Our business is, however, with the University. One cannot fix a deliberate date of foundation. Universities, like every other great design, have small beginnings, and the origin of schools at Cambridge was probably insignificant11. Cambridge is on the border of the Fenland, and the[3] Fenland contained the richest abbeys in England. Besides the great house of Ely, where the bishop12 was by virtue13 of his office abbot, there were, within easy reach of Cambridge, the four Benedictine abbeys of Peterborough, Ramsey, Thorney and Crowland, all of them in the very first rank of English houses. Life in the Fens was hard and dismal14, and even Peterborough, the Medehampstead or Goldenburgh of Saxon times, must have been largely under water for a great part of the year. The towns on the borders, Cambridge or Stamford, formed an excellent asylum15 for those brethren who were too weak to endure the unhealthy mists of the Nene and Welland Wash. During the middle ages, Cambridge bristled16 with small religious houses, cells depending on the greater abbeys; and in these the young monks17 of Crowland and the other houses received their education. This was the beginning of the University. The academic life was the life of the cloister18. The teaching consisted of the ordinary medieval sciences, Aristotle and the scholastic19 logic20. In after years, Erasmus deprecated the attachment21 of Cambridge pedants22 to Aristotle and their unreadiness to accept the new learning. Cambridge never was quite so famous a nursery of schoolmen as Oxford23; her history is somewhat more peaceful. Nor, when the medieval theology fell into discredit24, did she produce a teacher with the European fame of Wyclif. Her history, however, has a chronology almost parallel with that of Oxford. Out of the monastic system was evolved the freer life[4] of colleges. Oxford led the way with University and Merton; Cambridge followed with Peterhouse. The college, as distinct from the monastery25, was a place of retreat whose aim was learning; the aim of the monastery was self-discipline. It is needless to say that these colleges were established upon a clerical basis: each was a society consisting of a master and a certain number of fellows. Their constitution was that of a public School; the modern undergraduate system was a much later development. The early founders26 had no idea of a college in the modern sense; a society principally composed of laymen27, and a large body of undergraduates who to all intents and purposes are the College. The one link which connects our colleges of to-day with the original foundations is the existence of a college chapel28, uniting the various members of the institution for the prime object of the learned society, the glory of God.
Medieval Cambridge lay, as our Cambridge still lies, east of the river, which flowed in a course more or less corresponding to its present direction. It was enclosed by the King’s Ditch, a stream at a tangent to the main river. This started from the Mill Pool at the bottom of Silver Street, and was crossed by Trumpington Street at the Trumpington Gate, close to Pembroke. In fact, it followed the present Mill Lane and Downing Street pretty closely, keeping to the left, until it reached Barnwell Gate at the bottom of Petty Cury. From Barnwell Gate it followed the present Hobson Street, ran[5] across Sidney Gardens and down Park Street, skirted Midsummer Common and rejoined the Cam about a hundred and fifty yards below Magdalene Bridge. Within this elliptic space the old town was contained. If you stood at the Round Church, you would see the two familiar main thoroughfares separate as they do to-day. That to the left, Bridge Street and Sidney Street, was called Conduit Street: it led to the King’s Ditch at Barnwell Gate. That to the right, St John’s Street and Trinity Street, led to the principal medieval foundations. On the right hand of it was the Hospital of St John; on the left the Jewry and All Saints’ Church, with its tower projecting over the roadway, like St John Maddermarket’s at Norwich. Just beyond on the right was King’s Hall, with King’s Hall Lane leading to the river. The next turning, St Michael’s Lane, the present Trinity Lane, led in the same direction to Garret Hostel29 Bridge. In St Michael’s Lane was Michael House, and St Michael’s and King’s Hall Lanes were connected by the narrow and dirty street called Foul30 Lane. These two colleges and the tortuous31 lanes connecting them occupied the site of Trinity. The main street, after passing St Michael’s Church, came to Great St Mary’s Church, and proceeded along King’s Parade as High Street. On either side of this thoroughfare was an indiscriminate mass of houses—the great court of King’s did not exist. Its site was then a labyrinth32 of narrow alleys33 and beetling34 tenements35. A winding36 lane led across the space now[6] occupied by the lawn east of King’s Chapel, to the Schools, and skirting them, ran into the street leading from Michael House to the Mill Pool, called Milne Street. Of this street, which passed Clare and crossed King’s where Gibbs’ building stands, we still preserve the original course in Queen’s Lane. It was connected with the parallel High Street by Piron Lane, which occupied the north side of the court at King’s, and St Austin’s Lane, which was the modern King’s Lane. Several lanes led from Milne Street down to the river. Milne Street was terminated by Small Bridges Street, now Silver Street, which crossed the river from Newnham and joined High Street at St Botolph’s Church.
On the other side of High Street the confusion was even worse. Many people can remember the days when the broad thoroughfares on either side of Great St Mary’s were filled with tumble-down houses. This picturesque37 and unsanitary state of things was almost the last remnant of medieval Cambridge. In this rabbit-warren lived many of the tradespeople. The names of the lanes between High Street and the Market Place are sufficient testimony38. The Sheerer’s Row, north of Great St Mary’s, was continued by the Shoemaker’s Row, which is now Market Street. The Market Place was so largely blocked up by this dense39 mass of houses that it occupied not more than half of its present site. In its centre was the Conduit; west of the Conduit was the Cross. The Tolbooth and Prison were on the south of the space, where the[7] Guildhall is. In front of the Tolbooth were the shambles40, and, east of this savoury neighbourhood Petty Cury, the Little Cookery, led to Barnwell Gate. From the Market Place, Peas Hill led, as now, to Bene’t Street, and Bene’t Street led back to High Street, just where King’s Parade joins Trumpington Street. Free School Lane, at the back of Saint Bene’t’s Church and Corpus, was called Luthburgh Lane, and the original buildings of Corpus opened into this and not into Trumpington Street, as at present. Just before reaching Pembroke, High Street was brought to a stop by Trumpington Gate, just as Conduit Street was finished by Barnwell Gate. On the other side of the King’s Ditch were the Church of St Peter and the foundation of Peterhouse.
Another point which the visitor to medieval Cambridge would notice would be the abundance of religious houses. Great towns, such as London or Bristol, were well off in this way, but Cambridge could not compare in size with these cities. There are few of these houses whose remains we cannot trace in one or other of the colleges. It became, in the fifteenth century, the fashion to appropriate the monasteries41 to purposes of learning. All the great colleges absorbed some of these institutions. The chief were outside the King’s Ditch. If accounts are true, the monastery of the Augustinian Canons at Barnwell must have formed a splendid object in any prospect42 of Cambridge. To reach it, one would pass through meadows, with the nunnery of St Mary and St Rhadegund away to the[8] left. In the southern part of Barnwell, beyond Barnwell Gate, was the house of Black Friars, on one side of Preachers’ Street, the faubourg which stretched outside the town boundaries and formed the southern approach to Cambridge. This friary is now Emmanuel College. Outside Trumpington Gate was a house of Gilbertine Canons; and opposite it was the house of Friars of the Sack, which became incorporated with Peterhouse. In Cambridge itself the Friars were well represented. The Grey Friars occupied the site of Sidney Sussex College; the White Friars, that picturesque order which reckoned Elijah as its patriarch, had a house on part of the site of Queens’ College. The Austin Friars lived on a piece of ground very nearly corresponding to the University laboratories, which was entered from Bene’t Street, just where that street meets Peas Hill. All these friaries were bounded on one side by water: the Carmelite house met the river; the Franciscan and Augustinian houses abutted44 on the ditch. Of these monastic buildings in the town we have scarcely any trace; their position is merely distinguishable. The Dominican house was swept away by the founders of Emmanuel, and no one could detect any monastic remains in the prosaic46 aspect of that eminently47 Puritan college. At Jesus, however, Alcock successfully preserved the plan of the nunnery; and the college which we see is in substance a monastic building. Barnwell Priory, with the exception of a small chantry-chapel, has disappeared. The Augustinian[9] hospital of St John has been blotted49 out by St John’s College; its beautiful piscina, incorporated in Sir Gilbert Scott’s chapel, is its only relic50. And, actually, the only building which has been allowed to stand without alteration51 is the remote and melancholy52 Lepers’ Chapel at Stourbridge, a beautiful Norman building, which was attached to the Hospital of St Mary Magdalene.
Stourbridge is a good mile beyond Jesus College. In the field close by the Leper’s Chapel was held the famous Stourbridge Fair, the English counterpart of Beaucaire and Nijni-Novgorod. There is no doubt that the medieval Cambridge owed its fame in a very large measure to this annual mart. It was the most important of a series of fairs in the Eastern Counties—Tombland Fair at Norwich and the marts of Lynn and Wisbech have still a certain celebrity—and its interest is largely enhanced by the fact that, after the dissolution of the leper’s hospital, its original proprietor53 under a charter of King John, the University had an official connection with it. It lasted for a month, from August 24th to September 28th, and during that period received visits from all the principal merchants in England. It was opened by the Vice-Chancellor in person and was patronised, perhaps rather noisily, by the University generally. Its commercial importance is to be gathered from a passage in Defoe’s Tour of Great Britain, quoted by Mr Atkinson in his interesting account of the fair. Hops54 and wool were the two great staples[10] of trade, and Stourbridge Fair determined55 the price of hops in England. It was thus not a mere45 place of pleasure, but resembled the great nomadic56 markets of the east. Anybody who has been to Lynn Mart or to Stourbridge Fair itself in its sorry old age knows that to-day the great business of the fairs consists in steam roundabouts and side-shows. The roundabout is a late development, but the side-show has an honourable57 antiquity. Stourbridge Fair boasted, within the last century, a theatre where legitimate58 Shaksperian drama was admirably performed by a Norwich company. The performances were largely attended by the University, and enterprising ladies like Mrs Frere of Downing were to be seen there with fashionable parties. The story is often told of “rare Richard Farmer,” Master of Emmanuel, how he and a few friends, ardent59 lovers of Shakspere, attended the Stourbridge Theatre night after night, occupying a bench especially reserved for them.
At Stourbridge Fair University and Town took joint60 management of the proceedings61. They did not, however, love one another very cordially, and the Town resented the rights which the University enforced with some arrogance62. “Town and Gown rows” were, in the ordinary course of things, not very common. When they broke out, they were serious; but usually the University was much to blame. For example, in James I.’s time, George Ruggle, fellow of Clare, wrote a play in derision of the town’s folk, to which the college, with the worst taste,[11] invited the Mayor and Corporation. But that the town, at any rate in medieval times, watched the growth of the University with favour, is sufficiently63 proved by the refoundation of Corpus Christi College, the work of townspeople. The University repaid the debt in subsequent years by foundations like Perse’s Grammar School and Addenbrooke’s Hospital. We must remember that, ecclesiastically, the connection of town and university was for some centuries very close. The church of St Mary by the Market was not merely the chapel of King’s Hall; it was also a parish church, and a large and important gild of merchants had their chapel within its walls. At first, the colleges were entirely64 opposed to the monastic spirit. They did not worship in their own chapels65, but joined in the devotions of the ordinary congregations, going to church just as the grammar school of any town in England attends the parish church, as a matter of course. The extreme youth of the scholars completes the comparison. But, as the colleges grew in riches and numbers, they reverted66 to the monastic ideal, and each built its own chapel. The Town and University drew apart from each other, and the University became the more important body. Moreover, while the learning of the University grew, the trade of the town diminished. The gradual diversion of trade from the Eastern Counties, the decay of ports like Lynn, with whose commerce Cambridge was inseparably linked, all the changes in the physical geography of the Fens, reduced the importance of the[12] town. It would be unfair to assert that Cambridge, as a whole, exists for the sake of the University; but there is no doubt that the nucleus67 of the town, its whole western quarter, is devoted68 to that purpose, and that, without the University, it would be of little more importance than Huntingdon or St Ives—of less importance, probably, than Ely or Wisbech, which are still at the head of an excellent water-way.
Cambridge, no less than Oxford, took her part in the religious commotions69 of the sixteenth century. She was deeply concerned in the revival70 of learning. She shares with Oxford the honour of enrolling71 Waynflete and Foxe among the members of the University. Bishop Fisher belongs entirely to her, and, in consequence, Cambridge was the University which the Lady Margaret favoured more conspicuously72. Erasmus taught in her schools. Even before the Dissolution, she showed, by her appropriation73 of religious houses to scholastic purposes, the growth of that liberal spirit which is thought to be her intellectual distinction. We shall see how pious74 Churchmen like Bishop Alcock and a medieval devotee like Lady Margaret did not scruple75 to sweep away monasteries for the sake of learning. Even monasteries themselves, in these later days, followed up their own initiative and endowed colleges. Several abbeys united to found Buckingham College. Alcock, by virtue of his episcopal office, was abbot of the great monastery of Ely. In the great struggle which followed the revival of learning as its natural outcome,[13] Cambridge contributed her martyrs76 to both sides. Fisher died in the defence of a rigid77 principle. On the other hand, Cambridge prepared those three reformers who suffered for their opinions at Oxford. Cranmer was a fellow of Jesus, Ridley was Master of Pembroke, Latimer belonged to the societies of Christ’s and Clare. It is not at all surprising that their influence, combined with the constant importation of Genevan teachers, rendered Cambridge very susceptible78 for a time to reformed doctrine79 of a foreign type. But the final result of the Reformation in the University is shown by the intellectual freedom of her greatest sons. Bacon and Sir Isaac Newton are the obvious examples of this, but their illustrious personalities80 should not allow us to forget the brilliant ingenuity81 of the Cambridge Platonists; while, side by side with the greatest of all we may place the name of John Milton.
Milton, whose life is very largely bound up with Cambridge, brings us to another critical point in University history. It is difficult to estimate the attitude of Cambridge as a whole to the Civil Wars. Oxford remained faithful to the King, but, while Cambridge possessed82 no college so unanimously loyal as St John’s at Oxford, there were one or two colleges, such as Sidney and Emmanuel, whose sympathies were undeniably Puritan. An University cannot help a certain amount of conservatism, and Cambridge sacrificed a great deal in the Stewart cause. A few years ago, at the exhibition of plate in the Fitzwilliam[14] Museum, one realised the substantial cost of that sacrifice. But the Fens and the whole neighbourhood were devoted to the interest of the Parliament, and there were actually few who surrendered themselves as martyrs to the royalist cause. On the religious side of the question, however, Cambridge has a good deal to show. Some of the most eminent48 Caroline divines are hers. Lancelot Andrewes, John Cosin, Jeremy Taylor, Peter Gunning, to mention no other names, were all Cambridge men. George Herbert and Nicholas Ferrar were men of some academical distinction. But, if it is true that architecture is the best witness to history, no town in England shows more trace of the Puritan spirit than Cambridge. While the Oxford buildings of the seventeenth century are gravely Gothic and semi-ecclesiastical, the only building of this type in Cambridge is the picturesque chapel at Peterhouse. The library of St John’s, beautiful though it is, is a hybrid83 example of the order. Other seventeenth century work, the work of Ralph Symons, for example, the court of Clare, and Wren’s masterpieces at Trinity and Emmanuel, are frankly84 domestic. Men such as I have mentioned above, belong to a coterie85, but do not represent the general temper of their age.
During the eighteenth century the state of the University was more or less torpid86. It was the age of combination rooms and good port, of hard-and-fast social distinctions and formal gatherings87. The Universities, during this period, lost their touch with English life, and were not even[15] the forcing-houses of wit. This is especially true of Cambridge. The first half of the century is absorbed in the great quarrel between Bentley and his society. Bentley is unquestionably the most commanding figure of his time at Cambridge; for Newton by this time belonged chiefly to London. But Bentley was hated by the great company of wits, who had, for the most part, little to do with either University. Pope, Swift, Fielding and Richardson, the four writers who had the greatest influence on their century, were connected with neither Oxford nor Cambridge. And, from 1750 to 1790, there is very little to relieve the general dulness which settled over Cambridge. Mr John Willis Clark, in a delightful88 and only too short chapter, has revived for us the social etiquette89 and pleasures of the period. But the pleasures themselves are remarkable90, for the most part, for their unconscious humour. And even the epigrams, in spite of their uniform cleverness, are a trifle heavy.
The French Revolution woke Cambridge from this long sleep. It was an active stimulant91 to the imagination. The fall of the Bastille had its effect upon Wordsworth at St John’s and Coleridge at Jesus; its immediate92 result, the general cry for independence, moved Byron at Trinity. The romantic enthusiasm set in, and with it that love for a liberal education apart from mechanical scholarship which is so prominent a factor in both Oxford and Cambridge to-day. In short, the modern life of the University[16] began; Cambridge began once more to play its part in English intellectual life. Wordsworth and Tennyson, of all poets, have done most to stimulate93 the minds of their countrymen, and both owe no small portion of their personal influence to Cambridge. And, side by side with this intellectual revival, one cannot fail to notice the spiritual revival inaugurated by the Wesleys at Oxford, and naturalised by Charles Simeon at Cambridge. This simply means the awakening94 of the University to the other side of her responsibilities. In the Oxford movement, which was the logical result of this revival, Cambridge had very little share. Her traditions were somewhat different from those of Oxford, and her theological tendencies took what is usually known as a “broader” direction. Her position is indicated by the names of F. D. Maurice and Charles Kingsley. At the same time, her school of theology, under Ellicott, Lightfoot, Hort and Westcott, has preserved its scientific basis and cannot be surpassed in any University. And time would fail to tell of what triumphs she has won in other fields. Darwin in biology, Thomson in electricity, Adams in astronomy, are names which tell their own tale. With these main activities, too, others have grown. The energies of the University have been expanded in every direction. The multiplication95 of open scholarships and prizes, the University Extension system, the foundation of colleges for women, are only a few of the ways in which her influence has been doubled throughout Great Britain. And[17] in all this surely her founders and benefactors96 have full recompense for their labours—in the love which the University excites in her sons and in the contribution of each member to the corporate43 action of the whole body.
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1
contention
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| n.争论，争辩，论战；论点，主张 | |
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audacity
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| n.大胆，卤莽，无礼 | |
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antiquity
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| n.古老；高龄；古物，古迹 | |
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remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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plentiful
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| adj.富裕的，丰富的 | |
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fens
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| n.（尤指英格兰东部的）沼泽地带( fen的名词复数 ) | |
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mound
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| n.土墩，堤，小山；v.筑堤，用土堆防卫 | |
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gilds
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| 把…镀金( gild的第三人称单数 )； 给…上金色； 作多余的修饰（反而破坏原已完美的东西）； 画蛇添足 | |
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gild
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| vt.给…镀金，把…漆成金色，使呈金色 | |
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mutual
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| adj.相互的，彼此的；共同的，共有的 | |
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insignificant
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| adj.无关紧要的，可忽略的，无意义的 | |
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bishop
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| n.主教，（国际象棋）象 | |
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virtue
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| n.德行，美德；贞操；优点；功效，效力 | |
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dismal
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| adj.阴沉的，凄凉的，令人忧郁的，差劲的 | |
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asylum
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| n.避难所，庇护所，避难 | |
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bristled
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| adj. 直立的，多刺毛的 动词bristle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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monks
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| n.修道士，僧侣( monk的名词复数 ) | |
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cloister
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| n.修道院；v.隐退，使与世隔绝 | |
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scholastic
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| adj.学校的，学院的，学术上的 | |
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logic
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| n.逻辑(学)；逻辑性 | |
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attachment
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| n.附属物，附件；依恋；依附 | |
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pedants
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| n.卖弄学问的人，学究，书呆子( pedant的名词复数 ) | |
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Oxford
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| n.牛津（英国城市） | |
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discredit
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| vt.使不可置信；n.丧失信义；不信，怀疑 | |
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monastery
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| n.修道院，僧院，寺院 | |
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founders
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| n.创始人( founder的名词复数 ) | |
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laymen
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| 门外汉，外行人( layman的名词复数 )； 普通教徒（有别于神职人员） | |
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chapel
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| n.小教堂，殡仪馆 | |
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hostel
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| n.（学生）宿舍，招待所 | |
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foul
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| adj.污秽的；邪恶的；v.弄脏；妨害；犯规；n.犯规 | |
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tortuous
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| adj.弯弯曲曲的，蜿蜒的 | |
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labyrinth
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| n.迷宫；难解的事物；迷路 | |
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alleys
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| 胡同，小巷( alley的名词复数 )； 小径 | |
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beetling
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| adj.突出的，悬垂的v.快速移动( beetle的现在分词 ) | |
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tenements
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| n.房屋，住户，租房子( tenement的名词复数 ) | |
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winding
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| n.绕，缠，绕组，线圈 | |
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picturesque
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| adj.美丽如画的，（语言）生动的，绘声绘色的 | |
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testimony
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| n.证词；见证，证明 | |
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dense
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| a.密集的，稠密的，浓密的；密度大的 | |
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shambles
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| n.混乱之处；废墟 | |
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monasteries
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| 修道院( monastery的名词复数 ) | |
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prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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corporate
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| adj.共同的，全体的；公司的，企业的 | |
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abutted
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| v.（与…）邻接( abut的过去式和过去分词 )；（与…）毗连；接触；倚靠 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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prosaic
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| adj.单调的，无趣的 | |
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eminently
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| adv.突出地；显著地；不寻常地 | |
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eminent
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| adj.显赫的，杰出的，有名的，优良的 | |
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blotted
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| 涂污( blot的过去式和过去分词 )； （用吸墨纸）吸干 | |
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relic
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| n.神圣的遗物，遗迹，纪念物 | |
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alteration
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| n.变更，改变；蚀变 | |
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melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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proprietor
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| n.所有人；业主；经营者 | |
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hops
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| 跳上[下]( hop的第三人称单数 )； 单足蹦跳； 齐足（或双足）跳行； 摘葎草花 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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nomadic
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| adj.流浪的；游牧的 | |
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honourable
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| adj.可敬的；荣誉的，光荣的 | |
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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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ardent
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，强烈的，烈性的 | |
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joint
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| adj.联合的，共同的；n.关节，接合处；v.连接，贴合 | |
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proceedings
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| n.进程，过程，议程；诉讼(程序)；公报 | |
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arrogance
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| n.傲慢，自大 | |
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sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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chapels
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| n.小教堂， （医院、监狱等的）附属礼拜堂( chapel的名词复数 )；（在小教堂和附属礼拜堂举行的）礼拜仪式 | |
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reverted
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| 恢复( revert的过去式和过去分词 )； 重提； 回到…上； 归还 | |
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nucleus
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| n.核，核心，原子核 | |
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devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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commotions
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| n.混乱，喧闹，骚动( commotion的名词复数 ) | |
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revival
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| n.复兴，复苏，（精力、活力等的）重振 | |
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enrolling
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| v.招收( enrol的现在分词 )；吸收；入学；加入；[亦作enrol]( enroll的现在分词 )；登记，招收，使入伍（或入会、入学等），参加，成为成员；记入名册；卷起，包起 | |
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conspicuously
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| ad.明显地，惹人注目地 | |
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appropriation
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| n.拨款，批准支出 | |
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pious
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| adj.虔诚的；道貌岸然的 | |
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scruple
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| n./v.顾忌，迟疑 | |
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martyrs
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| n.martyr的复数形式；烈士( martyr的名词复数 )；殉道者；殉教者；乞怜者（向人诉苦以博取同情） | |
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rigid
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| adj.严格的，死板的；刚硬的，僵硬的 | |
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susceptible
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| adj.过敏的，敏感的；易动感情的，易受感动的 | |
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doctrine
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| n.教义；主义；学说 | |
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personalities
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| n. 诽谤，（对某人容貌、性格等所进行的）人身攻击； 人身攻击；人格, 个性, 名人( personality的名词复数 ) | |
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ingenuity
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| n.别出心裁；善于发明创造 | |
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possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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hybrid
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| n.(动，植）杂种，混合物 | |
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frankly
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| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
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coterie
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| n.(有共同兴趣的)小团体，小圈子 | |
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torpid
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| adj.麻痹的，麻木的，迟钝的 | |
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gatherings
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| 聚集( gathering的名词复数 )； 收集； 采集； 搜集 | |
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delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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etiquette
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| n.礼仪，礼节；规矩 | |
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remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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stimulant
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| n.刺激物，兴奋剂 | |
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immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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stimulate
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| vt.刺激，使兴奋；激励，使…振奋 | |
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awakening
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| n.觉醒，醒悟 adj.觉醒中的；唤醒的 | |
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multiplication
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| n.增加，增多，倍增；增殖，繁殖；乘法 | |
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benefactors
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| n.捐助者，施主( benefactor的名词复数 )；恩人 | |
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