It is possible that among my readers there may be a few not unacquainted with an old-book shop, existing some years since in the neighbourhood of Covent Garden; I say a few, for certainly there was little enough to attract the many in those precious volumes which the labour of a life had accumulated on the dusty shelves of my old friend D—. There were to be found no popular treatises1, no entertaining romances, no histories, no travels, no “Library for the People,” no “Amusement for the Million.” But there, perhaps, throughout all Europe, the curious might discover the most notable collection, ever amassed3 by an enthusiast4, of the works of alchemist, cabalist, and astrologer. The owner had lavished5 a fortune in the purchase of unsalable treasures. But old D— did not desire to sell. It absolutely went to his heart when a customer entered his shop: he watched the movements of the presumptuous6 intruder with a vindictive7 glare; he fluttered around him with uneasy vigilance,— he frowned, he groaned8, when profane9 hands dislodged his idols10 from their niches11. If it were one of the favourite sultanas of his wizard harem that attracted you, and the price named were not sufficiently12 enormous, he would not unfrequently double the sum. Demur13, and in brisk delight he snatched the venerable charmer from your hands; accede14, and he became the picture of despair,— nor unfrequently, at the dead of night, would he knock at your door, and entreat15 you to sell him back, at your own terms, what you had so egregiously16 bought at his. A believer himself in his Averroes and Paracelsus, he was as loth as the philosophers he studied to communicate to the profane the learning he had collected.
It so chanced that some years ago, in my younger days, whether of authorship or life, I felt a desire to make myself acquainted with the true origin and tenets of the singular sect17 known by the name of Rosicrucians. Dissatisfied with the scanty18 and superficial accounts to be found in the works usually referred to on the subject, it struck me as possible that Mr. D—‘s collection, which was rich, not only in black-letter, but in manuscripts, might contain some more accurate and authentic19 records of that famous brotherhood20,— written, who knows? by one of their own order, and confirming by authority and detail the pretensions21 to wisdom and to virtue22 which Bringaret had arrogated23 to the successors of the Chaldean and Gymnosophist. Accordingly I repaired to what, doubtless, I ought to be ashamed to confess, was once one of my favourite haunts. But are there no errors and no fallacies, in the chronicles of our own day, as absurd as those of the alchemists of old? Our very newspapers may seem to our posterity24 as full of delusions25 as the books of the alchemists do to us; not but what the press is the air we breathe,— and uncommonly26 foggy the air is too!
On entering the shop, I was struck by the venerable appearance of a customer whom I had never seen there before. I was struck yet more by the respect with which he was treated by the disdainful collector. “Sir,” cried the last, emphatically, as I was turning over the leaves of the catalogue,—“sir, you are the only man I have met, in five-and-forty years that I have spent in these researches, who is worthy27 to be my customer. How — where, in this frivolous28 age, could you have acquired a knowledge so profound? And this august fraternity, whose doctrines29, hinted at by the earliest philosophers, are still a mystery to the latest; tell me if there really exists upon the earth any book, any manuscript, in which their discoveries, their tenets, are to be learned?”
At the words, “august fraternity,” I need scarcely say that my attention had been at once aroused, and I listened eagerly for the stranger’s reply.
“I do not think,” said the old gentleman, “that the masters of the school have ever consigned30, except by obscure hint and mystical parable31, their real doctrines to the world. And I do not blame them for their discretion32.”
Here he paused, and seemed about to retire, when I said, somewhat abruptly33, to the collector, “I see nothing, Mr. D—, in this catalogue which relates to the Rosicrucians!”
“The Rosicrucians!” repeated the old gentleman, and in his turn he surveyed me with deliberate surprise. “Who but a Rosicrucian could explain the Rosicrucian mysteries! And can you imagine that any members of that sect, the most jealous of all secret societies, would themselves lift the veil that hides the Isis of their wisdom from the world?”
“Aha!” thought I, “this, then, is ‘the august fraternity’ of which you spoke34. Heaven be praised! I certainly have stumbled on one of the brotherhood.”
“But,” I said aloud, “if not in books, sir, where else am I to obtain information? Nowadays one can hazard nothing in print without authority, and one may scarcely quote Shakespeare without citing chapter and verse. This is the age of facts,— the age of facts, sir.”
“Well,” said the old gentleman, with a pleasant smile, “if we meet again, perhaps, at least, I may direct your researches to the proper source of intelligence.” And with that he buttoned his greatcoat, whistled to his dog, and departed.
