[19]
A Memoir2 of Baron Bunsen. By his Widow, Baroness3 Bunsen. Saturday
Review, 2nd May 1868.
Bunsen was really one of those persons, more common two centuries ago than now, who could belong as much to an adopted country as to that in which they were born and educated. A German of the Germans, he yet succeeded in also making himself at home in England, in appreciating English interests, in assimilating English thought and traditions, and exercising an important influence at a critical time on one extremely important side of English life and opinion. He was less felicitous4 in allying the German with the Englishman, perhaps from personal peculiarities6 of impatience7, self-assertion, and haste, than one who has since trodden in his steps and realised more completely and more splendidly some of the great designs which floated before his mind. But few foreigners have gained more fairly, by work and by sympathy, the droit de cité in England than Bunsen.
It is a great pity that books must be so long and so bulky, and though Bunsen's life was a very full and active one in all matters of intellectual interest, and in some of practical interest also, we cannot help thinking that his biography would have gained by greater exercise of self-denial on the part of his biographer. It is altogether too prolix8, and the distinction is not sufficiently9 observed between what is interesting simply to the Bunsen family and their friends, and what is interesting to the public. One of the points in which biographers, and the present author among the number, make mistakes, is in their use of letters. They never know when to stop in giving correspondence. If we had only one or two letters of a remarkable10 map, they would be worth printing, even if they were very much like other people's letters. But when we have bundles and letter-books without end to select from, selection, in a work professedly biographical, becomes advisable. We want types and specimens11 of a man's letters; and when the specimen12 has been given, we want no more, unless what is given is for its own sake remarkable. A great number of Bunsen's early letters are printed. Some of them are of much interest, showing how early the germs were formed of ideas and plans which occupied his life, and what were the influences by which he was surrounded, and how he comported13 himself in regard to them. But many more of these letters are what any young man of thought and of an affectionate nature might have written; and we do not want to have it shown us, over and over again, merely that Bunsen was thoughtful and affectionate. A wise and severe economy in this matter would have produced at least the same effect, at much less cost to the reader.
Bunsen was born in 1791, at Corbach, in the little principality of Waldeck, and grew up under the severe and simple training of a frugal15 German household, and with a solid and vigorous German education. He became in time Heyne's pupil at G?ttingen, and very early showed the qualities which distinguished16 him in his after life—restless eagerness after knowledge and vast powers of labour, combined with large and ambitious, and sometimes vague, ideas, and with depth and fervour of religious sentiment. He entered on life when the reaction against the cold rationalistic theories of the age before him was stimulated17 by the excitement of the war of liberation; and in his deep and supreme18 interest in the Bible he kept to the last the stamp which he then received. More interesting than the recollections of a distinguished man's youth by his friends after he has become distinguished—which are seldom quite natural and not always trustworthy—are the contemporary records of the impressions made on him in his youth by those who were distinguished men when he was young. In some of Bunsen's letters we have such impressions. Thus he writes of Heyne in 1813:—
Poor and lonely did I arrive in this place [G?ttingen]. Heyne received me, guided me, bore with me, encouraged me, showed me in himself the example of a high and noble energy, and indefatigable19 activity in a calling which was not that to which his merit entitled him. He might have superintended and administered and maintained an entire kingdom without more effort and with yet greater efficiency than the University for which he lived; he was too great for a mere14 philologer, and in general for a professor of mere learning in the age into which he was cast, and he was more distinguished in every other way than in this…. And what has he established or founded at the cost of this exertion20 of faculties21? Learning annihilates22 itself, and the most perfect is the first submerged; for the next age scales with ease the height which cost the preceding the full vigour23 of life. Yet two things remain of him and will not perish—the one, the tribute left by his free spirit to the finest productions of the human mind; and what he felt, thought, and has immortalised in many men of excellence24 gone before. Read his explanations of Tischbein's engravings from Homer, his last preface to Virgil, and especially his oration25 on the death of Müller, and you will understand what I mean. I speak not of his political instinct, made evident in his survey of the public and private life of the ancients. The other memorial which will subsist26 of him, more warm in life than the first, is the remembrance of his generosity27, to which numbers owe a deep obligation.
