre Dame15 first. There will be plenty of time for the call afterwards.”
I gladly agreed to this, and Heliobas added with cheerful cordiality:
“Why not ask your friends to dine here to-morrow? Zara’s call will be a sufficient opening formality; and you yourself have been long enough with us now to know that any of your friends will be welcome here. We might have a pleasant little party, especially if you add Mr. and Mrs. Challoner and their daughters to the list. And I will ask Ivan.”
I glanced at Zara when the Prince’s name was uttered, but she made no sign of either offence or indifference17.
“You are very hospitable,” I said, addressing Heliobas; “but I really see no reason why you should throw open your doors to my friends, unless, indeed, you specially16 desire to please me.”
“Why, of course I do!” he replied heartily18; and Zara looked up and smiled.
“Then,” I returned, “I will ask them to come. What am I to say about my recovery, which I know is little short of miraculous19?”
“Say,” replied Heliobas, “that you have been cured by electricity. There is nothing surprising in such a statement nowadays. But say nothing of the HUMAN electric force employed upon you — no one would believe you, and the effort to persuade unpersuadable people is always a waste of time.”
An hour after this conversation Zara and I were in the cathedral of Notre Dame. I attended the service with very different feelings to those I had hitherto experienced during the same ceremony. Formerly20 my mind had been distracted by harassing21 doubts and perplexing contradictions; now everything had a meaning for me — high, and solemn, and sweet. As the incense22 rose, I thought of those rays of connecting light I had seen, on which prayers travel exactly as sound travels through the telephone. As the grand organ pealed24 sonorously25 through the fragrant26 air, I remembered the ever youthful and gracious Spirits of Music, one of whom, Aeon27, had promised to be my friend. Just to try the strength of my own electric force, I whispered the name and looked up. There, on a wide slanting28 ray of sunlight that fell directly across the altar was the angelic face I well remembered! — the delicate hands holding the semblance29 of a harp30 in air! It was but for an instant I saw it — one brief breathing-space in which its smile mingled31 with the sunbeams and then it vanished. But I knew I was not forgotten, and the deep satisfaction of my soul poured itself in unspoken praise on the flood of the “Sanctus! Sanctus!” that just then rolled triumphantly33 through the aisles34 of Notre Dame. Zara was absorbed in silent prayer throughout the Mass; but at its conclusion, when we came out of the cathedral, she was unusually gay and elate. She conversed35 vivaciously37 with me concerning the social merits and accomplishments of the people we were going to visit; while the brisk walk through the frosty air brightened her eyes and cheeks into warmer lustre38, so that on our arrival at the Grand Hotel she looked to my fancy even lovelier than usual.
Mrs. Everard did not keep us waiting long in the private salon39 to which we were shown. She fluttered down, arrayed in a wonderful “art” gown of terra-cotta and pale blue hues40 cunningly intermixed, and proceeded to hug me with demonstrative fervour. Then she held me a little distance off, and examined me attentively.
“Do you know,” she said, “you are simply in lovely condition! I never would have believed it. You are actually as plump and pink as a peach. And you are the same creature that wailed41 and trembled, and had palpitations and headaches and stupors42! Your doctor must be a perfect magician. I think I must consult him, for I am sure I don’t look half as well as you do.”
And indeed she did not. I thought she had a tired, dragged appearance, but I would not say so. I knew her well, and I was perfectly aware that though she was fascinating and elegant in every way, her life was too much engrossed43 in trifles ever to yield her healthy satisfaction.
After responding warmly to her affectionate greeting, I said:
“Amy, you must allow me to introduce the sister of my doctor to you. Madame Zara Casimir — Mrs. Everard.”
Zara, who had moved aside a little way out of delicacy44, to avoid intruding45 on our meeting, now turned, and with her own radiant smile and exquisite46 grace, stretched out her little well-gloved hand.
“I am delighted to know you!” she said, in those sweet penetrating47 accents of hers which were like music. “YOUR friend,” here indicating me by a slight yet tender gesture, “has also become mine; but I do not think we shall be jealous, shall we?”
