NONES
In which the abbot declares his pride in the wealth of his abbey and his fear of heretics, and eventually Adso wonders whether he has made a mistake in going forth1 into the world.
We found the abbot in church, at the main altar. He was following the work of some novices2 who had brought forth from a secret place a number of sacred vessels3, chalices5, patens, and monstrances, and a crucifix I had not seen during the morning function. I could not repress a cry of wonder at the dazzling beauty of those holy objects. It was noon and the light came in bursts through the choir6 windows, and even more through those of the fa?ade, creating white cascades7 that, like mystic streams of divine substance, intersected at vari?ous points of the church, engulfing8 the altar itself.
The vases, the chalices, each piece revealed its pre?cious materials: amid the yellow of the gold, the immac?ulate white of the ivory, and the transparency of the crystal, I saw gleaming gems9 of every color and dimension, and I recognized jacinth, topaz, ruby10, sapphire11, emerald, chrysolite, onyx, carbuncle, and jasper and agate12. And at the same time I realized how, that morning, first transported by prayer and then overcome with terror, I had failed to notice many things: the altar frontal and three other panels that flanked it were entirely13 of gold, and eventually the whole altar seemed of gold, from whatever direction I looked at it.
The abbot smiled at my amazement14. “These riches you see,” he said, addressing me and my master, “and others you will see later, are the heritage of centuries of piety15 and devotion, testimony16 to the power and holiness of this abbey. Princes and potentates17 of the earth, archbishops and bishops18 have sacrificed to this altar and to the objects destined20 for it the rings of their investiture, the gold and precious stones that were the emblem21 of their greatness, to have them melted down here to the greater glory of the Lord and of this His place. Though today the abbey is distressed22 by another, sad event, we must not forget, reminded of our fragility, the strength and power of the Almighty23. The celebra?tion of the Holy Nativity is approaching, and we are beginning to polish the sacred vessels, so that the Saviour24’s birth may be celebrated25 with all the pomp and magnifi?cence it deserves and demands. Everything must ap?pear in its full splendor,” he added, looking hard at William, and afterward26 I understood why he insisted so proudly on justifying28 his action, “because we believe it useful and fitting not to hide, but on the contrary to proclaim divine generosity29.”
“Certainly,” William said politely, “if Your Sublimity30 feels that the Lord must be so glorified31, your abbey has achieved the greatest excellence32 in this meed of praise.”
“And so it must be,” the abbot said. “If it was the custom that amphoras and phials of gold and little gold mortars33 served, by the will of God or order of the prophets, to collect the blood of goats or calves34 or of the heifer in the temple of Solomon, then there is all the more reason why vases of gold and precious stones, and the most valuable things created, should be used with constant reverence35 and complete devotion to re?ceive the blood of Christ! If in a second creation our substance were to be the same as that of the cherubim and the seraphim36, the service it could perform for such an ineffable37 victim would still be unworthy. ...”
“Amen,” I said.
“Many protest that a devoutly39 inspired mind, a pure heart, a will led by faith should suffice for this sacred function. We are the first to declare explicitly41 and resolutely42 that these are the essential things; but we are convinced that homage43 must also be paid through the exterior44 ornament45 of the sacred vessel4, because it is profoundly right and fitting that we serve our Saviour in all things, totally. He who has not refused to provide for us, totally and without reservation.”
“This has always been the opinion of the great men of your order,” William agreed, “and I recall beautiful things written on the ornaments46 of churches by the very great and venerable abbot Suger.”
“True,” the abbot said. “You see this crucifix. It is not yet complete. …” He took it in his hand with infinite love, gazed at it, his face radiant with bliss47. “Some pearls are still missing here, for I have found none the right size. Once Saint Andrew addressed the cross of Golgotha, saying it was adorned48 with the limbs of Christ as with pearls. And pearls must adorn49 this humble50 simulacrum of that great wonder. Still, I have found it proper to set, here, over the very head of the Saviour, the most beautiful diamond you will ever see.” His devout40 hands, his long white fingers, stroked the most precious parts of the sacred wood, or, rather, the. sacred ivory, for this noble material had served to form the arms of the cross.
