The strangest feature of this whole curious business is that Frederic should ever have taken this gravely important step, not only without his wife’s knowledge, but against all her interests. Her influence over him was of such commanding completeness, and his devotion to her so dominated his whole career and character, that the thing can only be explained by laying stress upon his admitted tendency to melancholia and assuming that his shaken nerves collapsed5 under the emotional strain of meeting his father and son with sympathetic tears in their eyes.
With the moment when the wife first learned of this abdication6 the active drama begins. She did not for an instant dream of suffering the arrangement to be carried out—at least until every conceivable form of resistance had been exhausted7. We can fancy this proud, energetic princess casting about anxiously here, there, everywhere, for means with which to fight the grimly-powerful combination against her husband’s future and her own, and can well believe that in the darkest hour of the struggle which ensued this true daughter of the Fighting Guelphs never lost heart.
For friends it was hopeless to look anywhere in Germany. She had lived in Berlin and Potsdam for nearly thirty years, devoting her large talents and wide sympathies to the encouragement of literature, science, and the arts, to the inculcation of softening8 and merciful thoughts embodied9 in new hospitals, asylums10, and charitable institutions, and the formation of orders of nurses; most earnestly of all, to the task of lifting the women of Germany up in the domestic and social scale, and making of them something higher than mere11 mothers of families and household drudges12. Nobody thanked her for her pains, least of all the women she had striven to befriend. Her undoubted want of tact13 and reserve in commenting upon the foibles of her adopted countrymen kept her an alien in the German mind, in spite of everything she did to foster a kindlier attitude. The feelings of the country at large were passively hostile to her. The influential14 classes hated her vehemently15.
That she should link together in her mind this widespread and assiduously-cultivated enmity to her, and this new and alarming conspiracy16 to keep her husband from the throne, was most natural. She leaped to the conclusion that it was all a plot, planned by her ancient and implacable foe17, Bismarck. That her own son was in it made the thing more acutely painful, but only increased her determination to fight.
Instinctively18 she turned to her English home for help. Although nearly two centuries have passed since George I entered upon his English inheritance, and more than half a century has gone by since the last signs of British dominion19 were removed from Hanover, the dynastic family politics of Windsor and Balmoral remain almost exclusively German. In all the confused and embittered20 squabbles which have kept the royal and princely houses of Germany by the ears since the close of the Napoleonic wars, the interference of the British Guelph has been steadily21 pitted against the influence of the Prussian Hohenzollern. Hardly one of the changes which, taken altogether, have whittled22 the reigning24 families of Germany from thirty down to a shadowy score since 1820, has been made without the active meddling25 of English royalty26 on one side or the other—most generally on the losing side. Hence, while it was natural that the Crown Princess should remember in her time of sore trial that she was also Princess Royal in England, it was equally to be expected that Germany should prepare itself to resent this fresh case of British intermeddling.
The scheme of battle which the Crown Princess, in counsel with her insular27 relatives, decided28 upon was at once ingenious and bold. It could not, unfortunately, be gainsaid29 that her husband, Frederic, had formally pledged himself to relinquish30 the crown if he proved to be afflicted31 with a mortal disease. Very well; the war must be waged upon that “if”.
A good many momentous33 letters had crossed the North Sea, heavily sealed and borne by trusted messengers, before the system of defence was disclosed by the first overt34 movement. On the 20th of May, 1887, Dr. Morell Mackenzie, the best known of London specialists in throat diseases, arrived in Berlin, and was immediately introduced to a conference of German physicians, heretofore in charge of the case, as a colleague who was to take henceforth the leading part. They told him that to the best of their belief they had to deal with a cancer, but were awaiting his diagnosis36. On the following day, and a fortnight later, he performed operations upon the illustrious patient’s throat to serve as the basis for a microscopical37 examination. With his forceps he drew out bits of flesh, which were sent to Prof. Virchow for scientific scrutiny38. Upon examining these Prof. Virchow reported he discovered nothing to “excite the suspicion of wider and graver disease,” * thus giving the most powerful support imaginable to Dr. Mackenzie’s diagnosis of “a benign39 growth.”
