Tandem2 fit surculus arbor3: the twig4 which Mr. Motley in his earlier volumes has described as slowly putting forth5 its leaves and rootless, while painfully struggling for existence in a hostile soil, has at last grown into a mighty6 tree of liberty, drawing sustenance7 from all lands, and protecting all civilized8 peoples with its pleasant shade. We congratulate Mr. Motley upon the successful completion of the second portion of his great work; and we think that the Netherlanders of our time have reason to be grateful to the writer who has so faithfully and eloquently9 told the story of their country’s fearful struggle against civil and ecclesiastical tyranny, and its manifold contributions to the advancement10 of European civilization.
Mr. Motley has been fortunate in his selection of a subject upon which to write. Probably no century of modern times lends itself to the purposes of the descriptive historian so well as the sixteenth. While on the one hand the problems which it presents are sufficiently11 near for us to understand them without too great an effort of the imagination, on the other hand they are sufficiently remote for us to study them without passionate12 and warping13 prejudice. The contest between Catholicism and the reformed religion — between ecclesiastical autocracy14 and the right of private investigation15 — has become a thing of the past, and constitutes a closed chapter in human history. The epoch16 which begins where Mr. Motley’s history is designed to close — at the peace of Westphalia — is far more complicated. Since the middle of the seventeenth century a double movement has been going on in religion and philosophy, society and politics — a movement of destruction typified by Voltaire and Rousseau, and a constructive17 movement represented by Diderot and Lessing. We are still living in the midst of this great epoch: the questions which it presents are liable to disturb our prejudices as well as to stimulate18 our reason; the results to which it must sooner or later attain19 can now be only partially20 foreseen; and even its present tendencies are generally misunderstood, and in many quarters wholly ignored. With the sixteenth century, as we have said, the case is far different. The historical problem is far less complex. The issues at stake are comparatively simple, and the historian has before him a straightforward21 story.
From the dramatic, or rather from the epic22, point of view, the sixteenth century is pre-eminent. The essentially23 transitional character of modern history since the breaking up of the papal and feudal24 systems is at no period more distinctly marked. In traversing the sixteenth century we realize that we have fairly got out of one state of things and into another. At the outset, events like the challenge of Barletta may make us doubt whether we have yet quite left behind the Middle Ages. The belief in the central position of the earth is still universal, and the belief in its rotundity not yet, until the voyage of Magellan, generally accepted. We find England — owing partly to the introduction of gunpowder25 and the consequent disuse of archery, partly to the results of the recent integration26 of France under Louis XI. — fallen back from the high relative position which it had occupied under the rule of the Plantagenets; and its policy still directed in accordance with reminiscences of Agincourt, and garnet, and Burgundian alliances. We find France just beginning her ill-fated career of intervention27 in the affairs of Italy; and Spain, with her Moors28 finally vanquished29 and a new world beyond the ocean just added to her domain30, rapidly developing into the greatest empire which had been seen since the days of the first Caesars. But at the close of the century we find feudal life in castles changed into modern life in towns; chivalric31 defiances exchanged for over-subtle diplomacy32; Maurices instead of Bayards; a Henry IV. instead of a Gaston de Foix. We find the old theory of man’s central position in the universe — the foundation of the doctrine33 of final causes and of the whole theological method of interpreting nature — finally overthrown34 by Copernicus. Instead of the circumnavigability of the earth, the discovery of a Northwest passage — as instanced by the heroic voyage of Barendz, so nobly described by Mr. Motley — is now the chief geographical36 problem. East India Companies, in place of petty guilds37 of weavers38 and bakers39, bear witness to the vast commercial progress. We find England, fresh from her stupendous victory over the whole power of Spain, again in the front rank of nations; France, under the most astute40 of modern sovereigns, taking her place for a time as the political leader of the civilized world; Spain, with her evil schemes baffled in every quarter, sinking into that terrible death-like lethargy, from which she has hardly yet awakened43, and which must needs call forth our pity, though it is but the deserved retribution for her past behaviour. While the little realm of the Netherlands, filched44 and cozened from the unfortunate Jacqueline by the “good” Duke of Burgundy, carried over to Austria as the marriage-portion of Lady Mary, sent down to Spain as the personal inheritance of the “prudent” Philip, and by him intolerably tormented45 with an Inquisition, a Blood-Council, and a Duke of Alva, has after a forty years’ war of independence taken its position for a time as the greatest of commercial nations, with the most formidable navy and one of the best disciplined armies yet seen upon the earth.
But the central phenomenon of the sixteenth century is the culmination46 of the Protestant movement in its decisive proclamation by Luther. For nearly three hundred years already the power of the Church had been declining, and its function as a civilizing47 agency had been growing more and more obsolete48. The first great blow at its supremacy49 had been directed with partial success in the thirteenth century by the Emperor Frederick II. Coincident with this attack from without, we find a reformation begun within, as exemplified in the Dominican and Franciscan movements. The second great blow was aimed by Philip IV. of France, and this time it struck with terrible force. The removal of the Papacy to Avignon, in 1305, was the virtual though unrecognized abdication50 of its beneficent supremacy. Bereft51 of its dignity and independence, from that time forth it ceased to be the defender52 of national unity53 against baronial anarchy54, of popular rights against monarchical55 usurpation57, and became a formidable instrument of despotism and oppression. Through the vicissitudes58 of the great schism59 in the fourteenth century, and the refractory60 councils in the fifteenth, its position became rapidly more and more retrograde and demoralized. And when, in 1530, it joined its forces with those of Charles V., in crushing the liberties of the worthiest61 of mediaeval republics, it became evident that the cause of freedom and progress must henceforth be intrusted to some more faithful champion. The revolt of Northern Europe, led by Luther and Henry VIII. was but the articulate announcement of this altered state of affairs. So long as the Roman Church had been felt to be the enemy of tyrannical monarchs62 and the steadfast63 friend of the people, its encroachments, as represented by men like Dunstan and Becket, were regarded with popular favour. The strength of the Church lay ever in its democratic instincts; and when these were found to have abandoned it, the indignant protest of Luther sufficed to tear away half of Europe from its allegiance.
By the end of the sixteenth century, we find the territorial64 struggle between the Church and the reformed religion substantially decided65. Protestantism and Catholicism occupied then the same respective areas which they now occupy. Since 1600 there has been no instance of a nation passing from one form of worship to the other; and in all probability there never will be. Since the wholesale66 dissolution of religious beliefs wrought67 in the last century, the whole issue between Romanism and Protestantism, regarded as dogmatic systems, is practically dead. M. Renan is giving expression to an almost self-evident truth, when he says that religious development is no longer to proceed by way of sectarian proselytism, but by way of harmonious68 internal development. The contest is no longer between one theology and another, but it is between the theological and the scientific methods of interpreting natural phenomena69. The sixteenth century has to us therefore the interest belonging to a rounded and completed tale. It contains within itself substantially the entire history of the final stage of the theological reformation.