“As I take pleasure in all the beauties of this house of God, when the spell of the many-colored stones has torn me from outside concerns and a worthy38 medita?tion has led me to reflect, transferring that which is material to that which is immaterial, on the diversity of the sacred virtues51, then I seem to find myself, so to speak, in a strange region of the universe, no longer completely enclosed in the mire53 of the earth or completely free in the purity of heaven. And it seems to me that, by the grace of God, I can be transported from this lower world to that higher world by anagoge. …”
As he spoke54, he turned his face to the nave55. A shaft56 of light from above was illuminating57 his countenance58, through a special benevolence59 of the daystar, and his hands, which he had extended in the form of a cross, caught up as he was in his fervor60. “Every creature,” he said, “visible or invisible, is a light, brought into being by the father of lights. This ivory, this onyx, but also the stone that surrounds us, are a light, because I perceive that they are good and beautiful, that they exist accord?ing to their own rules of proportion, that they differ in genus and species from all other genera and species, that they are defined by their own number, that they are true to their order, that they seek their specific place according to their weight. And the more these things are revealed to me, the more the matter I gaze on is by its nature precious, and the better illuminated61 is the divine power of creation, for if I must strive to rasp the sublimity of the cause, inaccessible62 in its fullness, through the sublimity of the effect, how much better am I told of the divine causality by an effect as wondrous63 as gold and diamond, if even dung or an insect can speak to me of it! And then, when I perceive in these stones such superior things, the soul weeps, moved to joy, and not through terrestrial vanity or love of riches, but through the purest love of the prime, uncaused cause.”
“Truly this is the sweetest of theologies,” William said, with perfect humility64, and I thought he was using that insidious65 figure of speech that rhetors call irony66, which must always be prefaced by the pronunciatio, representing its signal and its justification—something William never did. For which reason the abbot, more inclined to the use of figures of speech, took William literally67 and added, still in the power of his mystical transport, “It is the most immediate68 of the paths that put us in touch with the Almighty: theophanic matter.”
William coughed politely. “Er … hm …” he said. This is what he did when he wanted to introduce a new subject. He managed to do it gracefully70 because it was his habit—and I believe this is typical of the men of his country—to begin every remark with long preliminary moans, as if starting the exposition of a completed thought cost him a great mental effort. Whereas, I am now convinced, the more groans71 he uttered before his declaration, the surer he was of the soundness of the proposition he was expressing.
“Eh ... oh ...” William continued. “We should talk of the meeting and the debate on poverty.”
“Poverty …” the abbot said, still lost in thought, as if having a hard time coming down from that beautiful region of the universe to which his gems had transport?ed him. “Ah, yes, the meeting ...”
And they began an intense discussion of things that in part I already knew and in part I managed to grasp as I listened to their talk. As I said at the beginning of this faithful chronicle, it concerned the double quarrel that had set, on the one hand, the Emperor against the Pope, and, on the other, the Pope against the Franciscans, who in the Perugia chapter, though only after many years, had espoused72 the Spirituals’ theories about the poverty of Christ; and it concerned the jumble73 that had been created as the Franciscans sided with the empire, a triangle of oppositions74 and alliances that had now been transformed into a square, thanks to the interven?tion, to me still very obscure, of the abbots of the order of Saint Benedict.
I never clearly grasped the reason why the Benedic?tine abbots had given refuge and protection to the Spiritual Franciscans, some time before their own order came to share their opinions to a certain extent. Be?cause if the Spirituals preached the renunciation of all worldly goods, the abbots of my order—I had seen that very day the radiant confirmation—followed a path no less virtuous75, though exactly the opposite. But I believe the abbots felt that excessive power for the Pope meant excessive power for the bishops and the cities, whereas my order had retained its power intact through the centuries precisely76 by opposing the secular77 clergy78 and the city merchants, setting itself as direct mediator79 between earth and heaven, and as adviser80 of sovereigns.
I had often heard repeated the motto according to which the people of God were divided into shepherds (namely, the clerics), dogs (that is, warriors), and sheep (the populace). But I later learned that this sentence can be rephrased in several ways. The Benedictines had often spoken, not of three orders, but of two great divisions, one involving the administration of earthly things and the other the administration of heavenly things. As far as earthly things went, there was a valid81 division into clergy, lay lords, and populace, but this tripartite division was dominated by the presence of the ordo monachorum, direct link between God’s people and heaven, and the monks82 had no connection with those secular shepherds, the priests and bishops, igno?rant83 and corrupt84, now supine before the interests of the cities, where the sheep were no longer the good and faithful peasants but, rather, the merchants and artisans. The Benedictine order was not sorry that the governing of the simple should be entrusted85 to the secular clerics, provided it was the monks who estab?lished the definitive86 regulation of this government, the monks being in direct contact with the source of all earthly power, the empire, just as they were with the source of all heavenly power. This, I believe, is why many Benedictine abbots, to restore dignity to the empire against the government of the cities (bishops and merchants united), agreed to protect the Spiritual Franciscans, whose ideas they did not share but whose presence was useful to them, since it offered the empire good syllogisms against the overweening power of the Pope.
These were the reasons, I then deduced, why Abo was now preparing to collaborate88 with William, the Emperor’s envoy89, and to act as mediator between the Franciscan order and the papal throne. In fact, even in the violence of the dispute that so endangered the unity90 of the church, Michael of Cesena, several times called to Avignon by Pope John, was ultimately pre?pared to accept the invitation, because he did not want his order to place itself in irrevocable conflict with the Pontiff. As general of the Franciscans, he wanted at once to see their positions triumph and to obtain papal assent91, not least because he surmised92 that without the Pope’s agreement he would not be able to remain for long at the head of the order.