And of Schelling, about the same time, whom he had just seen in Munich:—
Schelling before all must be mentioned as having received me well, after his fashion, giving me frequent occasions of becoming acquainted with his philosophical28 views and judgments29, in his own original and peculiar5 manner. His mode of disputation is rough and angular; his peremptoriness30 and his paradoxes31 terrible. Once he undertook to explain animal magnetism32, and for this purpose to give an idea of Time, from which resulted that all is present and in existence—the Present as existing in the actual moment; the Future, as existing in a future moment. When I demanded the proof, he referred me to the word is, which applies to existence, in the sentence that "this is future." Seckendorf, who was present (with him I have become closely acquainted, to my great satisfaction), attempted to draw attention to the confounding the subjective33 (i.e. him who pronounces that sentence) with the objective; or, rather, to point out a simple grammatical misunderstanding—in short, declared the position impossible. "Well," replied Schelling drily, "you have not understood me." Two Professors (his worshippers), who were present, had meanwhile endeavoured by their exclamations34, "Only observe, all is, all exists" (to which the wife of Schelling, a clever woman, assented), to help me into conviction; and a vehement35 beating the air—for arguing and holding fast by any firm point were out of the question—would have arisen, if I had not contrived36 to escape by giving a playful turn to the conversation. I am perfectly37 aware that Schelling could have expressed and carried through his real opinion far better—i.e. rationally. I tell the anecdote38 merely to give an idea of his manner in conversation.
At G?ttingen he was one of a remarkable set, comprising Lachmann, Lücke, Brandis, and some others, thought as much of at the time as their friends, but who failed to make their way to the front ranks of the world. Like others of his countrymen, Bunsen began to find "that the world's destinies were not without their effect on him," and to feel dissatisfied with the comparatively narrow sphere of even German learning. The thought grew, and took possession of him, of "bringing over, into his knowledge and into his fatherland, the solemn and distant East," and to "draw the East into the study of the entire course of humanity (particularly of European, and more especially of Teutonic humanity)," making Germany the "central point of this study." Vast plans of philological39 and historical study, involving, as the only means then possible of carrying them out, schemes of wide travel and long sojourn40 in the East, opened on him. Indian and Persian literature, the instinctive41 certainty of its connection with the languages and thought of the West, and the imperfection of means of study in Europe, drew him, as many more were drawn42 at the time, to seek the knowledge which they wanted in foreign and distant lands. With Bunsen, this wide and combined study of philology43, history, and philosophy, which has formed one of the characteristic pursuits of our time, was from the first connected with the study of the Bible as its central point. In 1815 came a decisive turning-point in his life—his acquaintance, and the beginning of his close connection, with Niebuhr, at Berlin; and from this time he felt himself a Prussian. "That State in Northern Germany," he writes to Brandis in 1815, "which gladly receives every German, from wheresoever he may come, and considers every one thus entering as a citizen born, is the true Germany":—
That such a State [he proceeds, in the true Bismarckian spirit] should prove inconvenient44 to others of inferior importance, which persist in continuing their isolated45 existence, regardless of the will of Providence46 and of the general good, is of no consequence whatever; nor even does it matter that, in its present management, there are defects and imperfections…. We intend to be in Berlin in three weeks; and there (in Prussia) am I resolved to fix my destinies.
After reading Persian for a short time in Paris with De Sacy, and after the failure of a plan of travel with Mr. Astor of New York, Bunsen joined Niebuhr at Florence in the end of 1816, and went on with him to Rome, where Niebuhr was Prussian envoy47. There, enjoying Niebuhr's society, "equally sole in his kind with Rome," he took up his abode48, and plunged49 into study. He gave up his plans of Oriental travel, finding he could do all that he wanted without them. Too much a student, as he writes to a friend, to think of marrying, which he could not do "without impairing50 his whole scheme of mental development," he nevertheless found his fate in an English lady, Miss Waddington, who became his wife. And, finally, when the health of his friend Brandis, Niebuhr's secretary in the Prussian Legation, broke down, Bunsen took his place, and entered on that combined path of study and diplomacy51 in which he continued for the greater part of his life.
