The Descent of Marbodius into Hell
In the fourteen hundred and fifty-third year of the incarnation of the Son of God, a few days before the enemies of the Cross entered the city of Helena and the great Constantine, it was given to me, Brother Marbodius, an unworthy monk, to see and to hear what none had hitherto seen or heard. I have composed a faithful narrative of those things so that their memory may not perish with me, for man’s time is short.
On the first day of May in the aforesaid year, at the hour of vespers, I was seated in the Abbey of Corrigan on a stone in the cloisters10 and, as my custom was, I read the verses of the poet whom I love best of all, Virgil, who has sung of the labours of the field, of shepherds, and of heroes. Evening was hanging its purple folds from the arches of the cloisters and in a voice of emotion I was murmuring the verses which describe how Dido, the Phoenician queen, wanders with her ever-bleeding wound beneath the myrtles of hell. At that moment Brother Hilary happened to pass by, followed by Brother Jacinth, the porter.
Brought up in the barbarous ages before the resurrection of the Muses12, Brother Hilary has not been initiated13 into the wisdom of the ancients; nevertheless, the poetry of the Mantuan has, like a subtle torch, shed some gleams of light into his understanding.
“Brother Marbodius,” he asked me, “do those verses that you utter with swelling14 breast and sparkling eyes — do they belong to that great ‘AEneid’ from which morning or evening your glances are never withheld15?”
I answered that I was reading in Virgil how the son of Anchises perceived Dido like a moon behind the foliage16.5
5 The text runs
. . . qualem primo qui surgere mense
Aut videt aut vidisse putat per nubila lunam.
Brother Marbodius, by a strange misunderstanding, substitutes an entirely17 different image for the one created by the poet.
“Brother Marbodius,” he replied, “I am certain that on all occasions Virgil gives expression to wise maxims19 and profound thoughts. But the songs that he modulates20 on his Syracusan flute21 hold such a lofty meaning and such exalted22 doctrine23 that I am continually puzzled by them.”
“Take care, father,” cried Brother Jacinth, in an agitated24 voice. “Virgil was a magician who wrought25 marvels26 by the help of demons27. It is thus he pierced through a mountain near Naples and fashioned a bronze horse that had power to heal all the diseases of horses. He was a necromancer28, and there is still shown, in a certain town in Italy, the mirror in which he made the dead appear. And yet a woman deceived this great sorcerer. A Neapolitan courtesan invited him to hoist29 himself up to her window in the basket that was used to bring the provisions, and she left him all night suspended between two storeys.”
Brother Hilary did not appear to hear these observations.
“Virgil is a prophet,” he replied, “and a prophet who leaves far behind him the sibyls with their sacred verses as well as the daughter of King Priam, and that great diviner of future things, Plato of Athens. You will find in the fourth of his Syracusan cantos the birth of our Lord foretold30 in a language that seem of heaven rather than of earth.6 In the time of my early studies, when I read for the first time JAM REDIT ET VIRGO, I felt myself bathed in an infinite delight, but I immediately experienced intense grief at the thought that, for ever deprived of the presence of God, the author of this prophetic verse, the noblest that has come from human lips, was pining among the heathen in eternal darkness. This cruel thought did not leave me. It pursued me even in my studies, my prayers, my meditations31, and my ascetic32 labours. Thinking that Virgil was deprived of the sight of God and that possibly he might even be suffering the fate of the reprobate33 in hell, I could neither enjoy peace nor rest, and I went so far as to exclaim several times a day with my arms outstretched to heaven:
“‘Reveal to me, O Lord, the lot thou hast assigned to him who sang on earth as the angels sing in heaven!’
6 Three centuries before the epoch34 in which our Marbodius lived the words —
Maro, vates gentilium
Da Christo testimonium
were sung in the churches on Christmas Day.
“After some years my anguish35 ceased when I read in an old book that the great Apostle St. Paul, who called the Gentiles into the Church of Christ, went to Naples and sanctified with his tears the tomb of the prince of poets.7 This was some ground for believing that Virgil, like the Emperor Trajan, was admitted to Paradise because even in error he had a presentiment36 of the truth. We are not compelled to believe it, but I can easily persuade myself that it is true.”
7
Ad maronis mausoleum
Ductus, fudit super eum
Piae rorem lacrymae.