But many had assured him the Pope would be awaiting him in France to ensnare him, charge him with heresy93, and bring him to trial. Therefore, they advised that Michael’s appearance at Avignon should be preceded by negotiations94. Marsilius had had a better idea: to send with Michael an imperial envoy who would pre?sent to the Pope the point of view of the Emperor’s supporters. Not so much to convince old Cahors but to strengthen the position of Michael, who, as part of an imperial legation, would not then be such easy prey95 to papal vengeance96.
This idea, however, had numerous disadvantages and, could not be carried out immediately. Hence the idea of a preliminary meeting between the imperial legation and some envoys97 of the Pope, to essay their respective positions and to draw up the agreement for a further encounter at which the safety of the Italian visitors would be guaranteed. To organize this first meeting, William of Baskerville had been appointed. Later, he would present the imperial theologians’ point of view at Avignon, if he deemed the journey possible without danger. A far-from-simple enterprise, because it was supposed that the Pope, who wanted Michael alone in order to be able to reduce him more readily to obedience98, would send to Italy a mission with instructions to make the planned journey of the imperial envoys to his court a failure, as far as possible. William had acted till now with great ability. After long consultations99 with various Benedictine abbots (this was the reason for the many stops along our journey), he had chosen the abbey where we now were, precisely because the abbot was known to be devoted100 to the empire and yet, through his great diplomatic skill, not disliked by the papal court. Neutral territory, therefore, this abbey where the two groups could meet.
But the Pope’s resistance was not exhausted101. He knew that, once his legation was on the abbey’s terrain102, it would be subject to the abbot’s jurisdiction103; and since some of his envoys belonged to the secular clergy, he would not accept this control, claiming fears of an imperial plot. He had therefore made the condition that his envoys’ safety be entrusted to a company of archers104 of the King of France, under the command of a person in the Pope’s trust. I had vaguely105 listened as William discussed this with an ambassador of the Pope at Bobbio: it was a matter of defining the formula to prescribe the duties of this company—or, rather, defin?ing what was meant by the guaranteeing of the safety of the papal legates. A formula proposed by the Avignonese had finally been accepted, for it seemed reasonable: the armed men and their officers would have jurisdiction “over all those who in any way made an attempt on the life of members of the papal delega?tion or tried to influence their behavior or judgment106 by acts of violence.” Then the pact107 had seemed inspired by purely108 formal preoccupations. Now, after the recent events at the abbey, the abbot was uneasy, and he revealed his doubts to William. If the legation arrived at the abbey while the author of the two crimes was still unknown (and the following day the abbot’s worries were to increase, because the crimes would increase to three), they would have to confess that within those walls someone in circulation was capable of influencing the judgment and behavior of the papal envoys with acts of violence.
Trying to conceal109 the crimes committed would be of no avail, because if anything further were to happen, the papal envoys would suspect a plot against them. And so there were only two solutions. Either William discovered the murderer before the arrival of the lega?tion (and here the abbot stared hard at him as if silently reproaching him for not having resolved the matter yet) or else the Pope’s envoy had to be informed frankly110 and his collaboration111 sought, to place the abbey under close surveillance during the course of the discussions. The abbot did not like this second solution, because it meant renouncing112: part of his sovereignty and submit?ting his own monks to French control. But he could run no risks. William and the abbot were both vexed113 by the turn things were taking; however, they had few choices. They proposed, therefore, to come to a final decision during the next day. Meanwhile, they could only en?trust themselves to divine mercy and to William’s sagacity.
“I will do everything possible, Your Sublimity,” William said. “But, on the other hand, I fail to see how the matter can really compromise the meeting. Even the papal envoy will understand that there is a difference between the act of a madman or a sanguinary, or perhaps only of a lost soul, and the grave proems that upright men will meet to discuss.”
“You think so?” the abbot asked, looking hard at William. “Remember: the Avignonese know they are to meet Minorites, and therefore very dangerous persons, close to the Fraticelli and others even more demented than the Fraticelli, dangerous heretics who are stained with crimes”—here the abbot lowered his voice?—“compared with which the events that have taken place here, horrible as they are, pale like mist in the sun.”
“It is not the same thing!” William cried sharply. “You cannot put the Minorites of the Perugia chapter on the same level as some bands of heretics who have misunderstood the message of the Gospel, transform?ing the struggle against riches into a series of private vendettas114 or bloodthirsty follies115. ...”
“It is not many years since, not many miles from here, one of those bands, as you call them, put to fire and the sword the estates of the Bishop19 of Vercelli and the mountains beyond Novara,” the abbot said curtly116.
“You speak of Fra Dolcino and the Apostles. ...”
“The Pseudo Apostles,” the abbot corrected him. And once more I heard Fra Dolcino and the Pseudo Apostles mentioned, and once more in a circumspect117 tone, with almost a hint of terror.
“The Pseudo Apostles,” William readily agreed. “But they had no connection with the Minorites. ...”
“… with whom they shared the same professed118 rever?ence for Joachim of Calabria,” the abbot persisted, “and you can ask your brother Ubertino.”
“I must point out to Your Sublimity that now he is a brother of your own order,” William said, with a smile and a kind of bow, as if to compliment the abbot on the gain his order had made by receiving a man of such renown119.
“I know, I know.” The abbot smiled. “And you know with what fraternal care our order welcomed the Spirit?uals when they incurred120 the Pope’s wrath121. I am not speaking only of Ubertino, but also of many other, more humble brothers, of whom little is known, and of whom perhaps we should know more. Because it has happened that we accepted fugitives122 who presented themselves garbed123 in the habit of the Minorites, and afterward I learned that the various vicissitudes124 of their life had brought them, for a time, quite close to the Dolcinians. …”
“Here, too?” William asked.
“Here, too. I am revealing to you something about which, to tell the truth, I know very little, and in any case not enough to pronounce accusations125. But inas?much as you are investigating the life of this abbey, it is best for you to know these things also. I will tell you, further, that on the basis of things I have heard or surmised, I suspect—mind you, only suspect—that there was a very dark moment to the life of our cellarer, who arrived here, in fact, two years ago, following the exodus126 of the Minorites.”
“The cellarer? Remigio of Varagine a Dolcinian? He seems to me the mildest of creatures, and, for that matter, the least interested in Sister Poverty that I have ever seen …” William said.
“I can say nothing against him, and I make use of his good services, for which the whole community is also grateful to him. But I mention this to make you under?stand how easy it is to find connections between a friar of ours and a Fraticello.”
“Once again your magnanimity is misplaced, if I may say so,” William interjected. “We were talking about Dolcinians, not Fraticelli. And much can be said about the Dolcinians without anyone’s really knowing who is being discussed, because there are many kinds. Still, they cannot be called sanguinary. At most they can be reproached for putting into practice without much consideration things that the Spirituals preached with greater temperance, animated127 by true love of God, and here I agree the borderline between one group and the other is very fine. …”
“But the Fraticelli are heretics!” the abbot interrupted sharply. “They do not confine themselves to sustaining the poverty of Christ and the apostles, a doctrine128 that—though I cannot bring myself to share it—can be usefully opposed to the haughtiness129 of Avignon. The Fraticelli derive130 from that doctrine a practical syllogism87: they infer a right to revolution, to looting, to the perversion131 of behavior.”
“But which Fraticelli?”
“All, in general. You know they are stained with unmentionable crimes, they do not recognize matrimony, they deny hell, they commit sodomy, they embrace the Bogomil heresy of the ordo Bulgariae and the ordo Drygonthie. …”
“Please,” William said, “do not mix things that are separate! You speak as if the Fraticelli, Patarines, Waldensians, Catharists, and within these the Bogomils of Bulgaria and the heretics of Dragovitsa, were all the same thing!”
“They are,” the abbot said sharply, “they are because they are heretics, and they are because they jeopardize132 the very order of the civilized133 world, as well as the order of the empire you seem to me to favor. A hundred or more years ago the followers134 of Arnold of Brescia set fire to the houses of the nobles and the cardinals135, and these were the fruits of the Lombard heresy of the Patarines.”
“Abo,” William said, “you live in the isolation136 of this splendid and holy abbey, far from the wickedness of the world. Life in the cities is far more complex than you believe, and there are degrees, you know, also in error and in evil. Lot was much less a sinner than his fellow citizens who conceived foul137 thoughts also about the angels sent by God, and the betrayal of Peter was nothing compared with the betrayal of Judas: one, indeed, was forgiven, the other not. You cannot consid?er Patarines and Catharists the same thing. The Patarines were a movement to reform behavior within the laws of Holy Mother Church. They wanted always to improve the ecclesiastics’ behavior.”
“Maintaining that the sacraments should not be re?ceived from impure138 priests ...”
“And they were mistaken, but it was their only error of doctrine. They never proposed to alter the law of God. …”
“But the Patarine preaching of Arnold of Brescia, in Rome, more than two hundred years ago, drove the mob of rustics139 to burn the houses of the nobles and the cardinals.”
“Arnold tried to draw the magistrates140 of the city into his reform movement. They did not follow him, and he found support among the crowds of the poor and the outcast. He was not responsible for the violence and the anger with which they responded to his appeals for a less corrupt city.”
“The city is always corrupt.”
