As a soldier he not only won great victories, but created the instrument with which he won them. Out of the military chaos2 which existed when the war began he organised the force which made Puritanism victorious3. The New Model and the armies of the Republic and the Protectorate were but his regiment4 of Ironsides on a larger scale. As in that regiment, the officers were carefully chosen. If possible, they were gentlemen; if gentlemen could not be had, plain yeomen or citizens; in any case, “men patient of wants, faithful and conscientious6 in their employment.” Character as well as military skill was requisite7. A colonel once complained that a 468captain whom Cromwell had appointed to his regiment was a better preacher than fighter. “Truly,” answered Cromwell, “I think that he that prays and preaches best will fight best. I know nothing that will give the like courage and confidence as the knowledge of God in Christ will. I assure you he is a good man and a good officer.” Inefficiency8, on the other hand, certain heresies9 which were regarded as particularly blasphemous10, and moral backslidings in general, led at once to the cashiering of any officer found guilty of them.
Officers, it has been well said, are the soul of an army; and the efficiency and good conduct which Cromwell required of his, they exacted from the rank and file. Most of the private soldiers were volunteers, though there were many pressed men amongst them, and it cannot be said that all those who fought for Puritanism were saints in any sense of the word. But regular pay and severe discipline made them in peace the best conducted soldiers in Europe, and in war an army “who could go anywhere and do anything.” A common spirit bound men and officers together. It was their pride that they were not a mere11 mercenary army, but men who fought for principles as well as for pay. Cromwell succeeded in inspiring them not only with implicit12 confidence in his leadership, but with something of his own high enthusiasm. He had the power of influencing masses of men which Napoleon possessed13. So he made an army on which, as Clarendon said, “victory seemed entailed”—“an army whose order and discipline, whose sobriety and manners, 469whose courage and success, made it famous and terrible over the world.”
Cromwell’s victories, however, were due to his own military genius even more than to the quality of his troops. The most remarkable14 thing in his military career is that it began so late. Most successful generals have been trained to arms from their youth, but Cromwell was forty-three years old before he heard a shot fired or set a squadron in the field. How was it, people often ask, that an untrained country gentleman beat soldiers who had learnt their trade under the most famous captains in Europe? The answer is that Cromwell had a natural aptitude15 for war, and that circumstances were singularly favourable16 to its rapid and full development. At the outset of the war he showed an energy, a resolution, and a judgment17 which proved his possession of those qualities of intellect and character which war demands of leaders. The peculiar18 nature of the war, the absence of any general direction, and the disorganisation of the parliamentary forces gave him free scope for the exercise of these qualities. In the early part of the war each local leader fought for his own hand, and conducted a little campaign of his own. Subordinate officers possessed a freedom of action which subordinates rarely get, and with independence and responsibility good men ripened19 fast. At first, Cromwell was matched against opponents as untrained as himself, till by constant fighting he learnt how to fight. In a happy phrase Marvell speaks of Cromwell’s “industrious valour.” If he learnt the lessons of war 470quicker than other men it was because he concentrated all his faculties20 on the task, let no opportunity slip, and made every experience fruitful.
It was as a leader of cavalry21 that Cromwell earned his first laurels22. In attack he was sudden and irresistibly23 vigorous. Like Rupert he loved to head his charging troopers himself, but in the heat of battle he controlled them with a firmer hand. When the enemy immediately opposed to him was broken he turned a vigilant24 eye on the battle, ready to throw his victorious squadrons into the scale, either to redress25 the balance or to complete the victory. At Marston Moor26, as on many another field, he proved that he possessed that faculty27 of coming to a prompt and sure conclusion in sudden emergencies which Napier terms “the sure mark of a master spirit in war.” When the fate of the battle was once decided28 he launched forth29 his swordsmen in swift and unsparing pursuit. “We had the execution of them two or three miles” is the grim phrase in which he describes the conclusion of his fight at Grantham, and after Naseby Cromwell’s cavalry pursued for twelve miles.
When he rose to command an army, Cromwell’s management of it in battle was marked by the same characteristics as his handling of his division of cavalry. In the early battles of the Civil War there was a strong family likeness30: there was an absence of any generalship on either side. The general-in-chief exhibited his skill by his method of drawing up his army and his choice of a position; but when the battle began the army seemed to slip from his 471control. Each commander of a division acted independently; there was little co-operation between the different parts of the army; there was no sign of a directing brain. Cromwell, on the other hand, directed the movements of his army with the same purposeful energy with which he controlled his troopers. Its different divisions had each their definite task assigned to them, and their movements were so combined that each played its part in carrying out the general plan. The best example of Cromwell’s tactical skill is the battle of Dunbar. There, though far inferior in numbers, Cromwell held in check half the enemy’s army with his artillery31 and a fraction of his forces, while he attacked with all his strength the key of the enemy’s position, and decided the fate of the day by bringing a strong reserve into action at the crisis of the battle. Whenever the victory was gained it was utilised to the utmost. At Dunbar the Scots lost thirteen thousand men out of twenty-two thousand; after Preston less than a third of Hamilton’s army succeeded in effecting their return to Scotland: after Worcester, not one troop or one company made good its retreat.
Cromwell’s strategy, compared with that of contemporary generals, was remarkable for boldness and vigour32. It reflected the energy of his character, but it was originally dictated33 by political as well as military considerations. “Without the speedy, vigorous, and effectual prosecution34 of the war,” he declared in 1644, the nation would force Parliament to make peace on any terms. “Lingering proceedings35, 472like those of soldiers beyond seas to spin out a war,” must be abandoned, or the cause of Puritanism would be lost. Therefore, instead of imitating the cautious defensive36 system popular with professional soldiers, he adopted a system which promised more decisive results. “Cromwell,” says a military critic,. “was the first great exponent37 of the modern method of war. His was the strategy of Napoleon and Von Moltke, the strategy which, neglecting fortresses38 and the means of artificial defence as of secondary importance, strikes first at the army in the field.”
In his Preston campaign Cromwell had to deal with an invading army more than twice the strength of his own, which ventured because of that superiority to advance without sufficient scouting39 and without sufficient concentration. He might have thrown himself across Hamilton’s path and sought to drive him back; he chose instead to fall upon the flank of the Scots, and thrust his compact little force between them and Scotland. Thus he separated the different divisions of Hamilton’s army, drove Hamilton with each blow farther from his supports, and inflicted40 on him a crushing defeat instead of a mere repulse41. In 1650 and 1651, Cromwell had a much harder task given him. He had to invade a country which presented many natural difficulties, and which was defended by an army larger than his own under the command of a man who was a master of defensive strategy. All his efforts to make Leslie fight a pitched battle in the open field completely failed until one mistake gave him the opportunity which he seized with such promptitude at Dunbar. In the 473campaign of 1651, Cromwell found himself brought to a standstill once more by Leslie’s Fabian tactics. As Leslie gave him no opportunity he had to make one, and with wise audacity42 left the way to England open in order to tempt43 the Scots into the invasion which proved their destruction.
In his Irish campaigns Cromwell had an entirely44 different problem to solve. The opposing armies were too weak to face him in the field and too nimble to be brought to bay. The strength of the enemy consisted in the natural and artificial obstacles with which the country abounded45: fortified46 cities commanding points of strategic value; mountains and bogs47 facilitating guerrilla warfare48; an unhealthy climate, a hostile people, a country so wasted that the invader49 must draw most of his supplies from England. Under these conditions the war was a war of sieges, forays, and laborious50 marches, but there were no great battles. Cromwell combined the operations of his army and his fleet so as to utilise to the full England’s command of the seas. He attacked the seaports51 first, and after mastering them secured the strong places which would give him the control of the rivers, thus gradually tightening52 his grasp on the country till its complete subjugation53 became only a matter of time.
Opinions may differ as to the comparative merits of these different campaigns. What remains54 clear is that Cromwell could adapt his strategy with unfailing success to the conditions of the theatre in which he waged war and to the character of the antagonists55 he had to meet. His military genius was equal to every duty which fate imposed upon him.
474Experts alone can determine Cromwell’s precise place amongst great generals. Cromwell himself would have held it the highest honour to be classed with Gustavus Adolphus either as soldier or statesman. Each was the organiser of the army he led to victory, each an innovator56 in war—Gustavus in tactics, Cromwell in strategy. Gustavus was the champion of European Protestantism as Oliver wished to be, and each while fighting for his creed57 contrived58 to further also the material interests of his country. But whatever similarity existed between their aims the position of an hereditary59 monarch60 and an usurper61 are too different for the parallel to be a complete one. On the other hand, the familiar comparison of Cromwell with Napoleon is justified62 rather by the resemblance between their careers than by any likeness between their characters. Each was the child of a revolution, brought by military success to the front rank, and raised by his own act to the highest. Each, after domestic convulsions, laboured to rebuild the fabric63 of civil government, and to found the State on a new basis. But the revolutions which raised them to power were of a different nature and demanded different qualities in the two rulers.
Cromwell’s character has been the subject of controversies64 which have hardly yet died away. Most contemporaries judged him with great severity. To Royalists he seemed simply, as Clarendon said, “a brave, bad man.” Yet while Clarendon condemned65 he could not refrain from admiration66, for though the usurper “had all the wickedness against which damnation is pronounced, and for which hell fire is prepared, 475so he had some virtues68 which have caused the memory of some men in all ages to be celebrated69.” Though he was a tyrant70 he was “not a man of blood,” and he possessed not only “a wonderful understanding in the natures and humours of men,” but also “a great spirit, an admirable circumspection71 and sagacity, and a most magnanimous resolution.”
The Republicans regarded the Protector as a self-seeking apostate72. “In all his changes,” said Ludlow, “he designed nothing but to advance himself.” He sacrificed the public cause “to the idol73 of his own ambition.” All was going well with the State, a political millennium74 was at hand, “and the nation likely to attain75 in a short time that measure of happiness which human things are capable of, when by the ambition of one man the hopes and expectations of all good men were disappointed.”
Baxter, a Presbyterian, though as convinced an opponent of the Protector as Ludlow, was a more generous critic. According to him, Cromwell was a good man who fell before a great temptation. He
“meant honestly in the main, and was pious76 and conscionable in the main course of his life, till prosperity and success corrupted77 him. Then his general religious zeal78 gave way to ambition, which increased as successes increased. When his successes had broken down all considerable opposition79 then was he in face of his strongest temptations, which conquered him as he had conquered others.”
But like Milton’s Satan, even after his fall “all his original virtue67 was not lost.” As ruler of England 476“it was his design to do good in the main, and to promote the interest of God more than any had done before him.”
Eighteenth-century writers judged Cromwell with the same severity as his contemporaries. “Cromwell, damned to everlasting80 fame,” served Pope to point a moral against the desire of making a name in the world. Voltaire summed up Cromwell as half knave82, half fanatic83, and Hume termed him a hypocritical fanatic. Even as late as 1839, John Forster quoted as “indisputably true” Landor’s verdict that Cromwell lived a hypocrite and died a traitor84.
Six years later, Carlyle published his collection of Cromwell’s Letters and Speeches, which for every unprejudiced reader effectually dispelled85 the theory of Cromwell’s hypocrisy86. “Not a man of falsehoods, but a man of truths,” was Carlyle’s conclusion, and subsequent historians and biographers have accepted it as sound. It is less easy to answer the question whether Cromwell was a fanatic or not. Fanaticism87, like orthodoxy, is a word which means one thing to one man and something else to the next, and to many besides Hume enthusiast88 and fanatic are synonymous terms. It is plain, however, that Cromwell was a statesman of a different order from most. Religious rather than political principles guided his action, and his political ideals were the direct outcome of his creed. Not that purely89 political considerations exercised no influence on his policy, but that their influence instead of being paramount90 was in his case of only secondary importance.
In one of his speeches Cromwell states in very 477explicit language the rule which he followed in his public life. “I have been called to several employments in this nation, and I did endeavour to discharge the duty of an honest man to God and His people’s interest, and to this Commonwealth91.”
What did these phrases mean? If anyone had asked Cromwell what his duty to God was in public affairs, he would have answered that it was to do God’s will. “We all desire,” he said to his brother officers in 1647, “to lay this as the foundation of all our actions, to do that which is the will of God.” He urged them to deliberate well before acting92, “that we may see that the things we do have the will of God in them.” For to act inconsiderately was to incur93 the risk of acting counter to God’s design, and so “to be found fighting against God.”
But, in the maze94 of English politics, how were men to ascertain95 what that will was? Some Puritans claimed to have had it directly revealed to them, and put forward their personal convictions as the dictates96 of Heaven. Cromwell never did so. “I cannot say,” he declared in a prayer-meeting where such revelations had been alleged97, “that I have received anything that I can speak as in the name of the Lord.” He believed that men might still “be spoken unto by the Spirit of God,” but when these “divine impressions and divine discoveries” were made arguments for political action, they must be received with the greatest caution. For the danger of self-deception was very real. “We are very apt, all of us,” said he, “to call that Faith, that perhaps may be but carnal imagination.” Once he warned the 478Scottish clergy99 that there was “a carnal confidence upon misunderstood and misapplied precepts” which might be termed “spiritual drunkenness.”
For his own part, Cromwell believed in “dispensations” rather than “revelations.” Since all things which happened in the world were determined100 by God’s will, the statesman’s problem was to discover the hidden purpose which underlay101 events. When he announced his victory at Preston he bade Parliament enquire102 “what the mind of God is in all that and what our duty is.” “Seek to know what the mind of God is in all that chain of Providence,” was his counsel to his doubting friend, Colonel Hammond. With Cromwell, in every political crisis this attempt to interpret the meaning of events was part of the mental process which preceded action. As it was difficult to be sure what that meaning was, he was often slow to make up his mind, preferring to watch events a little longer and to allow them to develop in order to get more light. This slowness was not the result of indecision, but a deliberate suspension of judgment. When his mind was made up there was no hesitation103, no looking back; he struck with the same energy in politics as in war.
This system of being guided by events had its dangers. Political inconsistency is generally attributed to dishonesty, and Cromwell’s inconsistency was open and palpable. One year he was foremost in pressing for an agreement with the King, another foremost in bringing him to the block; now all for a republic, now all for a government with some element of monarchy104 in it. His changes of policy were 479so sudden that even friends found it difficult to excuse them. A pamphleteer, who believed in the honesty of Cromwell’s motives105, lamented106 his “sudden engaging for and sudden turning from things,” as arguing inconstancy and want of foresight107. Moreover the effect of this inconsistency was aggravated108 by the violent zeal with which Cromwell threw himself into the execution of each new policy. It was part of his nature, like “the exceeding fiery109 temper” mentioned by his steward110. “I am often taken,” said Cromwell in 1647, “for one that goes too fast,” adding that men of such a kind were disposed to think the dangers in their way rather imaginary than real, and sometimes to make more haste than good speed. This piece of self-criticism was just, and it explains some of his mistakes. The forcible dissolution of the Long Parliament in 1653 would never have taken place if Cromwell had fully5 appreciated the dangers which it would bring upon the Puritan cause.
On the other hand, this failure to look far enough ahead, while it detracts from Cromwell’s statesmanship, helps to vindicate111 his integrity. He was too much taken up with the necessities of the present to devise a deep-laid scheme for making himself great. He told the French Ambassador in 1647, with a sort of surprise, that a man never rose so high as when he did not know where he was going. To his Parliaments he spoke98 of himself as having seen nothing in God’s dispensations long beforehand. “These issues and events,” he said in 1656, “have not been forecast, but were sudden providences in things.” By this series of unforeseen events, necessitating112 first one 480step on his part and then the next, he had been raised to the post of Protector. “I did out of necessity undertake that business,” said he, “which place I undertook, not so much out of a hope of doing any good, as out of a desire to prevent mischief113 and evil which I did see was imminent114 in the nation.”
Conscious, therefore, that he had not plotted to bring about his own elevation115, Cromwell resented nothing so much as the charge that he had “made the necessities” to which it was due. For it was not merely an imputation116 on his own honesty, but a kind of atheism117, as if the world was governed by the craft of men, not by the wisdom of God. People said, “It was the cunning of my Lord Protector that hath brought it about,” when in reality these great revolutions were “God’s revolutions.” “Whatsoever you may judge men for, however you may say this is cunning, and politic1, and subtle, take heed118 how you judge His revolutions as the product of men’s invention.”
Cromwell said this with perfect sincerity119. He felt that he was but a blind instrument in the hands of a higher power. Yet he had shaped the issue of events with such power and had imposed his interpretation120 of their meaning upon them with such decision, that neither contemporaries nor historians could limit to so little the sphere of his free will.
It was possible to “make too much of outward dispensations,” and Cromwell owned that perhaps he did so. His system of being guided by events instead of revelations did not put an end to the possibility of self-deception, though it made it less likely. “Men,” as Shakespeare says, “may construe121 481things after their fashion clean from the purpose of the things themselves.” But if Cromwell sometimes mistook the meaning of facts he never failed to realise their importance. “If the fact be so,” he once said, “why should we sport with it?” and the saying is a characteristic one. He was therefore more practical and less visionary than other statesmen of his party; more open-minded and better able to adapt his policy to the changing circumstances and changing needs of the times. To many contemporary politicians, the exact carrying out of some cut-and-dried political programme seemed the height of political wisdom. The Levellers with their Agreement of the People and the Scottish Presbyterians with their Covenant122 are typical examples. The persistent123 adhesion of the Covenanters to their old formulas, in spite of defeats and altered conditions, Cromwell regarded as blindness to the teaching of events. They were blind to God’s great dispensations, he told the Scottish ministers, out of mere wilfulness124, “because the things did not work forth their platform, and the great God did not come down to their minds and thoughts.” He would have felt himself guilty of the same fault if he had obstinately125 adhered either to a republic or a monarchy under all circumstances. Forms of government were neither good nor bad in themselves. Either form might be good: it depended on the condition of England at the moment, on the temper of the people, on the question which was more compatible with the welfare of the Cause, which more answerable to God’s purpose as revealed 482in events. It was reported that Cromwell had said that it was lawful126 to pass through all forms to accomplish his ends, and if “forms” be taken to mean forms of government, and “ends” political aims, there can be no doubt that he thought so. However much he varied127 his means, his ends remained the same.
To understand what Cromwell’s political aims were, it is necessary to enquire what he meant when he spoke of his discharging his duty to “the interest of the people of God and this Commonwealth.” The order in which he places them is in itself significant. First, he put the duty to a section of the English people; last, the duty to the English people in general. Cromwell was full of patriotic128 pride. Once, when he was enumerating129 to Parliament the dangers which threatened the State, he wound up by saying that the enumeration130 should cause no despondency, “as truly I think it will not; for we are Englishmen: that is one good fact.” “The English,” he said on another occasion, “are a people that have been like other nations, sometimes up and sometimes down in our honour in the world, but never yet so low but we might measure with other nations.” Several times in his speeches he termed the English “the best people in the world.” Best, because “having the highest and clearest profession amongst them of the greatest glory—namely, religion.” Best, because in the midst of the English people there was as it were another people, “a people that are to God as the apple of His eye,” “His peculiar interest,” “the people of God.” “When I say the people of God,” 483he explained, “I mean the large comprehension of them under the several forms of godliness in this nation”; or, in other words, all sects131 of Puritans.
To Cromwell the interest of the people of God and the interest of the nation were two distinct things, but he did not think them irreconcilable132. “He sings sweetly,” said Cromwell, “that sings a song of reconciliation133 between these two interests, and it is a pitiful fancy to think they are inconsistent.” At the same time the liberty of the people of God was more important than the civil liberty and interest of the nation, “which is and ought to be subordinate to the more peculiar interest of God, yet is the next best God hath given men in this world.” Religious freedom was more important than political freedom. Cromwell emphatically condemned the politicians who said, “If we could but exercise wisdom to gain civil liberty, religion would follow.” Such men were “men of a hesitating spirit,” and “under the bondage134 of scruples135.” They were little better than the carnal men who cared for none of these things. They could never “rise to such a spiritual heat” as the Cause demanded. Yet the truth was that half the Republican party and an overwhelming majority of the English people held the view which he condemned.
Cromwell wished to govern constitutionally. No theory of the divine right of an able man to govern the incapable136 multitude blinded his eyes to the fact that self-government was the inheritance and right of the English people. He accepted in the main the 484first principle of democracy, the doctrine137 of the sovereignty of the people, or, as he phrased it, “that the foundation of supremacy138 is in the people and to be by them set down in their representatives.” More than once he declared that the good of the governed was the supreme139 end of all governments, and he claimed that his own government acted “for the good of the people, and for their interest, and without respect had to any other interest.” But government for the people did not necessarily mean government by the people. “That’s the question,” said Cromwell, “what’s for their good, not what pleases them,” and the history of the Protectorate was a commentary on this text. Some stable government was necessary to prevent either a return to anarchy140 or the restoration of the Stuarts. Therefore he was determined to maintain his own government, with the assistance of Parliament if possible, without it if he must. If it became necessary to suspend for a time the liberties of the subject or to levy141 taxes without parliamentary sanction, he was prepared to do it. In the end the English people would recognise that he had acted for their good. “Ask them,” said he, “whether they would prefer the having of their will, though it be their destruction, rather than comply with things of necessity?” He felt confident the answer would be in his favour.
England might have acquiesced142 in this temporary dictatorship in the hope of a gradual return to constitutional government. What it could not accept was the permanent limitation of the sovereignty of the people in the interest of the Puritan minority 485whom Cromwell termed the people of God. Yet it was at this object that all the constitutional settlements of the Protectorate aimed. It was in the interest of this minority that the Instrument of Government restricted the power of Parliament and made the Protector the guardian143 of the constitution. It was in their interest that the Petition and Advice re-established a House of Lords. That House, as Thurloe said, was intended “to preserve the good interest against the uncertainty144 of the Commons House,” for, as another Cromwellian confessed “the spirit of the Commons had little affinity145 with or respect to the Cause of God.”
Cromwell trusted that the real benefits his government conferred would reconcile the majority of the nation to the rule of the minority and “win the people to the interest of Jesus Christ.” Thus the long hostility146 between the people and “the people of God” would end at last in reconciliation.
It was a fallacious hope. Puritanism was spending its strength in the vain endeavour to make England Puritan by force. The enthusiasm which had undertaken to transform the world was being conformed to it. A change was coming over the party which supported the Protector; it had lost many of the “men of conscience”; it had attracted many of the time-servers and camp-followers of politics; it was ceasing to be a party held together by religious interests, and becoming a coalition147 held together by material interests and political necessities. Cromwell once rebuked148 the Scottish clergy for “meddling with worldly policies and mixtures of 486worldly power” to set up that which they called “the kingdom of Christ,” and warned them that “the Sion promised” would not be built “with such untempered mortar149.” He had fallen into the same error himself, and the rule of Puritanism was founded on shifting sands. So the Protector’s institutions perished with him and his work ended in apparent failure. Yet he had achieved great things. Thanks to his sword absolute monarchy failed to take root in English soil. Thanks to his sword Great Britain emerged from the chaos of the civil wars one strong state instead of three separate and hostile communities. Nor were the results of his action entirely negative. The ideas which inspired his policy exerted a lasting81 influence on the development of the English state. Thirty years after his death the religious liberty for which he fought was established by law. The union with Scotland and Ireland, which the statesmen of the Restoration undid150, the statesmen of the eighteenth century effected. The mastery of the seas he had desired to gain, and the Greater Britain he had sought to build up became sober realities. Thus others perfected the work which he had designed and attempted.
Cromwell remained throughout his life too much the champion of a party to be accepted as a national hero by later generations, but in serving his Cause he served his country too. No English ruler did more to shape the future of the land he governed, none showed more clearly in his acts the “plain heroic magnitude of mind.”
The End
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| adj.有智虑的；精明的；v.从政 | |
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chaos
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victorious
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regiment
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fully
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conscientious
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requisite
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inefficiency
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heresies
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blasphemous
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mere
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implicit
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possessed
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remarkable
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aptitude
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judgment
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peculiar
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ripened
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faculties
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cavalry
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laurels
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vigilant
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| n.赔偿，救济，矫正；v.纠正，匡正，革除 | |
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moor
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| n.荒野，沼泽；vt.(使)停泊；vi.停泊 | |
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faculty
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| n.才能；学院，系；(学院或系的)全体教学人员 | |
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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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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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30
likeness
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| n.相像，相似（之处） | |
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31
artillery
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| n.(军)火炮，大炮；炮兵(部队) | |
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32
vigour
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| （=vigor）n.智力，体力，精力 | |
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33
dictated
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| v.大声讲或读( dictate的过去式和过去分词 )；口授；支配；摆布 | |
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34
prosecution
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| n.起诉，告发，检举，执行，经营 | |
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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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36
defensive
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| adj.防御的；防卫的；防守的 | |
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37
exponent
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| n.倡导者，拥护者；代表人物；指数，幂 | |
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38
fortresses
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| 堡垒，要塞( fortress的名词复数 ) | |
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39
scouting
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| 守候活动，童子军的活动 | |
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40
inflicted
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| 把…强加给，使承受，遭受( inflict的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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41
repulse
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| n.击退，拒绝；vt.逐退，击退，拒绝 | |
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42
audacity
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| n.大胆，卤莽，无礼 | |
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43
tempt
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| vt.引诱，勾引，吸引，引起…的兴趣 | |
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44
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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45
abounded
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| v.大量存在，充满，富于( abound的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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46
fortified
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| adj. 加强的 | |
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47
bogs
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| n.沼泽，泥塘( bog的名词复数 )；厕所v.（使）陷入泥沼， （使）陷入困境( bog的第三人称单数 )；妨碍，阻碍 | |
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48
warfare
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| n.战争(状态)；斗争；冲突 | |
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49
invader
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| n.侵略者，侵犯者，入侵者 | |
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50
laborious
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| adj.吃力的，努力的，不流畅 | |
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51
seaports
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| n.海港( seaport的名词复数 ) | |
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52
tightening
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| 上紧，固定，紧密 | |
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53
subjugation
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| n.镇压，平息，征服 | |
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54
remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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55
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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56
innovator
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| n.改革者；创新者 | |
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57
creed
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| n.信条；信念，纲领 | |
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58
contrived
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| adj.不自然的，做作的；虚构的 | |
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59
hereditary
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| adj.遗传的，遗传性的，可继承的，世袭的 | |
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60
monarch
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| n.帝王，君主，最高统治者 | |
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61
usurper
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| n. 篡夺者, 僭取者 | |
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62
justified
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| a.正当的，有理的 | |
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63
fabric
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| n.织物，织品，布；构造，结构，组织 | |
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64
controversies
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| 争论 | |
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65
condemned
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| adj. 被责难的, 被宣告有罪的 动词condemn的过去式和过去分词 | |
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66
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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67
virtue
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| n.德行，美德；贞操；优点；功效，效力 | |
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68
virtues
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| 美德( virtue的名词复数 )； 德行； 优点； 长处 | |
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69
celebrated
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| adj.有名的，声誉卓著的 | |
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70
tyrant
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| n.暴君，专制的君主，残暴的人 | |
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71
circumspection
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| n.细心，慎重 | |
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72
apostate
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| n.背叛者，变节者 | |
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73
idol
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| n.偶像，红人，宠儿 | |
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74
millennium
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| n.一千年，千禧年；太平盛世 | |
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75
attain
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| vt.达到，获得，完成 | |
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76
pious
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| adj.虔诚的；道貌岸然的 | |
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77
corrupted
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| （使）败坏( corrupt的过去式和过去分词 )； （使）腐化； 引起（计算机文件等的）错误； 破坏 | |
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78
zeal
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| n.热心，热情，热忱 | |
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79
opposition
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| n.反对，敌对 | |
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80
everlasting
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| adj.永恒的，持久的，无止境的 | |
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81
lasting
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| adj.永久的，永恒的；vbl.持续，维持 | |
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82
knave
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| n.流氓；（纸牌中的）杰克 | |
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83
fanatic
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| n.狂热者，入迷者；adj.狂热入迷的 | |
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84
traitor
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| n.叛徒，卖国贼 | |
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85
dispelled
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| v.驱散，赶跑( dispel的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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86
hypocrisy
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| n.伪善，虚伪 | |
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87
fanaticism
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| n.狂热，盲信 | |
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88
enthusiast
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| n.热心人，热衷者 | |
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89
purely
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| adv.纯粹地，完全地 | |
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90
paramount
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| a.最重要的，最高权力的 | |
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91
commonwealth
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| n.共和国，联邦，共同体 | |
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92
acting
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| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
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93
incur
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| vt.招致，蒙受，遭遇 | |
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94
maze
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| n.迷宫，八阵图，混乱，迷惑 | |
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95
ascertain
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| vt.发现，确定，查明，弄清 | |
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96
dictates
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| n.命令，规定，要求( dictate的名词复数 )v.大声讲或读( dictate的第三人称单数 )；口授；支配；摆布 | |
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97
alleged
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| a.被指控的，嫌疑的 | |
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98
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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99
clergy
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| n.[总称]牧师，神职人员 | |
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100
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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101
underlay
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| v.位于或存在于（某物）之下( underlie的过去式 )；构成…的基础（或起因），引起n.衬垫物 | |
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102
enquire
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| v.打听，询问；调查，查问 | |
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103
hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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104
monarchy
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| n.君主，最高统治者；君主政体，君主国 | |
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105
motives
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| n.动机，目的( motive的名词复数 ) | |
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106
lamented
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| adj.被哀悼的，令人遗憾的v.（为…）哀悼，痛哭，悲伤( lament的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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107
foresight
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| n.先见之明，深谋远虑 | |
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108
aggravated
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| 使恶化( aggravate的过去式和过去分词 )； 使更严重； 激怒； 使恼火 | |
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109
fiery
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| adj.燃烧着的，火红的；暴躁的；激烈的 | |
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110
steward
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| n.乘务员，服务员；看管人；膳食管理员 | |
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111
vindicate
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| v.为…辩护或辩解，辩明；证明…正确 | |
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112
necessitating
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| 使…成为必要，需要( necessitate的现在分词 ) | |
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113
mischief
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| n.损害，伤害，危害；恶作剧，捣蛋，胡闹 | |
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114
imminent
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| adj.即将发生的，临近的，逼近的 | |
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115
elevation
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| n.高度；海拔；高地；上升；提高 | |
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116
imputation
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| n.归罪，责难 | |
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117
atheism
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| n.无神论，不信神 | |
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118
heed
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| v.注意，留意；n.注意，留心 | |
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119
sincerity
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| n.真诚，诚意；真实 | |
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120
interpretation
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| n.解释，说明，描述；艺术处理 | |
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121
construe
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| v.翻译，解释 | |
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122
covenant
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| n.盟约，契约；v.订盟约 | |
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123
persistent
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| adj.坚持不懈的，执意的；持续的 | |
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124
wilfulness
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| 任性；倔强 | |
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125
obstinately
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| ad.固执地，顽固地 | |
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126
lawful
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| adj.法律许可的，守法的，合法的 | |
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127
varied
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| adj.多样的，多变化的 | |
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128
patriotic
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| adj.爱国的，有爱国心的 | |
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129
enumerating
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| v.列举，枚举，数( enumerate的现在分词 ) | |
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130
enumeration
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| n.计数，列举；细目；详表；点查 | |
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131
sects
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| n.宗派，教派( sect的名词复数 ) | |
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132
irreconcilable
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| adj.（指人）难和解的，势不两立的 | |
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133
reconciliation
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| n.和解，和谐，一致 | |
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134
bondage
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| n.奴役，束缚 | |
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135
scruples
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| n.良心上的不安( scruple的名词复数 )；顾虑，顾忌v.感到于心不安，有顾忌( scruple的第三人称单数 ) | |
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136
incapable
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| adj.无能力的，不能做某事的 | |
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137
doctrine
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| n.教义；主义；学说 | |
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138
supremacy
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| n.至上；至高权力 | |
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139
supreme
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| adj.极度的，最重要的；至高的，最高的 | |
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140
anarchy
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| n.无政府状态；社会秩序混乱，无秩序 | |
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141
levy
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| n.征收税或其他款项，征收额 | |
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142
acquiesced
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| v.默认，默许( acquiesce的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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143
guardian
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| n.监护人；守卫者，保护者 | |
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144
uncertainty
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| n.易变，靠不住，不确知，不确定的事物 | |
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145
affinity
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| n.亲和力，密切关系 | |
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146
hostility
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| n.敌对，敌意；抵制［pl.］交战，战争 | |
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147
coalition
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| n.结合体，同盟，结合，联合 | |
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148
rebuked
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| 责难或指责( rebuke的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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149
mortar
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| n.灰浆，灰泥；迫击炮；v.把…用灰浆涂接合 | |
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150
Undid
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| v. 解开, 复原 | |
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