Quem te, inquit, reddidissem,
Si te vivum invenissem
Poetarum maxime!
Having thus spoken, old Hilary wished me the peace of a holy night and went away with Brother Jacinth.
I resumed the delightful38 study of my poet. Book in hand, I meditated39 upon the way in which those whom Love destroys with its cruel malady40 wander through the secret paths in the depth of the myrtle forest, and, as I meditated, the quivering reflections of the stars came and mingled41 with those of the leafless eglantines in the waters of the cloister11 fountain. Suddenly the lights and the perfumes and the stillness of the sky were overwhelmed, a fierce North-wind charged with storm and darkness burst roaring upon me. It lifted me up and carried me like a wisp of straw over fields, cities, rivers, and mountains, and through the midst of thunderclouds, during a long night composed of a whole series of nights and days. And when, after this prolonged and cruel rage, the hurricane was at last stilled, I found myself far from my native land at the bottom of a valley bordered by cypress42 trees. Then a woman of wild beauty, trailing long garments behind her, approached me. She placed her left hand on my shoulder, and, pointing her right arm to an oak with thick foliage:
“Look!” said she to me.
Immediately I recognised the Sibyl who guards the sacred wood of Avernus, and I discerned the fair Proserpine’s beautiful golden twig43 amongst the tufted boughs44 of the tree to which her finger pointed45.
“O prophetic Virgin,” I exclaimed, “thou hast comprehended my desire and thou hast satisfied it in this way. Thou has revealed to me the tree that bears the shining twig without which none can enter alive into the dwelling-place of the dead. And in truth, eagerly did I long to converse46 with the shade of Virgil.”
Having said this, I snatched the golden branch from its ancient trunk and I advanced without fear into the smoking gulf47 that leads to the miry banks of the Styx, upon which the shades are tossed about like dead leaves. At sight of the branch dedicated48 to Proserpine, Charon took me in his bark, which groaned49 beneath my weight, and I alighted on the shores of the dead, and was greeted by the mute baying of the threefold Cerberus. I pretended to throw the shade of a stone at him, and the vain monster fled into his cave. There, amidst the rushes, wandered the souls of those children whose eyes had but opened and shut to the kindly50 light of day, and there in a gloomy cavern51 Minos judges men. I penetrated52 into the myrtle wood in which the victims of love wander languishing53, Phaedra, Procris, the sad Eriphyle, Evadne, Pasiphae, Laodamia, and Cenis, and the Phoenician Dido. Then I went through the dusty plains reserved for famous warriors54. Beyond them open two ways. That to the left leads to Tartarus, the abode of the wicked. I took that to the right, which leads to Elysium and to the dwellings55 of Dis. Having hung the sacred branch at the goddess’s door, I reached pleasant fields flooded with purple light. The shades of philosophers and poets hold grave converse there. The Graces and the Muses formed sprightly56 choirs57 upon the grass. Old Homer sang, accompanying himself upon his rustic58 lyre. His eyes were closed, but divine images shone upon his lips. I saw Solon, Democritus, and Pythagoras watching the games of the young men in the meadow, and, through the foliage of an ancient laurel, I perceived also Hesiod, Orpheus, the melancholy59 Euripides, and the masculine Sappho. I passed and recognised, as they sat on the bank of a fresh rivulet60, the poet Horace, Varius, Gallus, and Lycoris. A little apart, leaning against the trunk of a dark holm-oak, Virgil was gazing pensively61 at the grove62. Of lofty stature63, though spare, he still preserved that swarthy complexion64, that rustic air, that negligent65 bearing, and unpolished appearance which during his lifetime concealed67 his genius. I saluted68 him piously69 and remained for a long time without speech.
At last when my halting voice could proceed out of my throat:
“O thou, so dear to the Ausonian Muses, thou honour of the Latin name, Virgil,” cried I, “it is through thee I have known what beauty is, it is through thee I have known what the tables of the gods and the beds of the goddesses are like. Suffer the praises of the humblest of thy adorers.”
“Arise, stranger,” answered the divine poet. “I perceive that thou art a living being among the shades, and that thy body treads down the grass in this eternal evening. Thou art not the first man who has descended72 before his death into these dwellings, although all intercourse73 between us and the living is difficult. But cease from praise; I do not like eulogies74 and the confused sounds of glory have always offended my ears. That is why I fled from Rome, where I was known to the idle and curious, and laboured in the solitude75 of my beloved Parthenope. And then I am not so convinced that the men of thy generation understand my verses that I should be gratified by thy praises. Who art thou?”
“I am called Marbodius of the Kingdom of Alca. I made my profession in the Abbey of Corrigan. I read thy poems by day and I read them by night. It is thee whom I have come to see in Hell; I was impatient to know what thy fate was. On earth the learned often dispute about it. Some hold it probable that, having lived under the power of demons, thou art now burning in inextinguishable flames; others, more cautious, pronounce no opinion, believing that all which is said concerning the dead is uncertain and full of lies; several though not in truth the ablest, maintain that, because thou didst elevate the tone of the Sicilian Muses and foretell76 that a new progeny77 would descend71 from heaven, thou wert admitted, like the Emperor Trajan, to enjoy eternal blessedness in the Christian78 heaven.”
“Thou seest that such is not the case,” answered the shade, smiling.
“I meet thee in truth, O Virgil, among the heroes and sages79 in those Elysian Fields which thou thyself hast described. Thus, contrary to what several on earth believe, no one has come to seek thee on the part of Him who reigns81 on high?”
After a rather long silence:
“I will conceal66 nought82 from thee. He sent for me; one of His messengers, a simple man, came to say that I was expected, and that, although I had not been initiated into their mysteries, in consideration of my prophetic verses a place had been reserved for me among those of the new sect83. But I refused to accept that invitation; I had no desire to change my place. I did so not because I share the admiration of the Greeks for the Elysian fields, or because I taste here those joys which caused Proserpine to lose the remembrance of her mother. I never believed much myself in what I say about these things in the ‘AEneid.’ I was instructed by philosophers and men of science and I had a correct foreboding of the truth. Life in hell is extremely attenuated84; we feel neither pleasure nor pain; we are as if we were not. The dead have no existence here except such as the living lend them. Nevertheless I prefer to remain here.”
“But what reason didst thou give, O Virgil, for so strange a refusal?”
“I gave excellent ones. I said to the messenger of the god that I did not deserve the honour he brought me, and that a meaning had been given to my verses which they did not bear. In truth I have not in my fourth Eclogue betrayed the faith of my ancestors. Some ignorant Jews alone have interpreted in favour of a barbarian85 god a verse which celebrates the return of the golden age predicted by the Sibylline86 oracles87. I excused myself then on the ground that I could not occupy a place which was destined88 for me in error and to which I recognised that I had no right. Then I alleged89 my disposition90 and my tastes, which do not accord with the customs of the new heavens.
“‘I am not unsociable,’ said I to this man. ‘I have shown in life a complaisant91 and easy disposition, although the extreme simplicity92 of my habits caused me to be suspected of avarice93. I kept nothing for myself alone. My library was open to all and I have conformed my conduct to that fine saying of Euripides, “all ought to be common among friends.” Those praises that seemed obtrusive94 when I myself received them became agreeable to me when addressed to Varius or to Macer. But at bottom I am rustic and uncultivated. I take pleasure in the society of animals; I was so zealous95 in observing them and took so much care of them that I was regarded, not altogether wrongly, as a good veterinary surgeon. I am told that the people of thy sect claim an immortal96 soul for themselves, but refuse one to the animals. That is a piece of nonsense that makes me doubt their judgment97. Perhaps I love the flocks and the shepherds a little too much. That would not seem right amongst you. There is a maxim18 to which I endeavour to conform my actions, “Nothing too much.” More even than my feeble health my philosophy teaches me to use things with measure. I am sober; a lettuce98 and some olives with a drop of Falernian wine form all my meals. I have, indeed, to some extent gone with strange women, but I have not delayed over long in taverns99 to watch the young Syrians dance to the sound of the crotalum.8 But if I have restrained my desires it was for my own satisfaction and for the sake of good discipline. To fear pleasure and to fly from joy appears to me the worst insult that one can offer to nature. I am assured that during their lives certain of the elect of thy god abstained100 from food and avoided women through love of asceticism101, and voluntarily exposed themselves to useless sufferings. I should be afraid of meeting those criminals whose frenzy102 horrifies103 me. A poet must