Goethe was received with enthusiasm by the young Duke, and all sorts of entertainments were got up for his benefit. These entertainments gave rise to much gossip, and soon it was whispered in many places in Germany that Goethe was leading a shamefully3 dissolute life at Weimar, and exercising on the Duke a most deplorable influence. By and by Klopstock, hearing a rumour4 of what was supposed to be going on, took it upon himself to write to his fellow poet a letter of reproof5 and expostulation. Goethe had the highest respect for Klopstock, and, when he had passed through Frankfort, had taken{87} occasion to show him due honour. But now it was necessary to prove that there were limits beyond which even the author of “The Messiah,” in his intercourse6 with younger men, had no right to pass. Accordingly Klopstock received a cool little letter in which it was indirectly7 and delicately intimated that he had interfered9 in matters which did not concern him, and about which he was inadequately10 instructed.
The worst that could be said about the lively proceedings11 that went on at Weimar after Goethe’s arrival was that they took up a great deal of time, and wasted much good energy. As for the notion that the Duke was in any way misled by Goethe, nothing could be further from the truth. The Duke had in his blood the fiery12 impulses of many a wild ancestor, and even now it was Goethe’s aim to restrain rather than to stimulate13 his passion for pleasure and excitement. Goethe knew him too well to think of troubling him with formal advice, but none the less he sought to suggest to the young prince that as a ruler he had obligations which honour required him to take seriously. Afterwards Goethe kept this object steadily14 before himself, and the result was that, notwithstanding occasional outbreaks of irregular passion, the Duke became one of the best of the minor16 German sovereigns, for, of all men, Goethe had the strongest hold over his imagination and feelings.
At first Goethe found some difficulty in arriving at a satisfactory relation with the young Duchess. For a time she also was disposed to think that he led her husband astray. She was, however, too frank and sincere not to see things in the end as they really were. She became{88} Goethe’s true friend; and he often had opportunities of showing how worthy17 he was of her confidence by acting18 as a mediator19 for the removal of domestic misunderstandings. With the Duchess Dowager Amalia he never had the slightest trouble. Although the mother of a reigning20 prince, she was only thirty-six years of age at the time of Goethe’s arrival in Weimar. She was a woman of masculine intelligence, and during her son’s minority had discharged firmly and discreetly21 her duties as regent. Handsome, amiable22, endowed with delicate tact23, and taking a sincere interest in art and literature, she could not but attract Goethe; and he in his turn at once gained her good opinion. She saw clearly how wisely he was likely to guide the Duke, and was most eager that he should, if possible, be persuaded to settle in Weimar.
Among the residents of the little capital a high place was by universal consent conceded to Wieland, who had accepted, in 1772, an invitation sent to him by the Duchess Amalia, to come to Weimar as the tutor of her sons. Wieland was now forty-two years of age, and one of the most prominent writers in Germany. He had been grievously offended by the “Farce” written at his expense, but Goethe had by letter made some amends24 for the injury done to him, which, after all, was not very serious; and Wieland had magnanimously let the matter slip from his mind. Now, when he met Goethe, he thought he had never seen any one who was more to his liking25. He wrote to a friend that he was “as full of Goethe as a dewdrop of the morning sun.” And the two poets continued to be on{89} pleasant terms with one another. When Wieland wrote “Oberon,” incomparably the finest of his poems, he was enchanted26 by Goethe’s warm appreciation27 of its merits. It was natural for Goethe to praise lavishly28 anything that pleased him. There was no room in his generous spirit for even a touch of petty jealousy29.
