NONES
In which the abbot refuses to listen to William, discourses1 on the language of gems2, and expresses a wish that there be no further investigation3 of the recent unhappy events.
The abbot’s apartments were over the chapter hall, and from the window of the large and sumptuous4 main room, where he received us, you could see, on that clear and windy day, beyond the roof of the abbatial church, the massive Aedificium.
The abbot, standing5 at the window, was in fact con6?templating it, and he pointed7 it out to us with a solemn gesture.
“An admirable fortress,” he said, “whose proportions sum up the golden rule that governed the construction of the ark. Divided into three stories, because three is the number of the Trinity, three were the angels who visited Abraham, the days Jonah spent in the belly8 of the great fish, and the days Jesus and Lazarus passed in the sepulcher9; three times Christ asked the Father to let the bitter chalice10 pass from him, and three times he hid himself to pray with the apostles. Three times Peter denied him, and three times Christ appeared to his disciples11 after the Resurrection. The theological virtues12 are three, and three are the holy languages, the parts of the soul, the classes of intellectual creatures, angels, men, and devils; there are three kinds of sound—vox, flatus, pulsus—and three epochs of human history, before, during, and after the law.”
“A wondrous14 harmony of mystical relations,” William agreed.
“But the square shape also,” the abbot continued, “is rich in spiritual lessons. The cardinal15 points are four, and the seasons, the elements, and heat, cold, wet, and dry; birth, growth, maturity16, and old age; the species of animals, celestial17, terrestrial, aerial, and aquatic18; the colors forming the rainbow; and the number of years required to make a leap year.”
“Oh, to be sure,” William said, and three plus four is seven, a superlatively mystical number, whereas three multiplied by four makes twelve, like the apostles, and twelve by twelve makes one hundred forty-four, which is the number of the elect.” And to this last display of mystical knowledge of the ideal world of numbers, the abbot had nothing further to add. Thus William could come to the point.
“We must talk about the latest events, on which I have reflected at length,” he said.
The abbot turned his back to the window and looked straight at William with a stern face. “At too-great length, perhaps. I must confess, Brother William, that I expected more of you. Almost six days have passed since you arrived here; four monks19 have died besides Adelmo, two have been arrested by the Inquisition—it was justice, to be sure, but we could have avoided this shame if the inquisitor had not been obliged to concern himself with the previous crimes—and finally the meet?ing over which I presided has—precisely because of all these wicked deeds—had a pitiful outcome. ...”
William remained silent, embarrassed. Without ques?tion, the abbot was right.
“That is true,” he admitted. “I have not lived up to your expectations, but I will explain why, Your Sublimity21. These crimes do not stem from a brawl22 or from some vendetta23 among the monks, but from deeds that, in their turn, originate in the remote history of the abbey. ...”
The abbot looked at him uneasily. “What do you mean? I myself realize that the key is not that miserable24 affair of the cellarer, which has intersected another story. But the other, that other which I may know but cannot discuss ... I hoped it was clear, and that you would speak to me about it. ...”
“Your Sublimity is thinking of some deed he learned about in confession25. ... The abbot looked away, and William continued: “If Your Magnificence wants to know whether I know, without having learned it from Your Magnificence, that there were illicit26 relations be?tween Berengar and Adelmo, and between Berengar and Malachi, well, yes, everyone in the abbey, knows this. ...”
The abbot blushed violently. “I do not believe it useful to speak of such things in the presence of this novice27. And I do not believe, now that the. meeting is over, that you need him any longer as scribe. Go, boy,” he said to me imperiously. Humiliated28, I went. But in my curiosity I crouched29 outside the door of the hall, which I left ajar, so that I could follow the dialogue.
William resumed speaking: “So, then, these illicit relations, if they did take place, had scant30 influence on the painful events. The key is elsewhere, as I thought you imagined. Everything turns on the theft and posses?sion of a book, which was concealed31 in the finis Africae, and which is now there again thanks to Malachi’s intervention32, though, as you have seen, the sequence of crimes was not thereby33 arrested.”
A long silence followed; then the abbot resumed speaking, in a broken, hesitant voice, like someone taken aback by unexpected revelations. “This is im?possible ... you … How do you know about the finis Africae? Have you violated my ban and entered the library?”