not be asked to attach himself too strictly104 to any scientific or moral doctrine. Moreover, I am a Roman, and the Romans, unlike the Greeks, are unable to pursue profound speculations105 in a subtle manner. If they adopt a philosophy it is above all in order to derive106 some practical advantages from it. Siro, who enjoyed a great renown107 among us, taught me the system of Epicurus and thus freed me from vain terrors and turned me aside from the cruelties to which religion persuades ignorant men. I have embraced the views of Pythagoras concerning the souls of men and animals, both of which are of divine essence; this invites us to look upon ourselves without pride and without shame. I have learnt from the Alexandrines how the earth, at first soft and without form, hardened in proportion as Nereus withdrew himself from it to dig his humid dwellings; I have learned how things were formed insensibly; in what manner the rains, falling from the burdened clouds, nourished the silent forests, and by what progress a few animals at last began to wander over the nameless mountains. I could not accustom108 myself to your cosmogony either, for it seems to me fitter for a camel-driver on the Syrian sands than for a disciple109 of Aristarchus and Samos. And what would become of me in the abode of your beatitude if I did not find there my friends, my ancestors, my masters, and my gods, and if it is not given me to see Rhea’s noble son, or Venus, mother of AEneas, with her winning smile, or Pan, or the young Dryads, or the Sylvans, or old Silenus, with his face stained by AEgle’s purple mulberries.’ These are the reasons which I begged that simple man to plead before the successor of Jupiter.”
8 This phrase seems to indicate that, if one is to believe Macrobius, the “Copa” is by Virgil.
“And since then, O great shade, thou has received no other messages?”
“I have received none.”
“To console themselves for thy absence, O Virgil, they have three poets, Commodianus, Prudentius, and Fortunatus, who were all three born in those dark days when neither prosody110 nor grammar were known. But tell me, O Mantuan, hast thou never received other intelligence of the God whose company thou didst so deliberately111 refuse?”
“Never that I remember.”
“Hast thou not told me that I am not the first who descended alive into these abodes112 and presented himself before thee?”
“Thou dost remind me of it. A century and a half ago, or so it seems to me (it is difficult to reckon days and years amid the shades), my profound peace was intruded113 upon by a strange visitor. As I was wandering beneath the gloomy foliage that borders the Styx, I saw rising before me a human form more opaque114 and darker than that of the inhabitants of these shores. I recognised a living person. He was of high stature, thin, with an aquiline115 nose, sharp chin, and hollow cheeks. His dark eyes shot forth116 fire; a red hood117 girt with a crown of laurels118 bound his lean brows. His bones pierced through the tight brown cloak that descended to his heels. He saluted me with deference119, tempered by a sort of fierce pride, and addressed me in a speech more obscure and incorrect than that of those Gauls with whom the divine Julius filled both his legions and the Curia. At last I understood that he had been born near Fiesole, in an ancient Etruscan colony that Sulla had founded on the banks of the Arno, and which had prospered120; that he had obtained municipal honours, but that he had thrown himself vehemently121 into the sanguinary quarrels which arose between the senate, the knights122, and the people, that he had been defeated and banished123, and now he wandered in exile throughout the world. He described Italy to me as distracted by more wars and discords124 than in the time of my youth, and as sighing anew for a second Augustus. I pitied his misfortunes, remembering what I myself had formerly125 endured.
“An audacious spirit unceasingly disquieted126 him, and his mind harboured great thoughts, but alas127! his rudeness and ignorance displayed the triumph of barbarism. He knew neither poetry, nor science, nor even the tongue of the Greeks, and he was ignorant, too, of the ancient traditions concerning the origin of the world and the nature of the gods. He gravely repeated fables128 which in my time would have brought smiles to the little children who were not yet old enough to pay for admission at the baths. The vulgar easily believe in monsters. The Etruscans especially peopled hell with demons, hideous129 as a sick man’s dreams. That they have not abandoned their childish imaginings after so many centuries is explained by the continuation and progress of ignorance and misery130, but that one of their magistrates131 whose mind is raised above the common level should share these popular illusions and should be frightened by the hideous demons that the inhabitants of that country painted on the walls of their tombs in the time of Porsena — that is something which might sadden even a sage80. My Etruscan visitor repeated verses to me which he had composed in a new dialect, called by him the vulgar tongue, the sense of which I could not understand. My ears were more surprised than charmed as I heard him repeat the same sound three or four times at regular intervals132 in his efforts to mark the rhythm. That artifice133 did not seem ingenious to me; but it is not for the dead to judge of novelties.