This great period falls naturally into two divisions, the first corresponding very nearly with the reigns41 of Charles V. and Henry VIII., and the second with the age of Philip II. and Elizabeth. The first of these periods was filled with the skirmishes which were to open the great battle of the Reformation. At first the strength and extent of the new revolution were not altogether apparent. While the Inquisition was vigorously crushing out the first symptoms of disaffection in Spain, it at one time seemed as if the Reformers were about to gain the whole of the Empire, besides acquiring an excellent foothold in France. Again, while England was wavering between the old and the new faith, the last hopes of the Reform in Germany seemed likely to be destroyed by the military genius of Charles. But in Maurice, the red-bearded hero of Saxony, Charles found more than his match. The picture of the rapid and desperate march of Maurice upon Innspruck, and of the great Emperor flying for his life at the very hour of his imagined triumph, has still for us an intenser interest than almost any other scene of that age; for it was the event which proved that Protestantism was not a mere70 local insurrection which a monarch56 like Charles could easily put down, but a gigantic revolution against which all the powers in the world might well strive in vain.
With the abdication of Charles in 1556 the new period may be said to begin, and it is here that Mr. Motley’s history commences. Events crowded thick and fast. In 1556 Philip II., a prince bred and educated for the distinct purpose of suppressing heresy71, succeeded to the rule of the most powerful empire which had been seen since the days of the Antonines. In the previous year a new era had begun at the court of Rome. The old race of pagan pontiffs, the Borgias, the Farneses, and the Medicis, had come to an end, and the papal throne was occupied by the puritanical72 Caraffa, as violent a fanatic73 as Robespierre, and a foe74 of freedom as uncompromising as Philip II. himself. Under his auspices75 took place the great reform in the Church signalized by the rise of the Jesuits, as the reform in the thirteenth century had been attended by the rise of the Cordeliers and Dominicans. His name should not be forgotten, for it is mainly owing to the policy inaugurated by him that Catholicism was enabled to hold its ground as well as it did. In 1557 the next year, the strength of France was broken at St. Quentin, and Spain was left with her hands free to deal with the Protestant powers. In 1558, by the accession of Elizabeth, England became committed to the cause of Reform. In 1559 the stormy administration of Margaret began in the Netherlands. In 1560 the Scotch76 nobles achieved the destruction of Catholicism in North Britain. By this time every nation except France, had taken sides in the conflict which was to last, with hardly any cessation, during two generations.
Mr. Motley, therefore, in describing the rise and progress of the united republic of the Netherlands, is writing not Dutch but European history. On his pages France, Spain, and England make almost as large a figure as Holland itself. He is writing the history of the Reformation during its concluding epoch, and he chooses the Netherlands as his main subject, because during that period the Netherlands were the centre of the movement. They constituted the great bulwark77 of freedom, and upon the success or failure of their cause the future prospect78 of Europe and of mankind depended. Spain and the Netherlands, Philip II. and William the Silent, were the two leading antagonists79 and were felt to be such by the other nations and rulers that came to mingle81 in the strife82. It is therefore a stupid criticism which we have seen made upon Mr. Motley, that, having brought his narrative83 down to the truce of 1609, he ought, instead of describing the Thirty Years’ War, to keep on with Dutch history, and pourtray the wars against Cromwell and Charles II., and the struggle of the second William of Orange against Louis XIV. By so doing he would only violate the unity of his narrative. The wars of the Dutch against England and France belong to an entirely84 different epoch in European history — a modern epoch, in which political and commercial interests were of prime importance, and theological interests distinctly subsidiary. The natural terminus of Mr. Motley’s work is the Peace of Westphalia. After bringing down his history to the time when the independence of the Netherlands was virtually acknowledged, after describing the principal stages of the struggle against Catholicism and universal monarchy85, as carried on in the first generation by Elizabeth and William, and in the second by Maurice and Henry, he will naturally go on to treat of the epilogue as conducted by Richelieu and Gustavus, ending in the final cessation of religious wars throughout Europe.
The conflict in the Netherlands was indeed far more than a mere religious struggle. In its course was distinctly brought into prominence86 the fact which we have above signalized, that since the Roman Church had abandoned the liberties of the people they had found a new defender in the reformed religion. The Dutch rebellion is peculiarly interesting, because it was a revolt not merely against the Inquisition, but also against the temporal sovereignty of Philip. Besides changing their religion, the sturdy Netherlanders saw fit to throw off the sway of their legitimate88 ruler, and to proclaim the thrice heretical doctrine of the sovereignty of the people. In this one respect their views were decidedly more modern than those of Elizabeth and Henry IV. These great monarchs apparently89 neither understood nor relished90 the republican theories of the Hollanders; though it is hardly necessary for Mr. Motley to sneer91 at them quite so often because they were not to an impossible degree in advance of their age. The proclamation of a republic in the Netherlands marked of itself the beginning of a new era — an era when flourishing communities of men were no longer to be bought and sold, transferred and bequeathed like real estate and chattels92, but were to have and maintain the right of choosing with whom and under whom they should transact93 their affairs. The interminable negotiations94 for a truce, which fill nearly one third of Mr. Motley’s concluding volume, exhibit with striking distinctness the difference between the old and new points of view. Here again we think Mr. Motley errs95 slightly, in calling too much attention to the prevaricating96 diplomacy of the Spanish court, and too little to its manifest inability to comprehend the demands of the Netherlanders. How should statesmen brought up under Philip II. and kept under the eye of the Inquisition be expected to understand a claim for liberty originating in the rights of the common people and not in the gracious benevolence97 or intelligent policy of the King? The very idea must have been practically inconceivable by them. Accordingly, they strove by every available device of chicanery98 to wheedle99 the Netherlanders into accepting their independence as a gift from the King of Spain. But to such a piece of self-stultification the clear-sighted Dutchmen could by no persuasion100 be brought to consent. Their independence, they argued, was not the King’s to give. They had won it from him and his father, in a war of forty years, during which they had suffered atrocious miseries101, and all that the King of Spain could do was to acknowledge it as their right, and cease to molest102 them in future. Over this point, so simple to us but knotty103 enough in those days, the commissioners104 wrangled105 for nearly two years. And when the Spanish government, unable to carry on the war any longer without risk of utter bankruptcy106, and daily crippled in its resources by the attacks of the Dutch navy, grudgingly107 a reed to a truce upon the Netherlanders’ terms, it virtually acknowledged its own defeat and the downfall of the principles for which it had so obstinately108 fought. By the truce of 1609 the republican principle was admitted by the most despotic of governments.
Here was the first great triumph of republicanism over monarchy; and it was not long in bearing fruits. For the Dutch revolution, the settlement of America by English Puritans, the great rebellion of the Commons, the Revolution of 1688, the revolt of the American Colonies, and the general overthrow35 of feudalism in 1789, are but successive acts in the same drama William the Silent was the worthy109 forerunner110 of Cromwell and Washington; and but for the victory which he won, during his life and after his untimely death, the subsequent triumphs of civil liberty might have been long, postponed111.
Over the sublime112 figure of William — saevis tranquillus in undis — we should be glad to dwell, but we are not reviewing the “Rise of the Dutch Republic,” and in Mr. Motley’s present volumes the hero of toleration appears no longer. His antagonist80, however — the Philip whom God for some inscrutable purpose permitted to afflict113 Europe during a reign42 of forty-two years — accompanies us nearly to the end of the present work, dying just in time for the historian to sum up the case against him, and pronounce final judgment114. For the memory of Philip II. Mr. Motley cherishes no weak pity. He rarely alludes115 to him without commenting upon his total depravity, and he dismisses him with the remark that “if there are vices116 — as possibly there are — from which he was exempt117, it is because it is not permitted to human nature to attain perfection in evil.” The verdict is none the less just because of its conciseness118. If there ever was a strife between Hercules and Cacus, between Ormuzd and Ahriman, between the Power of Light and the Power of Darkness, it was certainly the strife between the Prince of Orange and the Spanish Monarch. They are contrasted like the light and shade in one of Dore’s pictures. And yet it is perhaps unnecessary for Mr. Motley to say that if Philip had been alive when Spinola won for him the great victory of Ostend, “he would have felt it his duty to make immediate119 arrangements for poisoning him.” Doubtless the imputation120 is sufficiently justified121 by what we know of Philip; but it is uncalled for. We do not care to hear about what the despot might have done. We know what he did do, and the record is sufficiently damning. There is no harm in our giving the Devil his due, or as Llorente wittily122 says, “Il ne faut pas calomnier meme l’Inquisition.”
Philip inherited all his father’s bad qualities, without any of his good ones; and so it is much easier to judge him than his father. Charles, indeed, is one of those characters whom one hardly knows whether to love or hate, to admire or despise. He had much bad blood in him. Charles the Bold and Ferdinand of Aragon were not grandparents to be proud of. Yet with all this he inherited from his grandmother Isabella much that one can like, and his face, as preserved by Titian, in spite of its frowning brow and thick Burgundian lip, is rather prepossessing, while the face of Philip is simply odious123. In intellect he must probably be called great, though his policy often betrayed the pettiness of selfishness. If, in comparison with the mediaeval emperor whose fame he envied, he may justly be called Charles the Little, he may still, when compared to a more modern emulator124 of Charlemagne — the first of the Bonapartes — be considered great and enlightened. If he could lie and cheat more consummately125 than any contemporary monarch, not excepting his rival, Francis, he could still be grandly magnanimous, while the generosity126 of Francis flowed only from the shallow surface of a maudlin127 good-nature. He spoke128 many languages and had the tastes of a scholar, while his son had only the inclinations129 of an unfeeling pedagogue130. He had an inkling of urbanity, and could in a measure become all things to all men, while Philip could never show himself except as a gloomy, impracticable bigot. It is for some such reasons as these, I suppose, that Mr. Buckle131 — no friend to despots — speaks well of Charles, and that Mr. Froude is moved to tell the following anecdote132: While standing133 by the grave of Luther, and musing134 over the strange career of the giant monk135 whose teachings had gone so far to wreck136 his most cherished schemes and render his life a failure, some fanatical bystander advised the Emperor to have the body taken up and burned in the market-place. “There was nothing,” says Mr. Froude, “unusual in the proposal; it was the common practice of the Catholic Church with the remains137 of heretics, who were held unworthy to be left in repose138 in hallowed ground. There was scarcely, perhaps another Catholic prince who would have hesitated to comply. But Charles was one of nature’s gentlemen. He answered, ‘I war not with the dead.’ “ Mr. Motley takes a less charitable view of the great Emperor. His generous indignation against all persecutors makes him severe; and in one of his earlier volumes, while speaking of the famous edicts for the suppression of heresy in the Netherlands, he somewhere uses the word “murder.” Without attempting to palliate the crime of persecution139, I doubt if it is quite fair to Charles to call him a murderer. We must not forget that persecution, now rightly deemed an atrocious crime, was once really considered by some people a sacred duty; that it was none other than the compassionate140 Isabella who established the Spanish Inquisition; and that the “bloody” Mary Tudor was a woman who would not wilfully141 have done wrong. With the progress of civilization the time will doubtless come when warfare142, having ceased to be necessary, will be thought highly criminal; yet it will not then be fair to hold Marlborough or Wellington accountable for the lives lost in their great battles. We still live in an age when war is, to the imagination of some persons, surrounded with false glories; and the greatest of modern generals32 has still many undiscriminating admirers. Yet the day is no less certainly at hand when the edicts of Charles V. will be deemed a more pardonable offence against humanity than the wanton march to Moscow.
32 This was written before the deeds of Moltke had eclipsed those of Napoleon.
Philip II. was different from his father in capacity as a drudging clerk, like Boutwell, is different from a brilliant financier like Gladstone. In organization he differed from him as a boor143 differs from a gentleman. He seemed made of a coarser clay. The difference between them is well indicated by their tastes at the table. Both were terrible gluttons144, a fact which puritanic criticism might set down as equally to the discredit145 of each of them. But even in intemperance146 there are degrees of refinement147, and the impartial148 critic of life and manners will no doubt say that if one must get drunk, let it be on Chateau149 Margaux rather than on commissary whiskey. Pickled partridges, plump capons, syrups150 of fruits, delicate pastry151, and rare fish went to make up the diet of Charles in his last days at Yuste. But the beastly Philip would make himself sick with a surfeit152 of underdone pork.
Whatever may be said of the father, we can hardly go far wrong in ascribing the instincts of a murderer to the son. He not only burned heretics, but he burned them with an air of enjoyment153 and self-complacency. His nuptials154 with Elizabeth of France were celebrated155 by a vast auto-da-fe. He studied murder as a fine art, and was as skilful156 in private assassinations157 as Cellini was in engraving158 on gems159. The secret execution of Montigny, never brought to light until the present century, was a veritable chef d’oeuvre of this sort. The cases of Escobedo and Antonio Perez may also be cited in point. Dark suspicions hung around the premature160 death of Don John of Austria, his too brilliant and popular half-brother. He planned the murder of William the Silent, and rewarded the assassin with an annuity161 furnished by the revenues of the victim’s confiscated162 estates. He kept a staff of ruffians constantly in service for the purpose of taking off Elizabeth, Henry IV., Prince Maurice, Olden-Barneveldt, and St. Aldegonde. He instructed Alva to execute sentence of death upon the whole population of the Netherlands. He is partly responsible for the martyrdoms of Ridley and Latimer, and the judicial163 murder of Cranmer. He first conceived the idea of the wholesale massacre164 of St. Bartholomew, many years before Catharine de’ Medici carried it into operation. His ingratitude165 was as dangerous as his revengeful fanaticism167. Those who had best served his interests were the least likely to escape the consequences of his jealousy168. He destroyed Egmont, who had won for him the splendid victories of St. Quentin and Gravelines; and “with minute and artistic169 treachery” he plotted “the disgrace and ruin” of Farnese, “the man who was his near blood-relation, and who had served him most faithfully from earliest youth.” Contemporary opinion even held him accountable for the obscure deaths of his wife Elizabeth and his son Carlos; but M. Gachard has shown that this suspicion is unfounded. Philip appears perhaps to better advantage in his domestic than in his political relations. Yet he was addicted170 to vulgar and miscellaneous incontinence; toward the close of his life he seriously contemplated171 marrying his own daughter Isabella; and he ended by taking for his fourth wife his niece, Anne of Austria, who became the mother of his half-idiotic son and successor. We know of no royal family, unless it may be the Claudians of Rome, in which the transmission of moral and intellectual qualities is more thoroughly172 illustrated173 than in this Burgundian race which for two centuries held the sceptre of Spain. The son Philip and the grandmother Isabella are both needful in order to comprehend the strange mixture of good and evil in Charles. But the descendants of Philip — two generations of idiocy174, and a third of utter impotence — are a sufficient commentary upon the organization and character of their progenitor175.