It may be questioned whether Bunsen's career answered altogether successfully to what he proposed to himself, or was in fact all that his friends and he himself thought it; but it was eminently53 one in which from the first he had laid down for himself a plan of life which he tenaciously54 followed through many changes and varieties of work, without ever losing sight of the purpose with which he began. He piqued55 himself on having early seen that a man ought to have an object to which to devote his whole life—"be it a dictionary like Johnson's or a history like Gibbon's"—and on having discerned and chosen his own object. And at an early time of his life in Rome he draws an outline of thought and inquiry56, destined57 to break off into many different labours, in very much the same language in which he might have described it in the last year of his life:—
The consciousness of God in the mind of man, and that which in and through that consciousness He has accomplished58, especially in language and religion, this was from the earliest time before my mind. After having awhile fancied to attain59 my point, sometimes here, sometimes there, at length (it was in the Christmas holidays of 1812, after having gained the prize in November) I made a general and comprehensive plan. I wished to go through and represent heathen antiquity60, in its principal phases, in three great periods of the world's history, according to its languages, its religious conceptions, and its political institutions; first of all in the East, where the earliest expressions in each are highly remarkable, although little known; then in the second great epoch61, among the Greeks and Romans; thirdly, among the Teutonic nations, who put an end to the Roman Empire.
At first I thought of Christianity only as something which every one, like the mother tongue, knows intuitively, and therefore not as the object of a peculiar study. But in January 1816, when I for the last time took into consideration all that belonged to my plan, and wrote it down, I arrived at this conclusion, that as God had caused the conception of Himself to be developed in the mind of man in a twofold manner, the one through revelation to the Jewish people through their patriarchs, the other through reason in the heathen; so also must the inquiry and representation of this development be twofold; and as God had kept these two ways for a length of time independent and separate, so should we, in the course of the examination, separate knowledge from man, and his development from the doctrine63 of revelation and faith, firmly trusting that God in the end would bring about the union of both. This is now also my firm conviction, that we must not mix them or bring them together forcibly, as many have done with well-meaning zeal64 but unclear views, and as many in Germany with impure65 designs are still doing.
The design had its interruptions, both intellectual and practical. The plan was an ambitious one, too ambitious for Bunsen's time and powers, or even probably for our own more advanced stage of knowledge; and Bunsen ever found it hard to resist the attractions of a new object of interest, and did not always exhaust it, though he seldom touched anything without throwing light on it. Thus he was drawn by circumstances to devote a good deal of time, more than he intended, to the mere antiquarianism of Rome. By and by he found himself succeeding Niebuhr as the diplomatic representative of Prussia at Rome. And his attempt to meet the needs of his own strong devotional feelings by giving more warmth and interest to the German services at the embassy, "the congregation on the Capitoline Hill," led him, step by step, to those wider schemes for liturgical66 reform which influenced so importantly the course of his fortunes. They brought him, a young and unknown man, with little more than Niebuhr's good word, into direct and confidential67 communication with the King of Prussia, who was then intent on plans of the same kind, and who recognised in Bunsen, after some preliminary jealousy68 and misgivings69, the man most fitted to assist in carrying them out. But though Bunsen, who started with the resolve of being both a student and a scholar, was driven, as he thought against his will, into paths which led him deeper and deeper into public life and diplomacy, his early plans were never laid aside even under the stress of official employment. Perhaps it may be difficult to strike the balance of what they lost or gained by it.