“But I do not reproach this colonist134 of Sulla, born in an unhappy time, for making inharmonious verses or for being, if it be possible, as bad a poet as Bavius or Maevius. I have grievances135 against him which touch me more closely. The thing is monstrous136 and scarcely credible137, but when this man returned to earth he disseminated138 the most odious139 lies about me. He affirmed in several passages of his barbarous poems that I had served him as a guide in the modern Tartarus, a place I know nothing of. He insolently140 proclaimed that I had spoken of the gods of Rome as false and lying gods, and that I held as the true God the present successor of Jupiter. Friend, when thou art restored to the kindly light of day and beholdest again thy native land, contradict those abominable141 falsehoods. Say to thy people that the singer of the pious70 AEneas has never worshipped the god of the Jews. I am assured that his power is declining and that his approaching fall is manifested by undoubted indications. This news would give me some pleasure if one could rejoice in these abodes, where we feel neither fears nor desires.”
He spoke37, and with a gesture of farewell he went away. I beheld142 his shade gliding143 over the asphodels without bending their stalks. I saw that it became fainter and vaguer as it receded144 farther from me, and it vanished before it reached the wood of evergreen145 laurels. Then I understood the meaning of the words, “The dead have no life, but that which the living lend them,” and I walked slowly through the pale meadow to the gate of horn.
I affirm that all in this writing is true.9
9 There is in Marbodius’s narrative a passage very worthy9 of notice, viz., that in which the monk of Corrigan describes Dante Alighieri such as we picture him to ourselves today. The miniatures in a very old manuscript of the “Divine Comedy,” the “Codex Venetianus,” represent the poet as a little fat man clad in a short tunic146, the skirts of which fall above his knees. As for Virgil, he still wears the philosophical147 beard, in the wood-engravings of the sixteenth century.
One would not have thought either that Marbodius, or even Virgil, could have known the Etruscan tombs of Chiusi and Corneto, where, in fact, there are horrible and burlesque148 devils closely resembling those of Orcagna. Nevertheless, the authenticity149 of the “Descent of Marbodius into Hell” is indisputable. M. du Clos des Lunes has firmly established it. To doubt it would be to doubt palaeography itself.
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penguin
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| n.企鹅 | |
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narrative
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| n.叙述，故事；adj.叙事的，故事体的 | |
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monk
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| n.和尚，僧侣，修道士 | |
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professed
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| 公开声称的，伪称的，已立誓信教的 | |
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fervent
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| adj.热的，热烈的，热情的 | |
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admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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7
abode
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| n.住处，住所 | |
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dealing
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| n.经商方法，待人态度 | |
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worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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cloisters
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| n.（学院、修道院、教堂等建筑的）走廊( cloister的名词复数 )；回廊；修道院的生活；隐居v.隐退，使与世隔绝( cloister的第三人称单数 ) | |
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cloister
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| n.修道院；v.隐退，使与世隔绝 | |
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muses
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| v.沉思，冥想( muse的第三人称单数 )；沉思自语说（某事） | |
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initiated
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| n. 创始人 adj. 新加入的 vt. 开始，创始，启蒙，介绍加入 | |
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swelling
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| n.肿胀 | |
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withheld
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| withhold过去式及过去分词 | |
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foliage
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| n.叶子，树叶，簇叶 | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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maxim
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| n.格言，箴言 | |
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maxims
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| n.格言，座右铭( maxim的名词复数 ) | |
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modulates
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| 调整( modulate的第三人称单数 )； （对波幅、频率的）调制； 转调； 调整或改变（嗓音）的音调 | |
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flute
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| n.长笛；v.吹笛 | |
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exalted
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| adj.(地位等)高的，崇高的；尊贵的，高尚的 | |
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doctrine
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| n.教义；主义；学说 | |
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agitated
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| adj.被鼓动的，不安的 | |
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wrought
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| v.引起；以…原料制作；运转；adj.制造的 | |
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marvels
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| n.奇迹( marvel的名词复数 )；令人惊奇的事物（或事例）；不平凡的成果；成就v.惊奇，对…感到惊奇( marvel的第三人称单数 ) | |
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demons
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| n.恶人( demon的名词复数 )；恶魔；精力过人的人；邪念 | |
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necromancer
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| n. 巫师 | |
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hoist
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| n.升高，起重机，推动；v.升起，升高，举起 | |
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foretold
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| v.预言，预示( foretell的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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meditations
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| 默想( meditation的名词复数 )； 默念； 沉思； 冥想 | |
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ascetic
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| adj.禁欲的；严肃的 | |
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reprobate
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| n.无赖汉；堕落的人 | |
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epoch
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| n.(新)时代；历元 | |
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anguish
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| n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦，烦恼 | |
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presentiment
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| n.预感，预觉 | |
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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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delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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meditated
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| 深思，沉思，冥想( meditate的过去式和过去分词 )； 内心策划，考虑 | |
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malady
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| n.病，疾病(通常做比喻) | |
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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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cypress
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| n.柏树 | |
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twig
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| n.小树枝，嫩枝；v.理解 | |
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boughs
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| 大树枝( bough的名词复数 ) | |
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45
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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converse
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| vi.谈话，谈天，闲聊；adv.相反的，相反 | |
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47
gulf
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| n.海湾；深渊，鸿沟；分歧，隔阂 | |
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48
dedicated
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| adj.一心一意的；献身的；热诚的 | |
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49
groaned
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| v.呻吟( groan的过去式和过去分词 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
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50
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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51
cavern
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| n.洞穴，大山洞 | |
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52
penetrated
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| adj. 击穿的，鞭辟入里的 动词penetrate的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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53
languishing
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| a. 衰弱下去的 | |
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54
warriors
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| 武士，勇士，战士( warrior的名词复数 ) | |
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55
dwellings
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| n.住处，处所( dwelling的名词复数 ) | |
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56
sprightly
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| adj.愉快的，活泼的 | |
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57
choirs
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| n.教堂的唱诗班( choir的名词复数 )；唱诗队；公开表演的合唱团；（教堂）唱经楼 | |
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58
rustic
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| adj.乡村的，有乡村特色的；n.乡下人，乡巴佬 | |
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59
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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60
rivulet
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| n.小溪，小河 | |
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61
pensively
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| adv.沉思地，焦虑地 | |
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62
grove
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| n.林子，小树林，园林 | |
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63
stature
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| n.（高度）水平，（高度）境界，身高，身材 | |
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64
complexion
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| n.肤色；情况，局面；气质，性格 | |
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65
negligent
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| adj.疏忽的；玩忽的；粗心大意的 | |
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66
conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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67
concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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68
saluted
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| v.欢迎，致敬( salute的过去式和过去分词 )；赞扬，赞颂 | |
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69
piously
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| adv.虔诚地 | |
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70
pious
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| adj.虔诚的；道貌岸然的 | |
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71
descend
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| vt./vi.传下来，下来，下降 | |
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72
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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73
intercourse
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| n.性交；交流，交往，交际 | |
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74
eulogies
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| n.颂词，颂文( eulogy的名词复数 ) | |
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75
solitude
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| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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76
foretell
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| v.预言，预告，预示 | |
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77
progeny
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| n.后代，子孙；结果 | |
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78
Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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79
sages
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| n.圣人( sage的名词复数 )；智者；哲人；鼠尾草（可用作调料） | |
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80
sage
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| n.圣人，哲人；adj.贤明的，明智的 | |
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81
reigns
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| n.君主的统治( reign的名词复数 )；君主统治时期；任期；当政期 | |
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82
nought
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| n.／adj.无，零 | |
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83
sect
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| n.派别，宗教，学派，派系 | |
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84
attenuated
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| v.（使）变细( attenuate的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）变薄；（使）变小；减弱 | |
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85
barbarian
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| n.野蛮人；adj.野蛮(人)的；未开化的 | |
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86
sibylline
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| adj.预言的；神巫的 | |
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87
oracles
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| 神示所( oracle的名词复数 )； 神谕； 圣贤； 哲人 | |
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88
destined
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| adj.命中注定的；(for)以…为目的地的 | |
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89
alleged
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| a.被指控的，嫌疑的 | |
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90
disposition
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| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
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91
complaisant
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| adj.顺从的，讨好的 | |
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92
simplicity
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| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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93
avarice
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| n.贪婪；贪心 | |
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94
obtrusive
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| adj.显眼的；冒失的 | |
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95
zealous
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| adj.狂热的，热心的 | |
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96