While living at Frankfort, he had for some time had much reason to complain of the conduct of Herder, who for no good cause had conceived a violent prejudice against him. Happily, this had been dispelled30; and at Weimar Goethe was able to be of splendid service to his friend. The office of Court preacher and general superintendent31 of matters ecclesiastical was vacant, and the Duke asked Goethe whether he knew of any one to whom it might be offered. He at once suggested Herder, who was thoroughly32 tired of his position at Bückeburg, and thinking of accepting a professorship at G?ttingen. The majority of the clergy33 of the duchy were by no means delighted with the proposal, for Herder had the reputation of being a heretic; but Goethe never grudged34 labour undertaken for a friend, and worked so hard, and with so much tact, in Herder’s interest, that all difficulties were overcome. Herder came to Weimar in 1776, and soon made a great mark, not only as a preacher, but as an earnest promoter of every scheme for the public welfare. At Weimar he wrote his “Ideen zur Philosophie der Geschichte der Menschheit” (“Ideas towards the Philosophy of the History of Humanity”), which, although only a fragment, displays so wide a knowledge, so firm a grasp of great principles, and so deep an appreciation of all that makes{90} for the highest ideals, that it can never lose its place as one of the treasures of German literature. For many years Goethe and Herder had much pleasant intercourse in Weimar, and encouraged each other in work by mutual35 sympathy.
The Duke became so attached to Goethe that he was resolved they should never part, and accordingly he expressed to the high officials of his Government his wish that his friend should be admitted into the public service. The proposal met with vehement36 opposition37, for grave old councillors found it impossible to believe that a poet could be capable of attending to business. The Duke, however, warmly supported by his mother, insisted on having his own way.
The elder Goethe strongly disliked the idea of his son entering the service of a prince. Brought up in a free imperial city, he had a decidedly Republican feeling, subject, of course, to loyalty39 to the Emperor, which was rather a nominal40 that a real obligation. Moreover, he had always hoped that his son would become an eminent41 Frankfort lawyer, and that he himself and his wife would have the pleasure of welcoming to their home a daughter-in-law whom they could love. Goethe, however, felt that it would be impossible for him to go back to Frankfort. He had not been happy there; he still disliked the work of an advocate; he longed to be independent; and he knew that he would receive every consideration from the Duke, the Duchess, and the Duchess Dowager, for all of whom he had a sincere regard. On the other hand, he did not wish to bind42 himself absolutely to remain in Weimar. It was necessary that he should be at{91} liberty to leave it at any time when he might desire to go. This he stated to the Duke, and so the matter was arranged.
In the spring of 1776, Goethe was formally appointed a member of the Privy43 Council, with the title of “Geheimer Legationsrath,” Privy Councillor of Legation. His salary, which was gradually increased, was at first 1,200 thalers (￡180). The Duke, as a special mark of favour, provided for him a house overlooking the Ilm, and surrounded by a pleasant garden. It was in the Park beyond the town, so that Goethe was able to have perfect quiet, and to enjoy to his heart’s content solitary44 strolls along the banks of the stream flowing past his dwelling45. Here he lived for some years, his household consisting of his valet Seidel, whom he had brought with him from Frankfort; a man servant; and an elderly woman who acted as cook. Afterwards he took a house in Weimar, and spent only the summer months in his garden-house.
By the time he definitely took up his abode46 in Weimar, he had formed a relation which was to exercise a powerful influence over him during the following ten years—his relation to Charlotte von Stein. In Frankfort he had seen her silhouette47, which was to appear in Lavater’s book on Physiognomy. Under it he wrote, “It would be splendid to see how the world reflects itself in this soul. She sees the world as it is, yet through the medium of love. Mildness is, therefore, the general impression.” So vividly48 did the face appear before him that it kept him awake during three successive nights. On the other hand, Frau von Stein was familiar with, and strongly admired, Goethe’s writings. They were thus prepared to think well of one another.{92}
When Goethe arrived in Weimar, she was at her estate, Kochberg; but she soon returned, and he was introduced to her at court by the Duke. She was six years older than Goethe, had been married eleven years, and was the mother of seven children; and she had no very remarkable49 intellectual gifts. She had, however, delicate grace and beauty, fine tact, and warm sympathy with all that seemed to her best and greatest in life and literature; and these qualities drew Goethe towards her with an irresistible50 attraction. At first his expressions of regard and admiration51—after the fashion of the time—were so ardent52 that she was rather alarmed, and took care that he should not see her too often; but by and by he showed the most tender respect for her wishes, and so there grew up between them a true, pure, and noble friendship. There were few days when they did not meet. When either was from home, he sent her long letters telling her everything that happened; and even when both were in Weimar, little notes containing kindly53 greetings constantly passed between them. Goethe confided54 to her all his cares and anxieties, and she never failed to strengthen him, and give him fresh courage, by her sympathy. His thoughts, studies, and plans of work he also spoke55 of, and she sought not only to understand them and to share the pleasure they gave him, but to encourage him in all his high undertakings56. If sometimes there were misunderstandings, they soon vanished, and Goethe could write to her that the torment58 due to such experiences was “the sunlit rain (Sonnen-Regen) of love.”