Such was the man who for two generations had been considered the bulwark of the Catholic Church; who, having been at the bottom of nearly all the villany that had been wrought in Europe for half a century, was yet able to declare upon his death-bed that “in all his life he had never consciously done wrong to any one.” At a ripe old age he died of a fearful disease. Under the influence of a typhus fever, supervening upon gout, he had begun to decompose176 while yet alive. “His sufferings,” says Mr. Motley, “were horrible, but no saint could have manifested in them more gentle resignation or angelic patience. He moralized on the condition to which the greatest princes might thus be brought at last by the hand of God, and bade the Prince observe well his father’s present condition, in order that when he too should be laid thus low, he might likewise be sustained by a conscience void of offence.” What more is needed to complete the disgusting picture? Philip was fanatical up to the point where fanaticism borders upon hypocrisy177. He was possessed178 with a “great moral idea,” the idea of making Catholicism the ruler of the world, that he might be the ruler of Catholicism. Why, it may be said, shall the charge of fanaticism be allowed to absolve179 Isabella and extenuate180 the guilt181 of Charles, while it only strengthens the case against Philip? Because Isabella persecuted182 heretics in order to save their souls from a worse fate, while Philip burnt them in order to get them out of his way. Isabella would perhaps have gone to the stake herself, if thereby183 she might have put an end to heresy. Philip would have seen every soul in Europe consigned184 to eternal perdition before he would have yielded up an iota185 of his claims to universal dominion186. He could send Alva to browbeat187 the Pope, as well as to oppress the Netherlanders. He could compass the destruction of the orthodox Egmont and Farnese, as well as of the heretical William. His unctuous188 piety189 only adds to the abhorrence190 with which we regard him; and his humility191 in face of death is neither better nor worse than the assumed humility which had become second nature to Uriah Heep. In short, take him for all in all, he was probably the most loathsome192 character in all European history. He has frequently been called, by Protestant historians, an incarnate193 devil; but we do not think that Mephistopheles would acknowledge him. He should rather be classed among those creatures described by Dante as “a Dio spiacenti ed ai nemici sui.”
The abdication of Charles V. left Philip ruler over wider dominions194 than had ever before been brought together under the sway of one man. In his own right Philip was master not only of Spain, but of the Netherlands, Franche Comte, Lombardy, Naples, and Sicily, with the whole of North and South America; besides which he was married to the Queen of England. In the course of his reign he became possessed of Portugal, with all its vast domains195 in the East Indies. His revenues were greater than those of any other contemporary monarch; his navy was considered invincible196, and his army was the best disciplined in Europe. All these great advantages he was destined197 to throw to the winds. In the strife for universal monarchy, in the mad endeavour to subject England, Scotland, and France to his own dominion and the tyranny of the Inquisition, besides re-conquering the Netherlands, all his vast resources were wasted. The Dutch war alone, like a bottomless pit, absorbed all that he could pour into it. Long before the war was over, or showed signs of drawing to an end, his revenues were wasted, and his troops in Flanders were mutinous198 for want of pay. He had to rely upon energetic viceroys like Farnese and the Spinolas to furnish funds out of their own pockets. Finally, he was obliged to repudiate199 all his debts; and when he died the Spanish empire was in such a beggarly condition that it quaked at every approach of a hostile Dutch fleet. Such a result is not evidence of a statesmanlike ability; but Philip’s fanatical selfishness was incompatible200 with statesmanship. He never could be made to believe that his projects had suffered defeat. No sooner had the Invincible Armada been sent to the bottom by the guns of the English fleet and the gales201 of the German Ocean, than he sent orders to Farnese to invade England at once with the land force under his command! He thought to obtain Scotland, when, after the death of Mary, it had passed under the undisputed control of the Protestant noblemen. He dreamed of securing for his family the crown of France, even after Henry, with free consent of the Pope, had made his triumphal entry into Paris. He asserted complete and entire sovereignty over the Netherlands, even after Prince Maurice had won back from him the last square foot of Dutch territory. Such obstinacy202 as this can only be called fatuity203. If Philip had lived in Pagan times, he would doubtless, like Caligula, have demanded recognition of his own divinity.
The miserable204 condition of the Spanish people under this terrible reign, and the causes of their subsequent degeneracy, have been well treated by Mr. Motley. The causes of the failure of Spanish civilization are partly social and partly economical; and they had been operating for eight hundred years when Philip succeeded to the throne. The Moorish205 conquest in 711 had practically isolated206 Spain from the rest of Europe. In the Crusades she took no part, and reaped none of the signal advantages resulting from that great movement. Her whole energies were directed toward throwing off the yoke207 of her civilized but “unbelieving” oppressors. For a longer time than has now elapsed since the Norman Conquest of England, the entire Gothic population of Spain was engaged in unceasing religious and patriotic208 warfare. The unlimited209 power thus acquired by an unscrupulous clergy210, and the spirit of uncompromising bigotry211 thus imparted to the whole nation, are in this way readily accounted for. But in spite of this, the affairs of Spain at the accession of Charles V. were not in an unpromising condition. The Spanish Visigoths had been the least barbarous of the Teutonic settlers within the limits of the Empire; their civil institutions were excellent; their cities had obtained municipal liberties at an earlier date than those of England; and their Parliaments indulged in a liberty of speech which would have seemed extravagant212 even to De Montfort. So late as the time of Ferdinand, the Spaniards were still justly proud of their freedom; and the chivalrous213 ambition which inspired the marvellous expedition of Cortes to Mexico, and covered the soil of Italy with Spanish armies, was probably in the main a healthy one. But the forces of Spanish freedom were united at too late an epoch; in 1492, the power of despotism was already in the ascendant. In England the case was different. The barons214 were enabled to combine and wrest215 permanent privileges from the crown, at a time when feudalism was strong. But the Spanish communes waited for combined action until feudalism had become weak, and modern despotism, with its standing armies and its control of the spiritual power, was arrayed in the ranks against them. The War of the Communes, early in the reign of Charles V., irrevocably decided the case in favour of despotism, and from that date the internal decline of Spain may be said to have begun.