immortal
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| adj.不朽的；永生的，不死的；神的 | |
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97
judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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98
lettuce
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| n.莴苣；生菜 | |
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99
taverns
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| n.小旅馆，客栈，酒馆( tavern的名词复数 ) | |
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100
abstained
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| v.戒（尤指酒），戒除( abstain的过去式和过去分词 )；弃权（不投票） | |
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101
asceticism
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| n.禁欲主义 | |
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102
frenzy
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| n.疯狂，狂热，极度的激动 | |
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103
horrifies
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| v.使震惊，使感到恐怖( horrify的第三人称单数 ) | |
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104
strictly
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| adv.严厉地，严格地；严密地 | |
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105
speculations
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| n.投机买卖( speculation的名词复数 )；思考；投机活动；推断 | |
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106
derive
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| v.取得；导出；引申；来自；源自；出自 | |
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107
renown
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| n.声誉，名望 | |
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108
accustom
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| vt.使适应，使习惯 | |
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109
disciple
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| n.信徒，门徒，追随者 | |
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110
prosody
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| n.诗体论，作诗法 | |
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111
deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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112
abodes
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| 住所( abode的名词复数 )； 公寓； （在某地的）暂住； 逗留 | |
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113
intruded
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| n.侵入的，推进的v.侵入，侵扰，打扰( intrude的过去式和过去分词 )；把…强加于 | |
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114
opaque
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| adj.不透光的；不反光的，不传导的；晦涩的 | |
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115
aquiline
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| adj.钩状的，鹰的 | |
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116
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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117
hood
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| n.头巾，兜帽，覆盖；v.罩上，以头巾覆盖 | |
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118
laurels
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| n.桂冠，荣誉 | |
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119
deference
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| n.尊重，顺从；敬意 | |
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120
prospered
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| 成功，兴旺( prosper的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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121
vehemently
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| adv. 热烈地 | |
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122
knights
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| 骑士； （中古时代的）武士( knight的名词复数 )； 骑士； 爵士； （国际象棋中）马 | |
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123
banished
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| v.放逐，驱逐( banish的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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124
discords
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| 不和（discord的复数形式） | |
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125
formerly
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| adv.从前，以前 | |
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126
disquieted
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| v.使不安，使忧虑，使烦恼( disquiet的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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127
alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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128
fables
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| n.寓言( fable的名词复数 )；神话，传说 | |
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129
hideous
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| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
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130
misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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131
magistrates
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| 地方法官，治安官( magistrate的名词复数 ) | |
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132
intervals
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| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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133
artifice
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| n.妙计，高明的手段；狡诈，诡计 | |
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134
colonist
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| n.殖民者，移民 | |
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135
grievances
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| n.委屈( grievance的名词复数 )；苦衷；不满；牢骚 | |
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136
monstrous
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| adj.巨大的；恐怖的；可耻的，丢脸的 | |
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137
credible
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| adj.可信任的，可靠的 | |
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138
disseminated
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| 散布，传播( disseminate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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139
odious
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| adj.可憎的，讨厌的 | |
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140
insolently
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| adv.自豪地，自傲地 | |
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141
abominable
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| adj.可厌的，令人憎恶的 | |
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142
beheld
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| v.看，注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
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143
gliding
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| v. 滑翔 adj. 滑动的 | |
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144
receded
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| v.逐渐远离( recede的过去式和过去分词 )；向后倾斜；自原处后退或避开别人的注视；尤指问题 | |
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145
evergreen
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| n.常青树；adj.四季常青的 | |
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146
tunic
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| n.束腰外衣 | |
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147
philosophical
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| adj.哲学家的，哲学上的，达观的 | |
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148
burlesque
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| v.嘲弄，戏仿；n.嘲弄，取笑，滑稽模仿 | |
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149
authenticity
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| n.真实性 | |
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