‘My beloved! my husband! — Yes — though you may fancy me fickle1 and proud — I will call you so to the last; for were I fickle, I could have saved myself the agony of writing this; and as for pride, oh! how that darling vice2 has been crushed out of me! I have rolled at my mother’s feet with bitter tears, and vain entreaties3 — and been refused; and yet I have obeyed her after all. We must write to each other no more. This one last letter must explain the forced silence which has been driving me mad with fears that you would suspect me. And now you may call me weak; but it is your love which has made me strong to do this — which has taught me to see with new intensity4 my duty, not only to you, but to every human being — to my parents. By this self-sacrifice alone can I atone5 to them for all my past undutifulness. Let me, then, thus be worthy6 of you. Hope that by this submission7 we may win even her to change. How calmly I write! but it is only my hand that is calm. As for my heart, read Tennyson’s Fatima, and then know how I feel towards you! Yes, I love you — madly, the world would say. I seem to understand now how women have died of love. Ay, that indeed would be blessed; for then my spirit would seek out yours, and hover8 over it for ever! Farewell, beloved! and let me hear of you through your deeds. A feeling at my heart, which should not be, although it is, a sad one, tells me that we shall meet soon — soon.’
Stupefied and sickened, Lancelot turned carelessly to Mrs. Lavington’s cover, whose blameless respectability thus uttered itself:—
‘I cannot deceive you or myself by saying I regret that providential circumstances should have been permitted to break off a connection which I always felt to be most unsuitable; and I rejoice that the intercourse9 my dear child has had with you has not so far undermined her principles as to prevent her yielding the most filial obedience10 to my wishes on the point of her future correspondence with you. Hoping that all that has occurred will be truly blessed to you, and lead your thoughts to another world, and to a true concern for the safety of your immortal11 soul,
‘I remain, yours truly,
‘C. Lavington.’
‘Another world!’ said Lancelot to himself. ‘It is most merciful of you, certainly, my dear madame, to put one in mind of the existence of another world, while such as you have their own way in this one!’ and thrusting the latter epistle into the fire, he tried to collect his thoughts.
What had he lost? The oftener he asked himself, the less he found to unman him. Argemone’s letters were so new a want, that the craving12 for them was not yet established. His intense imagination, resting on the delicious certainty of her faith, seemed ready to fill the silence with bright hopes and noble purposes. She herself had said that he would see her soon. But yet — but yet — why did that allusion14 to death strike chilly15 through him? They were but words — a melancholy16 fancy, such as women love at times to play with. He would toss it from him. At least here was another reason for bestirring himself at once to win fame in the noble profession he had chosen.
And yet his brain reeled as he went upstairs to his uncle’s private room.
There, however, he found a person closeted with the banker, whose remarkable17 appearance drove everything else out of his mind. He was a huge, shaggy, toil-worn man, the deep melancholy earnestness of whose rugged18 features reminded him almost ludicrously of one of Land-seer’s bloodhounds. But withal there was a tenderness — a genial19, though covert20 humour playing about his massive features, which awakened21 in Lancelot at first sight a fantastic longing22 to open his whole heart to him. He was dressed like a foreigner, but spoke23 English with perfect fluency24. The banker sat listening, quite crestfallen25, beneath his intense and melancholy gaze, in which, nevertheless, there twinkled some rays of kindly26 sympathy.
‘It was all those foreign railways,’ said Mr. Smith pensively27.
‘And it serves you quite right,’ answered the stranger. ‘Did I not warn you of the folly28 and sin of sinking capital in foreign countries while English land was crying out for tillage, and English poor for employment?’
‘My dear friend’ (in a deprecatory tone), ‘it was the best possible investment I could make.’
‘And pray, who told you that you were sent into the world to make investments?’
‘But —’
‘But me no buts, or I won’t stir a finger towards helping29 you. What are you going to do with this money if I procure30 it for you?’
‘Work till I can pay back that poor fellow’s fortune,’ said the banker, earnestly pointing to Lancelot. ‘And if I could clear my conscience of that, I would not care if I starved myself, hardly if my own children did.’
‘Spoken like a man!’ answered the stranger; ‘work for that and I’ll help you. Be a new man, once and for all, my friend. Don’t even make this younker your first object. Say to yourself, not “I will invest this money where it shall pay me most, but I will invest it where it shall give most employment to English hands, and produce most manufactures for English bodies.” In short, seek first the kingdom of God and His justice with this money of yours, and see if all other things, profits and suchlike included, are not added unto you.’
‘And you are certain you can obtain the money?’
‘My good friend the Begum of the Cannibal Islands has more than she knows what to do with; and she owes me a good turn, you know.’
‘What are you jesting about now?’
‘Did I never tell you? The new king of the Cannibal Islands, just like your European ones, ran away, and would neither govern himself nor let any one else govern; so one morning his ministers, getting impatient, ate him, and then asked my advice. I recommended them to put his mother on the throne, who, being old and tough, would run less danger; and since then everything has gone on smoothly31 as anywhere else.’
‘Are you mad?’ thought Lancelot to himself, as he stared at the speaker’s matter-of-fact face.
‘No, I am not mad, my young friend,’ quoth he, facing right round upon him, as if he had divined his thoughts.
‘I— I beg your pardon, I did not speak,’ stammered32 Lancelot, abashed34 at a pair of eyes which could have looked down the boldest mesmerist in three seconds.
‘I am perfectly35 well aware that you did not. I must have some talk with you: I’ve heard a good deal about you. You wrote those articles in the —— Review about George Sand, did you not?’
‘I did.’
‘Well, there was a great deal of noble feeling in them, and a great deal of abominable36 nonsense. You seem to be very anxious to reform society?’
‘I am.’
‘Don’t you think you had better begin by reforming yourself?’
‘Really, sir,’ answered Lancelot, ‘I am too old for that worn-out quibble. The root of all my sins has been selfishness and sloth37. Am I to cure them by becoming still more selfish and slothful? What part of myself can I reform except my actions? and the very sin of my actions has been, as I take it, that I’ve been doing nothing to reform others; never fighting against the world, the flesh, and the devil, as your Prayer-book has it.’
‘My Prayer-book?’ answered the stranger, with a quaint38 smile.
‘Upon my word, Lancelot,’ interposed the banker, with a frightened look, ‘you must not get into an argument: you must be more respectful: you don’t know to whom you are speaking.’