* Mackenzie’s “Frederic the Noble,” p. 34.
The German physicians allege40 that Dr. Mackenzie drew out pieces of the comparatively healthful right vocal41 cord. The London specialist denies this. Nothing could be further from the purpose of this work than to take sides upon any phase of the unhappy and undignified controversy42 which ensued. It is enough here to note the charge, as indicating the view which Prof. Gerhardt and his German colleagues took from the first of Mackenzie’s mission in Berlin.
This double declaration against the theory of cancer having been obtained, the next step was to secure the removal of Frederic. The celebration of the Queen’s jubilee43 afforded a most valuable occasion. He came to England on June 14th—and he never again stepped foot in Berlin until he returned as Kaiser the following year. Nearly three months were spent at Norwood, and in Scotland and the Isle44 of Wight. A brief stop in the Austrian Tyrol followed, and then the Crown Prince settled in his winter home at San Remo. On the day of his arrival there Mackenzie was telegraphed for, as very dangerous symptoms had presented themselves. He reached San Remo on November 5, 1887, and discovered so grave a situation that Prince William was immediately summoned from Berlin.
That the young Prince had been placed in a most trying position by the quarrel which now raged about his father’s sick-room, need not be pointed45 out. The physicians who stood highest in Berlin, and who were backed by the liking46 and confidence of William’s friends, were deeply indignant at having been superseded47 by two Englishmen like Mackenzie and Hovell. This national prejudice became easily confounded with partisan48 antagonisms49. The Germans are not celebrated50 for calm, or for skill in conducting controversies51 with delicacy52, and in this instance the worst side of everybody concerned was exhibited.
One recalls now with astonishment53 the boundless54 rancour and recklessness of accusation55 which characterized that bitter wrangle56. Many good people of one party seriously believed that the German physicians wanted to gain access to Frederic in order to kill him. On the other hand, a great number insisted that Mackenzie was deceiving the public, and had subjected Frederic to the most terrible maimings and tortures in order to conceal57 from Germany the fact of the cancer. The basest motives58 were ascribed by either side to the other. The Court circle asked what they were doing, then, to the Crown Prince that they hid him away in Italy; the answering insinuation was that very good reasons existed for not allowing him to fall into the hands of the Berlin doctors, who were so openly devoted59 to his heir.
In a state of public mind where hints of assassination60 grow familiar to the ear, the mere charge of a lack of filial affection sounds very tame indeed.
That William deserved during this painful period the reproaches heaped upon him by the whole English-speaking world is by no means clear. Such fault as may be with fairness imputed61 to him, seems to have grown quite naturally out of the circumstances. He was on the side of the German physicians as against Mackenzie; but after all that has happened that can scarcely be regarded as a crime. He could not but range himself with those who resented the tone Dr. Mackenzie and his friends assumed toward what they called “the Court circles of Berlin.”
When he reached San Remo in November, it was to note the death mark clearly stamped on his father’s face; yet he heard the English entourage still talking about the possibility of the disease not being cancer. The German doctors had grievous stories to tell him about how they had been crowded out and put under the heel of the foreigner. Whether he would or not, he was made a party to the whole wretched wrangle which henceforth vexed62 the atmosphere of the Villa63 Zirio.
The outside world was subjecting this villa and its inhabitants to the most tirelessly inquisitive64 scrutiny. Newspaper correspondents engirdled San Remo with a cordon65 of espionage66, through which filtered the gossip of servants and the stray babbling67 of tradespeople. Dr. Mackenzie—now become Sir Morell—confided his views of the case to journalists who desired them. The German physicians furtively68 promulgated69 stories of quite a different hue70, through the medium of the German press. Thus it came about that, while Germany as a whole disliked deeply the manner in which Frederic’s case was managed, the English-speaking peoples espoused71 the opposite view and condemned72 as cruel and unnatural73 the position occupied by the Germans, with young William at their head.