“The city is the place where today live the people of God, of whom you, we, are the shepherds. It is the place of scandal in which the rich prelates preach virtue52 to poor and hungry people. The Patarine disor?ders were born of this situation. They are sad, but not incomprehensible. The Catharists are something else. That is an Oriental heresy, outside the doctrine of the church. I don’t know whether they really commit or have committed the crimes attributed to them. I know they reject matrimony, they deny hell. I wonder wheth?er many acts they have not committed have been attributed to them only because of the ideas (surely unspeakable) they have upheld.”
“And you tell me that the Catharists have not mingled141 with the Patarines, and that both are not simply two of the faces, the countless142 faces, of the same demoniacal phenomenon?”
“I say that many of these heresies143, independently of the doctrines144 they assert, encounter success among the simple because they suggest to such people the possibility of a different life. I say that very often the simple do not know much about doctrine. I say that often hordes145 of simple people have confused Catharist preaching with that of the Patarines, and these together with that of the Spirituals. The life of the simple, Abo, is not illuminated by learning and by the lively sense of dis?tinctions that makes us wise. And it is haunted by illness and poverty, tongue-tied by ignorance. Joining a hereti?cal group, for many of them, is often only another way of shouting their own despair. You may burn a cardinal’s house because you want to perfect the life of the clergy, but also because you believe that the hell he preaches does not exist. It is always done because on earth there does exist a hell, where lives the flock whose shepherds we no longer are. But you know very well that, just as they do not distinguish between the Bulgarian church and the followers of the priest Liprando, so often the imperial authorities and their supporters did not distin?guish between Spirituals and heretics. Not infrequently, imperial forces, to combat their adversaries146, encour?aged69 Catharist tendencies among the populace. In my opinion they acted wrongly. But what I now know is that the same forces often, to rid themselves of these restless and dangerous and too ‘simple’ adversaries, attributed to one group the heresies of the others, and flung them all on the pyre. I have seen—I swear to you, Abo, I have seen with my own eyes—men of virtuous life, sincere followers of poverty and chastity, but ene?mies of the bishops, whom the bishops thrust into the hands of the secular arm, whether it was in the service of the empire or of the free cities, accusing these men of sexual promiscuity147, sodomy, unspeakable practices—?of which others, perhaps, but not they, had been guilty. The simple are meat for slaughter148, to be used when they are useful in causing trouble for the opposing power, and to be sacrificed when they are no longer of use.”
“Therefore,” the abbot said, with obvious maliciousness149, “were Fra Dolcino and his madmen, and Gherardo Segarelli and those evil murderers, wicked Catharists or virtuous Fraticelli, sodomite Bogomils or Patarine reformers? Will you tell me, William, you who know so much about heretics that you seem one of them, where the truth lies?”
“Nowhere, at times,” William said, sadly.
“You see? You yourself can no longer distinguish between one heretic and another. I at least have a rule. I know that heretics are those who endanger the order that sustains the people of God. And I defend the empire because it guarantees this order for me. I combat the Pope because he is handing the spiritual power over to the bishops of the cities, who are allied150 with the merchants and the corporations and will not be able to maintain this order. We have maintained it for centuries. And as for the heretics, I also have a rule, and it is summed up in the reply that Arnald Amalaricus, Bishop of Citeaux, gave to those who asked him what to do with the citizens of Béziers: Kill them all, God will recognize His own.”
William lowered his eyes and remained silent for a while. Then he said, “The city of Béziers was captured and our forces had no regard for dignity of sex or age, and almost twenty thousand people were put to the sword. When the massacre151 was complete, the city was sacked and burned.”
“A holy war is nevertheless a war.”
“For this reason perhaps there should not be holy wars. But what am I saying? I am here to defend the rights of Louis, who is also putting Italy to the sword. I, too, find myself caught in a game of strange alliances. Strange the alliance between Spirituals and the empire, and strange that of the empire with Marsilius, who seeks sovereignty for the people. And strange the alliance between the two of us, so different in our ideas and traditions. But we have two tasks in common: the success of the meeting and the discovery of a murderer. Let us try to proceed in peace.”
The abbot held out his arms. “Give me the kiss of peace, Brother William. With a man of your knowledge I could argue endlessly about fine points of theology and morals. We must not give way, however, to the pleasure of disputation, as the masters of Paris do. You are right: we have an important task ahead of us, and we must proceed in agreement. But I have spoken of these things because I believe there is a connection. Do you understand? A possible connection—or, rather, a connection others can make—between the crimes that have occurred here and the theses. of your brothers. This is why I have warned you, and this is why we must ward27 off every suspicion or insinuation on the part of the Avignonese.”
“Am I not also to suppose Your Sublimity has suggested to me a line for my inquiry152? Do you believe that the source of the recent events can be found in some obscure story dating back to the heretical past of one of the monks?”
The abbot was silent for a few moments, looking at William but allowing no expression to be read on his face. Then he said: “In this sad affair you are the inquisitor. It is your task to be suspicious, even to risk unjust suspicion. Here I am only the general father. And, I will add, if I knew that the past of one of my monks lent itself to well-founded suspicion, I would myself already have taken care to uproot153 the unhealthy plant. What I know, you know. What I do not know should properly be brought to light by your wisdom.” He nodded to us and left the church.
“The story is becoming more complicated, dear Adso,” William said, frowning. We pursue a manuscript, we become interested in the” diatribes154 of some overcurious monks and in the actions of other, overlustful ones, and now, more and more insistently155, an entirely differ?ent trail emerges. The cellarer, then ... And with the cellarer that strange animal Salvatore also arrived here. ... But now we must go and rest, because we plan to stay awake during the night.”
“Then you still mean to enter the library tonight? You are not going to abandon that first trail?”
“Not at all. Anyway, who says the two trails are separate? And finally, this business of the cellarer could merely be a suspicion of the abbot’s.”
He started toward the pilgrims’ hospice. On reaching the threshold, he stopped and spoke, as if continuing his earlier remarks.
“After all, the abbot asked me to investigate Adelmo’s death when he thought that something unhealthy was going on among his young monks. But now that the death of Venantius arouses other suspicions, perhaps the abbot has sensed that the key to the mystery lies in the library, and there he does not wish any investigating. So he offers me the suggestion of the cellarer, to distract my attention from the Aedificium. ...”
“But why would he not want—”
“Don’t ask too many questions. The abbot told me at the beginning that the library was not to be touched. He must have his own good reasons. It could be that he is involved in some matter he thought unrelated to Adelmo’s death, and now he realizes the scandal is spreading and could also touch him. And he doesn’t want the truth to be discovered, or at least he doesn’t want me to be the one who discovers it. ...”
“Then we are living in a place abandoned by God,” I said, disheartened.
“Have you found any places where God would have felt at home?” William asked me, looking down from his great height.
Then he sent me to rest. As I lay on my pallet, I concluded that my father should not have sent me out into the world, which was more complicated than I had thought. I was learning too many things.
“Salva me ab ore leonis,” I prayed as I fell asleep.
收听单词发音 |
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forth
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novices
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| n.新手( novice的名词复数 )；初学修士（或修女）；（修会等的）初学生；尚未赢过大赛的赛马 | |
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vessels
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| n.血管( vessel的名词复数 )；船；容器；（具有特殊品质或接受特殊品质的）人 | |
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vessel
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| n.船舶；容器，器皿；管，导管，血管 | |
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chalices
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| n.高脚酒杯( chalice的名词复数 )；圣餐杯；金杯毒酒；看似诱人实则令人讨厌的事物 | |
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choir
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| n.唱诗班，唱诗班的席位，合唱团，舞蹈团；v.合唱 | |
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cascades
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| 倾泻( cascade的名词复数 )； 小瀑布（尤指一连串瀑布中的一支）； 瀑布状物； 倾泻（或涌出）的东西 | |
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engulfing
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| adj.吞噬的v.吞没，包住( engulf的现在分词 ) | |
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9
gems
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| growth； economy； management； and customer satisfaction 增长 | |
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10
ruby
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| n.红宝石，红宝石色 | |
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11
sapphire
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| n.青玉，蓝宝石；adj.天蓝色的 | |
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12
agate
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| n.玛瑙 | |
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13
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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14
amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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15
piety
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| n.虔诚，虔敬 | |
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16
testimony
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| n.证词；见证，证明 | |
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17
potentates
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| n.君主，统治者( potentate的名词复数 )；有权势的人 | |
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18
bishops
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| （基督教某些教派管辖大教区的）主教( bishop的名词复数 )； （国际象棋的）象 | |
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19
bishop
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| n.主教，（国际象棋）象 | |
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20
destined
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| adj.命中注定的；(for)以…为目的地的 | |
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21
emblem
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| n.象征，标志；徽章 | |
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22
distressed
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| 痛苦的 | |
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23
almighty
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| adj.全能的，万能的；很大的，很强的 | |
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24
saviour
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| n.拯救者，救星 | |
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25
celebrated
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| adj.有名的，声誉卓著的 | |
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26
afterward
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| adv.后来；以后 | |
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27
ward
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| n.守卫，监护，病房，行政区，由监护人或法院保护的人（尤指儿童）；vt.守护，躲开 | |
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28
justifying
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| 证明…有理( justify的现在分词 )； 为…辩护； 对…作出解释； 为…辩解（或辩护） | |
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29
generosity
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| n.大度，慷慨，慷慨的行为 | |
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30
sublimity
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| 崇高，庄严，气质高尚 | |
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31
glorified
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| 美其名的，变荣耀的 | |
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32
excellence
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| n.优秀，杰出，(pl.)优点，美德 | |
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33
mortars
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| n.迫击炮( mortar的名词复数 )；砂浆；房产；研钵 | |
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34
calves
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| n.(calf的复数)笨拙的男子，腓；腿肚子( calf的名词复数 )；牛犊；腓；小腿肚v.生小牛( calve的第三人称单数 )；（冰川）崩解；生（小牛等），产（犊）；使（冰川）崩解 | |
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35
reverence
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| n.敬畏，尊敬，尊严；Reverence:对某些基督教神职人员的尊称；v.尊敬，敬畏，崇敬 | |
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36
seraphim
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| n.六翼天使(seraph的复数)；六翼天使( seraph的名词复数 ) | |
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37
ineffable
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| adj.无法表达的，不可言喻的 | |
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38
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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39
devoutly
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| adv.虔诚地，虔敬地，衷心地 | |
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40
devout
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| adj.虔诚的，虔敬的，衷心的 (n.devoutness) | |
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41
explicitly
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| ad.明确地，显然地 | |
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42
resolutely
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| adj.坚决地，果断地 | |
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43
homage
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| n.尊敬，敬意，崇敬 | |
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44
exterior
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| adj.外部的，外在的；表面的 | |
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45
ornament
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| v.装饰，美化；n.装饰，装饰物 | |
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46
ornaments
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| n.装饰( ornament的名词复数 )；点缀；装饰品；首饰v.装饰，点缀，美化( ornament的第三人称单数 ) | |
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47
bliss
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| n.狂喜，福佑，天赐的福 | |
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48
adorned
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| [计]被修饰的 | |
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49
adorn
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| vt.使美化，装饰 | |
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50
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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51
virtues
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| 美德( virtue的名词复数 )； 德行； 优点； 长处 | |
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52
virtue
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| n.德行，美德；贞操；优点；功效，效力 | |
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53
mire
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| n.泥沼，泥泞；v.使...陷于泥泞，使...陷入困境 | |
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54
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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55
nave
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| n.教堂的中部；本堂 | |
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56
shaft
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| n.(工具的)柄，杆状物 | |
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57
illuminating
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| a.富于启发性的，有助阐明的 | |
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58
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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59
benevolence
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| n.慈悲，捐助 | |
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60
fervor
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|
| n.热诚；热心；炽热 | |
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61
illuminated
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| adj.被照明的；受启迪的 | |
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62
inaccessible
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| adj.达不到的，难接近的 | |
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63
wondrous
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|
| adj.令人惊奇的，奇妙的；adv.惊人地；异乎寻常地；令人惊叹地 | |
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64
humility
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| n.谦逊，谦恭 | |
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65
insidious
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|
| adj.阴险的，隐匿的，暗中为害的，（疾病）不知不觉之间加剧 | |
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66
irony
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| n.反语，冷嘲；具有讽刺意味的事，嘲弄 | |
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67
literally
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|
| adv.照字面意义，逐字地；确实 | |
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68
immediate
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|
| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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69
aged
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|
| adj.年老的，陈年的 | |
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70
gracefully
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| ad.大大方方地；优美地 | |
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71
groans
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|
| n.呻吟，叹息( groan的名词复数 )；呻吟般的声音v.呻吟( groan的第三人称单数 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
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72
espoused
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| v.（决定）支持，拥护（目标、主张等）( espouse的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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73
jumble
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| vt.使混乱，混杂；n.混乱；杂乱的一堆 | |
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74
oppositions
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| （强烈的）反对( opposition的名词复数 )； 反对党； （事业、竞赛、游戏等的）对手； 对比 | |
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75
virtuous
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|
| adj.有品德的，善良的，贞洁的，有效力的 | |
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76
precisely
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|
| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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77
secular
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|
| n.牧师，凡人；adj.世俗的，现世的，不朽的 | |
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78
clergy
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| n.[总称]牧师，神职人员 | |
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79
mediator
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| n.调解人，中介人 | |
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80
adviser
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| n.劝告者，顾问 | |
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81
valid
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|
| adj.有确实根据的；有效的；正当的，合法的 | |
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82
monks
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| n.修道士，僧侣( monk的名词复数 ) | |
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83
rant
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| v.咆哮；怒吼；n.大话；粗野的话 | |
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84
corrupt
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|
| v.贿赂，收买；adj.腐败的，贪污的 | |
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85
entrusted
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| v.委托，托付( entrust的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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86
definitive
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|
| adj.确切的，权威性的；最后的，决定性的 | |
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87
syllogism
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| n.演绎法，三段论法 | |
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88
collaborate
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| vi.协作，合作；协调 | |
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89
envoy
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| n.使节，使者，代表，公使 | |
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90
unity
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| n.团结，联合，统一；和睦，协调 | |
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91
assent
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| v.批准，认可；n.批准，认可 | |
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92
surmised
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| v.臆测，推断( surmise的过去式和过去分词 )；揣测；猜想 | |
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93
heresy
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| n.异端邪说；异教 | |
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94
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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95
prey
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| n.被掠食者，牺牲者，掠食；v.捕食，掠夺，折磨 | |
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96
vengeance
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| n.报复，报仇，复仇 | |
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97
envoys
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| 使节( envoy的名词复数 )； 公使； 谈判代表； 使节身份 | |
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98
obedience
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| n.服从，顺从 | |
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99
consultations
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| n.磋商（会议）( consultation的名词复数 )；商讨会；协商会；查找 | |
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100
devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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101
exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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102
terrain
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| n.地面，地形，地图 | |
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103
jurisdiction
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| n.司法权，审判权，管辖权，控制权 | |
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104
archers
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| n.弓箭手，射箭运动员( archer的名词复数 ) | |
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105
vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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106
judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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107
pact
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| n.合同，条约，公约，协定 | |
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108
purely
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| adv.纯粹地，完全地 | |
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109
conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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110
frankly
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| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
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111
collaboration
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| n.合作，协作；勾结 | |
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112
renouncing
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| v.声明放弃( renounce的现在分词 )；宣布放弃；宣布与…决裂；宣布摒弃 | |
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113
vexed
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| adj.争论不休的；（指问题等）棘手的；争论不休的问题；烦恼的v.使烦恼( vex的过去式和过去分词 )；使苦恼；使生气；详细讨论 | |
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114
vendettas
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| n.家族世仇( vendetta的名词复数 )；族间仇杀；长期争斗；积怨 | |
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115
follies
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| 罪恶，时事讽刺剧； 愚蠢，蠢笨，愚蠢的行为、思想或做法( folly的名词复数 ) | |
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116
curtly
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| adv.简短地 | |
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117
circumspect
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| adj.慎重的，谨慎的 | |
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118
professed
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| 公开声称的，伪称的，已立誓信教的 | |
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119
renown
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| n.声誉，名望 | |
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120
incurred
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| [医]招致的，遭受的； incur的过去式 | |
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121
wrath
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| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
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122
fugitives
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| n.亡命者，逃命者( fugitive的名词复数 ) | |
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123
garbed
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| v.（尤指某类人穿的特定）服装，衣服，制服( garb的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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124
vicissitudes
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| n.变迁，世事变化；变迁兴衰( vicissitude的名词复数 )；盛衰兴废 | |
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125
accusations
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| n.指责( accusation的名词复数 )；指控；控告；（被告发、控告的）罪名 | |
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126
exodus
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| v.大批离去，成群外出 | |
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127
animated
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| adj.生气勃勃的，活跃的，愉快的 | |
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128
doctrine
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| n.教义；主义；学说 | |
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129
haughtiness
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| n.傲慢；傲气 | |
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130
derive
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| v.取得；导出；引申；来自；源自；出自 | |
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131
perversion
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| n.曲解；堕落；反常 | |
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132
jeopardize
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| vt.危及，损害 | |
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133
civilized
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| a.有教养的，文雅的 | |
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134
followers
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| 追随者( follower的名词复数 )； 用户； 契据的附面； 从动件 | |
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135
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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136
isolation
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| n.隔离，孤立，分解，分离 | |
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foul
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| adj.污秽的；邪恶的；v.弄脏；妨害；犯规；n.犯规 | |
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138
impure
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| adj.不纯净的，不洁的；不道德的，下流的 | |
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139
rustics
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| n.有农村或村民特色的( rustic的名词复数 )；粗野的；不雅的；用粗糙的木材或树枝制作的 | |
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140
magistrates
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| 地方法官，治安官( magistrate的名词复数 ) | |
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141
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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142
countless
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| adj.无数的，多得不计其数的 | |
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143
heresies
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| n.异端邪说，异教( heresy的名词复数 ) | |
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144
doctrines
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| n.教条( doctrine的名词复数 )；教义；学说；（政府政策的）正式声明 | |
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145
hordes
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| n.移动着的一大群( horde的名词复数 )；部落 | |
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adversaries
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| n.对手，敌手( adversary的名词复数 ) | |
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promiscuity
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| n.混杂，混乱；（男女的）乱交 | |
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148
slaughter
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| n.屠杀，屠宰；vt.屠杀，宰杀 | |
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149
maliciousness
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| [法] 恶意 | |
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150
allied
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| adj.协约国的；同盟国的 | |
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151
massacre
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| n.残杀，大屠杀；v.残杀，集体屠杀 | |
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152
inquiry
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| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
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153
uproot
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| v.连根拔起，拔除；根除，灭绝；赶出家园，被迫移开 | |
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154
diatribes
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| n.谩骂，讽刺( diatribe的名词复数 ) | |
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insistently
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| ad.坚持地 | |
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