With Frau von Stein’s husband, who held the office{93} of master of the horse, Goethe was on the best of terms. He was a sensible, practical person, who did not interfere8 with his wife’s friendships; and the idea that there was any reason why he should be jealous of Goethe seems never to have entered his mind. Goethe’s letters to her were often enclosed in letters to her husband. Her children always welcomed Goethe with cries of delight. In this respect they were not different from other children; it was one of his characteristics that young people invariably felt, by a kind of instinct, that he was their friend.
While attending the University of Leipsic, he had been much impressed by the singing of a young public singer called Corona59 Schr?ter, and during a short visit to Leipsic in 1776, all his old enthusiasm for her was revived. The result was that she was asked to come to Weimar as a singer in the chamber60 concerts of the Duchess Dowager. She accepted the invitation, and spent at Weimar the greater part of the rest of her life. She was very handsome, and not only a good singer, but an admirable actress. Goethe was thrown much into her society, and liked her so well that she necessarily has a place in his biography. She was not, however, one of the women who left their mark deeply on his inward life and on his poetry.
A profound change passed over Goethe’s character during the early years of his residence at Weimar. This change was partly a natural evolution, partly the result of deliberate and long-continued effort. He became painfully conscious of the fact that in the past he had allowed himself to be swayed too much by momentary{94} impulses, that he had cherished wild desires which had no real relation to the facts of existence, that his happiness had been at the mercy of passing moods, some of the darkest of which had sprung from too intense a concentration of thought on his own feelings. It became his fixed61 purpose that all this should come to an end, that he should acquire firm control over himself, and that his powers should be disciplined to work steadily for lofty but clearly-defined and attainable63 ends. “A calm glance back on my past life,” he wrote in his diary on the 7th of August, 1779, “on the confusion, restlessness, lust64 after knowledge, of youth, how it roams about everywhere to find something satisfying. How, especially, I found delight in mysteries—in dark, imaginary relations. How, when occupied with anything scientific, I only half attacked it, and soon let it pass; how a sort of humble65 self-complacency goes through all I then wrote. With how little insight I moved round and round in human and divine things. How there was as little of action as of thought and poetry directed to an aim; how many days were wasted in time-destroying sentiment and shadow-passions; how little good came to me therefrom; and how, now that the half of life is past, there is no way back, but I simply stand here as one who has saved himself from the water, and whom the sun begins beneficently to dry. The time I have spent in the rush of the world, since October, ’75, I do not yet trust myself to review. God help further and give lights, so that we may not stand so much in our own way; cause us to do from morning to night what is fitting; and give us clear ideas of the consequences of{95} things, so that one may not be like men who complain all day of headache and dose themselves for headache, and every evening take too much wine! May the idea of purity, extending itself even to the morsel66 I take into my mouth, become ever more luminous67 in me!” On the 13th of May, 1780, he wrote: “In my present surroundings, I have little, hardly any, hindrance68 outside of myself. In myself there is still much. Human frailties69 are thorough tapeworms; one tears away a piece, but the stock remains70 where it was. I will yet, however, be master. No one save he who wholly renounces71 self is worthy to rule, or can rule.”