As the winter of 1887-8 went forward, it became apparent that the Kaiser’s prolonged life had run its span. The question which would die first, old William or middle-aged32 Frederic, hung in a fluttering balance. Germany watched the uncertain development of this dual75 tragedy with bated breath, and all Christendom bent76 its attention upon Germany and her two dying Hohenzollerns.
March came, with its black skies and drifting snow wreaths and bitter winds blown a thousand miles across the Sclavonic sand plains, and laid the aged Kaiser upon his deathbed. Prince William, having alternated through the winter between Berlin and San Remo, was at the last in attendance upon his grandfather. The dying old man spoke77 to him as if he were the immediate35 heir. Upon him all the injunctions of state and family policy which the departing monarch78 wished to utter were directly laid. The story of those conferences will doubtless never be revealed in its entirety. But it is known that, if any notion had up to that time existed of keeping Frederic from the throne, it was now abandoned. William was counselled to loving patience and submission79 during the little reign23 which his father at best could have. Bismarck was pledged to remain in office upon any and all terms short of peremptory80 dismissal through this same brief period.
It was to William, too, that that last exhortation81 to be “considerate” with Russia was muttered by the dying man—that strange domestic legacy82 of the Hohenzollerns which hints at the murder of Charles XII, recalls the partition of Poland, the despair of Jena, and the triumph of Waterloo, and has yet in store we know not what still stranger things.
William I died on March 9, 1888. On the morning of the following day Frederic and his wife and daughters left San Remo in a special train and arrived at Berlin on the night of the 11th, having made the swiftest long journey known in the records of continental83 railways. The new Kaiser’s proclamation—“To my People”—bears the date of March 12th, but it was really not issued until the next day.
During that period of delay, the Schloss at Charlottenburg, which had been hastily fitted up for the reception of the invalid84, was the scene of protracted85 conferences between Frederic, his son William, and Bismarck. Hints are not lacking that these interviews had their stormy and unpleasant side, for Frederic had up to this time fairly maintained his general health, and could to a limited extent make use of his voice. But all that is visible to us of this is the fact that some sort of understanding was arrived at, by which Bismarck could remain in office and accept responsibility for the acts of the reign.
The story of those melancholy87 ninety-nine days need not detain us long. Young William himself, though standing86 now in the strong light of public scrutiny, on the steps of the throne, remained silent, and for the most part motionless. The world gossiped busily about his heartless conduct toward his mother, his callous88 behaviour in the presence of his father’s terrible affliction, his sympathy with those who most fiercely abused the good Sir Morell Mackenzie. As there had been tales of his unfilial actions at San Remo, so now there were stories of his shameless haste to snatch the reins89 of power from his father’s hands. So late as August, 1889, an anonymous90 writer alleged91 in “The New Review” that “the watchers by the sick bed in Charlottenburg were always in dread92 when ‘Willie’ visited his father lest he might brusquely demand the establishment of a Regency.”
Next to no proof of these assertions can be discovered in Berlin. If there was talk of a Regency—as well there might be among those who knew of the existence of Frederic’s offer to abdicate—it did not in any way come before the public. I know of no one qualified93 to speak who says that it ever came before even Frederic.
That a feeling of bitterness existed between William and his parents is not to be denied. All the events of the past year had contributed to intensify94 this feeling and to put them wider and wider apart. Even if the young man had been able to divest95 himself of the last emotion of self-sensitiveness, there would still have remained the dislike for the whole England-Mackenzie-San Remo episode which rankled96 in every conservative German mind. But neither the blood nor the training of princes helps them to put thoughts of self aside—and in William’s case a long chain of circumstances bound him to a position which, though we may find it extremely unpleasant to the eye, seemed to him a simple matter of duty and of justice to himself and to Prussia.
The world gladly preserves and cherishes an idealized picture of the knightly97 Kaiser Frederic, facing certain death with intrepid98 calm, and labouring devotedly99 to turn what fleeting100 days might be left him to the advantage of liberalism in Germany. It is a beautiful and elevating picture, and we are all of us the richer for its possession.
