Genji was immersed in preparations for his daughter’s initiation1 ceremonies. Similar ceremonies were to be held for the crown prince in the Second Month. The girl was to go to court immediately afterwards.
It was now the end of the First Month. In his spare time Genji saw to blending the perfumes she would take with her. Dissatisfied with the new ones that had come from the assistant viceroy of Kyushu, he had old Chinese perfumes brought from the Nijō storehouses.
“It is with scents3 as with brocades: the old ones are more elegant and congenial.
Then there were cushions for his daughter’s trousseau, and covers and trimmings and the like. New fabrics4 did not compare with the damasks and red and gold brocades which an embassy had brought from Korea early in his father’s reign5. He selected the choicest of them and gave the Kyushu silks and damasks to the serving women.
He laid out all the perfumes and divided them among his ladies. Each of them was to prepare two blends, he said. At Rokujō and elsewhere people were busy with gifts for the officiating priests and all the important guests. Every detail, said Genji, must be of the finest. The ladies were hard at work at their perfumes, and the clatter6 of pestles7 was very noisy indeed.
Setting up his headquarters in the main hall, apart from Murasaki, Genji turned with great concentration to blending two perfumes the formulas for which — how can they have come into his hands? — had been handed down in secret from the day of the emperor Nimmyō. In a deeply curtained room in the east wing Murasaki was at work on blends of her own, after the secret Hachijō tradition. The competition was intense and the security very strict.
“Let the depths and shallows be sounded,” said Genji solemnly, “before we reach our decisions.” His eagerness was so innocent and boyish that few would have taken him for the father of the initiate8.
The ladies reduced their staffs to a minimum and let it be known that they were not limiting themselves to perfumes but were concerned with accessories too. They would be satisfied with nothing but the best and most original jars and boxes and censers.
They had exhausted9 all their devices and everything was ready. Genji would review the perfumes and seal the best of them in jars.
Prince Hotaru came calling on the tenth of the Second Month. A gentle rain was falling and the rose plum near the veranda10 was in full and fragant bloom. The ceremonies were to be the next day. Very close since boyhood, the brothers were admiring the blossoms when a note came attached to a plum branch from which most of the blossoms had fallen. It was from Princess Asagao, said the messenger. Prince Hotaru was very curious, having heard rumors12.
“I made certain highly personal requests of her,” said Genji, smiling and putting the letter away. “I am sure that as always she has complied with earnest efficiency.”
The princess had sent perfumes kneaded into rather large balls in two jars, indigo13 and white, the former decorated with a pine branch and the latter a branch of plum. Though the cords and knots were conventional, one immediately detected the hand of a lady of taste. Inspecting the gifts and finding them admirable, the prince came upon a poem in faint ink which he softly read over to himself.
“Its blossoms fallen, the plum is of no further use.
Let its fragrance14 sink into the sleeves of another.”
Yūgiri had wine brought for the messenger and gave him a set of lady’s robes, among them a Chinese red lined with purple.
Genji’s reply, tied to a spray of rose plum, was on red paper.
“And what have you said to her?” asked the prince. “Must you be so
“I would not dream of having secrets from you.”
This, it would seem, is the poem which he jotted15 down and handed to his brother:
“The perfume must be hidden lest people talk,
But I cannot take my eye from so lovely a blossom.”
“This grand to-do may strike you as frivolous,” said Genji, “but a man does go to very great troubles when he has only one daughter. She is a homely16 little thing whom I would not wish strangers to see, and so I am keeping it in the family by asking the empress to officiate. The empress is a lady of very exacting17 standards, and even though I think of her as one of the family I would not want the smallest detail to be wrong.”
“What better model could a child have than an empress?”
The time had come to review the perfumes.
“It should be on a rainy evening,” said Genji. “And you shall judge them. Who if not you?”
He had censers brought in. A most marvelous display was ranged before the prince, for the ladies were determined18 that their manufactures be presented to the very best advantage.