The account of his life at Rome contains much that is interesting. There is the curious mixture of sympathy and antipathy70 in Bunsen's mind for the place itself; the antipathy of a German, a Protestant, and a free inquirer, for the Roman, the old Catholic, the narrow, timid, traditional spirit which pervaded71 everything in the great seat of clerical and Papal government; and the sympathy, scarcely less intense, not merely, or in the first place, for the classical aspects of Rome, but for its religious character, as still the central point of Christendom, full of the memorials and the savour of the early days of Christianity, mingling72 with what its many centuries of history have added to them; and for all that aroused the interest and touched the mind of one deeply busy with two great religious problems—the best forms for Christian62 worship, and the restoration, if possible, of some organisation73 and authority in Protestant Germany. For a long time Bunsen, like his master Niebuhr, was on the best terms with Cardinals74, Monsignori, and Popes. The Roman services were no objects to him of abhorrence75 or indifference76. He saw, in the midst of accretions77, the remains78 of the more primitive79 devotion; and the architecture, the art, and the music, to be found only in Rome, were to him inexhaustible sources of delight. As may be supposed, letters like Bunsen's, and the recollections of his biographer, are full of interesting gossip; notices of famous people, and of things that happened in Rome in the days of the Emancipation80 and Reform Bills, Revolutions of Naples in '20 and France in '30, during the twenty years, from 1818 to 1838, in which the men of the great war and the restorations were going off the scene, and the men of the modern days—Liberals, High Churchmen, Ultra-montanes—were coming on. Those twenty years, of course, were not without their changes in Bunsen's own views. The man who had come to Rome, in position a poor and obscure student, had grown into the oracle81 of a highly cultivated society, whose acquaintance was eagerly sought by every one of importance who lived at Rome or visited it, and into the diplomatic representative of one of the great Powers. The scholar had come to have, not merely theories, but political and ecclesiastical aims. The disciple82 of Niebuhr, who at one time had seen all things very much as Niebuhr saw them in his sad later days of disgust at revolution and cynical83 despair of liberty, had come since under the influence of Arnold, and, as his letters to Arnold show, had taken into his own mind much of the more generous and hopeful, though vague, teaching of that equally fervid84 teacher of liberalism and of religion. These letters are of much interest. They show the dreams and the fears and antipathies85 of the time; they contain some remarkable anticipations86, some equally remarkable miscalculations, and some ideas and proposals which, with our experience, excite our wonder that any one could have imagined them practicable. Every one knows that Bunsen's diplomatic career at Rome ended unfortunately. He was mixed up with the violent proceedings87 of the Prussian Government in the dispute with the Archbishop of Cologne about marriages between Protestants and Catholics, and he had the misfortune to offend equally both his own Court and that of Rome. It is possible that, as is urged in the biography before us, he was sacrificed to the blunders and the enmities of powers above him. But, for whatever reason, no clear account is given of the matter by his biographer, though a good deal is suggested; and in the absence of intelligible88 explanations the conclusion is natural that, though he may have been ill-used, he may also have been unequal to his position.
But his ill-success or his ill-usage at Rome was more than compensated89 by the results to which it may be said to have led. Out of it ultimately came that which gave the decisive character to Bunsen's life—his settlement in London as Prussian Minister. On leaving Rome he came straight to England He came full of admiration90 and enthusiasm to "his Ithaca, his island fatherland," and he was flattered and delighted by the welcome he received, and by the power which he perceived in himself, beyond that of most foreigners, to appreciate and enjoy everything English. He liked everything—people, country, and institutions; even, as his biographer writes, our rooks. The zest91 of his enjoyment92 was not diminished by his keen sense of what appear to foreigners our characteristic defects—the want of breadth of interest and boldness of speculative93 thought which accompanies so much energy in public life and so much practical success; and he seems to have felt in himself a more than ordinary fitness to be a connecting link between the two nations—that he had much to teach Englishmen, and that they were worth teaching. He thoroughly94 sympathised with the earnestness and strong convictions of English religion; but he thought it lamentably95 destitute96 of rational grounds, of largeness of idea and of critical insight, enslaved to the letter, and afraid of inquiry. But, with all drawbacks, his visit to England made it a very attractive place to him; and when he was appointed by his Government Envoy to the Swiss Confederation, with strict injunctions "to do nothing," his eyes were oft on turned towards England. In 1840 the King of Prussia died, and Bunsen's friend and patron, the Crown Prince, became Frederic William IV. He resembled Bunsen in more ways than one; in his ardent97 religious sentiment, in his eagerness, in his undoubting and not always far-sighted self-confidence and self-assertion, and in a combination of practical vagueness of view and a want of understanding men, with a feverish98 imperiousness in carrying out a favourite plan. In 1841 he sent Bunsen to England to negotiate the ill-considered and precipitate99 arrangement for the Jerusalem bishopric; and on the successful conclusion of the negotiation100, Bunsen was appointed permanently101 to be Prussian Minister in London. The manner of appointment was remarkable. The King sent three names to Lord Aberdeen and the English Court, and they selected Bunsen's.