‘And I don’t much care,’ answered he. ‘Life is really too grim earnest in these days to stand on ceremony. I am sick of blind leaders of the blind, of respectable preachers to the respectable, who drawl out second-hand39 trivialities, which they neither practise nor wish to see practised. I’ve had enough all my life of Scribes and Pharisees in white cravats40, laying on man heavy burdens, and grievous to be borne, and then not touching41 them themselves with one of their fingers.’
‘Silence, sir!’ roared the banker, while the stranger threw himself into a chair, and burst into a storm of laughter.
‘Upon my word, friend Mammon, here’s another of Hans Andersen’s ugly ducks!’
‘I really do not mean to be rude,’ said Lancelot, recollecting42 himself, ‘but I am nearly desperate. If your heart is in the right place, you will understand me! if not, the less we talk to each other the better.’
‘Most true,’ answered the stranger; ‘and I do understand you; and if, as I hope, we see more of each other henceforth, we will see if we cannot solve one or two of these problems between us.’
At this moment Lancelot was summoned downstairs, and found, to his great pleasure, Tregarva waiting for him. That worthy personage bowed to Lancelot reverently45 and distantly.
‘I am quite ashamed to intrude47 myself upon you, sir, but I could not rest without coming to ask whether you have had any news.’— He broke down at this point in the sentence, but Lancelot understood him.
‘I have no news,’ he said. ‘But what do you mean by standing48 off in that way, as if we were not old and fast friends? Remember, I am as poor as you are now; you may look me in the face and call me your equal, if you will, or your inferior; I shall not deny it.’
‘Pardon me, sir,’ answered Tregarva; ‘but I never felt what a real substantial thing rank is, as I have since this sad misfortune of yours.’
‘And I have never till now found out its worthlessness.’
‘You’re wrong, sir, you are wrong; look at the difference between yourself and me. When you’ve lost all you have, and seven times more, you’re still a gentleman. No man can take that from you. You may look the proudest duchess in the land in the face, and claim her as your equal; while I, sir — I don’t mean, though, to talk of myself — but suppose that you had loved a pious49 and a beautiful lady, and among all your worship of her, and your awe50 of her, had felt that you were worthy of her, that you could become her comforter, and her pride, and her joy, if it wasn’t for that accursed gulf51 that men had put between you, that you were no gentleman; that you didn’t know how to walk, and how to pronounce, and when to speak, and when to be silent, not even how to handle your own knife and fork without disgusting her, or how to keep your own body clean and sweet — Ah, sir, I see it now as I never did before, what a wall all these little defects build up round a poor man; how he longs and struggles to show himself as he is at heart, and cannot, till he feels sometimes as if he was enchanted52, pent up, like folks in fairy tales, in the body of some dumb beast. But, sir,’ he went on, with a concentrated bitterness which Lancelot had never seen in him before, ‘just because this gulf which rank makes is such a deep one, therefore it looks to me all the more devilish; not that I want to pull down any man to my level; I despise my own level too much; I want to rise; I want those like me to rise with me. Let the rich be as rich as they will. — I, and those like me, covet53 not money, but manners. Why should not the workman be a gentleman, and a workman still? Why are they to be shut out from all that is beautiful, and delicate, and winning, and stately?’
‘Now perhaps,’ said Lancelot, ‘you begin to understand what I was driving at on that night of the revel54?’
‘It has come home to me lately, sir, bitterly enough. If you knew what had gone on in me this last fortnight, you would know that I had cause to curse the state of things which brings a man up a savage55 against his will, and cuts him off, as if he were an ape or a monster, from those for whom the same Lord died, and on whom the same Spirit rests. Is that God’s will, sir? No, it is the devil’s will. “Those whom God hath joined, let no man put asunder56.”’
Lancelot coloured, for he remembered with how much less reason he had been lately invoking57 in his own cause those very words. He was at a loss for an answer; but seeing, to his relief, that Tregarva had returned to his usual impassive calm, he forced him to sit down, and began questioning him as to his own prospects58 and employment.
About them Tregarva seemed hopeful enough. He had found out a Wesleyan minister in town who knew him, and had, by his means, after assisting for a week or two in the London City Mission, got some similar appointment in a large manufacturing town. Of the state of things he spoke more sadly than ever. ‘The rich cannot guess, sir, how high ill-feeling is rising in these days. It’s not only those who are outwardly poorest who long for change; the middling people, sir, the small town shopkeepers especially, are nearly past all patience. One of the City Mission assured me that he has been watching them these several years past, and that nothing could beat their fortitude59 and industry, and their determination to stand peaceably by law and order; but yet, this last year or two, things are growing too bad to bear. Do what they will, they cannot get their bread; and when a man cannot get that, sir —’
‘But what do you think is the reason of it?’
‘How should I tell, sir? But if I had to say, I should say this — just what they say themselves — that there are too many of them. Go where you will, in town or country, you’ll find half-a-dozen shops struggling for a custom that would only keep up one, and so they’re forced to undersell one another. And when they’ve got down prices all they can by fair means, they’re forced to get them down lower by foul60 — to sand the sugar, and sloe-leave the tea, and put — Satan only that prompts ’em knows what — into the bread; and then they don’t thrive — they can’t thrive; God’s curse must be on them. They begin by trying to oust61 each other, and eat each other up; and while they’re eating up their neighbours, their neighbours eat up them; and so they all come to ruin together.’
‘Why, you talk like Mr. Mill himself, Tregarva; you ought to have been a political economist62, and not a City missionary63. By the bye, I don’t like that profession for you.’
‘It’s the Lord’s work, sir. It’s the very sending to the Gentiles that the Lord promised me.’
‘I don’t doubt it, Paul; but you are meant for other things, if not better. There are plenty of smaller men than you to do that work. Do you think that God would have given you that strength, that brain, to waste on a work which could be done without them? Those limbs would certainly be good capital for you, if you turned a live model at the Academy. Perhaps you’d better be mine; but you can’t even be that if you go to Manchester.’
The giant looked hopelessly down at his huge limbs. ‘Well! God only knows what use they are of just now. But as for the brains, sir — in much learning is much sorrow. One had much better work than read, I find. If I read much more about what men might be, and are not, and what English soil might be, and is not, I shall go mad. And that puts me in mind of one thing I came here for, though, like a poor rude country fellow as I am, I clean forgot it a thinking of — Look here, sir; you’ve given me a sight of books in my time, and God bless you for it. But now I hear that — that you are determined64 to be a poor man like us; and that you shan’t be, while Paul Tregarva has ought of yours. So I’ve just brought all the books back, and there they lie in the hall; and may God reward you for the loan of them to his poor child! And so, sir, farewell;’ and he rose to go.