But the triumphant216 consolidation217 of the spiritual and temporal powers of despotism, and the abnormal development of loyalty218 and bigotry, were not the only evil results of the chronic219 struggle in which Spain had been engaged. For many centuries, while Christian220 Spain had been but a fringe of debatable border-land on the skirts of the Moorish kingdom, perpetual guerilla warfare had rendered consecutive221 labour difficult or impracticable; and the physical configuration222 of the country contributed in bringing about this result. To plunder223 the Moors across the border was easier than to till the ground at home. Then as the Spaniards, exemplifying the military superiority of the feudal over the sultanic form of social organization, proceeded steadily224 to recover dominion over the land, the industrious225 Moors, instead of migrating backward before the advance of their conquerors226, remained at home and submitted to them. Thus Spanish society became compounded of two distinct castes — the Moorish Spaniards, who were skilled labourers, and the Gothic Spaniards, by whom all labour, crude or skilful, was deemed the stigma227 of a conquered race, and unworthy the attention of respectable people. As Mr. Motley concisely228 says:—
“The highest industrial and scientific civilization that had been exhibited upon Spanish territory was that of Moors and Jews. When in the course of time those races had been subjugated229, massacred, or driven into exile, not only was Spain deprived of its highest intellectual culture and its most productive labour, but intelligence, science, and industry were accounted degrading, because the mark of inferior and detested230 peoples.”
This is the key to the whole subsequent history of Spain. Bigotry, loyalty, and consecrated231 idleness are the three factors which have made that great country what it is to-day — the most backward region in Europe. In view of the circumstances just narrated232, it is not surprising to learn that in Philip II.‘s time a vast portion of the real estate of the country was held by the Church in mortmain; that forty-nine noble families owned all the rest; that all great estates were held in tail; and that the property of the aristocracy and the clergy was completely exempt from taxation233. Thus the accumulation and the diffusion234 of capital were alike prevented; and the few possessors of property wasted it in unproductive expenditure235. Hence the fundamental error of Spanish political economy, that wealth is represented solely236 by the precious metals; an error which well enough explains the total failure, in spite of her magnificent opportunities, of Spain’s attempts to colonize237 the New World. Such was the frightful238 condition of Spanish society under Philip II.; and as if this state of things were not bad enough, the next king, Philip III., at the instigation of the clergy, decided to drive into banishment239 the only class of productive labourers yet remaining in the country. In 1610, this stupendous crime and blunder — unparalleled even in Spanish history — was perpetrated. The entire Moorish population were expelled from their homes and driven into the deserts of Africa. For the awful consequences of this mad action no remedy was possible. No system of native industry could be created on demand, to take the place of that which had been thus wantonly crushed forever. From this epoch dates the social ruin of Spain. In less than a century her people were riotous240 with famine; and every sequestered241 glen and mountain pathway throughout the country had become a lurking-place for robbers. Whoever would duly realize to what a lamentable242 condition this beautiful peninsula had in the seventeenth century been reduced, let him study the immortal243 pages of Lesage. He will learn afresh the lesson, not yet sufficiently regarded in the discussion of social problems, that the laws of nature cannot be violated without entailing244 a penalty fearful in proportion to the extent of the violation245. But let him carefully remember also that the Spaniards are not and never have been a despicable people. If Spain has produced one of the lowest characters in history, she has also produced one of the highest. That man was every inch a Spaniard who, maimed, diseased, and poor, broken down by long captivity246, and harassed247 by malignant248 persecution, lived nevertheless a life of grandeur249 and beauty fit to be a pattern for coming generations — the author of a book which has had a wider fame than any other in the whole range of secular250 literature, and which for delicate humour, exquisite251 pathos252, and deep ethical253 sentiment, remains to-day without a peer or a rival. If Philip II. was a Spaniard, so, too, was Cervantes.
Spain could not be free, for she violated every condition by which freedom is secured to a people. “Acuteness of intellect, wealth of imagination, heroic qualities of heart and hand and brain, rarely surpassed in any race and manifested on a thousand battle-fields, and in the triumphs of a magnificent and most original literature, had not been able to save a whole nation from the disasters and the degradation254 which the mere words Philip II. and the Holy Inquisition suggest to every educated mind.” Nor could Spain possibly become rich, for, as Mr. Motley continues, “nearly every law, according to which the prosperity of a country becomes progressive, was habitually255 violated.” On turning to the Netherlands we find the most complete contrast, both in historical conditions and in social results; and the success of the Netherlands in their long struggle becomes easily intelligible256. The Dutch and Flemish provinces had formed a part of the renovated257 Roman Empire of Charles the Great and the Othos. Taking advantage of the perennial258 contest for supremacy between the popes and the Roman emperors, the constituent259 baronies and municipalities of the Empire succeeded in acquiring and maintaining a practical though unrecognized independence; and this is the original reason why Italy and Germany, unlike the three western European communities, have remained fragmentary until our own time. By reason of the practical freedom of action thus secured, the Italian civic260 republics, the Hanse towns, and the cities of Holland and Flanders, were enabled gradually to develop a vast commerce. The outlying position of the Netherlands, remote from the imperial authorities, and on the direct line of commerce between Italy and England, was another and a peculiar87 advantage. Throughout the Middle Ages the Flemish and Dutch cities were of considerable political importance, and in the fifteenth century the Netherland provinces were the most highly civilized portion of Europe north of the Alps. For several generations they had enjoyed, and had known how to maintain, civic liberties, and when Charles and Philip attempted to fasten upon them their “peculiar institution,” the Spanish Inquisition, they were ripe for political as well as theological revolt. Natural laws were found to operate on the Rhine as well as on the Tagus, and at the end of the great war of independence, Holland was not only better equipped than Spain for a European conflict, but was rapidly ousting261 her from the East Indian countries which she had in vain attempted to colonize.
But if we were to take up all the interesting and instructive themes suggested by Mr. Motley’s work, we should never come to an end. We must pass over the exciting events narrated in these last volumes; the victory of Nieuport, the siege of Ostend, the marvellous career of Maurice, the surprising exploits of Spinola. We have attempted not so much to describe Mr. Motley’s book as to indulge in sundry262 reflections suggested by the perusal263 of it. But we cannot close without some remarks upon a great man, whose character Mr. Motley seems to have somewhat misconceived.