William ought to have told the truth, but the abbot’s rage would have known no bounds. Yet, obviously my master did not want to lie. He chose to answer the question with another question: “Did Your Magnifi?cence not say to me, at our first meeting, that a man like me, who had described Brunellus so well without ever having seen him, would have no difficulty pictur?ing places to which he did not have access?”
So that is it,” Abo said. “But why do you think what you think?”
“How I arrived at my conclusion is too long a story. But a series of crimes was committed to prevent many from discovering something that it was considered un?desirable for them to discover. Now all those who knew something of the library’s secrets, whether rightly, or through trickery, are dead. Only one person remains34: yourself.”
“Do you wish to insinuate35 ... you wish to insinuate ...” the abbot said.
“Do not misunderstand me,” said William, who prob?ably had indeed wished to insinuate. “I say there is someone who knows and wants no one else to know. As the last to know, you could be the next victim. Unless you tell me what you know about that forbidden book, and, especially, who in the abbey might know what you know, and perhaps more, about the library.”
“It is cold in here,” the abbot said. “Let us go out.”
I moved rapidly away from the door and waited for them at the head of the stairs. The abbot saw me and smiled at me.
“How many upsetting things this young monk20 must have heard in the past few days! Come, boy, do not allow yourself to be too distressed36. It seems to me that more plots have been imagined than really exist. ...”
He raised one hand and allowed the daylight to illuminate37 a splendid ring he wore on his fourth finger, the emblem38 of his power. The ring sparkled with all the brilliance39 of its stones.
“You recognize it, do you not?” he said to me. “The symbol of my authority, but also of my burden. It is not an ornament40: it is a splendid syllogy of the divine word whose guardian41 I am.” With his fingers he touched the stone—or, rather, the arrangement of variegated42 stones composing that admirable masterpiece of human art and nature. “This is amethyst,” he said, “which is the mirror of humility43 and reminds us of the ingenuousness44 and sweetness of Saint Matthew; this is chalcedony, mark of charity, symbol of the piety45 of Joseph and Saint James the Greater; this is jasper, which bespeaks46 faith and is associated with Saint Peter; and sardonyx, sign of martyrdom, which recalls Saint Bartholomew; this is sapphire47, hope and contemplation, the stone of Saint Andrew and Saint Paul; and beryl, sound doctrine48, learning, and longanimity, the virtues of Saint Thomas. ... How splendid the language of gems is,” he went on, lost in his mystical vision, “which the lapidaries49 of tradition have translated from the reasoning of Aaron and the description of the heavenly Jerusalem in the book of the apostle. For that matter, the walls of Zion were decked with the same jewels that decorated the pectoral of Moses’s brother, except for carbuncle, agate50, and onyx, which, mentioned in Exodus51, are replaced in the Apocalypse by chalcedony, sardonyx, chrysoprase, and jacinth.”
He moved the ring and dazzled my eyes with its sparkling, as if he wanted to stun52 me. “Marvelous language, is it not? For other fathers stones signify still other things. For Pope Innocent the Third the ruby53 announced calm and patience; the garnet, charity. For Saint Bruno aquamarine concentrates theological learn?ing in the virtue13 of its purest rays. Turquoise54 signifies joy; sardonyx suggests the seraphim55; topaz, the cherubim; jasper, thrones; chrysolite, dominions56; sapphire, the virtues; onyx, the powers; beryl, principalities; ruby, archangels; and emerald, angels. The language of gems is multiform; each expresses several truths, according to the sense of the selected interpretation57, according to the context in which they appear. And who decides what is the level of interpretation and what is the proper context? You know, my boy, for they have taught you: it is authority, the most reliable commentator58 of all and the most invested with prestige, and therefore with sanctity. Otherwise how to interpret the multiple signs that the world sets before our sinner’s eyes, how to avoid the misunderstandings into which the Devil lures59 us? Mind you: it is extraordinary how the Devil hates the language of gems, as Saint Hildegard testifies. The foul60 beast sees in it a message illuminated61 by different meanings or levels of knowledge, and he would like to destroy it because he, the Enemy, senses in the splendor62 of stones the echo of the marvels63 in his possession before his fall, and he understands that this radiance is produced by fire, which is his torment64.” He held out the ring for me to kiss, and I knelt. He stroked my head. “And so, boy, you must forget the things, no doubt erroneous, that you have heard these days. You have entered the noblest, the greatest order of all; of this order I am an abbot, and you are under my jurisdiction65. Hear my command: forget, and may your lips be sealed forever. Swear.”