But, in truth, Frederic practically accomplished101 but one reform during his reign, and that came in the very last week of his life and was bought at a heavy price. To the end he gave a surprisingly regular attention to the tasks of a ruler. Both at Charlottenburg and, later, at Potsdam, he forced himself, dying though he was, to daily devote two hours or more to audiences with ministers and officials, and an even greater space of time in his library to signing State papers and writing up his diary. But this labour was almost wholly upon routine matters.
Two incidents of the brief reign are remembered—the frustrated102 attempt to marry one of the Prussian Princesses to a Battenberg and the successful expulsion of Puttkamer from the Prussian Ministry103 of the Interior.
The Battenberg episode attracted much the greater share of public attention at the time, not only from the element of romance inherent in the subject, but because it seemed to be an obvious continuation of the Anglo-German feud104 which had been flashing its lightnings about Frederic’s devoted head for a twelvemonth. Of the four Battenberg Princes—cousins of the Grand Duke of Hesse by a morganatic marriage, and hence, according to Prussian notions, not “born” at all—one had married a daughter, another a granddaughter of the Queen of England. This seemed to the German aristocracy a most remarkable105 thing, and excited a good deal of class feeling, but was not important so long as these upstart protégés of English eccentricity106 kept out of reach of German snubs.
A third Battenberg, Alexander, had made for himself a considerable name as Prince of Bulgaria: in fact, had done so well that the Germans felt like liking him in spite of his brothers. The way in which he had completely thrashed the Servians, moreover, reflected credit upon the training he had had in the German Army. In his sensational107 quarrel with the Czar, too, German opinion leaned to his side, and altogether there was a kindly108 feeling toward him. Perhaps if there had been no antecedent quarrel about English interference, even his matrimonial adoption109 into the Hohenzollern family might have been tolerated with good grace.
As it was, the announcement at the end of March that he was to be betrothed110 to the Princess Victoria, the second daughter of Frederic, provoked on the instant a furious uproar111. The Junker class all over Germany protested indignantly. The “reptile” press promptly112 raised the cry that this was more of the alien work of the English Empress, who had been prompted by her English mother to put this fresh affront113 upon all true Germans. Prince Bismarck himself hastened to Berlin and sternly insisted upon the abandonment of the obnoxious114 idea. There was a fierce struggle before a result was reached, with hot feminine words and tears of rage on one side, with square-jawed, gruff-voiced obstinacy115 and much plain talk on the other. At last Bismarck overbore opposition116 and had his way. Prince William manifested almost effusive117 gratitude118 to the Chancellor for having dispelled119 this nightmare of a Battenberg brother-in-law.
The solicitude120 about this project seems to have been largely maternal121. Sir Morell Mackenzie says of the popular excitement over the subject: “I cannot say that it produced much effect on the Emperor.” As for the Princess Victoria, she has now for some time been the wife of Prince Adolph of Schaumburg-Lippe.
Although it did not attract a tithe122 of the attention given the Battenberg marriage sensation, the dismissal of Puttkamer was really an important act, the effects of which were lasting123 in Germany. This official had been Minister of the Interior since 1881—a thoroughgoing Bismarckian administrator124, whose use of the great machinery125 of his office to coerce126 voters, intimidate127 opposition, and generally grease the wheels of despotic government, had become the terror and despair of Prussian Liberalism; To have thrown him out of office it was worth while to reign only ninety-nine days.
Ostensibly his retirement128 was a condition imposed by Frederic before he would sign the Reichstag’s bill lengthening129 the Parliamentary term to five years. The Radicals130 had hoped he would veto it, and the overthrow131 of Puttkamer was offered as a solace132 to these wounded hopes. But in reality Puttkamer had been doomed133 from the outset of the new reign. He was conspicuous134 among those who spoke with contempt of Frederic, and in his ministerial announcement of the old Kaiser’s death to the public, insolently135 neglected to say a word about his successor. Questioned about this later, he had the impertinence to say that he could not find out what title the new Kaiser would choose to assume.
Puttkamer’s resignation was gazetted on June 11th, and that very evening Prince Bismarck gave a great dinner, at which the fallen Minister was the guest of honour. In one sense the insult was wasted, for out at Potsdam the invalid at whom it was levelled could no longer eat, and was obviously close to death. Indirectly136, however, the affront made a mark upon the world’s memory. We shall hear of Puttkamer again.
On the 1st day of June Frederic had been conveyed by boat to Potsdam, where he wished to spend his remaining weeks in the most familiar of his former homes, the New Palace, the name of which he changed to Friedrichskron. He was already a dying man. Two clever observers, who were on the little pier137 at Gleinicke, described to me the appearance of the Emperor when he was carried up out of the cabin to land. Said one: “He was crouched138 down, wretched, scared, and pallid139, like a man going to execution.” The other added: “Say rather like an enfeebled maniac140 in charge of his keepers.”
Yet, broken and crushed as he was, he was Kaiser to the last. The announcement of Putt-kamer’s downfall came on June 11th. Frederic died on June 15th.
It was in the late forenoon of that rainy, gray summer day that the black and white royal standard above the palace fell—signifying that the eighth King of Prussia was no more. A moment later orderlies were running hither and thither141 outside; the troops within the palace park hastily threw themselves into line, and detachments were at once marched to each of the gates to draw a cordon between Friedrichskron and all the world besides.
In an inner room in the great palace the elder son of the dead Kaiser, all at once become William II, German Emperor, King in Prussia, eighteen times a Duke, twice a Grand Duke, ten times a Count, fifteen times a Seigneur, and three times a Margrave—this young man, with fifty-four titles thus suddenly plumped down upon him, * seated himself to write proclamations to his Army and his Navy.
* With the possible exception of the Emperor of Austria,
William is the most betitled man in Europe. Beside being
German Emperor and King of Prussia, he is Margrave of
Brandenburg, and the two Lausitzes; Grand Duke of Lower
Rhineland and Posen; Duke of Silesia, Glatz, Saxony,
Westphalia, Engern, Pomerania, Luneburg, Holstein-Schleswig,
Magdeburg, Bremen, Geldern, Cleve, Juliers and Berg,
Crossen, Lauenburg, Mecklenburg, of the Wends and of the
Cassubes; Landgrave of Hesse and Thuringia; Prince of
Orange; Count-Prince of Henneburg; Count of the Mark, of
Ravensberg, of Hohenstein, of Lingen and Tecklenburg, of
Mansfeld, Sigmaringen, Veringen, and of Hohenzollern;
Burgrave of Nuremberg; Seigneur of Frankfurt, Rügen, East
Friesland, Paderborn, Pyrmont, Halber-stadt, Münster,
Minden, Osnabrück, Hildesheim, Verden, Kammin, Fulda, Nassau
and Moers.
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1
despondent
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| adj.失望的，沮丧的，泄气的 | |
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renounce
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| v.放弃；拒绝承认，宣布与…断绝关系 | |
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ascertaining
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| v.弄清，确定，查明( ascertain的现在分词 ) | |
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chancellor
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| n.(英)大臣；法官；(德、奥)总理；大学校长 | |
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collapsed
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| adj.倒塌的 | |
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abdication
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| n.辞职；退位 | |
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exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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softening
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| 变软，软化 | |
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embodied
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| v.表现( embody的过去式和过去分词 )；象征；包括；包含 | |
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asylums
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| n.避难所( asylum的名词复数 )；庇护；政治避难；精神病院 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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drudges
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| n.做苦工的人，劳碌的人( drudge的名词复数 ) | |
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tact
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| n.机敏，圆滑，得体 | |
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influential
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| adj.有影响的，有权势的 | |
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vehemently
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| adv. 热烈地 | |
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conspiracy
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| n.阴谋，密谋，共谋 | |
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foe
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| n.敌人，仇敌 | |
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instinctively
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| adv.本能地 | |
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dominion
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| n.统治，管辖，支配权；领土，版图 | |
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embittered
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| v.使怨恨，激怒( embitter的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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whittled
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| v.切，削（木头），使逐渐变小( whittle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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reign
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| n.统治时期，统治，支配，盛行；v.占优势 | |
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reigning
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| adj.统治的，起支配作用的 | |
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meddling
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| v.干涉，干预（他人事务）( meddle的现在分词 ) | |
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royalty
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insular
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| adj.岛屿的，心胸狭窄的 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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gainsaid
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| v.否认，反驳( gainsay的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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relinquish
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| v.放弃，撤回，让与，放手 | |
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afflicted
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| 使受痛苦，折磨( afflict的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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aged
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| adj.年老的，陈年的 | |
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momentous
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| adj.重要的，重大的 | |
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overt
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| adj.公开的，明显的，公然的 | |
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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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diagnosis
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| n.诊断，诊断结果，调查分析，判断 | |
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microscopical
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scrutiny
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| n.详细检查，仔细观察 | |
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benign
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| adj.善良的，慈祥的；良性的，无危险的 | |
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allege
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| vt.宣称，申述，主张，断言 | |
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vocal
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| adj.直言不讳的；嗓音的；n.[pl.]声乐节目 | |
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controversy
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| n.争论，辩论，争吵 | |
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jubilee
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| n.周年纪念；欢乐 | |
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isle
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| n.小岛，岛 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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liking
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| n.爱好；嗜好；喜欢 | |
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superseded
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| [医]被代替的，废弃的 | |
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partisan
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| adj.党派性的；游击队的；n.游击队员；党徒 | |
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antagonisms
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| 对抗，敌对( antagonism的名词复数 ) | |
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celebrated
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| adj.有名的，声誉卓著的 | |
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controversies
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| 争论 | |
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delicacy
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| n.精致，细微，微妙，精良；美味，佳肴 | |
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astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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54
boundless
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| adj.无限的；无边无际的；巨大的 | |
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55
accusation
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| n.控告，指责，谴责 | |
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56
wrangle
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| vi.争吵 | |
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57
conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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58
motives
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| n.动机，目的( motive的名词复数 ) | |
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59
devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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60
assassination
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| n.暗杀；暗杀事件 | |
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61
imputed
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| v.把（错误等）归咎于( impute的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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62
vexed
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| adj.争论不休的；（指问题等）棘手的；争论不休的问题；烦恼的v.使烦恼( vex的过去式和过去分词 )；使苦恼；使生气；详细讨论 | |
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63
villa
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| n.别墅，城郊小屋 | |
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64
inquisitive
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| adj.求知欲强的，好奇的，好寻根究底的 | |
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65
cordon
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| n.警戒线，哨兵线 | |
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66
espionage
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| n.间谍行为，谍报活动 | |
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67
babbling
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| n.胡说，婴儿发出的咿哑声adj.胡说的v.喋喋不休( babble的现在分词 )；作潺潺声（如流水）；含糊不清地说话；泄漏秘密 | |
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68
furtively
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| adv. 偷偷地, 暗中地 | |
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69
promulgated
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| v.宣扬（某事物）( promulgate的过去式和过去分词 )；传播；公布；颁布（法令、新法律等） | |
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70
hue
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| n.色度；色调；样子 | |
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71
espoused
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| v.（决定）支持，拥护（目标、主张等）( espouse的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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72
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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73
unnatural
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| adj.不自然的；反常的 | |
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74
middle-aged
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| adj.中年的 | |
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75
dual
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| adj.双的；二重的，二元的 | |
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76
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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77
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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78
monarch
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| n.帝王，君主，最高统治者 | |
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79
submission
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| n.服从，投降；温顺，谦虚；提出 | |
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80
peremptory
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| adj.紧急的，专横的，断然的 | |
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81
exhortation
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| n.劝告，规劝 | |
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82
legacy
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| n.遗产，遗赠；先人(或过去)留下的东西 | |
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83
continental
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| adj.大陆的，大陆性的，欧洲大陆的 | |
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84
invalid
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| n.病人，伤残人；adj.有病的，伤残的；无效的 | |
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85
protracted
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| adj.拖延的；延长的v.拖延“protract”的过去式和过去分词 | |
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86
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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87
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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88
callous
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| adj.无情的，冷淡的，硬结的，起老茧的 | |
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89
reins
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| 感情，激情； 缰( rein的名词复数 )； 控制手段； 掌管； （成人带着幼儿走路以防其走失时用的）保护带 | |
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90
anonymous
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| adj.无名的；匿名的；无特色的 | |
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91
alleged
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| a.被指控的，嫌疑的 | |
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92
dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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93
qualified
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| adj.合格的，有资格的，胜任的，有限制的 | |
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94
intensify
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| vt.加强；变强；加剧 | |
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95
divest
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| v.脱去，剥除 | |
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96
rankled
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| v.（使）痛苦不已，（使）怨恨不已( rankle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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97
knightly
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| adj. 骑士般的 adv. 骑士般地 | |
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98
intrepid
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| adj.无畏的，刚毅的 | |
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99
devotedly
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| 专心地； 恩爱地； 忠实地； 一心一意地 | |
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100
fleeting
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| adj.短暂的，飞逝的 | |
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101
accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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102
frustrated
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| adj.挫败的，失意的，泄气的v.使不成功( frustrate的过去式和过去分词 )；挫败；使受挫折；令人沮丧 | |
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103
ministry
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| n.(政府的)部；牧师 | |
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104
feud
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| n.长期不和；世仇；v.长期争斗；世代结仇 | |
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105
remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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106
eccentricity
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| n.古怪，反常，怪癖 | |
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107
sensational
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| adj.使人感动的，非常好的，轰动的，耸人听闻的 | |
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108
kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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109
adoption
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| n.采用，采纳，通过；收养 | |
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110
betrothed
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| n. 已订婚者 动词betroth的过去式和过去分词 | |
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111
uproar
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| n.骚动，喧嚣，鼎沸 | |
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112
promptly
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| adv.及时地，敏捷地 | |
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113
affront
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| n./v.侮辱，触怒 | |
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114
obnoxious
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| adj.极恼人的，讨人厌的，可憎的 | |
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115
obstinacy
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| n.顽固；（病痛等）难治 | |
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116
opposition
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| n.反对，敌对 | |
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117
effusive
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| adj.热情洋溢的；感情(过多)流露的 | |
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118
gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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119
dispelled
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| v.驱散，赶跑( dispel的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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120
solicitude
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| n.焦虑 | |
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121
maternal
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| adj.母亲的，母亲般的，母系的，母方的 | |
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122
tithe
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| n.十分之一税；v.课什一税，缴什一税 | |
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123
lasting
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| adj.永久的，永恒的；vbl.持续，维持 | |
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124
administrator
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| n.经营管理者，行政官员 | |
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125
machinery
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| n.(总称)机械，机器；机构 | |
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126
coerce
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| v.强迫，压制 | |
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127
intimidate
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| vt.恐吓，威胁 | |
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128
retirement
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| n.退休，退职 | |
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129
lengthening
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| （时间或空间）延长，伸长( lengthen的现在分词 )； 加长 | |
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130
radicals
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| n.激进分子( radical的名词复数 )；根基；基本原理；[数学]根数 | |
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131
overthrow
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| v.推翻，打倒，颠覆；n.推翻，瓦解，颠覆 | |
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132
solace
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| n.安慰；v.使快乐；vt.安慰(物)，缓和 | |
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133
doomed
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| 命定的 | |
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134
conspicuous
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| adj.明眼的，惹人注目的；炫耀的，摆阔气的 | |
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135
insolently
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| adv.自豪地，自傲地 | |
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136
indirectly
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| adv.间接地，不直接了当地 | |
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137
pier
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| n.码头；桥墩，桥柱；[建]窗间壁，支柱 | |
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138
crouched
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| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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139
pallid
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| adj.苍白的，呆板的 | |
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140
maniac
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| n.精神癫狂的人；疯子 | |
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141
thither
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| adv.向那里；adj.在那边的，对岸的 | |
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