“I am hardly the one who knows,” said the prince.
He went over them very carefully, finding this and that delicate flaw, for the finest perfumes are sometimes just a shade too insistent19 or too bland20.
Genji sent for the two perfumes of his own compounding. It being in the old court tradition to bury perfumes beside the guardsmen’s stream, he had buried them near the stream that flowed between the main hall and the west wing. He dispatched Koremitsu’s son, now a councillor, to dig them up. Yūgiri brought them in.
“You have assigned me a most difficult task,” said the prince. “I fear that my judgment21 may be a bit smoky.”
The same tradition had in several fashions made its way down to the several contestants22. Each had added ingeniously original touches. The prince was faced with many interesting and delicate problems.
Despite Asagao’s self-deprecatory poem, her “dark” winter incense23 was judged the best, somehow gentler and yet deeper than the others. The prince decided24 that among the autumn scents, the “chamberlain’s perfumes,” as they are called, Genji’s had an intimacy25 which however did not insist upon itself. Of Murasaki’s three, the plum or spring perfume was especially bright and original, with a tartness26 that was rather daring.
“Nothing goes better with a spring breeze than a plum blossom,” said the prince.
Observing the competition from her summer quarter, the lady of the orange blossoms was characteristically reticent27, as inconspicuous as a wisp of smoke from a censer. She finally submitted a single perfume, a summer lotus-leaf blend with a pungency28 that was gentle but firm. In the winter quarter the Akashi lady had as little confidence that she could hold her own in such competition. She finally submitted a “hundred pace” sachet from an adaptation of Minamoto Kintada’s formula by the earlier Suzaku emperor, of very great delicacy29 and refinement30.
The prince announced that each of the perfumes was obviously the result of careful thought and that each had much to recommend it.
“A harmless sort of conclusion,” said Genji.
The moon rose, there was wine, the talk was of old times. The mist-enshrouded moon was weirdly31 beautiful, and the breeze following gently upon the rain brought a soft perfume of plum blossoms. The mixture of scents inside the hall was magical.
It was the eve of the ceremony. The stewards’ offices had brought musical instruments for a rehearsal32. Guests had gathered in large numbers and flute33 and koto echoed through all the galleries. Kashiwagi, Kōbai, and Tō no Chūjō‘s other sons stopped by with formal greetings. Genji insisted that they join the concert. For Prince Hotaru there was a lute34, for Genji a thirteen-stringed koto, for Kashiwagi, who had a quick, lively touch, a Japanese koto. Yūgiri took up a flute, and the high, clear strains, appropriate to the season, could scarcely have been improved upon. Beating time with a fan, Kōbai was in magnificent voice as he sang “A Branch of Plum.” Genji and Prince Hotaru joined him at the climax35. It was Kōbai who, still a court page, had sung “Takasago” at the rhyme-guessing contest so many years before. Everyone agreed that though informal it was an excellent concert.
Prince Hotaru intoned a poem as wine was brought in:
“The voice of the warbler lays a deeper spell
Over one already enchanted36 by the blossoms.
“For a thousand years, if they do not fall?”
Genji replied:
“Honor us by sharing our blossoms this spring
Until you have taken on their hue37 and fragrance.”
Kashiwagi recited this poem as he poured for Yūgiri:
“Sound your bamboo flute all through the night
And shake the plum branch where the warbler sleeps.”
Yūgiri replied:
“I thought we wished to protect them from the winds,
The blossoms you would have me blow upon madly.
“Most unthinking of you, sir.” There was laughter.
This was Kōbai’s poem:
“Did not the mists intercede38 to dim the moonlight
The birds on these branches might burst into joyous39 blossom.”
And indeed music did sound all through the night, and it was dawn when Prince Hotaru made ready to leave. Genji had a set of informal court robes and two sealed jars of perfume taken out to his carriage.
“If she catches a scent2 of blossoms upon these robes,
My lady will charge me with having misbehaved.”
“How very sad for you,” said Genji, coming out as the carriage was being readied.
“I should have thought your lady might be pleased
To have you come home all flowers and brocades.
“She can scarcely be witness to such a sight every day.”
The prince could not immediately think of an answer.
There were modest but tasteful gifts, ladies’ robes and the like, for all the other guests.
Genji went to the southwest quarter early that evening. A porch at the west wing, where Akikonomu was in residence, had been fitted out for the ceremony. The women whose duty it would be to bind40 up the initiate’s hair were already in attendance. Murasaki thought it a proper occasion to visit Akikonomu. Each of the two ladies had a large retinue41 with her. The ceremonies reached a climax at about midnight with the tying of the ceremonial train. Though the light was dim, Akikonomu could see that the girl was very pretty indeed.
“Still a gawky child,” said Genji. “I am giving you this glimpse of her because I know you will always be good to her. It awes42 me to think of the precedent43 we are setting.”
“Do I make a difference?” replied Akikonomu, very young and pretty herself. “None at all, I should have thought.”
Such a gathering44 of beauty, said Genji, was itself cause for jubilation45.
The Akashi lady was of course saedthat she would not see her daughter on this most important of days. Genji debated the possibility of inviting46 her but concluded that her presence would make people talk and that the talk would do his daughter no good.
I shall omit the details. Even a partial account of a most ordinary ceremony in such a house can be tedious at the hands of an incompetent47
The crown prince’s initiation took place later in the month. He was mature for his years and the competition to enter his service should have been intense. It seemed to the Minister of the Left, however, that Genji’s plans for his daughter made the prospects48 rather bleak49 for other ladies. Colleagues with nubile50 daughters tended to agree, and kept the daughters at home.
“How petty of them,” said Genji. “Do they want the prince to be lonely? Don’t they know that court life is only interesting when all sorts of ladies are in elegant competition?”
He postponed51 his daughter’s debut52. The Minister of the Left presently relented and dispatched his third daughter to court. She was called Reikeiden.
It was now decided that Genji’s daughter would go to court in the Fourth Month. The crown prince was very impatient. The hall in which Genji’s mother had lived and Genji had had his offices was now assigned to his daughter. The finest craftsmen53 in the land were busy redecorating the rooms, which it might have seemed were splendid enough already. Genji himself went over the plans and designs.
And there was her library, which Genji hoped would be a model for later generations. Among the books and scrolls55 were masterpieces by calligraphers of an earlier day.
“We live in a degenerate56 age,” said Genji “Almost nothing but the ‘ladies’ hand’ seems really good. In that we do excel. The old styles have a sameness about them. They seem to have followed the copybooks and allowed little room for original talent We have been blessed in our own day with large numbers of fine calligraphers. Back when I was myself a student of the’ladies’ hand’ I put together a rather distinguished57 collection. he finest specimens58 in it, quite incomparable, I thought, were some informal jottings by the mother of the present empress. I thought that I had never seen anything so fine. I was so completely under their spell that I behaved in a manner which I fear did damage to her name. Though the last thing I wanted to do was hurt her, she became very angry with me. But she was a lady of great understanding, and I somehow feel that she is watching us from the grave and knows that I am trying to make amends59 by being of service to her daughter. As for the empress herself, she writes a subtle hand, but” — and he lowered his voice — “it may sometimes seem a little weak and wanting in substance.
“Fujitsubo’s was another remarkable60 hand, remarkable and yet perhaps just a little uncertain, and without the richest overtones. Oborozukiyo is too clever, one may think, and somewhat given to mannerism61; but among the ladies still here to please us she has only two rivals, Princess Asagao and you yourself, my dear.”
“The thought of being admitted to such company overwhelms me,” said Murasaki.
“You are too modest. Your writing manages to be gentle and intimate without ever losing its assurance. It is always a pleasant surprise when someone who writes well in the Chinese style moves over to the Japanese and writes that just as well.”
He himself had had a hand in designing the jackets and bindings for several booklets which still awaited calligraphers. Prince Hotaru must copy down something in one of them, he said, and another was for a certain guards commander, and he himself would see to putting something down in one or two others.
“They are justly proud of their skills, but I doubt that they will leave me any great distance behind.”
Selecting the finest inks and brushes, he sent out invitations to all his ladies to join in the endeavor. Some at first declined, thinking the challenge too much for them. Nor were the “young men of taste,” as he called them, to be left out. Yūgiri, Murasaki’s oldest brother, and Kashiwagi, among others, were supplied with fine Korean papers of the most delicate hues62.
“Do whatever you feel like doing, reed work or illustrations for poems or whatever.”
The competition was intense. Genji secluded63 himself as before in the main hall. The cherry blossoms had fallen and the skies were soft. Letting his mind run quietly through the anthologies, he tried several styles with fine results, formal and cursive Chinese and the more radically64 cursive Japanese “ladies’ hand.” He had with him only two or three women whom he could count on for interesting comments. They ground ink for him and selected poems from the more admired anthologies. Having raised the blinds to let the breezes pass, he sat out near the veranda with a booklet spread before him, and as he took a brush meditatively65 between his teeth the women thought that they could gaze at him for ages on end and not tire. His brush poised66 over papers of clear, plain reds and whites, he would collect himself for the effort of writing, and no one of reasonable sensitivity could have failed to admire the picture of serene67 concentration which he presented.
“His Highness Prince Hotaru.”
Shaking himself from his reverie and changing to informal court dress, Genji had a place readied for his guest among the books and papers. As the prince came regally up the stairs the women were delighted anew. The two brothers carried themselves beautifully as they exchanged formal greetings.
“My seclusion68 from the world had begun to be a little trying. It was thoughtful of you to break in upon the tedium69.”
The prince had come to deliver his manuscript. Genji read through it immediately. The hand could not have been called strikingly original, but of its sort it was disciplined and orderly. The prince had chosen poems from the older anthologies and set each of them down in three short lines. The style was a good cursive that made spare use of Chinese characters.
“I had not expected anything half so good,” said Genji. “You leave me with no recourse but to break my brushes and throw them all away.”
“I do at least give myself high marks for the boldness that permitted me to enter such a competition.”
Genji could not very well hide the manuscript he had been at work on himself. They went over it together. The cursive Chinese characters on unusually stiff Chinese paper were very good indeed. As for the passages in the “ladies’ hand,” they were superb, gently flowing strokes on the softest and most delicately tinted70 of Korean papers. A flow of admiring tears threatened to join the flow of ink. The prince thought that he could never tire of such pleasures. On bright, bold papers made by the provisioner for our own royal court Genji had jotted down poems in a whimsical cursive style, the bold abandon of which was such as to make the prince fear that all the other manuscripts must seem at best inoffensive.
The guards commander had also hoped to give an impression of boldness, but a certain muddy irresolution71 was hidden, or rather an attempt had been made to hide it, by mere72 cleverness. The selection of poems, moreover, left him open to charges of affectation.
Genji was more secretive with the ladies’ manuscripts and especially Princess Asagao’s.
The “reed work” was very interesting, each manuscript different from the others. Yūgiri had managed to suggest the flow of water in generous, expansive strokes, and his vertical73 strokes called to mind the famous reeds of Naniwa. The joining of reeds anaswater was accomplished74 very deftly75. There were sudden and bold variations, so that, turning a page, the reader suddenly came upon craggy, rocklike masses.
“Very fine indeed,” said the prince, a man of wide and subtle interests. “He has obviously taken it very seriously and worked very hard.”
As the conversation ranged over the varieties of calligraphy76 and manuscripts, Genji brought out several books done in patchwork77 with old and new papers. The prince sent his son the chamberlain to bring some scrolls from his own library, among them a set of four on which the emperor Saga11 had copied selections from the Manyōshū, and a Kokinshū at the hand of the emperor Daigo, on azure78 Chinese papers with matching jade79 rollers, intricate damask covers of a darker blue, and flat Chinese cords in multicolored checkers. The writing was art of the highest order, infinitely80 varied81 but always gently elegant. Genji had a lamp brought near.
“I could look at them for weeks and always see something new. Who in our own day can do more than imitate the smallest fragment?”
They were for Genji’s daughter, said the prince. “Even if I had a daughter of my own, I would want to be very sure that she was capable of appreciating them. As it is, they would rot ignominiously82 away.”
Genji gave the chamberlain a fine Korean flute and specimens of Chinese patchwork in a beautifully wrought83 aloeswood box.
He now immersed himself in study of the cursive Japanese styles. Having made the acquaintance of the more notable calligraphers, he commissioned from each a book or scroll54 for his daughter’s library, into which only the works of the eminent84 and accomplished were to be admitted. In the assembled collection there was not an item that could have been called indifferent, and there were treasures that would have filled gaps in the great court libraries across the seas. Young people were begging to see the famous patchwork. There were paintings too. Genji wanted his own Suma diary to go to his descendants, but decided that his daughter was perhaps still a little young for it.
Tō no Chūjō caught distant echoes of the excitement and was resentful. His daughter Kumoinokari was being wasted in the full bloom of her youth. Her gloom and boredom85 weighed on his own spirits — and Yūgiri seemed quite unconcerned. Tō no Chūjō knew that he would look ridiculous if he were suddenly to admit defeat. He was beginning to regret that he had not grandly nodded his acquiescence86 back in the days when Yūgiri was such an earnest plaintiff. He kept these thoughts to himself, and he was too honest with himself to be angry with the boy. Yūgiri was aware of them, but the people around Kumoinokari had once treated him with contempt and he was not going to give them the satisfaction of seeming eager. Yet he showed that he was still interested by not being even slightly interested in other ladies. These were matters which he could not treat of even in jest. It may have been that he was seeking a chance to show his councillor’s robes to the nurse who had had such contempt for the humbler blue.
Genji thought it time he was married. “If you no longer want the minister’s daughter, then Prince Nakatsukasa and the Minister of the Right have both let it be known that they would welcome a proposal. Suppose you were to take one of their daughters.”
Yūgiri listened respectfully but did not answer.
“I did not pay a great deal of attention to my father’s advice and so I am in no position to lecture to you. But I am old enough now to see what an unerring guide he would have been if I had chosen to listen.
“People think there is something odd about you because you are not married, and if in the end it seems to have been your fate to disappoint us, well, we can only say that you once showed promise. Do please always be on guard against the possibility that you are throwing yourself away because your ambitions have proven unreal.
“I grew up at court and had little freedom. I was very cautious, because the smallest mistake could make me seem reckless and giddy. Even so, people said that I showed promiscuous87 tendencies. It would be a mistake for you to think that because you are still relatively88 obscure you can do as you please The finest of men — it was true long ago and it is still true today — can disgrace themselves because they do not have wives to keep them from temptation. A man never recovers from a scandal, nor does the woman he has let himself become involved with. Even a difficult marriage can be made to work. A man may be unhappy with his wife, but if he tries hard he can count on her parents to help him. If she has none, if she is alone in the world and without resources, then pity for her can make him see her good points. The man of discrimination makes the best of the possibilities before him.”
It was when he had little else to do that he offered such advice.
But for Yūgiri the thought of taking another wife was not admissible. Kumoinokari was not comfortable with his attentions these days because she knew how disturbed and uncertain her Father was. She was sorry for herself too, but tried to hide her gloom. Sometimes, when the longing89 was too much for Yūgiri, there would be an impassioned letter. A more experienced lady, though aware that there was no one except the man himself to question about his intentions, might have suspected posing and posturing90. She found only sentiments that accorded with her own.
Her women were talking. “It seems that Prince Nakatsukasa has reached a tacit understanding with Genji and is pushing ahead with the arrangements.”
Tō no Chūjō was troubled. There were tears in his eyes when, very gently, he told Kumoinokari what he had heard. “It seems very unkind of the boy. I suppose that Genji is trying to get back at me. I cannot give my consent now without looking ridiculous.”
Intensely embarrassed, she too was weeping. He thought her charming as she turned away to hide her tears. He left feeling more uncertain than ever. Should he make new attempts to learn what they all were thinking?
Kumoinokari went out to the veranda. Why was it, she asked herself, that the tide of tears must be forever waxing and joy forever on the wane91? What would her poor father be thinking?
A letter from Yūgiri came in upon the gloom. She opened it, and could detect no change in his manner.
“This coldness takes you the usual way of the world
Am I the deviant, that I cannot forget you?”
She did not like this calm refusal to say anything of his new affair. Yet she answered.
“You cannot forget, and now you have forgotten.
You are the one who goes the way of the world.”
That was all. What could she possibly mean? He looked at it from this angle and that — so one is told — and could make no sense of it.
收听单词发音 |
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initiation
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| n.开始 | |
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scent
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| n.气味，香味，香水，线索，嗅觉；v.嗅，发觉 | |
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scents
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| n.香水( scent的名词复数 )；气味；（动物的）臭迹；（尤指狗的）嗅觉 | |
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fabrics
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| 织物( fabric的名词复数 )； 布； 构造； （建筑物的）结构（如墙、地面、屋顶）：质地 | |
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reign
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| n.统治时期，统治，支配，盛行；v.占优势 | |
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clatter
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| v./n.(使)发出连续而清脆的撞击声 | |
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pestles
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| n.（捣碎或碾磨用的）杵( pestle的名词复数 ) | |
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initiate
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| vt.开始，创始，发动；启蒙，使入门；引入 | |
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exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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veranda
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| n.走廊；阳台 | |
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saga
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| n.(尤指中世纪北欧海盗的)故事，英雄传奇 | |
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rumors
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| 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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indigo
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| n.靛青，靛蓝 | |
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fragrance
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| n.芬芳，香味，香气 | |
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jotted
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| v.匆忙记下( jot的过去式和过去分词 )；草草记下，匆匆记下 | |
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homely
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| adj.家常的，简朴的；不漂亮的 | |
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exacting
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| adj.苛求的，要求严格的 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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insistent
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| adj.迫切的，坚持的 | |
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bland
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| adj.淡而无味的，温和的，无刺激性的 | |
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judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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contestants
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| n.竞争者，参赛者( contestant的名词复数 ) | |
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incense
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| v.激怒；n.香，焚香时的烟，香气 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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intimacy
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| n.熟悉，亲密，密切关系，亲昵的言行 | |
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tartness
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| n.酸，锋利 | |
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reticent
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| adj.沉默寡言的；言不如意的 | |
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pungency
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| n.（气味等的）刺激性；辣；（言语等的）辛辣；尖刻 | |
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delicacy
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| n.精致，细微，微妙，精良；美味，佳肴 | |
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refinement
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| n.文雅；高尚；精美；精制；精炼 | |
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weirdly
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| 古怪地 | |
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rehearsal
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| n.排练，排演；练习 | |
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flute
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| n.长笛；v.吹笛 | |
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lute
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| n.琵琶，鲁特琴 | |
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climax
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| n.顶点；高潮；v.(使)达到顶点 | |
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enchanted
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| adj. 被施魔法的，陶醉的，入迷的 动词enchant的过去式和过去分词 | |
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hue
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| n.色度；色调；样子 | |
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intercede
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| vi.仲裁，说情 | |
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joyous
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| adj.充满快乐的；令人高兴的 | |
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bind
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| vt.捆，包扎；装订；约束；使凝固；vi.变硬 | |
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retinue
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| n.侍从；随员 | |
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awes
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| n.敬畏，惊惧( awe的名词复数 )v.使敬畏，使惊惧( awe的第三人称单数 ) | |
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precedent
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| n.先例，前例；惯例；adj.在前的，在先的 | |
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gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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jubilation
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| n.欢庆，喜悦 | |
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inviting
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| adj.诱人的，引人注目的 | |
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incompetent
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| adj.无能力的，不能胜任的 | |
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prospects
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| n.希望，前途(恒为复数) | |
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bleak
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| adj.(天气)阴冷的；凄凉的；暗淡的 | |
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nubile
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| adj.结婚期的 | |
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postponed
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| vt.& vi.延期，缓办，（使）延迟vt.把…放在次要地位；[语]把…放在后面（或句尾）vi.（疟疾等）延缓发作（或复发） | |
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debut
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| n.首次演出，初次露面 | |
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craftsmen
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| n. 技工 | |
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scroll
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| n.卷轴，纸卷；(石刻上的)漩涡 | |
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scrolls
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| n.（常用于录写正式文件的）纸卷( scroll的名词复数 )；卷轴；涡卷形（装饰）；卷形花纹v.（电脑屏幕上）从上到下移动（资料等），卷页( scroll的第三人称单数 )；（似卷轴般）卷起；（像展开卷轴般地）将文字显示于屏幕 | |
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degenerate
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| v.退步，堕落；adj.退步的，堕落的；n.堕落者 | |
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distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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specimens
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| n.样品( specimen的名词复数 )；范例；（化验的）抽样；某种类型的人 | |
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amends
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| n. 赔偿 | |
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remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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mannerism
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| n.特殊习惯，怪癖 | |
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hues
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| 色彩( hue的名词复数 )； 色调； 信仰； 观点 | |
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secluded
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| adj.与世隔绝的；隐退的；偏僻的v.使隔开，使隐退( seclude的过去式和过去分词) | |
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radically
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| ad.根本地，本质地 | |
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meditatively
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| adv.冥想地 | |
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poised
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| a.摆好姿势不动的 | |
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serene
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| adj. 安详的，宁静的，平静的 | |
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seclusion
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| n.隐遁，隔离 | |
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tedium
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| n.单调；烦闷 | |
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tinted
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| adj. 带色彩的 动词tint的过去式和过去分词 | |
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irresolution
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| n.不决断，优柔寡断，犹豫不定 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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vertical
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| adj.垂直的，顶点的，纵向的；n.垂直物，垂直的位置 | |
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accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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deftly
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| adv.灵巧地，熟练地，敏捷地 | |
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calligraphy
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| n.书法 | |
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patchwork
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| n.混杂物；拼缝物 | |
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azure
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| adj.天蓝色的，蔚蓝色的 | |
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jade
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| n.玉石；碧玉；翡翠 | |
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infinitely
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| adv.无限地，无穷地 | |
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varied
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| adj.多样的，多变化的 | |
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ignominiously
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| adv.耻辱地，屈辱地，丢脸地 | |
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wrought
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| v.引起；以…原料制作；运转；adj.制造的 | |
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eminent
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| adj.显赫的，杰出的，有名的，优良的 | |
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boredom
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| n.厌烦，厌倦，乏味，无聊 | |
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acquiescence
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| n.默许；顺从 | |
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promiscuous
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| adj.杂乱的，随便的 | |
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relatively
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| adv.比较...地，相对地 | |
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longing
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| n.（for）渴望 | |
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posturing
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| 做出某种姿势( posture的现在分词 ) | |
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wane
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| n.衰微，亏缺，变弱；v.变小，亏缺，呈下弦 | |
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