‘No, Paul; the books and you shall never part.’
‘And I say, sir, the books and you shall never part.’
‘Then we two can never part’— and a sudden impulse flashed over him —‘and we will not part, Paul! The only man whom I utterly65 love, and trust, and respect on the face of God’s earth, is you; and I cannot lose sight of you. If we are to earn our bread, let us earn it together; if we are to endure poverty, and sorrow, and struggle to find out the way of bettering these wretched millions round us, let us learn our lesson together, and help each other to spell it out.’
‘Do you mean what you say?’ asked Paul slowly.
‘I do.’
‘Then I say what you say. Where thou goest, I will go; and where thou lodgest, I will lodge67. Come what will, I will be your servant, for good luck or bad, for ever.’
‘My equal, Paul, not my servant.’
‘I know my place, sir. When I am as learned and as well-bred as you, I shall not refuse to call myself your equal; and the sooner that day comes, the better I shall be pleased. Till then I am your friend and your brother; but I am your scholar too, and I shall not set up myself against my master.’
‘I have learnt more of you, Paul, than ever you have learnt of me. But be it as you will; only whatever you may call yourself, we must eat at the same table, live in the same room, and share alike all this world’s good things — or we shall have no right to share together this world’s bad things. If that is your bargain, there is my hand on it.’
‘Amen!’ quoth Tregarva; and the two young men joined hands in that sacred bond — now growing rarer and rarer year by year — the utter friendship of two equal manful hearts.
‘And now, sir, I have promised — and you would have me keep my promise — to go and work for the City Mission in Manchester — at least, for the next month, till a young man’s place who has just left, is filled up. Will you let me go for that time? and then, if you hold your present mind, we will join home and fortunes thenceforth, and go wherever the Lord shall send us. There’s work enough of His waiting to be done. I don’t doubt but if we are willing and able, He will set us about the thing we’re meant for.’
As Lancelot opened the door for him, he lingered on the steps, and grasping his hand, said, in a low, earnest voice: ‘The Lord be with you, sir. Be sure that He has mighty68 things in store for you, or He would not have brought you so low in the days of your youth.’
‘And so,’ as John Bunyan has it, ‘he went on his way;’ and Lancelot saw him no more till — but I must not outrun the order of time.
After all, this visit came to Lancelot timely. It had roused him to hope, and turned off his feelings from the startling news he had just heard. He stepped along arm in arm with Luke, cheerful, and fate-defiant, and as he thought of Tregarva’s complaints —
‘The beautiful?’ he said to himself, ‘they shall have it! At least they shall be awakened to feel their need of it, their right to it. What a high destiny, to be the artist of the people! to devote one’s powers of painting, not to mimicking69 obsolete70 legends, Pagan or Popish, but to representing to the working men of England the triumphs of the Past and the yet greater triumphs of the Future!’
Luke began at once questioning him about his father.
‘And is he contrite71 and humbled72? Does he see that he has sinned?’
‘In what?’
‘It is not for us to judge; but surely it must have been some sin or other of his which has drawn73 down such a sore judgment74 on him.’
Lancelot smiled; but Luke went on, not perceiving him.
‘Ah! we cannot find out for him. Nor has he, alas75! as a Protestant, much likelihood of finding out for himself. In our holy church he would have been compelled to discriminate76 his faults by methodic self-examination, and lay them one by one before his priest for advice and pardon, and so start a new and free man once more.’
‘Do you think,’ asked Lancelot with a smile, ‘that he who will not confess his faults either to God or to himself, would confess them to man? And would his priest honestly tell him what he really wants to know? which sin of his has called down this so-called judgment? It would be imputed78, I suppose, to some vague generality, to inattention to religious duties, to idolatry of the world, and so forth44. But a Romish priest would be the last person, I should think, who could tell him fairly, in the present case, the cause of his affliction; and I question whether he would give a patient hearing to any one who told it him.’
‘How so? Though, indeed, I have remarked that people are perfectly willing to be told they are miserable79 sinners, and to confess themselves such, in a general way; but if the preacher once begins to specify80, to fix on any particular act or habit, he is accused of personality or uncharitableness; his hearers are ready to confess guilty to any sin but the very one with which he charges them. But, surely, this is just what I am urging against you Protestants — just what the Catholic use of confession81 obviates82.’
‘Attempts to do so, you mean!’ answered Lancelot. ‘But what if your religion preaches formally that which only remains83 in our religion as a fast-dying superstition84? — That those judgments85 of God, as you call them, are not judgments at all in any fair use of the word, but capricious acts of punishment on the part of Heaven, which have no more reference to the fault which provokes them, than if you cut off a man’s finger because he made a bad use of his tongue. That is part, but only a part, of what I meant just now, by saying that people represent God as capricious, proud, revengeful.’
‘But do not Protestants themselves confess that our sins provoke God’s anger?’
‘Your common creed86, when it talks rightly of God as one “who has no passions,” ought to make you speak more reverently of the possibility of any act of ours disturbing the everlasting87 equanimity88 of the absolute Love. Why will men so often impute77 to God the miseries89 which they bring upon themselves?’
‘Because, I suppose, their pride makes them more willing to confess themselves sinners than fools.’
‘Right, my friend; they will not remember that it is of “their pleasant vices90 that God makes whips to scourge91 them.” Oh, I at least have felt the deep wisdom of that saying of Wilhelm Meister’s harper, that it is
“Voices from the depth of Nature borne Which woe92 upon the guilty head proclaim.”
Of nature — of those eternal laws of hers which we daily break. Yes! it is not because God’s temper changes, but because God’s universe is unchangeable, that such as I, such as your poor father, having sown the wind, must reap the whirlwind. I have fed my self-esteem with luxuries and not with virtue93, and, losing them, have nothing left. He has sold himself to a system which is its own punishment. And yet the last place in which he will look for the cause of his misery94 is in that very money-mongering to which he now clings as frantically95 as ever. But so it is throughout the world. Only look down over that bridge-parapet, at that huge black-mouthed sewer96, vomiting97 its pestilential riches across the mud. There it runs, and will run, hurrying to the sea vast stores of wealth, elaborated by Nature’s chemistry into the ready materials of food; which proclaim, too, by their own foul smell, God’s will that they should be buried out of sight in the fruitful all-regenerating grave of earth: there it runs, turning them all into the seeds of pestilence98, filth99, and drunkenness. — And then, when it obeys the laws which we despise, and the pestilence is come at last, men will pray against it, and confess it to be “a judgment for their sins;” but if you ask what sin, people will talk about “les voiles d’airain,” as Fourier says, and tell you that it is presumptuous100 to pry101 into God’s secret counsels, unless, perhaps, some fanatic102 should inform you that the cholera103 has been drawn down on the poor by the endowment of Maynooth by the rich.’