How sternly he disciplined himself, and with what magnificent success, we may see from the manner in which he discharged his duties at Weimar. It must have been hard for a poet of quick sensibilities to grapple with the difficulties of business, yet he shrank from no obligation, however severe the demands it might make on his temper and patience. The sittings of the Privy Council he attended with strict regularity72, and he made a point of mastering every important document submitted to it, so that his judgment73 might be of real service to the State. He devoted74 especial attention to questions connected with finance, and so wisely did he deal with them, seeking to secure at once economy and efficiency, that he excited the astonishment75 and admiration of those who had doubted the fitness of a poet for the practical work of life.
It was not only in the Council that Goethe had to do difficult service. He was intrusted by the Duke with many special duties, all of which he fulfilled with scrupu{96}lous care. He had frequently, for instance, to carry on negotiations76 with the Estates of the two duchies, Weimar and Eisenach, both of which were subject to the Duke; and in the exercise of this delicate function he displayed unfailing firmness and tact. It was the Duke’s desire that the disused mines of Ilmenau should be reopened, and in connection with this scheme Goethe worked earnestly, studying the principles of mining, consulting with men who had a right to an opinion on the subject, and finally seeing that the undertaking57 was organized in accordance with the most advanced methods. He was made responsible for public works, and in this position had much to say as to the plans for the new Schloss and for the laying out of the Park in which his garden-house was situated. The University of Jena, which was the common property of the Saxon Duchies, he missed no opportunity of benefiting; and he did what he could for popular education in Weimar. The small military force of the duchy, consisting of six hundred men, was put under his care, so far as administration was concerned; and he not only brought it to a high state of efficiency, but made it less burdensome to the people by reforming the system according to which the troops were levied77. He insisted that the soldiers should be treated by their officers with more consideration than was in those days thought to be safe or proper, and for soldiers’ daughters he established a school of spinning and embroidery78, which he placed under the charge of Seidel, whom he knew he could trust. As he had to ride about a great deal in attending to military matters, it was considered that no one could so well manage everything connected with public highways;{97} and this duty also he readily undertook. It became his business, too, to look after the demesne79 lands, and here one is glad to think he had the aid of a thoroughly competent Englishman, George Batty, for whose energy, skill, and good sense Goethe had profound respect. This part of his work was congenial to his tastes, but we find him on one occasion complaining bitterly that those in high places consumed in a day more than could be produced in the same time by the labours of all the toilers on the estates under his charge.
In discharging the various duties imposed upon him, Goethe became the soul of the entire administrative81 system, and diffused82 through all its branches much of his own vigour83 and thoroughness. As he did his own work honestly, he would take no dishonest work from others; and this came to be well understood by every one who had to carry out his orders. For a long time he was not unhappy in his labours. “The pressure of affairs,” he wrote in 1779, “is very good for the mind; when it has disburdened itself, it plays more freely and enjoys life. There is nothing more miserable84 than a comfortable man without work.” Again: “Many a time I feel as if I ought, like Polycrates, to throw my most precious jewel into the water. In everything I undertake I have luck.”
During these years Goethe disciplined the body not less strictly85 than the mind. He slept on a straw mattrass, and drank only half the quantity of wine to which he had formerly86 accustomed himself. Riding, walking, fencing, and other forms of physical exercise he delighted in; and—what must then have been thought an extraordinary eccentricity—he took cold baths regularly in{98} winter as well as in summer. The result of all this was that he enjoyed better health than at any previous period of his life.
His manner necessarily changed to some extent in accordance with the change in his character. He was still occasionally capable of the frank and genial80 outbursts of feeling that had so often delighted his comrades in the days of “Sturm und Drang,” but, upon the whole, he became more calm, sedate87, and reserved. This did not mean that there was any diminution88 of the kindly impulses of his character. Every one who knew him well was aware that the fine spirit of humanity that had welled up so freely in his nature in the early part of his life never, as years went on, lost its original depth and freshness. In the winter of 1777 he went to the Harz mountains, and one of his objects in undertaking the journey was to see whether he could not help a young man who, although a perfect stranger to him, had ventured to tell him, by letter, of troubles that made life intolerable. An unfortunate man who, although also a stranger, appealed to Goethe, received an appointment at Ilmenau, where Goethe not only gave him material aid, but with constant kindness and sympathy encouraged him to maintain his own self-respect by doing valuable work. “Goethe,” wrote Merck, while visiting his old friend, “directs everything, and every one is pleased with him, for he serves many and hurts none. Who can resist the unselfishness of the man?”
In 1778 Goethe spent some days with the Duke in Berlin, and in the autumn of the following year they went together to Switzerland. On the way to Switzerland{99} Goethe rode out from Strasburg to Sesenheim, and spent a night in the parsonage. He was touched by the frank and kindly way in which Frederika Brion received him, and, as he said good-bye, felt with relief that in future he might think of her with an easier mind. In Strasburg he visited Frau von Türckheim, who was no other than Lili, now the wife of a rich banker, and a mother. At Emmendingen he stood by the grave of his sister, who, to his great sorrow, had died in 1777. “Aunt Fahlmer” had become Schlosser’s wife, and it made a strange impression on Goethe to see her in his sister’s place. At Frankfort the party were hospitably89 received by his mother. His father, now an old man, was less genial, for he had never quite recovered from the disappointment caused by Goethe’s choice of a career at Weimar. Goethe did not again see his father, who died in 1782.
A few days before he started for Switzerland Goethe had been made a “Geheimerath,” and in 1782 he became President of the Chamber of Finance. In the same year he received a patent of nobility, so that he was from this time Johann Wolfgang von Goethe. Any pleasure he may have derived90 from this honour was due to the fact that it did away with some inconveniences arising from the etiquette91 of the petty German Courts.
In 1783, being jaded92 by overwork, he restored himself to fresh vigour by a second visit to the Harz mountains. This tour was made doubly pleasant by the fact that he had with him Frau von Stein’s son Fritz, a clever boy for whom he had a warm affection. With Frau von{100} Stein’s sanction, Goethe had taken Fritz to live with him, and it was a constant delight to him to have the boy’s companionship, to direct his education, and to watch the gradual unfolding of his mind and character.
During this period Goethe entered upon the scientific investigations93 which were to occupy many of the best hours of his life. Almost from boyhood he had had a strong inclination94 for the study of science. At Leipsic he attended lectures on physics and medicine, and at Strasburg, as we have seen, he gave some attention to various branches of biology. Now he devoted himself to science with an enthusiasm not less fervent95 than that with which he had devoted himself to literature. He began with mineralogy, to which he was led by his labours in connection with the Ilmenau mines, and mineralogy soon made it necessary for him to turn his thoughts to geology. Afterwards he occupied himself chiefly with osteology and botany. For his investigations in all these subjects he had considerable advantages. The collections at the University of Jena were of course at his disposal, and the scientific professors were only too glad to have a chance of giving him what aid they could. In botany he was able to carry on long series of researches in his garden, and in the forests of the duchy, which he had frequently to visit as an administrator96. He took up the study of science in a serious spirit, and, as the results proved, he had a high capacity for it. He was a careful and most exact observer, and his imagination, so far from standing15 in his way, was the power to which he owed the greatest and most fertile of his ideas.
It was in osteology that he made his first important{101} discovery. In the study of this branch of anatomy97 he was interested mainly in the points of comparison between the human skeleton and the skeletons of other vertebrates. It was generally held that the intermaxillary bone, which is found in the upper jaw98 of some animals, is wanting in man, and this was regarded as a proof of the doctrine99 that the physical nature of man is vitally distinguished100 from that of other living creatures. On March 27, 1784, while examining various bones with his friend Professor Loder, of the University of Jena, Goethe was greatly surprised to discover what he believed to be the intermaxillary bone in a human jaw. He lost no time in comparing it with the various forms assumed by the bone in different species of animals, and the more widely the comparison was extended the more sure he became that he was right. The results of his researches he set forth101 in an essay, illustrated102 by drawings. This essay, which is a model of lucid103 statement, was translated into Latin, and submitted to several men of science. It was not, however, published until about thirty years afterwards.
Goethe’s discovery of the intermaxillary bone in a human jaw finally disposed of the notion that it is possible to draw a sharp line of distinction between the physical nature of man and that of other vertebrates. And it led Goethe to the theory that all organic beings of the same class are formed in accordance with ideal types or patterns, which Nature modifies indefinitely to suit varying conditions. This conception marked an epoch104 in the history of scientific thought, for by fastening attention on the fact that organic beings of the same{102} class, however widely their organs may seem to differ from one another, have a fundamental agreement in structure, it directly prepared the way for the discovery of the law of evolution, in which this fact is taken up and explained.
It was impossible for Goethe, while occupied so much with science and public affairs, to devote his best energies to imaginative creation. He did not, however, wholly neglect literature. In 1776 he planned a great prose drama, “Iphigenie,” and in 1779 it was written to his dictation. The play was represented with brilliant success at the Weimar Court, Corona Schr?ter taking the part of the heroine, and Goethe himself that of Orestes. It is wholly different, both in conception and execution, from his earlier dramas. It contains no violent outbursts of passionate105 feeling; the diction is measured and dignified106; and the utmost pains are taken to secure that the various parts shall each have the place that properly belongs to them in the general scheme. It has often been said that the change in Goethe’s method, from the frank, glowing style of the works by which he established his fame, to the consciously artistic107 style of his mature writings, was wholly due to the impressions derived during his visit to Italy. In reality, as the prose “Iphigenie” shows, it began long before he went to Italy; and no doubt we must to some extent associate it with the change which passed over his character as a whole. Goethe’s aim was, above all things, to master himself, to have every element of his nature under control; and it was inevitable108 that the strenuous109 efforts he made to attain62 this object should leave their mark on his art as well as on his practical life.{103}
In 1777 Goethe began “Wilhelm Meister;” and, stimulated110 by Frau von Stein, whom the work greatly interested, he returned to it again and again during the following eight years. He also wrote a part of a prose play, “Torquato Tasso,” and various minor prose dramatic pieces, intended for the amusement of the Court, before which they were represented. To this period, too, belong various powerful poems, one of the most remarkable of which is the “Harzreise im Winter” (“The Harz Journey in Winter”), presenting his thoughts and feelings on the day when he climbed to the top of the Brocken in the winter of 1777. In another poem of this time, “Ilmenau,” written in 1783 as a birthday-gift for the Duke, Goethe showed how high and sacred, as he conceived them, were the duties owed by a ruler to his subjects. A third poem, “Die Geheimnisse” (“The Secrets”), begun in 1784, is unfortunately only a splendid fragment. If completed, it would have given form to all that Goethe had thought about the relations of the great religious movements of the world to man’s deepest spiritual needs.
While he was slowly working out a new ideal, both in his character and in his art, the intellectual movement in Germany, of which he had been considered the chief representative, retained all its original characteristics. In 1781 Schiller began his career with his wild play, “The Robbers;” and other young writers, with little of his power, found it easy to imitate his extravagance. To Goethe the prevailing111 tone of the literature of the time—although he himself was in some degree responsible for it—became deeply repugnant, and he turned from it with{104} more and more dislike, finding refuge in the calmer realms of philosophy and science. Even his friend Jacobi contrived112 to displease113 him. Jacobi’s “Woldemar” appeared in 1779, and its sentimentalism—reproducing the sentimentalism of “Werther”—seemed to Goethe so ridiculous that one day, in the Park at the Duchess Dowager’s residence at Ettersburg, he climbed a tree and nailed the book to a branch as a warning to literary evil-doers. Unfortunately Jacobi heard of this mad prank114, and took serious offence. After some time, however, Goethe wrote to him in a tone of such sincere, although indirect, apology that Jacobi understood at once that less had been intended than he had thought. In 1784 he came to see Goethe at Weimar, and their friendship was never again interrupted.
When Goethe had been about ten years at Weimar, he began to feel that some change of life was absolutely essential. He had worked hard, steadily, and loyally in the fulfilment of difficult duties, and longed for a time of relief, during which his mind might expand freely and be enriched by fresh impressions. From early boyhood he had often wished to visit Italy, and this yearning115 was now revived with almost painful intensity116. At last he decided38 that, at whatever cost, his desire should be gratified. Late in July, 1786, he went, as he had repeatedly gone in previous summers, to Carlsbad, where he met Frau von Stein, Herder and his wife, and the Duke; and a little more than a month afterwards he started on his travels. He had accompanied Frau von Stein a part of the way back to Weimar, but even to her he had said nothing about his approaching journey.{105} Nor, in writing to the Duke for leave of absence, did he speak of his destination. He had a kind of superstitious117 feeling that if the secret were let out his scheme might be thwarted118.
Simultaneously119 with the return of his desire for Italy Goethe was conscious of a reawakening of his poetic120 genius. He began to think seriously of his unfinished plans, and to dream of new achievements. Finally he arranged with G?schen, a Leipsic bookseller (the grandfather of Mr. G?schen, the English statesmen), for the publication of a collected edition of his writings in eight volumes. The contents of four of these volumes he prepared for the press before quitting Carlsbad.
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picturesque
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shamefully
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rumour
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reproof
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intercourse
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indirectly
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interfere
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interfered
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inadequately
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proceedings
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fiery
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stimulate
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steadily
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standing
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minor
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worthy
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acting
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| n.调解人，中介人 | |
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reigning
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| adj.统治的，起支配作用的 | |
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21
discreetly
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| ad.(言行)审慎地，慎重地 | |
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amiable
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| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
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23
tact
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| n.机敏，圆滑，得体 | |
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24
amends
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| n. 赔偿 | |
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25
liking
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| n.爱好；嗜好；喜欢 | |
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26
enchanted
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| adj. 被施魔法的，陶醉的，入迷的 动词enchant的过去式和过去分词 | |
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27
appreciation
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| n.评价；欣赏；感谢；领会，理解；价格上涨 | |
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lavishly
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| adv.慷慨地，大方地 | |
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29
jealousy
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| n.妒忌，嫉妒，猜忌 | |
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30
dispelled
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| v.驱散，赶跑( dispel的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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31
superintendent
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| n.监督人，主管，总监；(英国)警务长 | |
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32
thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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33
clergy
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| n.[总称]牧师，神职人员 | |
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34
grudged
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| 怀恨（grudge的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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35
mutual
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| adj.相互的，彼此的；共同的，共有的 | |
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36
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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37
opposition
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| n.反对，敌对 | |
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38
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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39
loyalty
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| n.忠诚，忠心 | |
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40
nominal
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| adj.名义上的；(金额、租金)微不足道的 | |
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41
eminent
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| adj.显赫的，杰出的，有名的，优良的 | |
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42
bind
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| vt.捆，包扎；装订；约束；使凝固；vi.变硬 | |
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43
privy
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| adj.私用的；隐密的 | |
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44
solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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45
dwelling
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| n.住宅，住所，寓所 | |
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46
abode
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| n.住处，住所 | |
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47
silhouette
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| n.黑色半身侧面影，影子，轮廓；v.描绘成侧面影，照出影子来，仅仅显出轮廓 | |
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vividly
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| adv.清楚地，鲜明地，生动地 | |
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49
remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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50
irresistible
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| adj.非常诱人的，无法拒绝的，无法抗拒的 | |
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51
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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52
ardent
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，强烈的，烈性的 | |
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53
kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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confided
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| v.吐露（秘密，心事等）( confide的过去式和过去分词 )；（向某人）吐露（隐私、秘密等） | |
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55
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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56
undertakings
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| 企业( undertaking的名词复数 )； 保证； 殡仪业； 任务 | |
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57
undertaking
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| n.保证，许诺，事业 | |
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58
torment
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| n.折磨；令人痛苦的东西(人)；vt.折磨；纠缠 | |
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59
corona
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| n.日冕 | |
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60
chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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62
attain
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| vt.达到，获得，完成 | |
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63
attainable
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| a.可达到的，可获得的 | |
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64
lust
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| n.性(淫)欲；渴(欲)望；vi.对…有强烈的欲望 | |
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65
humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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morsel
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| n.一口，一点点 | |
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67
luminous
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| adj.发光的，发亮的；光明的；明白易懂的；有启发的 | |
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68
hindrance
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| n.妨碍，障碍 | |
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69
frailties
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| n.脆弱( frailty的名词复数 )；虚弱；（性格或行为上的）弱点；缺点 | |
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70
remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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71
renounces
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| v.声明放弃( renounce的第三人称单数 )；宣布放弃；宣布与…决裂；宣布摒弃 | |
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72
regularity
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| n.规律性，规则性；匀称，整齐 | |
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73
judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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74
devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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75
astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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76
negotiations
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| 协商( negotiation的名词复数 )； 谈判； 完成（难事）； 通过 | |
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77
levied
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| 征（兵）( levy的过去式和过去分词 )； 索取； 发动（战争）； 征税 | |
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78
embroidery
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| n.绣花，刺绣；绣制品 | |
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79
demesne
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| n.领域，私有土地 | |
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80
genial
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| adj.亲切的，和蔼的，愉快的，脾气好的 | |
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81
administrative
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| adj.行政的，管理的 | |
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82
diffused
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| 散布的，普及的，扩散的 | |
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83
vigour
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| （=vigor）n.智力，体力，精力 | |
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84
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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85
strictly
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| adv.严厉地，严格地；严密地 | |
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86
formerly
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| adv.从前，以前 | |
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87
sedate
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| adj.沉着的，镇静的，安静的 | |
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88
diminution
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| n.减少；变小 | |
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89
hospitably
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| 亲切地，招待周到地，善于款待地 | |
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90
derived
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| 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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91
etiquette
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| n.礼仪，礼节；规矩 | |
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92
jaded
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| adj.精疲力竭的；厌倦的；（因过饱或过多而）腻烦的；迟钝的 | |
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93
investigations
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| （正式的）调查( investigation的名词复数 )； 侦查； 科学研究； 学术研究 | |
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94
inclination
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| n.倾斜；点头；弯腰；斜坡；倾度；倾向；爱好 | |
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95
fervent
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| adj.热的，热烈的，热情的 | |
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96
administrator
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| n.经营管理者，行政官员 | |
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97
anatomy
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| n.解剖学，解剖；功能，结构，组织 | |
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98
jaw
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| n.颚，颌，说教，流言蜚语；v.喋喋不休，教训 | |
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99
doctrine
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| n.教义；主义；学说 | |
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100
distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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101
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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102
illustrated
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| adj. 有插图的，列举的 动词illustrate的过去式和过去分词 | |
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103
lucid
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| adj.明白易懂的，清晰的，头脑清楚的 | |
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104
epoch
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| n.(新)时代；历元 | |
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105
passionate
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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106
dignified
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| a.可敬的，高贵的 | |
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107
artistic
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| adj.艺术(家)的，美术(家)的；善于艺术创作的 | |
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108
inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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109
strenuous
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| adj.奋发的，使劲的；紧张的；热烈的，狂热的 | |
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110
stimulated
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| a.刺激的 | |
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111
prevailing
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| adj.盛行的；占优势的；主要的 | |
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112
contrived
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| adj.不自然的，做作的；虚构的 | |
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113
displease
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| vt.使不高兴，惹怒；n.不悦，不满，生气 | |
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114
prank
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| n.开玩笑，恶作剧；v.装饰；打扮；炫耀自己 | |
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115
yearning
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| a.渴望的；向往的；怀念的 | |
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116
intensity
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| n.强烈，剧烈；强度；烈度 | |
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117
superstitious
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| adj.迷信的 | |
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118
thwarted
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| 阻挠( thwart的过去式和过去分词 )； 使受挫折； 挫败； 横过 | |
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119
simultaneously
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| adv.同时发生地，同时进行地 | |
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120
poetic
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| adj.富有诗意的，有诗人气质的，善于抒情的 | |
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