If Mr. Motley exhibits any serious fault, it is perhaps the natural tendency to TAKE SIDES in the events which he is describing, which sometimes operates as a drawback to complete and thoroughgoing criticism. With every intention to do justice to the Catholics, Mr. Motley still writes as a Protestant, viewing all questions from the Protestant side. He praises and condemns264 like a very fair-minded Huguenot, but still like a Huguenot. It is for this reason that he fails to interpret correctly the very complex character of Henry IV., regarding him as a sort of selfish renegade whom he cannot quite forgive for accepting the crown of France at the hands of the Pope. Now this very action of Henry, in the eye of an impartial criticism, must seem to be one of his chief claims to the admiration265 and gratitude166 of posterity266. Henry was more than a mere Huguenot: he was a far-seeing statesman. He saw clearly what no ruler before him, save William the Silent, had even dimly discerned, that not Catholicism and not Protestantism, but absolute spiritual freedom was the true end to be aimed at by a righteous leader of opinion. It was as a Catholic sovereign that he could be most useful even to his Huguenot subjects; and he shaped his course accordingly. It was as an orthodox sovereign, holding his position by the general consent of Europe, that he could best subserve the interests of universal toleration. This principle he embodied267 in his admirable edict of Nantes. What a Huguenot prince might have done, may be seen from the shameful268 way in which the French Calvinists abused the favour which Henry — and Richelieu afterwards — accorded to them. Remembering how Calvin himself “dragooned” Geneva, let us be thankful for the fortune which, in one of the most critical periods of history, raised to the highest position in Christendom a man who was something more than a sectarian.
With this brief criticism, we must regretfully take leave of Mr. Motley’s work. Much more remains to be said about a historical treatise269 which is, on the whole, the most valuable and important one yet produced by an American; but we have already exceeded our limits. We trust that our author will be as successful in the future as he has been in the past; and that we shall soon have an opportunity of welcoming the first instalment of his “History of the Thirty Years’ War.”
March, 1868.
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1
truce
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| n.休战，(争执，烦恼等的)缓和；v.以停战结束 | |
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tandem
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| n.同时发生；配合；adv.一个跟着一个地；纵排地；adj.（两匹马）前后纵列的 | |
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arbor
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| n.凉亭；树木 | |
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twig
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| n.小树枝，嫩枝；v.理解 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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sustenance
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| n.食物，粮食；生活资料；生计 | |
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civilized
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| a.有教养的，文雅的 | |
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eloquently
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| adv. 雄辩地(有口才地, 富于表情地) | |
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advancement
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| n.前进，促进，提升 | |
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sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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passionate
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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warping
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| n.翘面，扭曲，变形v.弄弯，变歪( warp的现在分词 )；使（行为等）不合情理，使乖戾， | |
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autocracy
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| n.独裁政治，独裁政府 | |
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investigation
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| n.调查，调查研究 | |
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epoch
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| n.(新)时代；历元 | |
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constructive
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| adj.建设的，建设性的 | |
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stimulate
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| vt.刺激，使兴奋；激励，使…振奋 | |
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19
attain
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| vt.达到，获得，完成 | |
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20
partially
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| adv.部分地，从某些方面讲 | |
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straightforward
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| adj.正直的，坦率的；易懂的，简单的 | |
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epic
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| n.史诗，叙事诗；adj.史诗般的，壮丽的 | |
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essentially
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| adv.本质上，实质上，基本上 | |
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feudal
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| adj.封建的，封地的，领地的 | |
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gunpowder
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| n.火药 | |
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integration
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| n.一体化，联合，结合 | |
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intervention
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| n.介入，干涉，干预 | |
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moors
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| v.停泊，系泊（船只）( moor的第三人称单数 ) | |
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vanquished
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| v.征服( vanquish的过去式和过去分词 )；战胜；克服；抑制 | |
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domain
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| n.(活动等)领域，范围；领地，势力范围 | |
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chivalric
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| 有武士气概的，有武士风范的 | |
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diplomacy
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| n.外交；外交手腕，交际手腕 | |
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doctrine
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| n.教义；主义；学说 | |
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overthrown
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| adj. 打翻的，推倒的，倾覆的 动词overthrow的过去分词 | |
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overthrow
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| v.推翻，打倒，颠覆；n.推翻，瓦解，颠覆 | |
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geographical
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| adj.地理的；地区(性)的 | |
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guilds
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| 行会，同业公会，协会( guild的名词复数 ) | |
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weavers
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| 织工，编织者( weaver的名词复数 ) | |
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bakers
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| n.面包师( baker的名词复数 )；面包店；面包店店主；十三 | |
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40
astute
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| adj.机敏的，精明的 | |
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41
reigns
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| n.君主的统治( reign的名词复数 )；君主统治时期；任期；当政期 | |
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42
reign
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| n.统治时期，统治，支配，盛行；v.占优势 | |
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43
awakened
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| v.（使）醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
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44
filched
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| v.偷（尤指小的或不贵重的物品）( filch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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45
tormented
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| 饱受折磨的 | |
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46
culmination
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| n.顶点；最高潮 | |
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47
civilizing
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| v.使文明，使开化( civilize的现在分词 ) | |
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48
obsolete
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| adj.已废弃的，过时的 | |
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49
supremacy
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| n.至上；至高权力 | |
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50
abdication
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| n.辞职；退位 | |
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51
bereft
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| adj.被剥夺的 | |
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52
defender
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| n.保卫者，拥护者，辩护人 | |
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53
unity
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| n.团结，联合，统一；和睦，协调 | |
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54
anarchy
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| n.无政府状态；社会秩序混乱，无秩序 | |
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55
monarchical
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| adj. 国王的，帝王的，君主的，拥护君主制的 =monarchic | |
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56
monarch
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| n.帝王，君主，最高统治者 | |
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57
usurpation
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| n.篡位；霸占 | |
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58
vicissitudes
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| n.变迁，世事变化；变迁兴衰( vicissitude的名词复数 )；盛衰兴废 | |
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59
schism
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| n.分派，派系，分裂 | |
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60
refractory
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| adj.倔强的，难驾驭的 | |
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61
worthiest
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| 应得某事物( worthy的最高级 )； 值得做某事； 可尊敬的； 有（某人或事物）的典型特征 | |
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62
monarchs
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| 君主，帝王( monarch的名词复数 ) | |
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steadfast
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| adj.固定的，不变的，不动摇的；忠实的；坚贞不移的 | |
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territorial
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| adj.领土的，领地的 | |
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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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66
wholesale
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| n.批发；adv.以批发方式；vt.批发，成批出售 | |
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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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harmonious
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| adj.和睦的，调和的，和谐的，协调的 | |
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phenomena
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| n.现象 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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71
heresy
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| n.异端邪说；异教 | |
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puritanical
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| adj.极端拘谨的；道德严格的 | |
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fanatic
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| n.狂热者，入迷者；adj.狂热入迷的 | |
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foe
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| n.敌人，仇敌 | |
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auspices
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| n.资助，赞助 | |
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76
scotch
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| n.伤口，刻痕；苏格兰威士忌酒；v.粉碎，消灭，阻止；adj.苏格兰(人)的 | |
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bulwark
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| n.堡垒，保障，防御 | |
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prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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antagonists
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| 对立[对抗] 者，对手，敌手( antagonist的名词复数 )； 对抗肌； 对抗药 | |
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80
antagonist
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| n.敌人，对抗者，对手 | |
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81
mingle
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| vt.使混合，使相混；vi.混合起来；相交往 | |
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82
strife
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| n.争吵，冲突，倾轧，竞争 | |
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83
narrative
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| n.叙述，故事；adj.叙事的，故事体的 | |
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84
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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85
monarchy
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| n.君主，最高统治者；君主政体，君主国 | |
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prominence
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| n.突出；显著；杰出；重要 | |
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peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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legitimate
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| adj.合法的，合理的，合乎逻辑的；v.使合法 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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relished
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| v.欣赏( relish的过去式和过去分词 )；从…获得乐趣；渴望 | |
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sneer
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| v.轻蔑；嘲笑；n.嘲笑，讥讽的言语 | |
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chattels
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| n.动产，奴隶( chattel的名词复数 ) | |
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transact
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| v.处理；做交易；谈判 | |
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negotiations
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| 协商( negotiation的名词复数 )； 谈判； 完成（难事）； 通过 | |
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errs
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| 犯错误，做错事( err的第三人称单数 ) | |
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prevaricating
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| v.支吾( prevaricate的现在分词 )；搪塞；说谎 | |
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benevolence
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| n.慈悲，捐助 | |
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98
chicanery
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| n.欺诈，欺骗 | |
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99
wheedle
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| v.劝诱，哄骗 | |
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100
persuasion
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| n.劝说；说服；持有某种信仰的宗派 | |
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101
miseries
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| n.痛苦( misery的名词复数 )；痛苦的事；穷困；常发牢骚的人 | |
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102
molest
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| vt.骚扰，干扰，调戏 | |
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103
knotty
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| adj.有结的，多节的，多瘤的，棘手的 | |
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104
commissioners
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| n.专员( commissioner的名词复数 )；长官；委员；政府部门的长官 | |
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105
wrangled
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| v.争吵，争论，口角( wrangle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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106
bankruptcy
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| n.破产；无偿付能力 | |
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107
grudgingly
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108
obstinately
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| ad.固执地，顽固地 | |
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109
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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110
forerunner
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| n.前身，先驱（者），预兆，祖先 | |
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111
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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112
sublime
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| adj.崇高的，伟大的；极度的，不顾后果的 | |
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113
afflict
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| vt.使身体或精神受痛苦，折磨 | |
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114
judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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115
alludes
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| 提及，暗指( allude的第三人称单数 ) | |
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116
vices
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| 缺陷( vice的名词复数 )； 恶习； 不道德行为； 台钳 | |
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117
exempt
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| adj.免除的；v.使免除；n.免税者，被免除义务者 | |
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118
conciseness
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| n.简洁，简短 | |
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119
immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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120
imputation
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| n.归罪，责难 | |
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121
justified
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| a.正当的，有理的 | |
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122
wittily
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| 机智地，机敏地 | |
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123
odious
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| adj.可憎的，讨厌的 | |
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124
emulator
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| n.仿真器；仿真程序 | |
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125
consummately
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| adv.完成地，至上地 | |
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126
generosity
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| n.大度，慷慨，慷慨的行为 | |
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127
maudlin
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| adj.感情脆弱的，爱哭的 | |
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128
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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129
inclinations
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| 倾向( inclination的名词复数 )； 倾斜； 爱好； 斜坡 | |
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130
pedagogue
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| n.教师 | |
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131
buckle
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| n.扣子，带扣；v.把...扣住，由于压力而弯曲 | |
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132
anecdote
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| n.轶事，趣闻，短故事 | |
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133
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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134
musing
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| n. 沉思，冥想 adj. 沉思的, 冥想的 动词muse的现在分词形式 | |
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135
monk
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| n.和尚，僧侣，修道士 | |
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136
wreck
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| n.失事，遇难；沉船；vt.(船等)失事，遇难 | |
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137
remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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138
repose
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| v.(使)休息；n.安息 | |
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139
persecution
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| n. 迫害,烦扰 | |
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140
compassionate
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| adj.有同情心的，表示同情的 | |
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141
wilfully
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| adv.任性固执地；蓄意地 | |
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142
warfare
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| n.战争(状态)；斗争；冲突 | |
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143
boor
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| n.举止粗野的人；乡下佬 | |
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144
gluttons
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| 贪食者( glutton的名词复数 )； 贪图者； 酷爱…的人； 狼獾 | |
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145
discredit
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| vt.使不可置信；n.丧失信义；不信，怀疑 | |
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146
intemperance
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| n.放纵 | |
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147
refinement
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| n.文雅；高尚；精美；精制；精炼 | |
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148
impartial
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| adj.(in,to)公正的，无偏见的 | |
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149
chateau
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| n.城堡，别墅 | |
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150
syrups
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| n.糖浆，糖汁( syrup的名词复数 )；糖浆类药品 | |
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151
pastry
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| n.油酥面团，酥皮糕点 | |
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152
surfeit
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| v.使饮食过度；n.(食物)过量，过度 | |
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153
enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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154
nuptials
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| n.婚礼；婚礼( nuptial的名词复数 ) | |
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155
celebrated
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| adj.有名的，声誉卓著的 | |
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156
skilful
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|
| (=skillful)adj.灵巧的，熟练的 | |
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157
assassinations
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| n.暗杀( assassination的名词复数 ) | |
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158
engraving
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| n.版画；雕刻（作品）；雕刻艺术；镌版术v.在（硬物）上雕刻（字，画等）( engrave的现在分词 )；将某事物深深印在（记忆或头脑中） | |
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159
gems
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|
| growth； economy； management； and customer satisfaction 增长 | |
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160
premature
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| adj.比预期时间早的；不成熟的，仓促的 | |
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161
annuity
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|
| n.年金；养老金 | |
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162
confiscated
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| 没收，充公( confiscate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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163
judicial
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| adj.司法的，法庭的，审判的，明断的，公正的 | |
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164
massacre
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| n.残杀，大屠杀；v.残杀，集体屠杀 | |
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165
ingratitude
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| n.忘恩负义 | |
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166
gratitude
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|
| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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167
fanaticism
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| n.狂热，盲信 | |
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168
jealousy
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|
| n.妒忌，嫉妒，猜忌 | |
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169
artistic
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| adj.艺术(家)的，美术(家)的；善于艺术创作的 | |
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170
addicted
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|
| adj.沉溺于....的，对...上瘾的 | |
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171
contemplated
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|
| adj. 预期的 动词contemplate的过去分词形式 | |
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172
thoroughly
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|
| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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173
illustrated
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|
| adj. 有插图的，列举的 动词illustrate的过去式和过去分词 | |
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174
idiocy
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| n.愚蠢 | |
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175
progenitor
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| n.祖先，先驱 | |
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176
decompose
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|
| vi.分解；vt.（使）腐败，（使）腐烂 | |
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177
hypocrisy
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| n.伪善，虚伪 | |
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178
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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179
absolve
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| v.赦免，解除（责任等） | |
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180
extenuate
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| v.减轻，使人原谅 | |
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181
guilt
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| n.犯罪；内疚；过失，罪责 | |
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182
persecuted
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| （尤指宗教或政治信仰的）迫害(~sb. for sth.)( persecute的过去式和过去分词 )； 烦扰，困扰或骚扰某人 | |
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183
thereby
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| adv.因此，从而 | |
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184
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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185
iota
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| n.些微，一点儿 | |
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186
dominion
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| n.统治，管辖，支配权；领土，版图 | |
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187
browbeat
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| v.欺侮；吓唬 | |
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188
unctuous
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| adj.油腔滑调的，大胆的 | |
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189
piety
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| n.虔诚，虔敬 | |
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190
abhorrence
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| n.憎恶；可憎恶的事 | |
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191
humility
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| n.谦逊，谦恭 | |
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192
loathsome
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|
| adj.讨厌的，令人厌恶的 | |
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193
incarnate
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| adj.化身的，人体化的，肉色的 | |
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194
dominions
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| 统治权( dominion的名词复数 )； 领土； 疆土； 版图 | |
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195
domains
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| n.范围( domain的名词复数 )；领域；版图；地产 | |
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196
invincible
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| adj.不可征服的，难以制服的 | |
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197
destined
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| adj.命中注定的；(for)以…为目的地的 | |
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198
mutinous
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| adj.叛变的，反抗的；adv.反抗地，叛变地；n.反抗，叛变 | |
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199
repudiate
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| v.拒绝，拒付，拒绝履行 | |
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200
incompatible
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| adj.不相容的，不协调的，不相配的 | |
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201
gales
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| 龙猫 | |
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202
obstinacy
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| n.顽固；（病痛等）难治 | |
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203
fatuity
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| n.愚蠢，愚昧 | |
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204
miserable
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|
| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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205
moorish
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| adj.沼地的，荒野的，生[住]在沼地的 | |
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206
isolated
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| adj.与世隔绝的 | |
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207
yoke
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| n.轭；支配；v.给...上轭，连接，使成配偶 | |
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208
patriotic
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| adj.爱国的，有爱国心的 | |
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209
unlimited
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| adj.无限的，不受控制的，无条件的 | |
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210
clergy
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| n.[总称]牧师，神职人员 | |
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211
bigotry
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| n.偏见，偏执，持偏见的行为[态度]等 | |
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212
extravagant
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| adj.奢侈的；过分的；(言行等)放肆的 | |
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213
chivalrous
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| adj.武士精神的；对女人彬彬有礼的 | |
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214
barons
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| 男爵( baron的名词复数 )； 巨头； 大王； 大亨 | |
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215
wrest
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| n.扭，拧，猛夺；v.夺取，猛扭，歪曲 | |
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216
triumphant
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| adj.胜利的，成功的；狂欢的，喜悦的 | |
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217
consolidation
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| n.合并,巩固 | |
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218
loyalty
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| n.忠诚，忠心 | |
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219
chronic
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| adj.(疾病)长期未愈的，慢性的；极坏的 | |
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220
Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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221
consecutive
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| adj.连续的，联贯的，始终一贯的 | |
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222
configuration
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| n.结构，布局，形态，(计算机)配置 | |
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223
plunder
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| vt.劫掠财物，掠夺；n.劫掠物，赃物；劫掠 | |
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224
steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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225
industrious
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| adj.勤劳的，刻苦的，奋发的 | |
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226
conquerors
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| 征服者，占领者( conqueror的名词复数 ) | |
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227
stigma
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| n.耻辱，污名；(花的)柱头 | |
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228
concisely
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| adv.简明地 | |
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229
subjugated
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| v.征服，降伏( subjugate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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230
detested
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| v.憎恶，嫌恶，痛恨( detest的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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231
consecrated
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| adj.神圣的，被视为神圣的v.把…奉为神圣，给…祝圣( consecrate的过去式和过去分词 )；奉献 | |
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narrated
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| v.故事( narrate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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taxation
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| n.征税，税收，税金 | |
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234
diffusion
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| n.流布；普及；散漫 | |
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expenditure
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| n.(时间、劳力、金钱等)支出；使用，消耗 | |
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solely
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| adv.仅仅，唯一地 | |
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colonize
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| v.建立殖民地，拓殖；定居，居于 | |
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238
frightful
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| adj.可怕的；讨厌的 | |
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239
banishment
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| n.放逐，驱逐 | |
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240
riotous
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| adj.骚乱的；狂欢的 | |
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241
sequestered
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| adj.扣押的；隐退的；幽静的；偏僻的v.使隔绝，使隔离( sequester的过去式和过去分词 )；扣押 | |
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lamentable
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| adj.令人惋惜的，悔恨的 | |
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immortal
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| adj.不朽的；永生的，不死的；神的 | |
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entailing
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| 使…成为必要( entail的现在分词 )； 需要； 限定继承； 使必需 | |
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violation
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| n.违反(行为)，违背(行为)，侵犯 | |
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246
captivity
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| n.囚禁；被俘；束缚 | |
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harassed
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| adj. 疲倦的，厌烦的 动词harass的过去式和过去分词 | |
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malignant
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| adj.恶性的，致命的；恶意的，恶毒的 | |
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grandeur
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| n.伟大，崇高，宏伟，庄严，豪华 | |
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secular
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| n.牧师，凡人；adj.世俗的，现世的，不朽的 | |
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exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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252
pathos
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| n.哀婉，悲怆 | |
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253
ethical
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| adj.伦理的，道德的，合乎道德的 | |
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degradation
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| n.降级；低落；退化；陵削；降解；衰变 | |
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habitually
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| ad.习惯地，通常地 | |
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intelligible
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| adj.可理解的，明白易懂的，清楚的 | |
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renovated
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| 翻新，修复，整修( renovate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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perennial
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| adj.终年的；长久的 | |
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constituent
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| n.选民；成分，组分；adj.组成的，构成的 | |
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civic
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| adj.城市的，都市的，市民的，公民的 | |
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ousting
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| 驱逐( oust的现在分词 )； 革职； 罢黜； 剥夺 | |
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sundry
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| adj.各式各样的，种种的 | |
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perusal
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| n.细读，熟读；目测 | |
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264
condemns
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| v.（通常因道义上的原因而）谴责( condemn的第三人称单数 )；宣判；宣布…不能使用；迫使…陷于不幸的境地 | |
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265
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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266
posterity
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| n.后裔，子孙，后代 | |
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267
embodied
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| v.表现( embody的过去式和过去分词 )；象征；包括；包含 | |
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268
shameful
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| adj.可耻的，不道德的 | |
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269
treatise
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| n.专著；(专题)论文 | |
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