It so happened that I did meet again with the old gentleman, exactly four days after our brief conversation in Mr. D—‘s bookshop. I was riding leisurely35 towards Highgate, when, at the foot of its classic hill, I recognised the stranger; he was mounted on a black pony36, and before him trotted37 his dog, which was black also.
If you meet the man whom you wish to know, on horseback, at the commencement of a long hill, where, unless he has borrowed a friend’s favourite hack38, he cannot, in decent humanity to the brute39 creation, ride away from you, I apprehend40 that it is your own fault if you have not gone far in your object before you have gained the top. In short, so well did I succeed, that on reaching Highgate the old gentleman invited me to rest at his house, which was a little apart from the village; and an excellent house it was,— small, but commodious41, with a large garden, and commanding from the windows such a prospect42 as Lucretius would recommend to philosophers: the spires43 and domes44 of London, on a clear day, distinctly visible; here the Retreat of the Hermit45, and there the Mare46 Magnum of the world.
The walls of the principal rooms were embellished47 with pictures of extraordinary merit, and in that high school of art which is so little understood out of Italy. I was surprised to learn that they were all from the hand of the owner. My evident admiration48 pleased my new friend, and led to talk upon his part, which showed him no less elevated in his theories of art than an adept49 in the practice. Without fatiguing50 the reader with irrelevant51 criticism, it is necessary, perhaps, as elucidating52 much of the design and character of the work which these prefatory pages introduce, that I should briefly53 observe, that he insisted as much upon the connection of the arts, as a distinguished54 author has upon that of the sciences; that he held that in all works of imagination, whether expressed by words or by colours, the artist of the higher schools must make the broadest distinction between the real and the true,— in other words, between the imitation of actual life, and the exaltation of Nature into the Ideal.
“The one,” said he, “is the Dutch School, the other is the Greek.”
“Sir,” said I, “the Dutch is the most in fashion.”
“Yes, in painting, perhaps,” answered my host, “but in literature —”
“It was of literature I spoke. Our growing poets are all for simplicity55 and Betty Foy; and our critics hold it the highest praise of a work of imagination, to say that its characters are exact to common life, even in sculpture —”
“In sculpture! No, no! THERE the high ideal must at least be essential!”
“Pardon me; I fear you have not seen Souter Johnny and Tam O’Shanter.”
“Ah!” said the old gentleman, shaking his head, “I live very much out of the world, I see. I suppose Shakespeare has ceased to be admired?”
“On the contrary; people make the adoration56 of Shakespeare the excuse for attacking everybody else. But then our critics have discovered that Shakespeare is so REAL!”
“Real! The poet who has never once drawn57 a character to be met with in actual life,— who has never once descended58 to a passion that is false, or a personage who is real!”
I was about to reply very severely59 to this paradox60, when I perceived that my companion was growing a little out of temper. And he who wishes to catch a Rosicrucian, must take care not to disturb the waters. I thought it better, therefore, to turn the conversation.
“Revenons a nos moutons,” said I; “you promised to enlighten my ignorance as to the Rosicrucians.”
“Well!” quoth he, rather sternly; “but for what purpose? Perhaps you desire only to enter the temple in order to ridicule61 the rites62?”
“What do you take me for! Surely, were I so inclined, the fate of the Abbe de Villars is a sufficient warning to all men not to treat idly of the realms of the Salamander and the Sylph. Everybody knows how mysteriously that ingenious personage was deprived of his life, in revenge for the witty63 mockeries of his ‘Comte de Gabalis.’”
“Salamander and Sylph! I see that you fall into the vulgar error, and translate literally64 the allegorical language of the mystics.”
With that the old gentleman condescended65 to enter into a very interesting, and, as it seemed to me, a very erudite relation, of the tenets of the Rosicrucians, some of whom, he asserted, still existed, and still prosecuted66, in august secrecy67, their profound researches into natural science and occult philosophy.
“But this fraternity,” said he, “however respectable and virtuous68,— virtuous I say, for no monastic order is more severe in the practice of moral precepts69, or more ardent70 in Christian71 faith,— this fraternity is but a branch of others yet more transcendent in the powers they have obtained, and yet more illustrious in their origin. Are you acquainted with the Platonists?”
“I have occasionally lost my way in their labyrinth,” said I. “Faith, they are rather difficult gentlemen to understand.”
“Yet their knottiest72 problems have never yet been published. Their sublimest73 works are in manuscript, and constitute the initiatory75 learning, not only of the Rosicrucians, but of the nobler brotherhoods76 I have referred to. More solemn and sublime74 still is the knowledge to be gleaned77 from the elder Pythagoreans, and the immortal78 masterpieces of Apollonius.”
“Apollonius, the imposter of Tyanea! are his writings extant?”
“Imposter!” cried my host; “Apollonius an imposter!”
“I beg your pardon; I did not know he was a friend of yours; and if you vouch79 for his character, I will believe him to have been a very respectable man, who only spoke the truth when he boasted of his power to be in two places at the same time.”
“Is that so difficult?” said the old gentleman; “if so, you have never dreamed!”
Here ended our conversation; but from that time an acquaintance was formed between us which lasted till my venerable friend departed this life. Peace to his ashes! He was a person of singular habits and eccentric opinions; but the chief part of his time was occupied in acts of quiet and unostentatious goodness. He was an enthusiast in the duties of the Samaritan; and as his virtues80 were softened81 by the gentlest charity, so his hopes were based upon the devoutest belief. He never conversed82 upon his own origin and history, nor have I ever been able to penetrate84 the darkness in which they were concealed85. He seemed to have seen much of the world, and to have been an eye-witness of the first French Revolution, a subject upon which he was equally eloquent86 and instructive. At the same time he did not regard the crimes of that stormy period with the philosophical87 leniency88 with which enlightened writers (their heads safe upon their shoulders) are, in the present day, inclined to treat the massacres89 of the past: he spoke not as a student who had read and reasoned, but as a man who had seen and suffered. The old gentleman seemed alone in the world; nor did I know that he had one relation, till his executor, a distant cousin, residing abroad, informed me of the very handsome legacy90 which my poor friend had bequeathed me. This consisted, first, of a sum about which I think it best to be guarded, foreseeing the possibility of a new tax upon real and funded property; and, secondly91, of certain precious manuscripts, to which the following volumes owe their existence.
I imagine I trace this latter bequest92 to a visit I paid the Sage93, if so I may be permitted to call him, a few weeks before his death.
Although he read little of our modern literature, my friend, with the affable good-nature which belonged to him, graciously permitted me to consult him upon various literary undertakings94 meditated96 by the desultory97 ambition of a young and inexperienced student. And at that time I sought his advice upon a work of imagination, intended to depict98 the effects of enthusiasm upon different modifications99 of character. He listened to my conception, which was sufficiently trite100 and prosaic101, with his usual patience; and then, thoughtfully turning to his bookshelves, took down an old volume, and read to me, first, in Greek, and secondly, in English, some extracts to the following effect:—
“Plato here expresses four kinds of mania102, by which I desire to understand enthusiasm and the inspiration of the gods: Firstly, the musical; secondly, the telestic or mystic; thirdly, the prophetic; and fourthly, that which belongs to love.”
The author he quoted, after contending that there is something in the soul above intellect, and stating that there are in our nature distinct energies,— by the one of which we discover and seize, as it were, on sciences and theorems with almost intuitive rapidity, by another, through which high art is accomplished103, like the statues of Phidias,— proceeded to state that “enthusiasm, in the true acceptation of the word, is, when that part of the soul which is above intellect is excited to the gods, and thence derives104 its inspiration.”
The author, then pursuing his comment upon Plato, observes, that “one of these manias105 may suffice (especially that which belongs to love) to lead back the soul to its first divinity and happiness; but that there is an intimate union with them all; and that the ordinary progress through which the soul ascends106 is, primarily, through the musical; next, through the telestic or mystic; thirdly, through the prophetic; and lastly, through the enthusiasm of love.”
While with a bewildered understanding and a reluctant attention I listened to these intricate sublimities, my adviser107 closed the volume, and said with complacency, “There is the motto for your book,— the thesis for your theme.”
“Davus sum, non Oedipus,” said I, shaking my head, discontentedly. “All this may be exceedingly fine, but, Heaven forgive me,— I don’t understand a word of it. The mysteries of your Rosicrucians, and your fraternities, are mere109 child’s play to the jargon110 of the Platonists.”
“Yet, not till you rightly understand this passage, can you understand the higher theories of the Rosicrucians, or of the still nobler fraternities you speak of with so much levity111.”
“Oh, if that be the case, I give up in despair. Why not, since you are so well versed83 in the matter, take the motto for a book of your own?”
“But if I have already composed a book with that thesis for its theme, will you prepare it for the public?”
“With the greatest pleasure,” said I,— alas112, too rashly!
“I shall hold you to your promise,” returned the old gentleman, “and when I am no more, you will receive the manuscripts. From what you say of the prevailing113 taste in literature, I cannot flatter you with the hope that you will gain much by the undertaking95. And I tell you beforehand that you will find it not a little laborious114.”
“Is your work a romance?”
“It is a romance, and it is not a romance. It is a truth for those who can comprehend it, and an extravagance for those who cannot.”
At last there arrived the manuscripts, with a brief note from my deceased friend, reminding me of my imprudent promise.
With mournful interest, and yet with eager impatience115, I opened the packet and trimmed my lamp. Conceive my dismay when I found the whole written in an unintelligible116 cipher117. I present the reader with a specimen118:
(Several strange characters.)
and so on for nine hundred and forty mortal pages in foolscap. I could scarcely believe my eyes: in fact, I began to think the lamp burned singularly blue; and sundry119 misgivings120 as to the unhallowed nature of the characters I had so unwittingly opened upon, coupled with the strange hints and mystical language of the old gentleman, crept through my disordered imagination. Certainly, to say no worse of it, the whole thing looked UNCANNY! I was about, precipitately121, to hurry the papers into my desk, with a pious122 determination to have nothing more to do with them, when my eye fell upon a book, neatly123 bound in blue morocco, and which, in my eagerness, I had hitherto overlooked. I opened this volume with great precaution, not knowing what might jump out, and — guess my delight — found that it contained a key or dictionary to the hieroglyphics124. Not to weary the reader with an account of my labours, I am contented108 with saying that at last I imagined myself capable of construing125 the characters, and set to work in good earnest. Still it was no easy task, and two years elapsed before I had made much progress. I then, by way of experiment on the public, obtained the insertion of a few desultory chapters, in a periodical with which, for a few months, I had the honour to be connected. They appeared to excite more curiosity than I had presumed to anticipate; and I renewed, with better heart, my laborious undertaking. But now a new misfortune befell me: I found, as I proceeded, that the author had made two copies of his work, one much more elaborate and detailed126 than the other; I had stumbled upon the earlier copy, and had my whole task to remodel127, and the chapters I had written to retranslate. I may say then, that, exclusive of intervals128 devoted129 to more pressing occupations, my unlucky promise cost me the toil130 of several years before I could bring it to adequate fulfilment. The task was the more difficult, since the style in the original is written in a kind of rhythmical131 prose, as if the author desired that in some degree his work should be regarded as one of poetical132 conception and design. To this it was not possible to do justice, and in the attempt I have doubtless very often need of the reader’s indulgent consideration. My natural respect for the old gentleman’s vagaries133, with a muse2 of equivocal character, must be my only excuse whenever the language, without luxuriating into verse, borrows flowers scarcely natural to prose. Truth compels me also to confess, that, with all my pains, I am by no means sure that I have invariably given the true meaning of the cipher; nay134, that here and there either a gap in the narrative135, or the sudden assumption of a new cipher, to which no key was afforded, has obliged me to resort to interpolations of my own, no doubt easily discernible, but which, I flatter myself, are not inharmonious to the general design. This confession136 leads me to the sentence with which I shall conclude: If, reader, in this book there be anything that pleases you, it is certainly mine; but whenever you come to something you dislike,— lay the blame upon the old gentleman!
London, January, 1842.
N.B.— The notes appended to the text are sometimes by the author, sometimes by the editor. I have occasionally (but not always) marked the distinction; where, however, this is omitted, the ingenuity137 of the reader will be rarely at fault.
ZANONI.
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1
treatises
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| n.专题著作，专题论文，专著( treatise的名词复数 ) | |
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muse
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| n.缪斯（希腊神话中的女神），创作灵感 | |
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amassed
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| v.积累，积聚( amass的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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enthusiast
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| n.热心人，热衷者 | |
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lavished
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| v.过分给予，滥施( lavish的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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presumptuous
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| adj.胆大妄为的，放肆的，冒昧的，冒失的 | |
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vindictive
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| adj.有报仇心的，怀恨的，惩罚的 | |
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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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profane
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| adj.亵神的，亵渎的；vt.亵渎，玷污 | |
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idols
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| 偶像( idol的名词复数 )； 受崇拜的人或物； 受到热爱和崇拜的人或物； 神像 | |
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niches
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| 壁龛( niche的名词复数 )； 合适的位置[工作等]； （产品的）商机； 生态位（一个生物所占据的生境的最小单位） | |
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sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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demur
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| v．表示异议，反对 | |
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accede
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| v.应允，同意 | |
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entreat
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| v.恳求，恳请 | |
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egregiously
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| adv.过份地，卓越地 | |
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sect
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| n.派别，宗教，学派，派系 | |
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scanty
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| adj.缺乏的，仅有的，节省的，狭小的，不够的 | |
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authentic
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| a.真的，真正的；可靠的，可信的，有根据的 | |
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brotherhood
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| n.兄弟般的关系，手中情谊 | |
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pretensions
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| 自称( pretension的名词复数 )； 自命不凡； 要求； 权力 | |
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virtue
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| n.德行，美德；贞操；优点；功效，效力 | |
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arrogated
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| v.冒称，妄取( arrogate的过去式和过去分词 )；没来由地把…归属（于） | |
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posterity
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| n.后裔，子孙，后代 | |
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delusions
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| n.欺骗( delusion的名词复数 )；谬见；错觉；妄想 | |
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uncommonly
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| adv. 稀罕(极，非常) | |
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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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frivolous
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| adj.轻薄的；轻率的 | |
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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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consigned
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| v.把…置于（令人不快的境地）( consign的过去式和过去分词 )；把…托付给；把…托人代售；丟弃 | |
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parable
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| n.寓言，比喻 | |
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discretion
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| n.谨慎；随意处理 | |
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abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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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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leisurely
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| adj.悠闲的；从容的，慢慢的 | |
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pony
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| adj.小型的；n.小马 | |
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trotted
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| 小跑，急走( trot的过去分词 )； 匆匆忙忙地走 | |
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hack
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| n.劈，砍，出租马车；v.劈，砍，干咳 | |
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brute
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| n.野兽，兽性 | |
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apprehend
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| vt.理解，领悟，逮捕，拘捕，忧虑 | |
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commodious
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| adj.宽敞的；使用方便的 | |
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prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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spires
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| n.（教堂的） 塔尖，尖顶( spire的名词复数 ) | |
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domes
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| n.圆屋顶( dome的名词复数 )；像圆屋顶一样的东西；圆顶体育场 | |
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hermit
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| n.隐士，修道者；隐居 | |
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mare
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| n.母马，母驴 | |
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embellished
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| v.美化( embellish的过去式和过去分词 )；装饰；修饰；润色 | |
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admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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adept
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| adj.老练的，精通的 | |
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fatiguing
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| a.使人劳累的 | |
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51
irrelevant
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| adj.不恰当的，无关系的，不相干的 | |
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52
elucidating
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| v.阐明，解释( elucidate的现在分词 ) | |
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53
briefly
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| adv.简单地，简短地 | |
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54
distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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55
simplicity
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| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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56
adoration
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| n.爱慕，崇拜 | |
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57
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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58
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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59
severely
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| adv.严格地；严厉地；非常恶劣地 | |
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60
paradox
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| n.似乎矛盾却正确的说法；自相矛盾的人(物) | |
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61
ridicule
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| v.讥讽，挖苦；n.嘲弄 | |
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62
rites
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| 仪式，典礼( rite的名词复数 ) | |
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63
witty
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| adj.机智的，风趣的 | |
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64
literally
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| adv.照字面意义，逐字地；确实 | |
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65
condescended
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| 屈尊，俯就( condescend的过去式和过去分词 )； 故意表示和蔼可亲 | |
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66
prosecuted
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| a.被起诉的 | |
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67
secrecy
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| n.秘密，保密，隐蔽 | |
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68
virtuous
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| adj.有品德的，善良的，贞洁的，有效力的 | |
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69
precepts
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| n.规诫，戒律，箴言( precept的名词复数 ) | |
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ardent
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，强烈的，烈性的 | |
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71
Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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72
knottiest
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| adj.（指木材）多结节的( knotty的最高级 )；多节瘤的；困难的；棘手的 | |
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sublimest
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| 伟大的( sublime的最高级 )； 令人赞叹的； 极端的； 不顾后果的 | |
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74
sublime
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| adj.崇高的，伟大的；极度的，不顾后果的 | |
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75
initiatory
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| adj.开始的；创始的；入会的；入社的 | |
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76
brotherhoods
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| 兄弟关系( brotherhood的名词复数 )； （总称）同行； （宗教性的）兄弟会； 同业公会 | |
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77
gleaned
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| v.一点点地收集（资料、事实）( glean的过去式和过去分词 )；（收割后）拾穗 | |
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78
immortal
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| adj.不朽的；永生的，不死的；神的 | |
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79
vouch
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| v.担保；断定；n.被担保者 | |
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virtues
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| 美德( virtue的名词复数 )； 德行； 优点； 长处 | |
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81
softened
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| （使）变软( soften的过去式和过去分词 )； 缓解打击； 缓和； 安慰 | |
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82
conversed
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| v.交谈，谈话( converse的过去式 ) | |
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83
versed
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| adj. 精通，熟练 | |
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84
penetrate
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| v.透(渗)入；刺入，刺穿；洞察，了解 | |
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85
concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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86
eloquent
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| adj.雄辩的，口才流利的；明白显示出的 | |
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87
philosophical
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| adj.哲学家的，哲学上的，达观的 | |
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88
leniency
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| n.宽大（不严厉） | |
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89
massacres
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| 大屠杀( massacre的名词复数 )； 惨败 | |
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legacy
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| n.遗产，遗赠；先人(或过去)留下的东西 | |
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secondly
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| adv.第二，其次 | |
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92
bequest
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| n.遗赠；遗产，遗物 | |
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93
sage
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| n.圣人，哲人；adj.贤明的，明智的 | |
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undertakings
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| 企业( undertaking的名词复数 )； 保证； 殡仪业； 任务 | |
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undertaking
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| n.保证，许诺，事业 | |
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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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desultory
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| adj.散漫的，无方法的 | |
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98
depict
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| vt.描画，描绘；描写，描述 | |
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modifications
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| n.缓和( modification的名词复数 )；限制；更改；改变 | |
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100
trite
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| adj.陈腐的 | |
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101
prosaic
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| adj.单调的，无趣的 | |
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102
mania
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| n.疯狂；躁狂症，狂热，癖好 | |
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103
accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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104
derives
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| v.得到( derive的第三人称单数 )；（从…中）得到获得；源于；（从…中）提取 | |
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105
manias
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| n.（mania的复数形式） | |
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106
ascends
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| v.上升，攀登( ascend的第三人称单数 ) | |
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107
adviser
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| n.劝告者，顾问 | |
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108
contented
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| adj.满意的，安心的，知足的 | |
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109
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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110
jargon
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| n.术语，行话 | |
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111
levity
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| n.轻率，轻浮，不稳定，多变 | |
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112
alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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113
prevailing
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| adj.盛行的；占优势的；主要的 | |
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114
laborious
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| adj.吃力的，努力的，不流畅 | |
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115
impatience
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| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
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116
unintelligible
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| adj.无法了解的，难解的，莫明其妙的 | |
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117
cipher
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| n.零；无影响力的人；密码 | |
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118
specimen
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| n.样本，标本 | |
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119
sundry
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| adj.各式各样的，种种的 | |
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120
misgivings
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| n.疑虑，担忧，害怕；疑虑，担心，恐惧( misgiving的名词复数 )；疑惧 | |
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121
precipitately
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| adv.猛进地 | |
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122
pious
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| adj.虔诚的；道貌岸然的 | |
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123
neatly
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| adv.整洁地，干净地，灵巧地，熟练地 | |
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124
hieroglyphics
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| n.pl.象形文字 | |
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125
construing
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| v.解释（陈述、行为等）( construe的现在分词 )；翻译，作句法分析 | |
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126
detailed
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| adj.详细的，详尽的，极注意细节的，完全的 | |
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127
remodel
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| v.改造，改型，改变 | |
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128
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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129
devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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130
toil
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| vi.辛劳工作，艰难地行动；n.苦工，难事 | |
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131
rhythmical
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| adj.有节奏的，有韵律的 | |
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132
poetical
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| adj.似诗人的；诗一般的；韵文的；富有诗意的 | |
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133
vagaries
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| n.奇想( vagary的名词复数 )；异想天开；异常行为；难以预测的情况 | |
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134
nay
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| adv.不；n.反对票，投反对票者 | |
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135
narrative
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| n.叙述，故事；adj.叙事的，故事体的 | |
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136
confession
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| n.自白，供认，承认 | |
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137
ingenuity
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| n.别出心裁；善于发明创造 | |
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