Mrs. Everard made some attempt at a suitable reply, but she was so utterly48 lost in admiration49 of Zara’s beauty, that her habitual50 self-possession almost deserted51 her. Zara, however, had the most perfect tact52, and with it the ability of making herself at home anywhere, and we were soon all three talking cheerfully and without constraint53. When the Colonel made his appearance, which he did very shortly, he too was “taken off his feet,” as the saying is, by Zara’s loveliness, and the same effect was produced on the Challoners, who soon afterwards joined us in a body. Mrs. Challoner, in particular, seemed incapable54 of moving her eyes from the contemplation of my darling’s sweet face, and I glowed with pride and pleasure as I noted55 how greatly she was admired. Miss Effie Challoner alone, who was, by a certain class of young men, considered “doocid pretty, with go in her,” opposed her stock of physical charms to those of Zara, with a certain air of feminine opposition56; but she was only able to keep this barrier up for a little time. Zara’s winning power of attraction was too much for her, and she, like all present, fell a willing captive to the enticing57 gentleness, the intellectual superiority, and the sympathetic influence exercised by the evenly balanced temperament58 and character of the beautiful woman I loved so well.
After some desultory59 and pleasant chat, Zara, in the name of her brother and herself, invited Colonel and Mrs. Everard and the Challoner family to dine at the Hotel Mars next day — an invitation which was accepted by all with eagerness. I perceived at once that every one of them was anxious to know more of Zara and her surroundings — a curiosity which I could not very well condemn60. Mrs. Everard then wanted me to remain with her for the rest of the afternoon; but an instinctive61 feeling came upon me, that soon perhaps I should have to part from Heliobas and Zara, and all the wonders and delights of their household, in order to resume my own working life — therefore I determined62 I would drain my present cup of pleasure to the last drop. So I refused Amy’s request, pleading as an excuse that I was still under my doctor’s authority, and could not indulge in such an excitement as an afternoon in her society without his permission. Zara bore me out in this assertion, and added for me to Mrs. Everard:
“Indeed, I think it will be better for her to remain perfectly quiet with us for a day or two longer; then she will be thoroughly63 cured, and free to do as she likes.”
“Well!” said Mrs. Challoner; “I must say she doesn’t look as if anything were the matter with her. In fact, I never saw two more happy, healthy-looking girls than you both. What secret do you possess to make yourselves look so bright?”
“No secret at all,” replied Zara, laughing; “we simply follow the exact laws of health, and they suffice.”
Colonel Everard, who had been examining me critically and asking me a few questions, here turned to Zara and said:
“Do you really mean to say, Madame Casimir, that your brother cured this girl by electricity?”
“Purely so!” she answered earnestly.
“Then it’s the most wonderful recovery I ever saw. Why, at Cannes, she was hollow-eyed, pale, and thin as a willow-wand; now she looks — well, she knows how she is herself — but if she feels as spry as she looks, she’s in first-rate training!”
I laughed.
“I DO feel spry, Colonel,” I said. “Life seems to me like summer sunshine.”
“Brava!” exclaimed Mr. Challoner. He was a staid, rather slow Kentuckian who seldom spoke32; and when he did, seemed to find it rather an exertion64. “If there’s one class of folk I detest65 more than another, it is those all-possessed people who find life unsuited to their fancies. Nobody asked them to come into it — nobody would miss them if they went out of it. Being in it, it’s barely civil to grumble66 at the Deity67 who sent them along here. I never do it myself if I can help it.”
We laughed, and Mrs. Challoner’s eyes twinkled.
“In England, dear, for instance,” she said, with a mischievous68 glance at her spouse69 —“in England you never grumbled70, did you?”
Mr. Challoner looked volumes — his visage reddened, and he clenched71 his broad fist with ominous72 vigour73.
“Why, by the Lord!” he said, with even more than his usual deliberate utterance74, “in England the liveliest flea75 that ever gave a triumphal jump in air would find his spirits inclined to droop76! I tell you, ma’am,” he continued, addressing himself to Zara, whose merry laugh rang out like a peal23 of little golden bells at this last remark —“I tell you that when I walked in the streets of London I used to feel as if I were one of a band of criminals. Every person I met looked at me as if the universe were about to be destroyed next minute, and they had to build another up right away without God to help ’em!”
“Well, I believe I agree with you,” said Colonel Everard. “The English take life too seriously. In their craze for business they manage to do away with pleasure altogether. They seem afraid to laugh, and they even approach the semblance of a smile with due caution.”
“I’m free to confess,” added his wife, “that I’m not easily chilled through. But an English ‘at home’ acts upon me like a patent refrigerator — I get regularly frozen to the bone!”
“Dear me!” laughed Zara; “you give very bad accounts of Shakespeare’s land! It must be very sad!”
“I believe it wasn’t always so,” pursued Colonel Everard; “there are legends which speak of it as Merrie England. I dare say it might have been merry once, before it was governed by shopkeepers; but now, you must get away from it if you want to enjoy life. At least such is my opinion. But have you never been in England, Madame Casimir? You speak English perfectly.”
“Oh, I am a fairly good linguist,” replied Zara, “thanks to my brother. But I have never crossed the Channel.”
The Misses Challoner looked politely surprised; their father’s shrewd face wore an expression of grim contentment.
“Don’t cross it, ma’am,” he said emphatically, “unless you have a special desire to be miserable77. If you want to know how Christians78 love one another and how to be made limply and uselessly wretched, spend a Sunday in London.”
“I think I will not try the experiment, Mr. Challoner,” returned Zara gaily79. “Life is short, and I prefer to enjoy it.”
“Say,” interrupted Mrs. Challoner, turning to me at this juncture80, “now you are feeling so well, would it be asking you too much to play us a piece of your own improvising81?”
I glanced at the grand piano, which occupied a corner of the salon where we sat, and hesitated. But at a slight nod from Zara, I rose, drew off my gloves, and seated myself at the instrument. Passing my hands lightly over the keys, I wandered through a few running passages; and as I did so, murmured a brief petition to my aerial friend Aeon. Scarcely had I done this, when a flood of music seemed to rush to my brain and thence to my fingers, and I played, hardly knowing what I played, but merely absorbed in trying to give utterance to the sounds which were falling softly upon my inner sense of hearing like drops of summer rain on a thirsty soil. I was just aware that I was threading the labyrinth84 of a minor85 key, and that the result was a network of delicate and tender melody reminding me of Heinrich Heine’s words:
“Lady, did you not hear the nightingale sing? A beautiful silken voice — a web of happy notes — and my soul was taken in its meshes86, and strangled and tortured thereby87.”
A few minutes, and the inner voice that conversed with me so sweetly, died away into silence, and at the same time my fingers found their way to the closing chord. As one awaking from a dream, I looked up. The little group of friendly listeners were rapt in the deepest attention; and when I ceased, a murmur82 of admiration broke from them all, while Zara’s eyes glistened88 with sympathetic tears.
“How can you do it?” asked Mrs. Challoner in good-natured amazement89. “It seems to me impossible to compose like that while seated at the piano, and without taking previous thought!”
“It is not MY doing,” I began; “it seems to come to me from —”
But I was checked by a look from Zara, that gently warned me not to hastily betray the secret of my spiritual communion with the unseen sources of harmony. So I smiled and said no more. Inwardly I was full of a great rejoicing, for I knew that however well I had played in past days, it was nothing compared to the vigour and ease which were now given to me — a sort of unlocking of the storehouse of music, with freedom to take my choice of all its vast treasures.
“Well, it’s what WE call inspiration,” said Mr. Challoner, giving my hand a friendly grasp; “and wherever it comes from, it must be a great happiness to yourself as well as to others.”
“It is,” I answered earnestly. “I believe few are so perfectly happy in music as I am.”
Mrs. Everard looked thoughtful.