Thus Bunsen, who twenty-five years before had sat down a penniless student, almost in despair at the failure of his hopes as a travelling tutor, in Orgagna's loggia at Florence, had risen, in spite of real difficulties and opposition102, to a brilliant position in active political life; and the remarkable point is that, whether he was ambitious or not of this kind of advancement—and it would perhaps have been as well on his part to have implied less frequently that he was not—he was all along, above everything, the student and the theologian. What is even more remarkable is that, plunged into the whirl of London public life and society, he continued still to be, more even than the diplomatist, the student and theologian. The Prussian Embassy during the years that he occupied it, from 1841 to 1854, was not an idle place, and Bunsen was not a man to leave important State business to other hands. The French Revolution, the German Revolution, the Frankfort Assembly, the question of the revival103 of the Empire, the beginnings of the Danish quarrel and of the Crimean war, all fell within that time, and gave the Prussian Minister in such a centre as London plenty to think of, to do, and to write about. Yet all this time was a time of intense and unceasing activity in that field of theological controversy104 in which Bunsen took such delight. The diplomatist entrusted105 with the gravest affairs of a great Power in the most critical and difficult times, and fully52 alive to the interest and responsibility of his charge, also worked harder than most Professors, and was as positive and fiery106 in his religious theories and antipathies as the keenest and most dogmatic of scholastic107 disputants, he was busy about Egyptian chronology, about cuneiform writing, about comparative philology; he plunged with characteristic eagerness into English theological war; and such books as his Church of the Future, and his writings on Ignatius and Hippolytus, were not the least important of the works which marked the progress of the struggle of opinions here. But they represented only a very small part of the unceasing labour that was going on in the early morning hours in Carlton House Terrace. All this time the foundations were being laid and the materials gathered for books of wider scope and more permanent aim, too vast for him to accomplish even in his later years of leisure. It is an original and instructive picture; for though we boast statesmen who still carry on the great traditions of scholarship, and give room in their minds for the deeper and more solemn problems of religion and philosophy, they are not supposed to be able to carry on simultaneously108 their public business and their classical or scientific studies, and at any rate they do not attack the latter with the devouring109 zeal with which Bunsen taxed the efforts of hard-driven secretaries and readers to keep pace with his inexhaustible demands for more and more of the most abstruse110 materials of knowledge.
The end of his London diplomatic career was, like the end of his Roman one, clouded with something like disgrace; and, like the Roman one, is left here unexplained. But it was for his happiness, probably, that his residence in England came to a close. He had found the poetry of his early notions about England, political and theological at least, gradually changing into prose. He found less and less to like, in what at first most attracted him, in the English Church; he and it, besides knowing one another better, were also changing. He probably increased his sympathies for England, and returned in a measure to his old kindness for it, by looking at it only from a distance. The labour of his later days, as vast and indefatigable as that of his earlier days, was devoted111 to his great work, which was, as it were, to popularise the Bible and revive interest in it by a change in the method of presenting it and commenting on it. To the last the Bible was the central point of his philosophical as well as his religious thoughts, as it had been in his first beginnings as a student at Gottingen and Rome. After a life of many trials, but of unusual prosperity and enjoyment, he died in the end of 1860. The account of his last days is a very touching112 one.
We do not pretend to think Bunsen the great and consummate113 man that, naturally enough, he appears to his friends. We doubt whether he can be classed as a man in the first rank at all. We doubt whether he fully understood his age, and yet it is certain that he was confident and positive that he did understand it better than most men; and an undue114 confidence of this kind implies considerable defects both of intellect and character. He wanted the patient, cautious, judicial115 self-distrust which his studies eminently demanded, and of which he might have seen some examples in England. No one can read these volumes without seeing the disproportionate power which first impressions had with him; he was always ready to say that something, which had just happened or come before him, was the greatest or the most complete thing of its kind. Wonderfully active, wonderfully quick and receptive, full of imagination and of the power of combining and constructing, and never wearied out or dispirited, his mind took in large and grand ideas, and developed them with enthusiasm and success, and with all the resources of wide and varied116 knowledge; but the affluence117 and ingenuity118 of his thoughts indisposed him, as it indisposes many other able men, to the prosaic119 and uninteresting work of calling these thoughts into question, and cross-examining himself upon their grounds and tenableness. He tried too much; the multiplicity of his intellectual interests was too much for him, and he often thought that he was explaining when he was but weaving a wordy tissue, and "darkening counsel" as much as any of the theological sciolists whom he denounced. People, for instance, must, it seems to us, be very easily satisfied who find any fresh light in the attempt, not unfrequent in his letters, to adapt the Lutheran watchword of Justification120 by faith to modern ideas. He was very rapid, and this rapidity made him hasty and precipitate; it also made him apt to despise other men, and, what was of more consequence, the difficulties of the subject likewise. Others did not always find it easy to understand him; and it may fairly be questioned if he always sufficiently asked whether he understood himself. He was generous and large-spirited in intention, though not always so in fact.
Doubtless so much knowledge, so much honest and unsparing toil121, such freshness and quickness of thought, have not been wasted; there will always be much to learn from Bunsen's writings. But his main service has been the moral one of his example; of his ardent and high-souled industry, of his fearlessness in accepting the conclusions of his inquiries122, of his untiring faith through many changes and some disappointments that there is a way to reconcile all the truths that interest men—those of religion, and those of nature and history. The sincerity123 and earnestness with which he attempted this are a lesson to everybody; his success is more difficult to recognise, and it may perhaps be allowable to wish that he had taken more exactly the measure of the great task which he set to himself. His ambition was a high one. He aspired124 to be the Luther of the new 1517 which he so often dwelt upon, and to construct a theology which, without breaking with the past, should show what Christianity really is, and command the faith and fill the opening thought of the present. It can hardly be said that he succeeded. The Church of the Future still waits its interpreter, to make good its pretensions125 to throw the ignorant and mistaken Church of the Past into the shade.
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baron
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| n.男爵；(商业界等)巨头，大王 | |
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memoir
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| n.[pl.]回忆录，自传；记事录 | |
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baroness
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| n.男爵夫人，女男爵 | |
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felicitous
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| adj.恰当的，巧妙的；n.恰当，贴切 | |
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peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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peculiarities
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impatience
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prolix
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sufficiently
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remarkable
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specimens
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specimen
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comported
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mere
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frugal
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distinguished
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stimulated
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supreme
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indefatigable
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exertion
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faculties
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annihilates
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excellence
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subsist
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generosity
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| n.专横，强制，武断 | |
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paradoxes
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| n.似非而是的隽语，看似矛盾而实际却可能正确的说法( paradox的名词复数 )；用于语言文学中的上述隽语；有矛盾特点的人[事物，情况] | |
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32
magnetism
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| n.磁性，吸引力，磁学 | |
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subjective
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| a.主观(上)的，个人的 | |
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34
exclamations
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| n.呼喊( exclamation的名词复数 )；感叹；感叹语；感叹词 | |
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35
vehement
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| adj.感情强烈的；热烈的；(人)有强烈感情的 | |
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36
contrived
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| adj.不自然的，做作的；虚构的 | |
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37
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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38
anecdote
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| n.轶事，趣闻，短故事 | |
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39
philological
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| adj.语言学的，文献学的 | |
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40
sojourn
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| v./n.旅居，寄居；逗留 | |
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41
instinctive
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| adj.(出于)本能的；直觉的；(出于)天性的 | |
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42
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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43
philology
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| n.语言学；语文学 | |
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44
inconvenient
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| adj.不方便的，令人感到麻烦的 | |
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45
isolated
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| adj.与世隔绝的 | |
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46
providence
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| n.深谋远虑，天道，天意；远见；节约；上帝 | |
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47
envoy
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| n.使节，使者，代表，公使 | |
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48
abode
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| n.住处，住所 | |
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49
plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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50
impairing
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| v.损害，削弱( impair的现在分词 ) | |
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51
diplomacy
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| n.外交；外交手腕，交际手腕 | |
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52
fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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53
eminently
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| adv.突出地；显著地；不寻常地 | |
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54
tenaciously
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| 坚持地 | |
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piqued
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| v.伤害…的自尊心( pique的过去式和过去分词 )；激起（好奇心） | |
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inquiry
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| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
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57
destined
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| adj.命中注定的；(for)以…为目的地的 | |
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58
accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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59
attain
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| vt.达到，获得，完成 | |
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60
antiquity
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| n.古老；高龄；古物，古迹 | |
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epoch
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| n.(新)时代；历元 | |
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Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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doctrine
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| n.教义；主义；学说 | |
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zeal
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| n.热心，热情，热忱 | |
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impure
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| adj.不纯净的，不洁的；不道德的，下流的 | |
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liturgical
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| adj.礼拜仪式的 | |
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confidential
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| adj.秘（机）密的，表示信任的，担任机密工作的 | |
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jealousy
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| n.妒忌，嫉妒，猜忌 | |
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misgivings
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| n.疑虑，担忧，害怕；疑虑，担心，恐惧( misgiving的名词复数 )；疑惧 | |
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antipathy
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| n.憎恶；反感，引起反感的人或事物 | |
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pervaded
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| v.遍及，弥漫( pervade的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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mingling
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| adj.混合的 | |
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organisation
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| n.组织，安排，团体，有机休 | |
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cardinals
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| 红衣主教( cardinal的名词复数 )； 红衣凤头鸟（见于北美，雄鸟为鲜红色）； 基数 | |
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abhorrence
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| n.憎恶；可憎恶的事 | |
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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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77
accretions
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| n.堆积( accretion的名词复数 )；连生；添加生长；吸积 | |
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remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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primitive
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| adj.原始的；简单的；n.原(始)人，原始事物 | |
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emancipation
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| n.（从束缚、支配下）解放 | |
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81
oracle
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| n.神谕，神谕处，预言 | |
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82
disciple
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| n.信徒，门徒，追随者 | |
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83
cynical
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| adj.(对人性或动机)怀疑的，不信世道向善的 | |
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84
fervid
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| adj.热情的；炽热的 | |
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85
antipathies
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| 反感( antipathy的名词复数 )； 引起反感的事物； 憎恶的对象； （在本性、倾向等方面的）不相容 | |
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86
anticipations
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| 预期( anticipation的名词复数 )； 预测； （信托财产收益的）预支； 预期的事物 | |
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proceedings
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| n.进程，过程，议程；诉讼(程序)；公报 | |
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88
intelligible
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| adj.可理解的，明白易懂的，清楚的 | |
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89
compensated
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| 补偿，报酬( compensate的过去式和过去分词 )； 给（某人）赔偿（或赔款） | |
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90
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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91
zest
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| n.乐趣；滋味，风味；兴趣 | |
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92
enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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93
speculative
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| adj.思索性的，暝想性的，推理的 | |
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94
thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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lamentably
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| adv.哀伤地，拙劣地 | |
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96
destitute
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| adj.缺乏的；穷困的 | |
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ardent
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，强烈的，烈性的 | |
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98
feverish
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| adj.发烧的，狂热的，兴奋的 | |
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99
precipitate
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| adj.突如其来的；vt.使突然发生；n.沉淀物 | |
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100
negotiation
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| n.谈判，协商 | |
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101
permanently
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| adv.永恒地，永久地，固定不变地 | |
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102
opposition
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| n.反对，敌对 | |
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103
revival
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| n.复兴，复苏，（精力、活力等的）重振 | |
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104
controversy
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| n.争论，辩论，争吵 | |
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105
entrusted
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| v.委托，托付( entrust的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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fiery
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| adj.燃烧着的，火红的；暴躁的；激烈的 | |
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107
scholastic
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| adj.学校的，学院的，学术上的 | |
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108
simultaneously
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| adv.同时发生地，同时进行地 | |
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109
devouring
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| 吞没( devour的现在分词 )； 耗尽； 津津有味地看； 狼吞虎咽地吃光 | |
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110
abstruse
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| adj.深奥的，难解的 | |
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111
devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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112
touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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113
consummate
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| adj.完美的；v.成婚；使完美 [反]baffle | |
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114
undue
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| adj.过分的；不适当的；未到期的 | |
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115
judicial
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| adj.司法的，法庭的，审判的，明断的，公正的 | |
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116
varied
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| adj.多样的，多变化的 | |
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117
affluence
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| n.充裕，富足 | |
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118
ingenuity
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| n.别出心裁；善于发明创造 | |
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119
prosaic
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| adj.单调的，无趣的 | |
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120
justification
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| n.正当的理由；辩解的理由 | |
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121
toil
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| vi.辛劳工作，艰难地行动；n.苦工，难事 | |
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122
inquiries
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| n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 )；疑问；探究；打听 | |
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123
sincerity
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| n.真诚，诚意；真实 | |
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124
aspired
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| v.渴望，追求( aspire的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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125
pretensions
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| 自称( pretension的名词复数 )； 自命不凡； 要求； 权力 | |
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