‘It is most fearful, indeed, to think that these diseases should be confined to the poor — that a man should be exposed to cholera, typhus, and a host of attendant diseases, simply because he is born into the world an artisan; while the rich, by the mere33 fact of money, are exempt104 from such curses, except when they come in contact with those whom they call on Sunday “their brethren,” and on week days the “masses.”
‘Thank Heaven that you do see that — that in a country calling itself civilised and Christian105, pestilence should be the peculiar106 heritage of the poor! It is past all comment.’
‘And yet are not these pestilences107 a judgment, even on them, for their dirt and profligacy108?’
‘And how should they be clean without water? And how can you wonder if their appetites, sickened with filth and self-disgust, crave109 after the gin-shop for temporary strength, and then for temporary forgetfulness? Every London doctor knows that I speak the truth; would that every London preacher would tell that truth from his pulpit!’
‘Then would you too say, that God punishes one class for the sins of another?’
‘Some would say,’ answered Lancelot, half aside, ‘that He may be punishing them for not demanding their right to live like human beings, to all those social circumstances which shall not make their children’s life one long disease. But are not these pestilences a judgment on the rich, too, in the truest sense of the word? Are they not the broad, unmistakable seal to God’s opinion of a state of society which confesses its economic relations to be so utterly rotten and confused, that it actually cannot afford to save yearly millions of pounds’ worth of the materials of food, not to mention thousands of human lives? Is not every man who allows such things hastening the ruin of the society in which he lives, by helping to foster the indignation and fury of its victims? Look at that group of stunted110, haggard artisans, who are passing us. What if one day they should call to account the landlords whose coveteousness and ignorance make their dwellings111 hells on earth?’
By this time they had reached the artist’s house.
Luke refused to enter. . . . ‘He had done with this world, and the painters of this world.’ . . . And with a tearful last farewell, he turned away up the street, leaving Lancelot to gaze at his slow, painful steps, and abject112, earth-fixed mien113.
‘Ah!’ thought Lancelot, ‘here is the end of your anthropology114! At first, your ideal man is an angel. But your angel is merely an unsexed woman; and so you are forced to go back to the humanity after all — but to a woman, not a man? And this, in the nineteenth century, when men are telling us that the poetic115 and enthusiastic have become impossible, and that the only possible state of the world henceforward will be a universal good-humoured hive, of the Franklin–Benthamite religion . . . a vast prosaic117 Cockaigne of steam mills for grinding sausages — for those who can get at them. And all the while, in spite of all Manchester schools, and high and dry orthodox schools, here are the strangest phantasms, new and old, sane119 and insane, starting up suddenly into live practical power, to give their prosaic theories the lie — Popish conversions120, Mormonisms, Mesmerisms, Californias, Continental121 revolutions, Paris days of June . . . Ye hypocrites! ye can discern the face of the sky, and yet ye cannot discern the signs of this time!’
He was ushered122 upstairs to the door of his studio, at which he knocked, and was answered by a loud ‘Come in.’ Lancelot heard a rustle123 as he entered, and caught sight of a most charming little white foot retreating hastily through the folding doors into the inner room.
The artist, who was seated at his easel, held up his brush as a signal of silence, and did not even raise his eyes till he had finished the touches on which he was engaged.
‘And now — what do I see! — the last man I should have expected! I thought you were far down in the country. And what brings you to me with such serious and business-like looks?’
‘I am a penniless youth —’
‘What?’
‘Ruined to my last shilling, and I want to turn artist.’
‘Oh, ye gracious powers! Come to my arms, brother at last with me in the holy order of those who must work or starve. Long have I wept in secret over the pernicious fulness of your purse!’
‘Dry your tears, then, now,’ said Lancelot, ‘for I neither have ten pounds in the world, nor intend to have till I can earn them.’
‘Artist!’ ran on Mellot; ‘ah! you shall be an artist, indeed! You shall stay with me and become the English Michael Angelo; or, if you are fool enough, go to Rome, and utterly eclipse Overbeck, and throw Schadow for ever into the shade.’
‘I fine you a supper,’ said Lancelot, ‘for that execrable attempt at a pun.’
‘Agreed! Here, Sabina, send to Covent Garden for huge nosegays, and get out the best bottle of Burgundy. We will pass an evening worthy of Horace, and with garlands and libations honour the muse124 of painting.’
‘Luxurious125 dog!’ said Lancelot, ‘with all your cant126 about poverty.’
As he spoke, the folding doors opened, and an exquisite127 little brunette danced in from the inner room, in which, by the bye, had been going on all the while a suspicious rustling128, as of garments hastily arranged. She was dressed gracefully129 in a loose French morning-gown, down which Lancelot’s eye glanced towards the little foot, which, however, was now hidden in a tiny velvet130 slipper131. The artist’s wife was a real beauty, though without a single perfect feature, except a most delicious little mouth, a skin like velvet, and clear brown eyes, from which beamed earnest simplicity132 and arch good humour. She darted133 forward to her husband’s friend, while her rippling134 brown hair, fantastically arranged, fluttered about her neck, and seizing Lancelot’s hands successively in both of hers, broke out in an accent prettily135 tinged136 with French —
‘Charming! — delightful137! And so you are really going to turn painter! And I have longed so to be introduced to you! Claude has been raving13 about you these two years; you already seem to me the oldest friend in the world. You must not go to Rome. We shall keep you, Mr. Lancelot; positively138 you must come and live with us — we shall be the happiest trio in London. I will make you so comfortable: you must let me cater139 for you — cook for you.’
‘And be my study sometimes?’ said Lancelot, smiling.
‘Ah,’ she said, blushing, and shaking her pretty little fist at Claude, ‘that madcap! how he has betrayed me! When he is at his easel, he is so in the seventh heaven, that he sees nothing, thinks of nothing, but his own dreams.’
At this moment a heavy step sounded on the stairs, the door opened, and there entered, to Lancelot’s astonishment140, the stranger who had just puzzled him so much at his uncle’s.