Moved, subjugated66, I would certainly have sworn. And you, my good reader, would not be able now to read this faithful chronicle of mine. But at this point William intervened, not perhaps to prevent me from swearing, but in an instinctive67 reaction, out of irritation68, to interrupt the abbot, to break that spell he had surely cast.
“What does the boy have to do with it? I asked you a question, I warned you of a danger, I asked you to tell me a name. ... Do you now wish me, too, to kiss the ring and swear to forget what I have learned or what I suspect?”
“Ah, you ...” the abbot said sadly, “I do not expect a mendicant69 friar to understand the beauty of our traditions, or respect the reticence70, the secrets, the mysteries of charity. .. yes, charity, and the sense of honor, and the vow71 of silence on which our greatness is based. ... You have spoken to me of a strange story, an incredible story. About a banned book that has caused a chain of murders, about someone who knows what only I should know ... Tales, meaningless accusations72. Speak of it, if you wish: no one will believe you. And even if some element of your fanciful reconstruction73 were true ... well, now everything is once more under my control, my jurisdiction. I will look into this, I have the means, I have the authority. At the very beginning I made a mistake, asking an outsider, however wise, however worthy74 of trust, to investigate things that are my responsi?bility alone. But you understood, as you have told me; I believed at the outset that it involved a violation75 of the vow of chastity, and (imprudent as I was) I wanted someone else to tell me what I had heard in confession. Well, now you have told me. I am very grateful to you for what you have done or have tried to do. The meeting of the legations has taken place, your mission here is over. I imagine you are anxiously awaited at the imperial court; one does not deprive oneself at length of a man like you. I give you permission to leave the abbey. Today it is perhaps late: I do not want you to travel after sunset, for the roads are not safe. You will leave tomorrow morning, early. Oh, do not thank me, it has been a joy to have you here, a brother among brothers, honoring you with our hospitality. You may withdraw now with your novice to prepare your baggage. I will say good-bye to you again tomorrow at dawn. I thank you, with all my heart. Naturally, it is not neces?sary for you to continue your investigations76. Do not disturb the monks further. You may go.”
It was more than a dismissal, it was an expulsion. William said good-bye and we went down the stairs.
“What does this mean?” I asked. I no longer under?stood anything.
“Try to formulate77 a hypothesis. You must have learned how it is done.”
“Actually, I have learned I must formulate at least two, one in opposition78 to the other, and both incredible. Very well, then …” I gulped79: formulating80 hypotheses made me nervous. “First hypothesis: the abbot knew everything already and imagined you would discover nothing. Second hypothesis: the abbot never suspected anything (about what I don’t know, because I don’t know what’s in your mind). But, anyhow, he went on thinking it was all because of a quarrel between ... between sodomite monks. ... Now, however, you have opened his eyes, he has suddenly understood something terrible, has thought of a name, has a precise idea about who is responsible for the crimes. But at this point he wants to resolve the matter by himself and wants to be rid of you, in order to save the honor of the abbey.”
“Good work. You are beginning to reason well. But you see already that in both cases our abbot is con?cerned for the good name of his monastery81. Murderer or next victim as he may be, he does not want defamato?ry news about this holy community to travel beyond these mountains. Kill his monks, but do not touch the honor of his abbey. Ah, by ...” William was now becom?ing infuriated. “That bastard82 of a feudal83 lord, that peacock who gained fame for having been the Aquinas’s gravedigger, that inflated84 wineskin who exists only be?cause he wears a ring as big as the bottom of a glass! Proud, proud, all of you Cluniacs, worse than princes, more baronial than barons85!”
“Master ...” I ventured, hurt, in a reproachful tone.
“You be quiet, you are made of the same stuff. Your band are not simple men, or sons of the simple. If a peasant comes along you may receive him, but as I saw yesterday, you do not hesitate to hand him over to the secular86 arm. But not one of your own, no; he must be shielded. Abo is capable of identifying the wretch87, stabbing him in the treasure crypt, and passing out his kidneys among the reliquaries, provided the honor of the abbey is saved. ... Have a Franciscan, a plebeian88 Minorite, discover the rat’s nest of this holy house? Ah, no, this is something Abo cannot allow at any price. Thank you, Brother William, the Emperor needs you, you see what a beautiful ring I have, good-bye. But now the challenge is not just a matter between me and Abo, it is between me and the whole business: I am not leaving these walls until I have found out. He wants me to leave tomorrow morning, does he? Very well, it’s his house; but by tomorrow morning I must know. I must.”
“You must? Who obliges you now?”
“No one ever obliges us to know, Adso. We must, that is all, even if we comprehend imperfectly.”
I was still confused and humiliated by William’s words against my order and its abbots. And I tried to justify89 Abo in part, formulating a third hypothesis, exercising a skill at which, it seemed to me, I was becoming very dextrous. “You have not considered a third possibility, master,” I said. “We had noticed these past days, and this morning it seemed quite clear to us after Nicholas’s confidences and the rumors90 we heard in church, that there is a group of Italian monks reluctant to tolerate the succession of foreign librarians; they accuse the abbot of not respecting tradition, and, as I understand it, they hide behind old Alinardo, thrusting him for?ward91 like a standard, to ask for a different government of the abbey. So perhaps the abbot fears our revelations could give his enemies a weapon, and he wants to settle the question with great prudence92. ...”
“That is possible. But he is still an inflated wineskin, and he will get himself killed.”
We were in the cloister93. The wind was growing angri?er all the time, the light dimmer, even if it was just past nones. The day was approaching its sunset, and we had very little time left.
“It is late,” William said, “and when a man has little time, he must take care to maintain his calm. We must act as if we had eternity94 before us. I have a problem to solve: how to penetrate95 the finis Africae, because the final answer must be there. Then we must save some person, I have not yet determined96 which. Finally, we should expect something from the direction of the stables, which you will keep an eye on. ... Look at all the bustle97. ...”
In fact, the space between the Aedificium and the cloister was unusually animated98. A moment before, a novice, coming from the abbot’s house, had run toward the Aedificium. Now Nicholas was coming out of it, heading for the dormitories. In one corner, that mornings group, Pacificus, Aymaro, and Peter, were deep in discussion with Alinardo, as if trying to convince him of something.
Then they seemed to reach a decision. Aymaro supported the still-reluctant Alinardo, and went with him toward the abbatial residence. They were just entering as Nicholas came out of the dormitory, leading Jorge in the same direction. Seeing the two Italians enter, he whispered something into Jorge’s ear, and the old man shook his head. They continued, however, toward the chapter house.
“The abbot is taking the situation in hand ...” William murmured skeptically. From the Aedificium were emerg?ing more monks, who belonged in the scriptorium, and they were immediately followed by Benno, who came toward us, more worried than ever.
“There is unrest in the scriptorium,” he told us. “Nobody is working, they are all talking among them?selves. ... What is happening?”
“What’s happening is that the people who until this morning seemed the most suspect are all dead. Until yesterday everyone was on guard against Berengar, foolish and treacherous99 and lascivious100, then the cellarer, a suspect heretic, and finally Malachi, so generally disliked. ... Now they don’t know whom to be on guard against, and they urgently need to find an enemy, or a scapegoat101. And each suspects the others; some are afraid, like you; others have decided102 to frighten some?one else. You are all too agitated103. Adso, take a look at the stables every now and then. I am going to get some rest.”
I should have been amazed: to go and rest when he had only a few hours left did not seem the wisest decision. But by now I knew my master. The more relaxed his body, the more ebullient104 his mind.
1 discourses | |
论文( discourse的名词复数 ); 演说; 讲道; 话语 | |
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2 gems | |
growth; economy; management; and customer satisfaction 增长 | |
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3 investigation | |
n.调查,调查研究 | |
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4 sumptuous | |
adj.豪华的,奢侈的,华丽的 | |
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5 standing | |
n.持续,地位;adj.永久的,不动的,直立的,不流动的 | |
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6 con | |
n.反对的观点,反对者,反对票,肺病;vt.精读,学习,默记;adv.反对地,从反面;adj.欺诈的 | |
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7 pointed | |
adj.尖的,直截了当的 | |
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8 belly | |
n.肚子,腹部;(像肚子一样)鼓起的部分,膛 | |
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9 sepulcher | |
n.坟墓 | |
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10 chalice | |
n.圣餐杯;金杯毒酒 | |
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11 disciples | |
n.信徒( disciple的名词复数 );门徒;耶稣的信徒;(尤指)耶稣十二门徒之一 | |
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12 virtues | |
美德( virtue的名词复数 ); 德行; 优点; 长处 | |
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13 virtue | |
n.德行,美德;贞操;优点;功效,效力 | |
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14 wondrous | |
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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15 cardinal | |
n.(天主教的)红衣主教;adj.首要的,基本的 | |
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16 maturity | |
n.成熟;完成;(支票、债券等)到期 | |
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17 celestial | |
adj.天体的;天上的 | |
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18 aquatic | |
adj.水生的,水栖的 | |
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19 monks | |
n.修道士,僧侣( monk的名词复数 ) | |
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20 monk | |
n.和尚,僧侣,修道士 | |
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21 sublimity | |
崇高,庄严,气质高尚 | |
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22 brawl | |
n.大声争吵,喧嚷;v.吵架,对骂 | |
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23 vendetta | |
n.世仇,宿怨 | |
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24 miserable | |
adj.悲惨的,痛苦的;可怜的,糟糕的 | |
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25 confession | |
n.自白,供认,承认 | |
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26 illicit | |
adj.非法的,禁止的,不正当的 | |
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27 novice | |
adj.新手的,生手的 | |
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28 humiliated | |
感到羞愧的 | |
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29 crouched | |
v.屈膝,蹲伏( crouch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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30 scant | |
adj.不充分的,不足的;v.减缩,限制,忽略 | |
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31 concealed | |
a.隐藏的,隐蔽的 | |
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32 intervention | |
n.介入,干涉,干预 | |
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33 thereby | |
adv.因此,从而 | |
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34 remains | |
n.剩余物,残留物;遗体,遗迹 | |
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35 insinuate | |
vt.含沙射影地说,暗示 | |
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36 distressed | |
痛苦的 | |
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37 illuminate | |
vt.照亮,照明;用灯光装饰;说明,阐释 | |
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38 emblem | |
n.象征,标志;徽章 | |
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39 brilliance | |
n.光辉,辉煌,壮丽,(卓越的)才华,才智 | |
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40 ornament | |
v.装饰,美化;n.装饰,装饰物 | |
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41 guardian | |
n.监护人;守卫者,保护者 | |
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42 variegated | |
adj.斑驳的,杂色的 | |
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43 humility | |
n.谦逊,谦恭 | |
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44 ingenuousness | |
n.率直;正直;老实 | |
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45 piety | |
n.虔诚,虔敬 | |
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46 bespeaks | |
v.预定( bespeak的第三人称单数 );订(货);证明;预先请求 | |
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47 sapphire | |
n.青玉,蓝宝石;adj.天蓝色的 | |
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48 doctrine | |
n.教义;主义;学说 | |
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49 lapidaries | |
n.宝石匠,玉石雕刻师( lapidary的名词复数 ) | |
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50 agate | |
n.玛瑙 | |
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51 exodus | |
v.大批离去,成群外出 | |
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52 stun | |
vt.打昏,使昏迷,使震惊,使惊叹 | |
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53 ruby | |
n.红宝石,红宝石色 | |
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54 turquoise | |
n.绿宝石;adj.蓝绿色的 | |
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55 seraphim | |
n.六翼天使(seraph的复数);六翼天使( seraph的名词复数 ) | |
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56 dominions | |
统治权( dominion的名词复数 ); 领土; 疆土; 版图 | |
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57 interpretation | |
n.解释,说明,描述;艺术处理 | |
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58 commentator | |
n.注释者,解说者;实况广播评论员 | |
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59 lures | |
吸引力,魅力(lure的复数形式) | |
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60 foul | |
adj.污秽的;邪恶的;v.弄脏;妨害;犯规;n.犯规 | |
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61 illuminated | |
adj.被照明的;受启迪的 | |
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62 splendor | |
n.光彩;壮丽,华丽;显赫,辉煌 | |
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63 marvels | |
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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64 torment | |
n.折磨;令人痛苦的东西(人);vt.折磨;纠缠 | |
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65 jurisdiction | |
n.司法权,审判权,管辖权,控制权 | |
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66 subjugated | |
v.征服,降伏( subjugate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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67 instinctive | |
adj.(出于)本能的;直觉的;(出于)天性的 | |
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68 irritation | |
n.激怒,恼怒,生气 | |
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69 mendicant | |
n.乞丐;adj.行乞的 | |
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70 reticence | |
n.沉默,含蓄 | |
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71 vow | |
n.誓(言),誓约;v.起誓,立誓 | |
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72 accusations | |
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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73 reconstruction | |
n.重建,再现,复原 | |
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74 worthy | |
adj.(of)值得的,配得上的;有价值的 | |
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75 violation | |
n.违反(行为),违背(行为),侵犯 | |
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76 investigations | |
(正式的)调查( investigation的名词复数 ); 侦查; 科学研究; 学术研究 | |
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77 formulate | |
v.用公式表示;规划;设计;系统地阐述 | |
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78 opposition | |
n.反对,敌对 | |
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79 gulped | |
v.狼吞虎咽地吃,吞咽( gulp的过去式和过去分词 );大口地吸(气);哽住 | |
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80 formulating | |
v.构想出( formulate的现在分词 );规划;确切地阐述;用公式表示 | |
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81 monastery | |
n.修道院,僧院,寺院 | |
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82 bastard | |
n.坏蛋,混蛋;私生子 | |
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83 feudal | |
adj.封建的,封地的,领地的 | |
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84 inflated | |
adj.(价格)飞涨的;(通货)膨胀的;言过其实的;充了气的v.使充气(于轮胎、气球等)( inflate的过去式和过去分词 );(使)膨胀;(使)通货膨胀;物价上涨 | |
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85 barons | |
男爵( baron的名词复数 ); 巨头; 大王; 大亨 | |
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86 secular | |
n.牧师,凡人;adj.世俗的,现世的,不朽的 | |
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87 wretch | |
n.可怜的人,不幸的人;卑鄙的人 | |
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88 plebeian | |
adj.粗俗的;平民的;n.平民;庶民 | |
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89 justify | |
vt.证明…正当(或有理),为…辩护 | |
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90 rumors | |
n.传闻( rumor的名词复数 );[古]名誉;咕哝;[古]喧嚷v.传闻( rumor的第三人称单数 );[古]名誉;咕哝;[古]喧嚷 | |
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91 ward | |
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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92 prudence | |
n.谨慎,精明,节俭 | |
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93 cloister | |
n.修道院;v.隐退,使与世隔绝 | |
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94 eternity | |
n.不朽,来世;永恒,无穷 | |
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95 penetrate | |
v.透(渗)入;刺入,刺穿;洞察,了解 | |
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96 determined | |
adj.坚定的;有决心的 | |
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97 bustle | |
v.喧扰地忙乱,匆忙,奔忙;n.忙碌;喧闹 | |
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98 animated | |
adj.生气勃勃的,活跃的,愉快的 | |
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99 treacherous | |
adj.不可靠的,有暗藏的危险的;adj.背叛的,背信弃义的 | |
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100 lascivious | |
adj.淫荡的,好色的 | |
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101 scapegoat | |
n.替罪的羔羊,替人顶罪者;v.使…成为替罪羊 | |
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102 decided | |
adj.决定了的,坚决的;明显的,明确的 | |
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103 agitated | |
adj.被鼓动的,不安的 | |
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104 ebullient | |
adj.兴高采烈的,奔放的 | |
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