“No amount of practice could make ME play like that,” she said; “yet I have had two or three masters who were supposed to be first-rate. One of them was a German, who used to clutch his hair like a walking tragedian whenever I played a wrong note. I believe he got up his reputation entirely90 by that clutch, for he often played wrong notes himself without minding it. But just because he worked himself into a sort of frenzy91 when others went wrong, everybody praised him, and said he had such an ear and was so sensitive that he must be a great musician. He worried me nearly to death over Bach’s ‘Well-tempered Klavier’— all to no purpose, for I can’t play a note of it now, and shouldn’t care to if I could. I consider Bach a dreadful old bore, though I know it is heresy92 to say so. Even Beethoven is occasionally prosy, only no one will be courageous93 enough to admit it. People would rather go to sleep over classical music than confess they don’t like it.”
“Schubert would have been a grander master than Beethoven, if he had only lived long enough,” said Zara; “but I dare say very few will agree with me in such an assertion. Unfortunately most of my opinions differ from those of everyone else.”
“You should say FORTUNATELY, madame,” said Colonel Everard, bowing gallantly94; “as the circumstance has the happy result of making you perfectly original as well as perfectly charming.”
Zara received this compliment with her usual sweet equanimity95, and we rose to take our leave. As we were passing out, Amy Everard drew me back and crammed96 into the pocket of my cloak a newspaper.
“Read it when you are alone,” she whispered; “and you will see what Raffaello Cellini has done with the sketch97 he made of you.”
We parted from these pleasant Americans with cordial expressions of goodwill98, Zara reminding them of their engagement to visit her at her own home next day, and fixing the dinner-hour for half-past seven.
On our return to the Hotel Mars, we found Heliobas in the drawing-room, deep in converse36 with a Catholic priest — a fine-looking man of venerable and noble features. Zara addressed him as “Father Paul,” and bent99 humbly100 before him to receive his blessing101, which he gave her with almost parental102 tenderness. He seemed, from his familiar manner with them, to be a very old friend of the family.
On my being introduced to him, he greeted me with gentle courtesy, and gave me also his simple unaffected benediction103. We all partook of a light luncheon104 to-gether, after which repast Heliobas and Father Paul withdrew together. Zara looked after their retreating figures with a sort of meditative105 pathos106 in her large eyes; and then she told me she had something to finish in her studio — would I excuse her for about an hour? I readily consented, for I myself was desirous of passing a little time in solitude107, in order to read the manuscripts Heliobas had given me. “For,” thought I, “if there is anything in them not quite clear to me, he will explain it, and I had better take advantage of his instruction while I can.”
As Zara and I went upstairs together, we were followed by Leo — a most unusual circumstance, as that faithful animal was generally in attendance on his master. Now, however, he seemed to have something oppressive on his mind, for he kept close to Zara, and his big brown eyes, whenever he raised them to her face, were full of intense melancholy108. His tail drooped109 in a forlorn way, and all the vivacity110 of his nature seemed to have gone out of him.
“Leo does not seem well,” I said, patting the dog’s beautiful silky coat, an attention to which he responded by a heavy sigh and a wistful gaze approaching to tears. Zara looked at him.
“Poor Leo!” she murmured caressingly111. “Perhaps he feels lonely. Do you want to come with your mistress to-day, old boy? So you shall. Come along — cheer up, Leo!”
And, nodding to me, she passed into her studio, the dog following her. I turned into my own apartment, and then bethought myself of the newspaper Mrs. Everard had thrust into my pocket. It was a Roman journal, and the passage marked for my perusal112 ran as follows:
“The picture of the Improvisatrice, painted by our countryman Signor Raffaello Cellini, has been purchased by Prince N—— for the sum of forty thousand francs. The Prince generously permits it to remain on view for a few days longer, so that those who have not yet enjoyed its attraction, have still time to behold113 one of the most wonderful pictures of the age. The colouring yet remains114 a marvel115 to both students and connoisseurs116, and the life-like appearance of the girl’s figure, robed in its clinging white draperies ornamented117 with lilies of the valley, is so strong, that one imagines she will step out of the canvas and confront the bystanders. Signor Cellini must now be undoubtedly118 acknowledged as one of the greatest geniuses of modern times.”
I could see no reason, as I perused119 this, to be sure that I had served as the model for this successful work of art, unless the white dress and the lilies of the valley, which I had certainly worn at Cannes, were sufficient authority for forming such a conclusion. Still I felt quite a curiosity about the picture — the more so as I could foresee no possible chance of my ever beholding120 it. I certainly should not go to Rome on purpose, and in a few days it would be in the possession of Prince N——a personage whom in all probability I should never know. I put the newspaper carefully by, and then turned my mind to the consideration of quite another subject — namely, the contents of my parchment documents. The first one I opened was that containing the private instructions of Heliobas to myself for the preservation121 of my own health, and the cultivation122 of the electric force within me. These were so exceedingly simple, and yet so wonderful in their simplicity123, that I was surprised. They were based upon the plainest and most reasonable common-sense arguments — easy enough for a child to understand. Having promised never to make them public, it is impossible for me to give the slightest hint of their purport124; but I may say at once, without trespassing125 the bounds of my pledged word, that if these few concise126 instructions were known and practised by everyone, doctors would be entirely thrown out of employment, and chemists’ shops would no longer cumber127 the streets. Illness would be very difficult of attainment128 — though in the event of its occurring each individual would know how to treat him or herself — and life could be prolonged easily and comfortably to more than a hundred years, barring, of course, accidents by sea, rail and road, or by deeds of violence. But it will take many generations before the world is UNIVERSALLY self-restrained enough to follow such plain maxims129 as those laid down for me in the writing of my benefactor130, Heliobas — even if it be ever self-restrained at all, which, judging from the present state of society, is much to be doubted. Therefore, no more of the subject, on which, indeed, I am forbidden to speak.
The other document, called “The Electric Principle of Christianity,” I found so curious and original, suggesting so many new theories concerning that religion which has civilized131 a great portion of humanity, that, as I am not restrained by any promise on this point, I have resolved to give it here in full. My readers must not be rash enough to jump to the conclusion that I set it forward as an explanation or confession132 of my own faith; my creed133 has nothing to do with anyone save myself. I simply copy the manuscript I possess, as the theory of a deeply read and widely intelligent man, such as Heliobas undoubtedly WAS and IS; a man, too, in whose veins134 runs the blood of the Chaldean kings — earnest and thoughtful Orientals, who were far wiser in their generation perhaps than we, with all our boasted progress, are in ours. The coincidences which have to do with electrical science will, I believe, be generally admitted to be curious if not convincing. To me, of course, they are only fresh proofs of WHAT I KNOW, because I HAVE SEEN THE GREAT ELECTRIC CIRCLE, and know its power (guided as it is by the Central Intelligence within) to be capable of anything, from the sending down of a minute spark of instinct into the heart of a flower, to the perpetual manufacture and re-absorption of solar systems by the million million. And it is a circle that ever widens without end. What more glorious manifestation135 can there be of the Creator’s splendour and wisdom! But as to how this world of ours span round in its own light littleness farther and farther from the Radiant Ring, till its very Sun began to be re-absorbed, and till its Moon disappeared and became a mere83 picture — till it became of itself like a small blot136 on the fair scroll137 of the Universe, while its inhabitants grew to resent all heavenly attraction; and how it was yet thought worth God’s patience and tender consideration, just for the sake of a few human souls upon it who still remembered and loved Him, to give it one more chance before it should be drawn138 back into the Central Circle like a spark within a fire — all this is sufficiently set forth139 in the words of Heliobas, quoted in the next chapter.
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1
awaken
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| vi.醒，觉醒；vt.唤醒，使觉醒，唤起，激起 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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musingly
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| adv.沉思地，冥想地 | |
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hampered
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| 妨碍，束缚，限制( hamper的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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tiresome
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| adj.令人疲劳的，令人厌倦的 | |
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secondly
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| adv.第二，其次 | |
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attentively
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| adv.聚精会神地；周到地；谛；凝神 | |
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invincible
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| adj.不可征服的，难以制服的 | |
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expiration
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| n.终结，期满，呼气，呼出物 | |
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accomplishments
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| n.造诣；完成( accomplishment的名词复数 )；技能；成绩；成就 | |
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belle
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| n.靓女 | |
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sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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dame
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| n.女士 | |
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specially
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| adv.特定地；特殊地；明确地 | |
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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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heartily
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| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
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miraculous
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| adj.像奇迹一样的，不可思议的 | |
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formerly
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| adv.从前，以前 | |
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harassing
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| v.侵扰，骚扰( harass的现在分词 )；不断攻击（敌人） | |
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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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peal
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| n.钟声；v.鸣响 | |
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pealed
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| v.（使）（钟等）鸣响，（雷等）发出隆隆声( peal的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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sonorously
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| adv.圆润低沉地；感人地；堂皇地；朗朗地 | |
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fragrant
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| adj.芬香的，馥郁的，愉快的 | |
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aeon
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| n.极长的时间；永久 | |
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slanting
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| 倾斜的，歪斜的 | |
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semblance
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| n.外貌，外表 | |
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harp
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| n.竖琴；天琴座 | |
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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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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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33
triumphantly
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| ad.得意洋洋地；得胜地；成功地 | |
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34
aisles
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| n. (席位间的)通道, 侧廊 | |
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35
conversed
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| v.交谈，谈话( converse的过去式 ) | |
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36
converse
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| vi.谈话，谈天，闲聊；adv.相反的，相反 | |
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37
vivaciously
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| adv.快活地；活泼地；愉快地 | |
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38
lustre
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| n.光亮，光泽；荣誉 | |
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39
salon
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| n.[法]沙龙；客厅；营业性的高级服务室 | |
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40
hues
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| 色彩( hue的名词复数 )； 色调； 信仰； 观点 | |
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41
wailed
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| v.哭叫，哀号( wail的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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42
stupors
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| n.目光呆滞( stupor的名词复数 )；恍惚；昏迷；惊愕 | |
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43
engrossed
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| adj.全神贯注的 | |
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44
delicacy
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| n.精致，细微，微妙，精良；美味，佳肴 | |
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45
intruding
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| v.侵入，侵扰，打扰( intrude的现在分词)；把…强加于 | |
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46
exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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47
penetrating
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| adj.（声音）响亮的，尖锐的adj.（气味）刺激的adj.（思想）敏锐的，有洞察力的 | |
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48
utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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49
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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50
habitual
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| adj.习惯性的；通常的，惯常的 | |
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51
deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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52
tact
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| n.机敏，圆滑，得体 | |
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53
constraint
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| n.(on)约束，限制；限制(或约束)性的事物 | |
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54
incapable
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| adj.无能力的，不能做某事的 | |
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55
noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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56
opposition
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| n.反对，敌对 | |
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57
enticing
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| adj.迷人的；诱人的 | |
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58
temperament
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| n.气质，性格，性情 | |
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59
desultory
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| adj.散漫的，无方法的 | |
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60
condemn
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| vt.谴责，指责；宣判(罪犯)，判刑 | |
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61
instinctive
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| adj.(出于)本能的；直觉的；(出于)天性的 | |
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62
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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63
thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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64
exertion
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| n.尽力，努力 | |
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65
detest
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| vt.痛恨，憎恶 | |
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66
grumble
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| vi.抱怨；咕哝；n.抱怨，牢骚；咕哝，隆隆声 | |
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67
deity
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| n.神，神性；被奉若神明的人(或物) | |
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68
mischievous
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| adj.调皮的，恶作剧的，有害的，伤人的 | |
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69
spouse
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| n.配偶(指夫或妻) | |
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70
grumbled
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| 抱怨( grumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 发牢骚； 咕哝； 发哼声 | |
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71
clenched
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| v.紧握，抓紧，咬紧( clench的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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72
ominous
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| adj.不祥的，不吉的，预兆的，预示的 | |
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73
vigour
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| （=vigor）n.智力，体力，精力 | |
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74
utterance
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| n.用言语表达，话语，言语 | |
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75
flea
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| n.跳蚤 | |
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76
droop
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| v.低垂，下垂；凋萎，萎靡 | |
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77
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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78
Christians
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| n.基督教徒( Christian的名词复数 ) | |
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79
gaily
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| adv.欢乐地，高兴地 | |
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80
juncture
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| n.时刻，关键时刻，紧要关头 | |
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81
improvising
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| 即兴创作（improvise的现在分词形式） | |
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82
murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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83
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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84
labyrinth
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| n.迷宫；难解的事物；迷路 | |
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85
minor
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| adj.较小(少)的，较次要的；n.辅修学科；vi.辅修 | |
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86
meshes
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| 网孔( mesh的名词复数 )； 网状物； 陷阱； 困境 | |
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87
thereby
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| adv.因此，从而 | |
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88
glistened
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| v.湿物闪耀，闪亮( glisten的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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89
amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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90
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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91
frenzy
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| n.疯狂，狂热，极度的激动 | |
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92
heresy
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| n.异端邪说；异教 | |
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93
courageous
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| adj.勇敢的，有胆量的 | |
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94
gallantly
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| adv. 漂亮地，勇敢地，献殷勤地 | |
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95
equanimity
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| n.沉着，镇定 | |
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96
crammed
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| adj.塞满的，挤满的；大口地吃；快速贪婪地吃v.把…塞满；填入；临时抱佛脚( cram的过去式) | |
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97
sketch
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| n.草图；梗概；素描；v.素描；概述 | |
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98
goodwill
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| n.善意，亲善，信誉，声誉 | |
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99
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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100
humbly
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| adv. 恭顺地，谦卑地 | |
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101
blessing
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| n.祈神赐福；祷告；祝福，祝愿 | |
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102
parental
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| adj.父母的；父的；母的 | |
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103
benediction
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| n.祝福；恩赐 | |
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104
luncheon
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| n.午宴，午餐，便宴 | |
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105
meditative
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| adj.沉思的，冥想的 | |
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106
pathos
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| n.哀婉，悲怆 | |
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107
solitude
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| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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108
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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109
drooped
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| 弯曲或下垂，发蔫( droop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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110
vivacity
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| n.快活，活泼，精神充沛 | |
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111
caressingly
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| 爱抚地，亲切地 | |
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112
perusal
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| n.细读，熟读；目测 | |
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113
behold
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| v.看，注视，看到 | |
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114
remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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115
marvel
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| vi.(at)惊叹vt.感到惊异；n.令人惊异的事 | |
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116
connoisseurs
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| n.鉴赏家，鉴定家，行家( connoisseur的名词复数 ) | |
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117
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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118
undoubtedly
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| adv.确实地，无疑地 | |
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119
perused
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| v.读（某篇文字）( peruse的过去式和过去分词 )；（尤指）细阅；审阅；匆匆读或心不在焉地浏览（某篇文字） | |
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120
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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121
preservation
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| n.保护，维护，保存，保留，保持 | |
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122
cultivation
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| n.耕作，培养，栽培（法），养成 | |
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123
simplicity
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| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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124
purport
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| n.意义，要旨，大要；v.意味著，做为...要旨，要领是... | |
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125
trespassing
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| [法]非法入侵 | |
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126
concise
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| adj.简洁的，简明的 | |
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127
cumber
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| v.拖累，妨碍；n.妨害；拖累 | |
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128
attainment
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| n.达到，到达；［常pl.］成就，造诣 | |
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129
maxims
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| n.格言，座右铭( maxim的名词复数 ) | |
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130
benefactor
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| n. 恩人，行善的人，捐助人 | |
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131
civilized
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| a.有教养的，文雅的 | |
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132
confession
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| n.自白，供认，承认 | |
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133
creed
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| n.信条；信念，纲领 | |
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134
veins
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| n.纹理；矿脉( vein的名词复数 )；静脉；叶脉；纹理 | |
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135
manifestation
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| n.表现形式；表明；现象 | |
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136
blot
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| vt.弄脏（用吸墨纸）吸干；n.污点，污渍 | |
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137
scroll
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| n.卷轴，纸卷；(石刻上的)漩涡 | |
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138
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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139
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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