Claude rose reverentially, and came forward, but Sabina was beforehand with him, and running up to her visitor, kissed his hand again and again, almost kneeling to him.
‘The dear master!’ she cried; ‘what a delightful surprise! we have not seen you this fortnight past, and gave you up for lost.’
‘Where do you come from, my dear master?’ asked Claude.
‘From going to and fro in the earth, and from walking up and down in it,’ answered he, smiling, and laying his finger on his lips, ‘my dear pupils. And you are both well and happy?’
‘Perfectly, and doubly delighted at your presence today, for your advice will come in a providential moment for my friend here.’
‘Ah!’ said the strange man, ‘well met once more! So you are going to turn painter?’
He bent116 a severe and searching look on Lancelot.
‘You have a painter’s face, young man,’ he said; ‘go on and prosper141. What branch of art do you intend to study?’
‘The ancient Italian painters, as my first step.’
‘Ancient? it is not four hundred years since Perugino died. But I should suppose you do not intend to ignore classic art?’
‘You have divined rightly. I wish, in the study of the antique, to arrive at the primeval laws of unfallen human beauty.’
‘Were Phidias and Praxiteles, then, so primeval? the world had lasted many a thousand years before their turn came. If you intend to begin at the beginning, why not go back at once to the garden of Eden, and there study the true antique?’
‘If there were but any relics142 of it,’ said Lancelot, puzzled, and laughing.
‘You would find it very near you, young man, if you had but eyes to see it.’
Claude Mellot laughed significantly, and Sabina clapped her little hands.
‘Yet till you take him with you, master, and show it to him, he must needs be content with the Royal Academy and the Elgin marbles.’
‘But to what branch of painting, pray,’ said the master to Lancelot, ‘will you apply your knowledge of the antique? Will you, like this foolish fellow here’ (with a kindly glance at Claude), ‘fritter yourself away on Nymphs and Venuses, in which neither he nor any one else believes?’
‘Historic art, as the highest,’ answered Lancelot, ‘is my ambition.’
‘It is well to aim at the highest, but only when it is possible for us. And how can such a school exist in England now? You English must learn to understand your own history before you paint it. Rather follow in the steps of your Turners, and Landseers, and Standfields, and Creswicks, and add your contribution to the present noble school of naturalist143 painters. That is the niche144 in the temple which God has set you English to fill up just now. These men’s patient, reverent46 faith in Nature as they see her, their knowledge that the ideal is neither to be invented nor abstracted, but found and left where God has put it, and where alone it can be represented, in actual and individual phenomena145; — in these lies an honest development of the true idea of Protestantism, which is paving the way to the mesothetic art of the future.’
‘Glorious!’ said Sabina: ‘not a single word that we poor creatures can understand!’
But our hero, who always took a virtuous146 delight in hearing what he could not comprehend, went on to question the orator147.
‘What, then, is the true idea of Protestantism?’ said he.
‘The universal symbolism and dignity of matter, whether in man or nature.’
‘But the Puritans —?’
‘Were inconsistent with themselves and with Protestantism, and therefore God would not allow them to proceed. Yet their repudiation148 of all art was better than the Judas-kiss which Romanism bestows149 on it, in the meagre eclecticism150 of the ancient religious schools, and of your modern Overbecks and Pugins. The only really wholesome151 designer of great power whom I have seen in Germany is Kaulbach; and perhaps every one would not agree with my reasons for admiring him, in this whitewashed152 age. But you, young sir, were meant for better things than art. Many young geniuses have an early hankering, as Goethe had, to turn painters. It seems the shortest and easiest method of embodying153 their conceptions in visible form; but they get wiser afterwards, when they find in themselves thoughts that cannot be laid upon the canvas. Come with me — I like striking while the iron is hot; walk with me towards my lodgings154, and we will discuss this weighty matter.’
And with a gay farewell to the adoring little Sabina, he passed an iron arm through Lancelot’s, and marched him down into the street.
Lancelot was surprised and almost nettled155 at the sudden influence which he found this quaint personage was exerting over him. But he had, of late, tasted the high delight of feeling himself under the guidance of a superior mind, and longed to enjoy it once more. Perhaps they were reminiscences of this kind which stirred in him the strange fancy of a connection, almost of a likeness156, between his new acquaintance and Argemone. He asked, humbly157 enough, why Art was to be a forbidden path to him?
‘Besides you are an Englishman, and a man of uncommon158 talent, unless your physiognomy belies159 you; and one, too, for whom God has strange things in store, or He would not have so suddenly and strangely overthrown160 you.’
Lancelot started. He remembered that Tregarva had said just the same thing to him that very morning, and the (to him) strange coincidence sank deep into his heart.
‘You must be a politician,’ the stranger went on. ‘You are bound to it as your birthright. It has been England’s privilege hitherto to solve all political questions as they arise for the rest of the world; it is her duty now. Here, or nowhere, must the solution be attempted of those social problems which are convulsing more and more all Christendom. She cannot afford to waste brains like yours, while in thousands of reeking161 alleys162, such as that one opposite us, heathens and savages163 are demanding the rights of citizenship164. Whether they be right or wrong, is what you, and such as you, have to find out at this day.’
Silent and thoughtful, Lancelot walked on by his side.
‘What is become of your friend Tregarva? I met him this morning after he parted from you, and had some talk with him. I was sorely minded to enlist165 him. Perhaps I shall; in the meantime, I shall busy myself with you.’
‘In what way,’ asked Lancelot, ‘most strange sir, of whose name, much less of whose occupation, I can gain no tidings.’
‘My name for the time being is Barnakill. And as for business, as it is your English fashion to call new things obstinately166 by old names, careless whether they apply or not, you may consider me as a recruiting-sergeant; which trade, indeed, I follow, though I am no more like the popular red-coated ones than your present “glorious constitution” is like William the Third’s, or Overbeck’s high art like Fra Angelico’s. Farewell! When I want you, which will be most likely when you want me, I shall find you again.’
The evening was passed, as Claude had promised, in a truly Horatian manner. Sabina was most piquante, and Claude interspersed167 his genial and enthusiastic eloquence168 with various wise saws of ‘the prophet.’
‘But why on earth,’ quoth Lancelot, at last, ‘do you call him a prophet?’
‘Because he is one; it’s his business, his calling. He gets his living thereby169, as the showman did by his elephant.’
‘But what does he foretell170?’
‘Oh, son of the earth! And you went to Cambridge — are reported to have gone in for the thing, or phantom171, called the tripos, and taken a first class! . . . Did you ever look out the word “prophetes” in Liddell and Scott?’
‘Why, what do you know about Liddell and Scott?’
‘Nothing, thank goodness; I never had time to waste over the crooked172 letters. But I have heard say that prophetes means, not a foreteller173, but an out-teller — one who declares the will of a deity174, and interprets his oracles175. Is it not so?’
‘Undeniably.’
‘And that he became a foreteller among heathens at least — as I consider, among all peoples whatsoever176 — because knowing the real bearing of what had happened, and what was happening, he could discern the signs of the times, and so had what the world calls a shrewd guess — what I, like a Pantheist as I am denominated, should call a divine and inspired foresight177 — of what was going to happen.’
‘A new notion, and a pleasant one, for it looks something like a law.’
‘I am no scollard, as they would say in Whitford, you know; but it has often struck me, that if folks would but believe that the Apostles talked not such very bad Greek, and had some slight notion of the received meaning of the words they used, and of the absurdity178 of using the same term to express nineteen different things, the New Testament179 would be found to be a much simpler and more severely180 philosophic181 book than “Theologians” (“Anthropo-sophists” I call them) fancy.’
‘Where on earth did you get all this wisdom, or foolishness?’
‘From the prophet, a fortnight ago.’
‘Who is this prophet? I will know.’
‘Then you will know more than I do. Sabina — light my meerschaum, there’s a darling; it will taste the sweeter after your lips.’ And Claude laid his delicate woman-like limbs upon the sofa, and looked the very picture of luxurious nonchalance182.
‘What is he, you pitiless wretch66?’
‘Fairest Hebe, fill our Prometheus Vinctus another glass of Burgundy, and find your guitar, to silence him.’
‘It was the ocean nymphs who came to comfort Prometheus — and unsandalled, too, if I recollect43 right,’ said Lancelot, smiling at Sabina. ‘Come, now, if he will not tell me, perhaps you will?’
Sabina only blushed, and laughed mysteriously.
‘You surely are intimate with him, Claude? When and where did you meet him first?’
‘Seventeen years ago, on the barricades183 of the three days, in the charming little pandemonium184 called Paris, he picked me out of a gutter185, a boy of fifteen, with a musket-ball through my body; mended me, and sent me to a painter’s studio. . . . The next sejour I had with him began in sight of the Demawend. Sabina, perhaps you might like to relate to Mr. Smith that interview, and the circumstances under which you made your first sketch186 of that magnificent and little-known volcano?’
Sabina blushed again — this time scarlet187; and, to Lancelot’s astonishment, pulled off her slipper, and brandishing188 it daintily, uttered some unintelligible189 threat, in an Oriental language, at the laughing Claude.
‘Why, you must have been in the East?’
‘Why not! Do you think that figure and that walk were picked up in stay-ridden, toe-pinching England? . . . Ay, in the East; and why not elsewhere? Do you think I got my knowledge of the human figure from the live-model in the Royal Academy?’
‘I certainly have always had my doubts of it. You are the only man I know who can paint muscle in motion.’
‘Because I am almost the only man in England who has ever seen it. Artists should go to the Cannibal Islands for that. . . . J’ai fait le grand tour. I should not wonder if the prophet made you take it.’
‘That would be very much as I chose.’
‘Or otherwise.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘That if he wills you to go, I defy you to stay. Eh, Sabina!’
‘Well, you are a very mysterious pair — and a very charming one.’
‘So we think ourselves — as to the charmingness. . . . and as for the mystery . . . “Omnia exeunt in mysterium,” says somebody, somewhere — or if he don’t, ought to, seeing that it is so. You will be a mystery some day, and a myth, and a thousand years hence pious old ladies will be pulling caps as to whether you were a saint or a devil, and whether you did really work miracles or not, as corroborations of your exsupra-lunar illumination on social questions. . . . Yes . . . you will have to submit, and see Bogy, and enter the Eleusinian mysteries. Eh, Sabina?’
‘My dear Claude, what between the Burgundy and your usual foolishness, you seem very much inclined to divulge190 the Eleusinian mysteries.’
‘I can’t well do that, my beauty, seeing that, if you recollect, we were both turned back at the vestibule, for a pair of naughty children as we are.’
‘Do be quiet! and let me enjoy, for once, my woman’s right to the last word!’
And in this hopeful state of mystification, Lancelot went home, and dreamt of Argemone.
His uncle would, and, indeed, as it seemed, could, give him very little information on the question which had so excited his curiosity. He had met the man in India many years before, had received there from him most important kindnesses, and considered him, from experience, of oracular wisdom. He seemed to have an unlimited191 command of money, though most frugal192 in his private habits; visited England for a short time every few years, and always under a different appellation193; but as for his real name, habitation, or business, here or at home, the good banker knew nothing, except that whenever questioned on them, he wandered off into Pantagruelist jokes, and ended in Cloud-land. So that Lancelot was fain to give up his questions and content himself with longing for the reappearance of this inexplicable194 sage118.
点击
收听单词发音
收听单词发音 |
1
fickle
|
|
| adj.(爱情或友谊上)易变的，不坚定的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
vice
|
|
| n.坏事；恶习；[pl.]台钳，老虎钳；adj.副的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
entreaties
|
|
| n.恳求，乞求( entreaty的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
intensity
|
|
| n.强烈，剧烈；强度；烈度 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
atone
|
|
| v.赎罪，补偿 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
worthy
|
|
| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
submission
|
|
| n.服从，投降；温顺，谦虚；提出 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
hover
|
|
| vi.翱翔，盘旋；徘徊；彷徨，犹豫 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
intercourse
|
|
| n.性交；交流，交往，交际 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
obedience
|
|
| n.服从，顺从 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
immortal
|
|
| adj.不朽的；永生的，不死的；神的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
craving
|
|
| n.渴望,热望 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
raving
|
|
| adj.说胡话的；疯狂的，怒吼的；非常漂亮的；令人醉心[痴心]的v.胡言乱语(rave的现在分词)n.胡话；疯话adv.胡言乱语地；疯狂地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
allusion
|
|
| n.暗示，间接提示 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
chilly
|
|
| adj.凉快的，寒冷的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
melancholy
|
|
| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
remarkable
|
|
| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
rugged
|
|
| adj.高低不平的，粗糙的，粗壮的，强健的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
genial
|
|
| adj.亲切的，和蔼的，愉快的，脾气好的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
covert
|
|
| adj.隐藏的；暗地里的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
awakened
|
|
| v.（使）醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
longing
|
|
| n.（for）渴望 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
spoke
|
|
| 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 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
fluency
|
|
| n.流畅，雄辩，善辩 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
crestfallen
|
|
| adj. 挫败的，失望的，沮丧的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
kindly
|
|
| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
pensively
|
|
| adv.沉思地，焦虑地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
folly
|
|
| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
helping
|
|
| n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的，辅助的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
procure
|
|
| vt.获得，取得，促成；vi.拉皮条 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
smoothly
|
|
| adv.平滑地，顺利地，流利地，流畅地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
stammered
|
|
| v.结巴地说出( stammer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
mere
|
|
| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
abashed
|
|
| adj.窘迫的，尴尬的v.使羞愧，使局促，使窘迫( abash的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
perfectly
|
|
| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
abominable
|
|
| adj.可厌的，令人憎恶的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
sloth
|
|
| n.[动]树懒；懒惰，懒散 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
quaint
|
|
| adj.古雅的，离奇有趣的，奇怪的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
second-hand
|
|
| adj.用过的，旧的，二手的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
cravats
|
|
| n.（系在衬衫衣领里面的）男式围巾( cravat的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
|
41
touching
|
|
| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
recollecting
|
|
| v.记起，想起( recollect的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
recollect
|
|
| v.回忆，想起，记起，忆起，记得 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
forth
|
|
| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
reverently
|
|
| adv.虔诚地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
reverent
|
|
| adj.恭敬的，虔诚的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
intrude
|
|
| vi.闯入；侵入；打扰，侵扰 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
standing
|
|
| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
pious
|
|
| adj.虔诚的；道貌岸然的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
awe
|
|
| n.敬畏，惊惧；vt.使敬畏，使惊惧 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
51
gulf
|
|
| n.海湾；深渊，鸿沟；分歧，隔阂 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
52
enchanted
|
|
| adj. 被施魔法的，陶醉的，入迷的 动词enchant的过去式和过去分词 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
53
covet
|
|
| vt.垂涎；贪图(尤指属于他人的东西) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
54
revel
|
|
| vi.狂欢作乐，陶醉；n.作乐，狂欢 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
55
savage
|
|
| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
56
asunder
|
|
| adj.分离的，化为碎片 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
57
invoking
|
|
| v.援引( invoke的现在分词 )；行使（权利等）；祈求救助；恳求 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
58
prospects
|
|
| n.希望，前途(恒为复数) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
59
fortitude
|
|
| n.坚忍不拔；刚毅 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
60
foul
|
|
| adj.污秽的；邪恶的；v.弄脏；妨害；犯规；n.犯规 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
61
oust
|
|
| vt.剥夺，取代，驱逐 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
62
economist
|
|
| n.经济学家，经济专家，节俭的人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
63
missionary
|
|
| adj.教会的，传教(士)的；n.传教士 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
64
determined
|
|
| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
65
utterly
|
|
| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
66
wretch
|
|
| n.可怜的人，不幸的人；卑鄙的人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
67
lodge
|
|
| v.临时住宿，寄宿，寄存，容纳；n.传达室，小旅馆 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
68
mighty
|
|
| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
69
mimicking
|
|
| v.（尤指为了逗乐而）模仿( mimic的现在分词 )；酷似 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
70
obsolete
|
|
| adj.已废弃的，过时的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
71
contrite
|
|
| adj.悔悟了的，后悔的，痛悔的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
72
humbled
|
|
| adj. 卑下的，谦逊的，粗陋的 vt. 使 ... 卑下，贬低 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
73
drawn
|
|
| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
74
judgment
|
|
| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
75
alas
|
|
| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
76
discriminate
|
|
| v.区别，辨别，区分；有区别地对待 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
77
impute
|
|
| v.归咎于 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
78
imputed
|
|
| v.把（错误等）归咎于( impute的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
79
miserable
|
|
| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
80
specify
|
|
| vt.指定，详细说明 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
81
confession
|
|
| n.自白，供认，承认 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
82
obviates
|
|
| v.避免，消除（贫困、不方便等）( obviate的第三人称单数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
83
remains
|
|
| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
84
superstition
|
|
| n.迷信，迷信行为 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
85
judgments
|
|
| 判断( judgment的名词复数 )； 鉴定； 评价； 审判 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
86
creed
|
|
| n.信条；信念，纲领 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
87
everlasting
|
|
| adj.永恒的，持久的，无止境的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
88
equanimity
|
|
| n.沉着，镇定 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
89
miseries
|
|
| n.痛苦( misery的名词复数 )；痛苦的事；穷困；常发牢骚的人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
90
vices
|
|
| 缺陷( vice的名词复数 )； 恶习； 不道德行为； 台钳 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
91
scourge
|
|
| n.灾难，祸害；v.蹂躏 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
92
woe
|
|
| n.悲哀，苦痛，不幸，困难；int.用来表达悲伤或惊慌 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
93
virtue
|
|
| n.德行，美德；贞操；优点；功效，效力 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
94
misery
|
|
| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
95
frantically
|
|
| ad.发狂地, 发疯地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
96
sewer
|
|
| n.排水沟，下水道 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
97
vomiting
|
|
| 吐 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
98
pestilence
|
|
| n.瘟疫 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
99
filth
|
|
| n.肮脏，污物，污秽；淫猥 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
100
presumptuous
|
|
| adj.胆大妄为的，放肆的，冒昧的，冒失的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
101
pry
|
|
| vi.窥(刺)探，打听；vt.撬动(开，起) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
102
fanatic
|
|
| n.狂热者，入迷者；adj.狂热入迷的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
103
cholera
|
|
| n.霍乱 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
104
exempt
|
|
| adj.免除的；v.使免除；n.免税者，被免除义务者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
105
Christian
|
|
| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
106
peculiar
|
|
| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
107
pestilences
|
|
| n.瘟疫， （尤指）腺鼠疫( pestilence的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
108
profligacy
|
|
| n.放荡，不检点，肆意挥霍 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
109
crave
|
|
| vt.渴望得到，迫切需要，恳求，请求 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
110
stunted
|
|
| adj.矮小的；发育迟缓的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
111
dwellings
|
|
| n.住处，处所( dwelling的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
112
abject
|
|
| adj.极可怜的，卑屈的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
113
mien
|
|
| n.风采；态度 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
114
anthropology
|
|
| n.人类学 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
115
poetic
|
|
| adj.富有诗意的，有诗人气质的，善于抒情的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
116
bent
|
|
| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
117
prosaic
|
|
| adj.单调的，无趣的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
118
sage
|
|
| n.圣人，哲人；adj.贤明的，明智的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
119
sane
|
|
| adj.心智健全的，神志清醒的，明智的，稳健的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
120
conversions
|
|
| 变换( conversion的名词复数 )； （宗教、信仰等）彻底改变； （尤指为居住而）改建的房屋； 橄榄球（触地得分后再把球射中球门的）附加得分 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
121
continental
|
|
| adj.大陆的，大陆性的，欧洲大陆的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
122
ushered
|
|
| v.引，领，陪同( usher的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
123
rustle
|
|
| v.沙沙作响；偷盗(牛、马等)；n.沙沙声声 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
124
muse
|
|
| n.缪斯（希腊神话中的女神），创作灵感 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
125
luxurious
|
|
| adj.精美而昂贵的；豪华的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
126
cant
|
|
| n.斜穿，黑话，猛扔 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
127
exquisite
|
|
| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
128
rustling
|
|
| n. 瑟瑟声，沙沙声 adj. 发沙沙声的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
129
gracefully
|
|
| ad.大大方方地；优美地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
130
velvet
|
|
| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
131
slipper
|
|
| n.拖鞋 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
132
simplicity
|
|
| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
133
darted
|
|
| v.投掷，投射( dart的过去式和过去分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
134
rippling
|
|
| 起涟漪的，潺潺流水般声音的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
135
prettily
|
|
| adv.优美地；可爱地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
136
tinged
|
|
| v.（使）发丁丁声( ting的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
137
delightful
|
|
| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
138
positively
|
|
| adv.明确地，断然，坚决地；实在，确实 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
139
cater
|
|
| vi.(for/to)满足，迎合；(for)提供饮食及服务 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
140
astonishment
|
|
| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
141
prosper
|
|
| v.成功，兴隆，昌盛；使成功，使昌隆，繁荣 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
142
relics
|
|
| [pl.］n.遗物，遗迹，遗产；遗体，尸骸 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
143
naturalist
|
|
| n.博物学家(尤指直接观察动植物者) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
144
niche
|
|
| n.壁龛；合适的职务(环境、位置等) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
145
phenomena
|
|
| n.现象 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
146
virtuous
|
|
| adj.有品德的，善良的，贞洁的，有效力的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
147
orator
|
|
| n.演说者，演讲者，雄辩家 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
148
repudiation
|
|
| n.拒绝；否认；断绝关系；抛弃 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
149
bestows
|
|
| 赠给，授予( bestow的第三人称单数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
150
eclecticism
|
|
| n.折衷主义 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
151
wholesome
|
|
| adj.适合；卫生的；有益健康的；显示身心健康的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
152
whitewashed
|
|
| 粉饰，美化，掩饰( whitewash的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
153
embodying
|
|
| v.表现( embody的现在分词 )；象征；包括；包含 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
154
lodgings
|
|
| n. 出租的房舍, 寄宿舍 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
155
nettled
|
|
| v.拿荨麻打，拿荨麻刺（nettle的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
156
likeness
|
|
| n.相像，相似（之处） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
157
humbly
|
|
| adv. 恭顺地，谦卑地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
158
uncommon
|
|
| adj.罕见的，非凡的，不平常的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
159
belies
|
|
| v.掩饰( belie的第三人称单数 )；证明（或显示）…为虚假；辜负；就…扯谎 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
160
overthrown
|
|
| adj. 打翻的，推倒的，倾覆的 动词overthrow的过去分词 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
161
reeking
|
|
| v.发出浓烈的臭气( reek的现在分词 )；散发臭气；发出难闻的气味 (of sth)；明显带有（令人不快或生疑的跡象） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
162
alleys
|
|
| 胡同，小巷( alley的名词复数 )； 小径 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
163
savages
|
|
| 未开化的人，野蛮人( savage的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
164
citizenship
|
|
| n.市民权，公民权，国民的义务(身份) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
165
enlist
|
|
| vt.谋取(支持等)，赢得；征募；vi.入伍 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
166
obstinately
|
|
| ad.固执地，顽固地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
167
interspersed
|
|
| adj.[医]散开的；点缀的v.intersperse的过去式和过去分词 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
168
eloquence
|
|
| n.雄辩；口才，修辞 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
169
thereby
|
|
| adv.因此，从而 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
170
foretell
|
|
| v.预言，预告，预示 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
171
phantom
|
|
| n.幻影，虚位，幽灵；adj.错觉的，幻影的，幽灵的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
172
crooked
|
|
| adj.弯曲的；不诚实的，狡猾的，不正当的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
173
foreteller
|
|
| n.预言者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
|
174
deity
|
|
| n.神，神性；被奉若神明的人(或物) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
175
oracles
|
|
| 神示所( oracle的名词复数 )； 神谕； 圣贤； 哲人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
176
whatsoever
|
|
| adv.（用于否定句中以加强语气）任何；pron.无论什么 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
177
foresight
|
|
| n.先见之明，深谋远虑 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
178
absurdity
|
|
| n.荒谬，愚蠢；谬论 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
179
testament
|
|
| n.遗嘱；证明 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
180
severely
|
|
| adv.严格地；严厉地；非常恶劣地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
181
philosophic
|
|
| adj.哲学的，贤明的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
182
nonchalance
|
|
| n.冷淡，漠不关心 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
183
barricades
|
|
| 路障，障碍物( barricade的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
184
pandemonium
|
|
| n.喧嚣，大混乱 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
185
gutter
|
|
| n.沟，街沟，水槽，檐槽，贫民窟 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
186
sketch
|
|
| n.草图；梗概；素描；v.素描；概述 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
187
scarlet
|
|
| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
188
brandishing
|
|
| v.挥舞( brandish的现在分词 )；炫耀 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
189
unintelligible
|
|
| adj.无法了解的，难解的，莫明其妙的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
190
divulge
|
|
| v.泄漏(秘密等)；宣布，公布 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
191
unlimited
|
|
| adj.无限的，不受控制的，无条件的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
192
frugal
|
|
| adj.节俭的，节约的，少量的，微量的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
193
appellation
|
|
| n.名称，称呼 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
194
inexplicable
|
|
| adj.无法解释的，难理解的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |