Such people, who form the bulk of contented6 society, demand that the radical7, the reformer, shall be without stain or question in his personal and family relations, and judge most harshly any deviation8 from the established standards. There is a certain justice in this: it expresses the inherent conservatism of the mass of men, that none of the established virtues9 which have been so slowly and hardly acquired shall be sacrificed for the sake of making problematic advance; that the individual, in his attempt to develop and use the new and exalted10 virtue, shall not fall into the easy temptation of letting the ordinary ones slip through his fingers.
This instinct to conserve11 the old standards, combined with a distrust of the new standard, is a constant difficulty in the way of those experiments and advances depending upon the initiative of women, both because women are the more sensitive to the individual and family claims, and because their training has tended to make them content with the response to these claims alone.
There is no doubt that, in the effort to sustain the moral energy necessary to work out a more satisfactory social relation, the individual often sacrifices the energy which should legitimately13 go into the fulfilment of personal and family claims, to what he considers the higher claim.
In considering the changes which our increasing democracy is constantly making upon various relationships, it is impossible to ignore the filial relation. This chapter deals with the relation between parents and their grown-up daughters, as affording an explicit14 illustration of the perplexity and mal-adjustment brought about by the various attempts of young women to secure a more active share in the community life. We constantly see parents very much disconcerted and perplexed15 in regard to their daughters when these daughters undertake work lying quite outside of traditional and family interests. These parents insist that the girl is carried away by a foolish enthusiasm, that she is in search of a career, that she is restless and does not know what she wants. They will give any reason, almost, rather than the recognition of a genuine and dignified16 claim. Possibly all this is due to the fact that for so many hundreds of years women have had no larger interests, no participation17 in the affairs lying quite outside personal and family claims. Any attempt that the individual woman formerly18 made to subordinate or renounce19 the family claim was inevitably20 construed21 to mean that she was setting up her own will against that of her family's for selfish ends. It was concluded that she could have no motive22 larger than a desire to serve her family, and her attempt to break away must therefore be wilful23 and self-indulgent.
The family logically consented to give her up at her marriage, when she was enlarging the family tie by founding another family. It was easy to understand that they permitted and even promoted her going to college, travelling in Europe, or any other means of self-improvement, because these merely meant the development and cultivation25 of one of its own members. When, however, she responded to her impulse to fulfil the social or democratic claim, she violated every tradition.
The mind of each one of us reaches back to our first struggles as we emerged from self-willed childhood into a recognition of family obligations. We have all gradually learned to respond to them, and yet most of us have had at least fleeting26 glimpses of what it might be to disregard them and the elemental claim they make upon us. We have yielded at times to the temptation of ignoring them for selfish aims, of considering the individual and not the family convenience, and we remember with shame the self-pity which inevitably followed. But just as we have learned to adjust the personal and family claims, and to find an orderly development impossible without recognition of both, so perhaps we are called upon now to make a second adjustment between the family and the social claim, in which neither shall lose and both be ennobled.
The attempt to bring about a healing compromise in which the two shall be adjusted in proper relation is not an easy one. It is difficult to distinguish between the outward act of him who in following one legitimate12 claim has been led into the temporary violation27 of another, and the outward act of him who deliberately28 renounces29 a just claim and throws aside all obligation for the sake of his own selfish and individual development. The man, for instance, who deserts his family that he may cultivate an artistic30 sensibility, or acquire what he considers more fulness of life for himself, must always arouse our contempt. Breaking the marriage tie as Ibsen's "Nora" did, to obtain a larger self-development, or holding to it as George Eliot's "Romola" did, because of the larger claim of the state and society, must always remain two distinct paths. The collision of interests, each of which has a real moral basis and a right to its own place in life, is bound to be more or less tragic31. It is the struggle between two claims, the destruction of either of which would bring ruin to the ethical32 life. Curiously33 enough, it is almost exactly this contradiction which is the tragedy set forth34 by the Greek dramatist, who asserted that the gods who watch over the sanctity of the family bond must yield to the higher claims of the gods of the state. The failure to recognize the social claim as legitimate causes the trouble; the suspicion constantly remains35 that woman's public efforts are merely selfish and captious36, and are not directed to the general good. This suspicion will never be dissipated until parents, as well as daughters, feel the democratic impulse and recognize the social claim.
Our democracy is making inroads upon the family, the oldest of human institutions, and a claim is being advanced which in a certain sense is larger than the family claim. The claim of the state in time of war has long been recognized, so that in its name the family has given up sons and husbands and even the fathers of little children. If we can once see the claims of society in any such light, if its misery37 and need can be made clear and urged as an explicit claim, as the state urges its claims in the time of danger, then for the first time the daughter who desires to minister to that need will be recognized as acting38 conscientiously39. This recognition may easily come first through the emotions, and may be admitted as a response to pity and mercy long before it is formulated41 and perceived by the intellect.
The family as well as the state we are all called upon to maintain as
the highest institutions which the race has evolved for its safeguard and protection. But merely to preserve these institutions is not enough. There come periods of reconstruction42, during which the task is laid upon a passing generation, to enlarge the function and carry forward the ideal of a long-established institution. There is no doubt that many women, consciously and unconsciously, are struggling with this task. The family, like every other element of human life, is susceptible43 of progress, and from epoch44 to epoch its tendencies and aspirations45 are enlarged, although its duties can never be abrogated46 and its obligations can never be cancelled. It is impossible to bring about the higher development by any self-assertion or breaking away of the individual will. The new growth in the plant swelling47 against the sheath, which at the same time imprisons48 and protects it, must still be the truest type of progress. The family in its entirety must be carried out into the larger life. Its various members together must recognize and acknowledge the validity of the social obligation. When this does not occur we have a most flagrant example of the ill-adjustment and misery arising when an ethical code is applied49 too rigorously and too conscientiously to conditions which are no longer the same as when the code was instituted, and for which it was never designed. We have all seen parental50 control and the family claim assert their authority in fields of effort which belong to the adult judgment51 of the child and pertain52 to activity quite outside the family life. Probably the distinctively53 family tragedy of which we all catch glimpses now and then, is the assertion of this authority through all the entanglements54 of wounded affection and misunderstanding. We see parents and children acting from conscientious40 motives55 and with the tenderest affection, yet bringing about a misery which can scarcely be hidden.
Such glimpses remind us of that tragedy enacted56 centuries ago in Assisi, when the eager young noble cast his very clothing at his father's feet, dramatically renouncing57 his filial allegiance, and formally subjecting the narrow family claim to the wider and more universal duty. All the conflict of tragedy ensued which might have been averted58, had the father recognized the higher claim, and had he been willing to subordinate and adjust his own claim to it. The father considered his son disrespectful and hard-hearted, yet we know St. Francis to have been the most tender and loving of men, responsive to all possible ties, even to those of inanimate nature. We know that by his affections he freed the frozen life of his time. The elements of tragedy lay in the narrowness of the father's mind; in his lack of comprehension and his lack of sympathy with the power which was moving his son, and which was but part of the religious revival59 which swept Europe from end to end in the early part of the thirteenth century; the same power which built the cathedrals of the North, and produced the saints and sages60 of the South. But the father's situation was nevertheless genuine; he felt his heart sore and angry, and his dignity covered with disrespect. He could not, indeed, have felt otherwise, unless he had been touched by the fire of the same revival, and lifted out of and away from the contemplation of himself and his narrower claim. It is another proof that the notion of a larger obligation can only come through the response to an enlarged interest in life and in the social movements around us.
The grown-up son has so long been considered a citizen with well-defined duties and a need of "making his way in the world," that the family claim is urged much less strenuously62 in his case, and as a matter of authority, it ceases gradually to be made at all. In the case of the grown-up daughter, however, who is under no necessity of earning a living, and who has no strong artistic bent63, taking her to Paris to study painting or to Germany to study music, the years immediately following her graduation from college are too often filled with a restlessness and unhappiness which might be avoided by a little clear thinking, and by an adaptation of our code of family ethics65 to modern conditions.
It is always difficult for the family to regard the daughter otherwise than as a family possession. From her babyhood she has been the charm and grace of the household, and it is hard to think of her as an integral part of the social order, hard to believe that she has duties outside of the family, to the state and to society in the larger sense. This assumption that the daughter is solely66 an inspiration and refinement67 to the family itself and its own immediate64 circle, that her delicacy68 and polish are but outward symbols of her father's protection and prosperity, worked very smoothly69 for the most part so long as her education was in line with it. When there was absolutely no recognition of the entity70 of woman's life beyond the family, when the outside claims upon her were still wholly unrecognized, the situation was simple, and the finishing school harmoniously71 and elegantly answered all requirements. She was fitted to grace the fireside and to add lustre72 to that social circle which her parents selected for her. But this family assumption has been notably73 broken into, and educational ideas no longer fit it. Modern education recognizes woman quite apart from family or society claims, and gives her the training which for many years has been deemed successful for highly developing a man's individuality and freeing his powers for independent action. Perplexities often occur when the daughter returns from college and finds that this recognition has been but partially74 accomplished75. When she attempts to act upon the assumption of its accomplishment76, she finds herself jarring upon ideals which are so entwined with filial piety77, so rooted in the tenderest affections of which the human heart is capable, that both daughter and parents are shocked and startled when they discover what is happening, and they scarcely venture to analyze78 the situation. The ideal for the education of woman has changed under the pressure of a new claim. The family has responded to the extent of granting the education, but they are jealous of the new claim and assert the family claim as over against it.
The modern woman finds herself educated to recognize a stress of social obligation which her family did not in the least anticipate when they sent her to college. She finds herself, in addition, under an impulse to act her part as a citizen of the world. She accepts her family inheritance with loyalty79 and affection, but she has entered into a wider inheritance as well, which, for lack of a better phrase, we call the social claim. This claim has been recognized for four years in her training, but after her return from college the family claim is again exclusively and strenuously asserted. The situation has all the discomfort80 of transition and compromise. The daughter finds a constant and totally unnecessary conflict between the social and the family claims. In most cases the former is repressed and gives way to the family claim, because the latter is concrete and definitely asserted, while the social demand is vague and unformulated. In such instances the girl quietly submits, but she feels wronged whenever she allows her mind to dwell upon the situation. She either hides her hurt, and splendid reserves of enthusiasm and capacity go to waste, or her zeal81 and emotions are turned inward, and the result is an unhappy woman, whose heart is consumed by vain regrets and desires.
If the college woman is not thus quietly reabsorbed, she is even reproached for her discontent. She is told to be devoted82 to her family, inspiring and responsive to her social circle, and to give the rest of her time to further self-improvement and enjoyment83. She expects to do this, and responds to these claims to the best of her ability, even heroically sometimes. But where is the larger life of which she has dreamed so long? That life which surrounds and completes the individual and family life? She has been taught that it is her duty to share this life, and her highest privilege to extend it. This divergence84 between her self-centred existence and her best convictions becomes constantly more apparent. But the situation is not even so simple as a conflict between her affections and her intellectual convictions, although even that is tumultuous enough, also the emotional nature is divided against itself. The social claim is a demand upon the emotions as well as upon the intellect, and in ignoring it she represses not only her convictions but lowers her springs of vitality85. Her life is full of contradictions. She looks out into the world, longing86 that some demand be made upon her powers, for they are too untrained to furnish an initiative. When her health gives way under this strain, as it often does, her physician invariably advises a rest. But to be put to bed and fed on milk is not what she requires. What she needs is simple, health-giving activity, which, involving the use of all her faculties87, shall be a response to all the claims which she so keenly feels.
It is quite true that the family often resents her first attempts to be part of a life quite outside their own, because the college woman frequently makes these first attempts most awkwardly; her faculties have not been trained in the line of action. She lacks the ability to apply her knowledge and theories to life itself and to its complicated situations. This is largely the fault of her training and of the one-sidedness of educational methods. The colleges have long been full of the best ethical teaching, insisting that the good of the whole must ultimately be the measure of effort, and that the individual can only secure his own rights as he labors88 to secure those of others. But while the teaching has included an ever-broadening range of obligation and has insisted upon the recognition of the claims of human brotherhood89, the training has been singularly individualistic; it has fostered ambitions for personal distinction, and has trained the faculties almost exclusively in the direction of intellectual accumulation. Doubtless, woman's education is at fault, in that it has failed to recognize certain needs, and has failed to cultivate and guide the larger desires of which all generous young hearts are full.
During the most formative years of life, it gives the young girl no contact with the feebleness of childhood, the pathos90 of suffering, or the needs of old age. It gathers together crude youth in contact only with each other and with mature men and women who are there for the purpose of their mental direction. The tenderest promptings are bidden to bide91 their time. This could only be justifiable92 if a definite outlet93 were provided when they leave college. Doubtless the need does not differ widely in men and women, but women not absorbed in professional or business life, in the years immediately following college, are baldly brought face to face with the deficiencies of their training. Apparently94 every obstacle is removed, and the college woman is at last free to begin the active life, for which, during so many years, she has been preparing. But during this so-called preparation, her faculties have been trained solely for accumulation, and she has learned to utterly95 distrust the finer impulses of her nature, which would naturally have connected her with human interests outside of her family and her own immediate social circle. All through school and college the young soul dreamed of self-sacrifice, of succor96 to the helpless and of tenderness to the unfortunate. We persistently97 distrust these desires, and, unless they follow well-defined lines, we repress them with every device of convention and caution.
One summer the writer went from a two weeks' residence in East London, where she had become sick and bewildered by the sights and sounds encountered there, directly to Switzerland. She found the beaten routes of travel filled with young English men and women who could walk many miles a day, and who could climb peaks so inaccessible98 that the feats99 received honorable mention in Alpine100 journals,—a result which filled their families with joy and pride. These young people knew to a nicety the proper diet and clothing which would best contribute toward endurance. Everything was very fine about them save their motive power. The writer does not refer to the hard-worked men and women who were taking a vacation, but to the leisured young people, to whom this period was the most serious of the year, and filled with the most strenuous61 exertion101. They did not, of course, thoroughly102 enjoy it, for we are too complicated to be content with mere24 exercise. Civilization has bound us too closely with our brethren for any one of us to be long happy in the cultivation of mere individual force or in the accumulation of mere muscular energy.
With Whitechapel constantly in mind, it was difficult not to advise these young people to use some of this muscular energy of which they were so proud, in cleaning neglected alleys103 and paving soggy streets. Their stores of enthusiasm might stir to energy the listless men and women of East London and utilize104 latent social forces. The exercise would be quite as good, the need of endurance as great, the care for proper dress and food as important; but the motives for action would be turned from selfish ones into social ones. Such an appeal would doubtless be met with a certain response from the young people, but would never be countenanced105 by their families for an instant.
Fortunately a beginning has been made in another direction, and a few parents have already begun to consider even their little children in relation to society as well as to the family. The young mothers who attend "Child Study" classes have a larger notion of parenthood and expect given characteristics from their children, at certain ages and under certain conditions. They quite calmly watch the various attempts of a child to assert his individuality, which so often takes the form of opposition106 to the wishes of the family and to the rule of the household. They recognize as acting under the same law of development the little child of three who persistently runs away and pretends not to hear his mother's voice, the boy of ten who violently, although temporarily, resents control of any sort, and the grown-up son who, by an individualized and trained personality, is drawn107 into pursuits and interests quite alien to those of his family.
This attempt to take the parental relation somewhat away from mere personal experience, as well as the increasing tendency of parents to share their children's pursuits and interests, will doubtless finally result in a better understanding of the social obligation. The understanding, which results from identity of interests, would seem to confirm the conviction that in the complicated life of to-day there is no education so admirable as that education which comes from participation in the constant trend of events. There is no doubt that most of the misunderstandings of life are due to partial intelligence, because our experiences have been so unlike that we cannot comprehend each other. The old difficulties incident to the clash of two codes of morals must drop away, as the experiences of various members of the family become larger and more identical.
At the present moment, however, many of those difficulties still exist and may be seen all about us. In order to illustrate108 the situation baldly, and at the same time to put it dramatically, it may be well to take an instance concerning which we have no personal feeling. The tragedy of King Lear has been selected, although we have been accustomed so long to give him our sympathy as the victim of the ingratitude109 of his two older daughters, and of the apparent coldness of Cordelia, that we have not sufficiently111 considered the weakness of his fatherhood, revealed by the fact that he should get himself into so entangled112 and unhappy a relation to all of his children. In our pity for Lear, we fail to analyze his character. The King on his throne exhibits utter lack of self-control. The King in the storm gives way to the same emotion, in repining over the wickedness of his children, which he formerly exhibited in his indulgent treatment of them.
It might be illuminating113 to discover wherein he had failed, and why his old age found him roofless in spite of the fact that he strenuously urged the family claim with his whole conscience. At the opening of the drama he sat upon his throne, ready for the enjoyment which an indulgent parent expects when he has given gifts to his children. From the two elder, the responses for the division of his lands were graceful114 and fitting, but he longed to hear what Cordelia, his youngest and best beloved child, would say. He looked toward her expectantly, but instead of delight and gratitude110 there was the first dawn of character. Cordelia made the awkward attempt of an untrained soul to be honest and scrupulously115 to express her inmost feeling. The king was baffled and distressed116 by this attempt at self-expression. It was new to him that his daughter should be moved by a principle obtained outside himself, which even his imagination could not follow; that she had caught the notion of an existence in which her relation as a daughter played but a part. She was transformed by a dignity which recast her speech and made it self-contained. She found herself in the sweep of a feeling so large that the immediate loss of a kingdom seemed of little consequence to her. Even an act which might be construed as disrespect to her father was justified117 in her eyes, because she was vainly striving to fill out this larger conception of duty. The test which comes sooner or later to many parents had come to Lear, to maintain the tenderness of the relation between father and child, after that relation had become one between adults, to be content with the responses made by the adult child to the family claim, while at the same time she responded to the claims of the rest of life. The mind of Lear was not big enough for this test; he failed to see anything but the personal slight involved, and the ingratitude alone reached him. It was impossible for him to calmly watch his child developing beyond the stretch of his own mind and sympathy.
That a man should be so absorbed in his own indignation as to fail to apprehend118 his child's thought, that he should lose his affection in his anger, simply reveals the fact that his own emotions are dearer to him than his sense of paternal119 obligation. Lear apparently also ignored the common ancestry120 of Cordelia and himself, and forgot her royal inheritance of magnanimity. He had thought of himself so long as a noble and indulgent father that he had lost the faculty121 by which he might perceive himself in the wrong. Even in the midst of the storm he declared himself more sinned against than sinning. He could believe any amount of kindness and goodness of himself, but could imagine no fidelity122 on the part of Cordelia unless she gave him the sign he demanded.
At length he suffered many hardships; his spirit was buffeted123 and broken; he lost his reason as well as his kingdom; but for the first time his experience was identical with the experience of the men around him, and he came to a larger conception of life. He put himself in the place of "the poor naked wretches," and unexpectedly found healing and comfort. He took poor Tim in his arms from a sheer desire for human contact and animal warmth, a primitive124 and genuine need, through which he suddenly had a view of the world which he had never had from his throne, and from this moment his heart began to turn toward Cordelia.
In reading the tragedy of King Lear, Cordelia receives a full share of our censure125. Her first words are cold, and we are shocked by her lack of tenderness. Why should she ignore her father's need for indulgence, and be unwilling126 to give him what he so obviously craved127? We see in the old king "the over-mastering desire of being beloved, selfish, and yet characteristic of the selfishness of a loving and kindly128 nature alone." His eagerness produces in us a strange pity for him, and we are impatient that his youngest and best-beloved child cannot feel this, even in the midst of her search for truth and her newly acquired sense of a higher duty. It seems to us a narrow conception that would break thus abruptly129 with the past and would assume that her father had no part in the new life. We want to remind her "that pity, memory, and faithfulness are natural ties," and surely as much to be prized as is the development of her own soul. We do not admire the Cordelia who through her self-absorption deserts her father, as we later admire the same woman who comes back from France that she may include her father in her happiness and freer life. The first had selfishly taken her salvation130 for herself alone, and it was not until her conscience had developed in her new life that she was driven back to her father, where she perished, drawn into the cruelty and wrath131 which had now become objective and tragic.
Historically considered, the relation of Lear to his children was archaic132 and barbaric, indicating merely the beginning of a family life since developed. His paternal expression was one of domination and indulgence, without the perception of the needs of his children, without any anticipation133 of their entrance into a wider life, or any belief that they could have a worthy134 life apart from him. If that rudimentary conception of family life ended in such violent disaster, the fact that we have learned to be more decorous in our conduct does not demonstrate that by following the same line of theory we may not reach a like misery.
Wounded affection there is sure to be, but this could be reduced to a modicum135 if we could preserve a sense of the relation of the individual to the family, and of the latter to society, and if we had been given a code of ethics dealing136 with these larger relationships, instead of a code designed to apply so exclusively to relationships obtaining only between individuals.
Doubtless the clashes and jars which we all feel most keenly are those which occur when two standards of morals, both honestly held and believed in, are brought sharply together. The awkwardness and constraint137 we experience when two standards of conventions and manners clash but feebly prefigure this deeper difference.
点击
收听单词发音
收听单词发音 |
1
inevitable
|
|
| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
attain
|
|
| vt.达到，获得，完成 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
virtue
|
|
| n.德行，美德；贞操；优点；功效，效力 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
exhausted
|
|
| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
attaining
|
|
| （通常经过努力）实现( attain的现在分词 )； 达到； 获得； 达到（某年龄、水平、状况） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
contented
|
|
| adj.满意的，安心的，知足的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
radical
|
|
| n.激进份子，原子团，根号；adj.根本的，激进的，彻底的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
deviation
|
|
| n.背离，偏离；偏差，偏向；离题 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
virtues
|
|
| 美德( virtue的名词复数 )； 德行； 优点； 长处 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
exalted
|
|
| adj.(地位等)高的，崇高的；尊贵的，高尚的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
conserve
|
|
| vt.保存，保护，节约，节省，守恒，不灭 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
legitimate
|
|
| adj.合法的，合理的，合乎逻辑的；v.使合法 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
legitimately
|
|
| ad.合法地；正当地，合理地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
explicit
|
|
| adj.详述的，明确的；坦率的；显然的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
perplexed
|
|
| adj.不知所措的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
dignified
|
|
| a.可敬的，高贵的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
participation
|
|
| n.参与，参加，分享 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
formerly
|
|
| adv.从前，以前 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
renounce
|
|
| v.放弃；拒绝承认，宣布与…断绝关系 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
inevitably
|
|
| adv.不可避免地；必然发生地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
construed
|
|
| v.解释（陈述、行为等）( construe的过去式和过去分词 )；翻译，作句法分析 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
motive
|
|
| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
wilful
|
|
| adj.任性的，故意的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
mere
|
|
| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
cultivation
|
|
| n.耕作，培养，栽培（法），养成 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
fleeting
|
|
| adj.短暂的，飞逝的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
violation
|
|
| n.违反(行为)，违背(行为)，侵犯 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
deliberately
|
|
| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
renounces
|
|
| v.声明放弃( renounce的第三人称单数 )；宣布放弃；宣布与…决裂；宣布摒弃 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
artistic
|
|
| adj.艺术(家)的，美术(家)的；善于艺术创作的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
tragic
|
|
| adj.悲剧的，悲剧性的，悲惨的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
ethical
|
|
| adj.伦理的，道德的，合乎道德的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
curiously
|
|
| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
forth
|
|
| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
remains
|
|
| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
captious
|
|
| adj.难讨好的，吹毛求疵的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
misery
|
|
| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
acting
|
|
| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
conscientiously
|
|
| adv.凭良心地；认真地，负责尽职地；老老实实 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
conscientious
|
|
| adj.审慎正直的，认真的，本着良心的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
formulated
|
|
| v.构想出( formulate的过去式和过去分词 )；规划；确切地阐述；用公式表示 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
reconstruction
|
|
| n.重建，再现，复原 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
susceptible
|
|
| adj.过敏的，敏感的；易动感情的，易受感动的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
epoch
|
|
| n.(新)时代；历元 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
aspirations
|
|
| 强烈的愿望( aspiration的名词复数 )； 志向； 发送气音； 发 h 音 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
abrogated
|
|
| 废除（法律等）( abrogate的过去式和过去分词 )； 取消； 去掉； 抛开 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
swelling
|
|
| n.肿胀 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
imprisons
|
|
| v.下狱，监禁( imprison的第三人称单数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
applied
|
|
| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
parental
|
|
| adj.父母的；父的；母的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
51
judgment
|
|
| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
52
pertain
|
|
| v.(to)附属，从属；关于；有关；适合，相称 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
53
distinctively
|
|
| adv.特殊地，区别地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
54
entanglements
|
|
| n.瓜葛( entanglement的名词复数 )；牵连；纠缠；缠住 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
55
motives
|
|
| n.动机，目的( motive的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
56
enacted
|
|
| 制定（法律），通过（法案）( enact的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
57
renouncing
|
|
| v.声明放弃( renounce的现在分词 )；宣布放弃；宣布与…决裂；宣布摒弃 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
58
averted
|
|
| 防止，避免( avert的过去式和过去分词 )； 转移 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
59
revival
|
|
| n.复兴，复苏，（精力、活力等的）重振 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
60
sages
|
|
| n.圣人( sage的名词复数 )；智者；哲人；鼠尾草（可用作调料） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
61
strenuous
|
|
| adj.奋发的，使劲的；紧张的；热烈的，狂热的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
62
strenuously
|
|
| adv.奋发地，费力地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
63
bent
|
|
| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
64
immediate
|
|
| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
65
ethics
|
|
| n.伦理学；伦理观，道德标准 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
66
solely
|
|
| adv.仅仅，唯一地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
67
refinement
|
|
| n.文雅；高尚；精美；精制；精炼 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
68
delicacy
|
|
| n.精致，细微，微妙，精良；美味，佳肴 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
69
smoothly
|
|
| adv.平滑地，顺利地，流利地，流畅地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
70
entity
|
|
| n.实体，独立存在体，实际存在物 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
71
harmoniously
|
|
| 和谐地，调和地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
72
lustre
|
|
| n.光亮，光泽；荣誉 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
73
notably
|
|
| adv.值得注意地，显著地，尤其地，特别地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
74
partially
|
|
| adv.部分地，从某些方面讲 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
75
accomplished
|
|
| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
76
accomplishment
|
|
| n.完成，成就，（pl.）造诣，技能 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
77
piety
|
|
| n.虔诚，虔敬 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
78
analyze
|
|
| vt.分析，解析 (=analyse) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
79
loyalty
|
|
| n.忠诚，忠心 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
80
discomfort
|
|
| n.不舒服，不安，难过，困难，不方便 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
81
zeal
|
|
| n.热心，热情，热忱 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
82
devoted
|
|
| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
83
enjoyment
|
|
| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
84
divergence
|
|
| n.分歧，岔开 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
85
vitality
|
|
| n.活力，生命力，效力 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
86
longing
|
|
| n.（for）渴望 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
87
faculties
|
|
| n.能力( faculty的名词复数 )；全体教职员；技巧；院 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
88
labors
|
|
| v.努力争取(for)( labor的第三人称单数 )；苦干；详细分析；（指引擎）缓慢而困难地运转 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
89
brotherhood
|
|
| n.兄弟般的关系，手中情谊 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
90
pathos
|
|
| n.哀婉，悲怆 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
91
bide
|
|
| v.忍耐；等候；住 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
92
justifiable
|
|
| adj.有理由的，无可非议的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
93
outlet
|
|
| n.出口/路；销路；批发商店；通风口；发泄 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
94
apparently
|
|
| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
95
utterly
|
|
| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
96
succor
|
|
| n.援助，帮助；v.给予帮助 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
97
persistently
|
|
| ad.坚持地；固执地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
98
inaccessible
|
|
| adj.达不到的，难接近的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
99
feats
|
|
| 功绩，伟业，技艺( feat的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
100
alpine
|
|
| adj.高山的；n.高山植物 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
101
exertion
|
|
| n.尽力，努力 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
102
thoroughly
|
|
| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
103
alleys
|
|
| 胡同，小巷( alley的名词复数 )； 小径 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
104
utilize
|
|
| vt.使用，利用 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
105
countenanced
|
|
| v.支持，赞同，批准( countenance的过去式 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
|
106
opposition
|
|
| n.反对，敌对 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
107
drawn
|
|
| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
108
illustrate
|
|
| v.举例说明，阐明；图解，加插图 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
109
ingratitude
|
|
| n.忘恩负义 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
110
gratitude
|
|
| adj.感激，感谢 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
111
sufficiently
|
|
| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
112
entangled
|
|
| adj.卷入的；陷入的；被缠住的；缠在一起的v.使某人（某物/自己）缠绕，纠缠于（某物中），使某人（自己）陷入（困难或复杂的环境中）( entangle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
113
illuminating
|
|
| a.富于启发性的，有助阐明的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
114
graceful
|
|
| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
115
scrupulously
|
|
| adv.一丝不苟地；小心翼翼地，多顾虑地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
116
distressed
|
|
| 痛苦的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
117
justified
|
|
| a.正当的，有理的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
118
apprehend
|
|
| vt.理解，领悟，逮捕，拘捕，忧虑 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
119
paternal
|
|
| adj.父亲的，像父亲的，父系的，父方的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
120
ancestry
|
|
| n.祖先，家世 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
121
faculty
|
|
| n.才能；学院，系；(学院或系的)全体教学人员 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
122
fidelity
|
|
| n.忠诚，忠实；精确 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
123
buffeted
|
|
| 反复敲打( buffet的过去式和过去分词 )； 连续猛击； 打来打去； 推来搡去 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
124
primitive
|
|
| adj.原始的；简单的；n.原(始)人，原始事物 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
125
censure
|
|
| v./n.责备；非难；责难 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
126
unwilling
|
|
| adj.不情愿的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
127
craved
|
|
| 渴望，热望( crave的过去式 )； 恳求，请求 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
128
kindly
|
|
| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
129
abruptly
|
|
| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
130
salvation
|
|
| n.（尤指基督）救世，超度，拯救，解困 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
131
wrath
|
|
| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
132
archaic
|
|
| adj.(语言、词汇等)古代的，已不通用的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
133
anticipation
|
|
| n.预期，预料，期望 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
134
worthy
|
|
| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
135
modicum
|
|
| n.少量，一小份 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
136
dealing
|
|
| n.经商方法，待人态度 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
137
constraint
|
|
| n.(on)约束，限制；限制(或约束)性的事物 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |