There would be no more pillaging13 and sacking now; the venerable specimen8 of the Renaissance14 style was destroyed. To-day the stranger is just shown the place where the Tuileries stood; then, as the walls crashed down, burying treasures and relics15 of bygone days in their fall, one was appalled16 by the tragedy enacted17 before one's eyes. I had my little personal recollections too. I had danced there more than once with some of the fairest Parisians; I had drunk the future Emperor's champagne19 with a conviction that it was quite the best of its kind, and was evidently intended to make us understand that our host meant business, imperial business, pretty sure to be settled ere long, whether we liked it or not.
Well, one fine old building is gone, I thought, as I turned away from the ruins, but at least the Louvre is saved. That marvel20 of architecture was intact. The principal works of art it contained had been taken to places of supposed safety, and the whereabouts of the Venus of Milo were said to be known only to some few persons, who had dug a hole and therein buried her. Much else had been providentially saved; there were large gaps in the Rue21 de Rivoli, but the unique old Tour St. Jacques had escaped unscathed. At the Palais de Justice the fire had stopped short on the threshold of the exquisite22 Sainte Chapelle, one of the most perfect works of the thirteenth century. I had with some difficulty obtained permission to roam over the ruins of that Palais de Justice and the Préfecture de Police, and whilst the firemen were working to subdue2 the flames wherever they broke out afresh, I used my brush to make a sketch23 of the huge maze24 before me. There were bundles of official papers at my feet; Actes de Naissance and Actes de Décès, charred25 only, and quite easy to decipher, but as I touched them, they crumbled26 to ashes. Some seemingly well-preserved parchments I consigned27 to my pocket, but a few hours later I found little more than dust in their place. The H?tel de Ville, too, which had fallen a prey28 to the flames, had many an association for me. Henri Lehmann, during the time I was studying under him, had been commissioned to decorate the great hall with a series of pictures. I had lent an apprentice's hand, and had seen them grow under his brush, as, in an incredibly short space of time, he produced what was thought to be the best work of his life—work destined29 to hand down his name to posterity30 as one of the most fertile and distinguished31 painters of the second empire. Ingres, too, who in those days was considered the greatest draughtsman since the time of Raphael, had contributed a masterpiece to the decoration of the hall, a plafond, "The Apotheosis32 of Napoleon I." This work I had also seen in progress. On the occasion of a visit to his studio I recollect18 a lady asking him, in effusive33 language, where he had found the models for the ideally classical horses attached to the triumphant34 car of the great conqueror35. Ingres led her straight to the window. "There are my models, madam," he said bluntly, pointing to the cab-stand.
I wandered through Paris day after day, and everywhere the ghastly traces of war, as it really is, confronted me; blood-stained flagstones, broken-down gun-carriages, barricades36 that had been stormed, and homes that had been wrecked37. Everywhere the iron shutters38 of the shops were riddled39 with shot or broken open. One climbed as best one could over a heterogeneous40 mass of impedimenta, collected for attack or defence, or thrown away in precipitate41 flight. Every effort had been made to prevent petroleum43 being poured into the basement of the houses. The gratings in the streets had been boarded over and otherwise secured against those female fiends the Pétroleuses. Some of the wealthiest quarters of Paris were known to be undermined, and it was only in the nick of time that the Versailles troops arrived to prevent the execution of such written orders as, "Faites sauter le quartier de la Bourse."
The fashionable quarters and the suburbs of Paris had suffered terribly from the bombardment. I wandered for days over fragments of every mortal thing that had once been whole, past dismantled44 batteries, along the barren wastes of the Bois de Boulogne, and through avenues of wrecked villas45. Costly46 furniture and works of art had been shattered to atoms by the enemy's bombs. In one place I came across a Louis Quinze sofa and chairs that had evidently been carried out for removal, and stood waiting so placidly47, that they seemed to invite you to sit down and rest; and in one of the gardens there was a cottage piano, which appeared none the worse for its adventures; two coffee-cups stood unharmed upon it, showing that some two persons had taken their demie-tasse by the side of that piano.
The most striking effects of shot and shell showed themselves on the ornamental48 ironwork which had once enclosed those suburban49 villas. It seemed as if they had vented50 their fiercest passions on those beautifully designed gates and railings French art excels in producing. One could not suppress a feeling of pity as one saw them writhing51 in anguish52 and stretching out their weird53 iron arms as if in supplication54. Here they were unhinged and started from their sockets55; there their limbs, once so perfectly56 poised57, were twisted into unsightly shapes, and stood out amongst the wreckage58 in fantastic and uncanny figures.
I had wended my way one afternoon to the revolutionary quarter of Belleville, and had got into conversation with a workman of more than average intelligence. Not feeling at our ease within earshot of the "Mouchards," as the growling59, spying, myrmidons of the police are termed, and not liking60 the looks of the gensdarmes à cheval with their revolvers at half-cock, we had adjourned61 to one of the numerous establishments kept by the Marchand de Vins, Traiteur, which take the place of our public-houses. There my workman became confidential62 and declared himself a Communist to the backbone63. He scorned the idea that the German was his enemy.
"If I'm to fight at all," he said, "let me find an enemy for myself. Let me shoot the richard en face, the capitalist who has been exploiting me and mine. We'll make him and the like of him disgorge his plunder64, and then we'll start a fresh deal. As for the Germans, my dear sir, I dare say there are a lot of jolly good fellows amongst them, and plenty who would take a bumper65, a canon de vin, with us, if they were here now, and drink to the perdition of the bourgeois."
"That is all very well," I answered, "but I'm pretty sure you were just like the rest, and went tearing along the boulevards and shouting 'A Berlin!' And you would have been only too jolly glad to get the Rhine, if you had had a——"
"The Rhine, monsieur!" he interrupted me, "the Rhine! Do you think I know what the blessed thing is; and, supposing we had got it, do you think they'd have given me any of it?"
That was twenty-eight years ago, and since then many a workman has learnt that he does not get his share of the "blessed thing" he has to fight for. I wonder whether he will give up fighting, or whether he will see to it that he gets his share.
It was an impressive sight that met the eye in the Place Vend66?me. There was the famous column lying prostrate67 in huge fragments like so many mill-stones, with the bronze legends commemorating68 the conqueror's march, battered69 and crushed out of all seeming in their fall. Those gigantic vertebr? of the mighty70 pillar made one ponder on the vicissitudes71 of greatness, and on the ups and downs of heroic symbols. One could not help marvelling72 at the audacity73 of the men who had ruptured74 that spinal75 cord of patriotic76 self-glorification.
It was an artist, and a great one too, who planned and directed the destruction of the work of art, Courbet, the most uncompromising of painters and of demagogues. I was living in Paris at the time his first great works were exhibited, and I recollect what a storm of abuse they raised. His "Enterrement à Ornans," a large and striking picture, crudely realistic, depicting77, as it did, mourners at the open grave, with reddened noses and swollen78 eyes, was considered a deliberate insult offered to all idealists, romanticists, and mannerists. His picture, "La Baigneuse," was simply derided79 by the critics; there was no drawing, no modelling. "C'est un sac de noix!" A bag of nuts, not a woman of flesh and blood.
Well, Courbet's work has outlived criticism; history remembers him as a chef d'école.
The only time I recollect meeting him was on the occasion of an international gathering80 of artists in Antwerp in 1861. He was quite a boon81 companion, and had a marked objection to retiring to rest before daylight. He would sing us jolly songs, one of which, "C'est l'amour qui nous mène,"[13] was a favourite of his.
The Commune went to work very systematically82 to bring down the huge column. An incision83 was made at the base in the shape of a notch84; a double pulley was attached to the balustrade at the top, and another fixed85 to the ground in the Rue de la Paix, a rope passing through both to a capstan. When this was set in motion, after some preliminary difficulties had been overcome, the column oscillated for a moment, and then came crashing down in three colossal86 sections on to a bed of sand, fascines, and straw prepared for it, there to break up into a thousand smaller fragments. The statue of the great Emperor had lost its head and one arm.
An act of vandalism, we say. Yes, but of vandalism with a purpose. We can fancy Courbet declaring: "The work of art must be sacrificed as a warning to those who would honour and perpetuate87 the memory of selfish aggressors."
It was History herself he meant to drag from her pedestal—History, ever crowning herself with wreaths of laurel and halos of virtue88. It was Art too he waged war upon, that Art which he deemed had too long served to glorify89 the rule of Force: sometimes in a picture or in a legion of pictures, as at Versailles, exalting90 Imperialism91 and inciting92 us to go forth and emulate93 the deeds and misdeeds of our ancestors; sometimes in a statue of some clever organiser of wholesale94 slaughter95, appropriately cast in the bronze of cannon96 taken from the enemy; or, again, in a barbarous trophy97, a triumphal arch—in fact, in a scalp of some kind, that, from generation to generation, we are taught to gloat over.
This was the wording of the decree which condemned98 the column to destruction:—
"The Commune of Paris
"Considering that the Imperial Column of the Place Vend?me is a monument of barbarism, a symbol of brute99 force, of false glory, an encouragement of military spirit, a denial of international rights, a permanent insult offered by the conquerors100 to the conquered, a perpetual conspiracy101 against one of the great principles of the French Republic, namely fraternity,
"Decrees:—
"Sole article—The Vend?me Column is to be demolished102."
One day—it was a wretched day, the rain pouring in torrents—I went to see the ruins of Saint Cloud. People were discussing the question as to who had really done the work of destruction there—the Germans, the Versaillais, or the Communards. To the poor victims who had come forth from their hiding-places, returning only to find their homes and hearths103 ruined, it could really matter little whether the grim work was done by the six of one or the half-a-dozen of the other.
Wandering along the streets in ruins, I was struck by one piece of high wall left standing104 out against the grey sky to bear witness to the strange caprices of the destructive element; a large red umbrella hung in its place on that wall, and a striped petticoat bedrizzled with rain was being blown about by the wind. The fireplace had kept its every-day appearance, whilst the floor beneath it had gone; on the mantelpiece stood some little household gods, bits of china, a clock, and various nick-nacks one could not distinguish at a distance. Close to me was a touching105 little group of victims. A woman with three girls, their ages ranging from eight to twelve years, stood gazing at that wall which had once been part of their home. They did not give vent42 to their feelings in tears or loud lamentations, as so many around me did; the mother was simply dazed, the children overawed. They had come back to Saint Cloud from I know not where, and were carrying their little belongings106 tied up in cotton handkerchiefs. I think they would scarcely have been able to identify their home, if it had not been for the red umbrella and the striped petticoat.
After a while I spoke107 to the woman and elicited108 with some difficulty that her husband had been killed early in the campaign, one son was maimed for life, and the other had not been heard of for two months. When I gave her a few francs she put them in her pocket mechanically; her thoughts were elsewhere. I passed on to witness more destruction and distress109. When I returned, some half-an-hour later, to where the high wall stood, I found the mother and the three girls just where I had left them, still hopelessly gazing at the household gods that were mocking their misery110 from on high.
It was not till that day that I quite realised what we mean when we speak of blank despair.
The recuperative power of the French people is truly extraordinary, and, from the first day and hour of his deliverance, the Parisian gave striking evidence of it. Endowed as he is with indomitable pluck, infinite resources, and inexhaustible light-heartedness, he could set to work with a will, or dance and fiddle111 with a vengeance112, whilst the ashes of his city were still glowing. It came quite natural to him to repossess himself of that city, and to drop unconcernedly into his old ways of life.
There he was once more, the typical Parisian who must have his daily stroll along the Boulevards; he must sit somewhere where he can sip113 something and see somebody else sipping114 or strolling. He must watch his opportunity of saying something polite to somebody, and, at a given hour, he must call for an absinthe and concentrate his thoughts on the importance of an approaching meal.
And there he was again, the expert diner we all know, devoutly115 pinning his napkin under his chin, and thanking the gods that at last the sacred rites116 of the dinner-table could be duly performed.
One of the characteristics of the Parisian, I always thought, is that exquisite politeness of his. What a lesson to us, who won't even make room for a fellow-creature in a 'bus if we can help it!
In former days I used to say that I could always tell, if I wanted, to what nationality any particular man in the motley crowd of loungers on the Boulevards belonged. I need but tread on his toes, and he would use strong language in his mother-tongue. The German would invoke117 the "holy thunder-weather," the Dutchman would be still more sacrilegious, the Englishman would damn something—probably the eyes I should have made use of; and so on—each would fling his pet wicked word at me. Only the Frenchman would raise his hat and say, "Pardon, monsieur."
Knowing and loving the amiable118 city as I did—I had spent altogether about six years there—I was deeply interested in her fortunes and misfortunes, and now warmly welcomed the first signs of returning prosperity.
The cannon's roar had ceased, people were coming from their cellars or other hiding-places, looking for their friends and congratulating one another on being alive. Crowds of sightseers filled the streets and stood gaping119 at the ruins or commenting on the unique spectacle before them. Barricades were being demolished, and squads120 of men and women were set to work to clear the roads of broken glass, splintered wood, and other accumulations of nondescript rubbish. Shops were being opened, and the Dames121 de Comptoir, as correct and business-like as ever, were getting out their books. Goods and wares122 that had been hidden away, were being brought to light. Shopkeepers were counting up their losses and discounting their prospects123.
Matters political were in abeyance124. Whenever I asked, "What is to come next? What Government would you vote for?" I got the answer: "Cela nous est bien égal, monsieur, pourvu qu'il-y-ait du travail125."[14] One lived in a sort of interregnum, a period of transition from lawlessness to order. War had ceased, but peace had only just begun to strike roots. There was no bragging126, no cheap oratory—nobody seemed to think himself particularly "trahi."[15] There was no show of military rule. Even the sentries127 chatted freely with the bourgeois, and there were no ominous128 cries of "Passez au large," coupled with the significant thrust of the fixed bayonet, as one used to hear in the days of the Coup129 d'état. On the contrary, thousands of soldiers, with their Chassepots slung130 carelessly across their shoulders, were sauntering along the streets, most of them evidently provincials131, amazed at the grandeur132 of the capital they were visiting for the first time.
Cabs were about, and even the heavy three-horse omnibuses were resuming their well-regulated course; but no private carriages were to be seen. In fact, the upper ten as well as the submerged tenth seemed to have disappeared, and the odd million about was made up of the bourgeois, the piou-piou,[16] the badaud de province, and other sightseers.
I scorned conveyances133 of any kind, and tramped along on foot from morning to night, for it was only thus I felt I was my own master. I could pull up, stumble, or climb as circumstances required, or I could turn in, stand, drink, talk, listen, and argue—or, better still, hold my tongue.
In the evening darkness reigned135, except in the neighbourhood of the cafés. There people were congregating136 as usual, seeking the light like so many moths137, and settling like flies on the sugar that was to sweeten their demie-tasse or to be pocketed for home consumption. At eleven o'clock the cafés were closed, and nothing remained to do but to go home in the dark. The moths, by the way, must have had a dull time of it, for the graceful138 lamp-posts had suffered so severely139 that very few of them were fit for service.
The Commune had naturally produced a great quantity of scurrilous141 literature and vile142 caricatures, some quite unmentionable; but they are interesting historically, throwing, as they do, a lurid143 light on the events of those days and the passions they evoked144. I bought whatever I could find of such papers and drawings, as also a few of the more respectable publications, and the collection is a pretty complete one, including, as it does, copies of the Père Duchêne, La Lanterne, Le National, La Vérité, &c., and some sixty caricatures of the Emperor, the Empress, Thiers, Jules Favre, and many other leading men, all furnishing abundant material for recording145 and illustrating146 the politics, hysterics, and erotics of those troublesome times.
Towards the end of my stay I went to Saint Denis. Peace and its blessings147 were really coming, and welcome signs of their approach were not wanting; even little twigs148 of olive branches were being held out where I least expected to see them.
Saint Denis was still in the hands of the Germans, and was not to be evacuated149 till a stipulated150 sum, forming part of the war indemnity151, had been paid. Officers and men quartered there had made themselves very much at home, and some did not seem to be on bad terms with the inhabitants, as in one case, when a bright young fellow on the German side seemed on particularly good terms with an attractive young lady on the French side. He and I had got into conversation; he was evidently pleased to meet a countryman of his (I can be a German occasionally), and was disposed to be friendly and confidential. "Come with me," he said; "I will show you the prettiest girl in Saint Denis." I went to see "the prettiest girl," who, it seemed to me, had been watching for him at the window, and now came down to the door.
He was a non-commissioned officer in I forget which regiment152. When not in uniform he was a lawyer—for aught I know, a rising young Rechtsanwalt, with plenty of clients. I hope so, for the sake of the young lady, who was charming, and was as much smitten153 with him as he was with her. He had taught her a few German words, which she could not pronounce without laughing and showing her pretty teeth; she again had lent him some books from her little library. He spoke French fluently, and was happy to be put through a course of French literature by his fair friend.
Love being thicker than blood, I feel sure they eventually got married; and after so romantic an opening, their story cannot but have proved interesting. Should anybody care to write it, I think the line to be taken should be this: They married, and lived "happy ever after"—as happily as their children would let them. They had four, differing widely in their tastes and convictions. One son enlisted154 in the German army; the other in the French. Both were deeply grieved to have fallen on evil times, when emperors and presidents were ever proclaiming the blessings of peace, and when even the people were beginning to question the desirability of attacking their neighbours.
Of the daughters, one loved the Germans, and was unhappy because she was to marry a Frenchman her parents had selected; the other hated the Germans, and was broken-hearted because she was not to marry the Frenchman she loved.
It must all end happily, however, for it is essential that the moral should be pointed155: Love your neighbour, if only to show you are unshackled by prejudice. Marry him or her, whether he or she is your hereditary156 foe157 or not, and settle down to a life of peace and happiness, that you may inaugurate, by your noble example, the blessed era, when the lion and the lamb shall no longer hesitate to go and do likewise.
But not often was it my good fortune to spend a pleasant hour as at Saint Denis and to imagine little romances built on slight foundations. The tragedy being enacted around me forced itself on my view more than once, when I met batches158 of miserable159 prisoners marched off, some to be judged by court-martial, others already sentenced to be shot. The Parisian looked on without exhibiting much interest in their fate. He had seen so much of bloodshed in every form lately that he had grown callous160. The day of settlement had come, the murder of the hostages must be avenged161, and the canaille must be cleared away, just as the broken glass and the wrecked barricades had to be.
The reign134 of terror continued; it had only changed its name. Now it was called Justice. Shocking specimens of depraved humanity were those ill-fated prisoners, dragged from their haunts to be tried by the military authorities in Versailles.
I saw types such as only come to the surface when conflicting passions of the worst kind stir up the very dregs of society: dishevelled viragos, brutalised men, female fiends, men devils—hy?nas, ready to spring and fasten their claws on you, were they not chained. I heard their howl of despair and their laugh of defiance162, as they were led off to be shot.
And thus, whilst the beautiful city was smoothing her ruffled163 feathers and taking out a new lease of life, the poor wretches164 met their doom165 at the foot of the blood-spattered wall.
Wild beasts if you like—but men and women—our brothers and our sisters—alas! born in squalor, bred in vice140, and tainted166 with hereditary ugliness of body and mind.
Who made them what they are? Let us try to find out, and, if we can, let us stand the guilty ones up against that wall, and clear them away with the other human wreckage. But no! neither you nor I would be left to do the clearing away.
Portrait of Robert Browning
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conflagration
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| n.建筑物或森林大火 | |
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subdue
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| vt.制服，使顺从，征服；抑制，克制 | |
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subdued
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| adj. 屈服的，柔和的，减弱的 动词subdue的过去式和过去分词 | |
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intervals
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| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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tottering
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| adj.蹒跚的，动摇的v.走得或动得不稳( totter的现在分词 )；踉跄；蹒跚；摇摇欲坠 | |
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masonry
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| n.砖土建筑；砖石 | |
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specimen
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| n.样本，标本 | |
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specimens
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| n.样品( specimen的名词复数 )；范例；（化验的）抽样；某种类型的人 | |
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pillaged
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| v.抢劫，掠夺( pillage的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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humiliation
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| n.羞辱 | |
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bourgeois
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| adj./n.追求物质享受的(人)；中产阶级分子 | |
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pillaging
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| v.抢劫，掠夺( pillage的现在分词 ) | |
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renaissance
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| n.复活，复兴，文艺复兴 | |
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relics
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| [pl.］n.遗物，遗迹，遗产；遗体，尸骸 | |
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appalled
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| v.使惊骇，使充满恐惧( appall的过去式和过去分词)adj.惊骇的；丧胆的 | |
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enacted
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recollect
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| v.回忆，想起，记起，忆起，记得 | |
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champagne
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| n.香槟酒；微黄色 | |
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marvel
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rue
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exquisite
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sketch
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maze
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charred
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crumbled
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consigned
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prey
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destined
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posterity
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distinguished
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apotheosis
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| n.神圣之理想；美化；颂扬 | |
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effusive
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| adj.热情洋溢的；感情(过多)流露的 | |
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triumphant
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| adj.胜利的，成功的；狂欢的，喜悦的 | |
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conqueror
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barricades
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wrecked
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shutters
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| 百叶窗( shutter的名词复数 )； （照相机的）快门 | |
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39
riddled
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| adj.布满的；充斥的；泛滥的v.解谜，出谜题(riddle的过去分词形式) | |
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40
heterogeneous
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| adj.庞杂的；异类的 | |
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41
precipitate
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| adj.突如其来的；vt.使突然发生；n.沉淀物 | |
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42
vent
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| n.通风口，排放口；开衩；vt.表达，发泄 | |
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43
petroleum
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| n.原油，石油 | |
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44
dismantled
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| 拆开( dismantle的过去式和过去分词 )； 拆卸； 废除； 取消 | |
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45
villas
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| 别墅，公馆( villa的名词复数 )； （城郊）住宅 | |
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46
costly
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| adj.昂贵的，价值高的，豪华的 | |
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47
placidly
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| adv.平稳地，平静地 | |
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48
ornamental
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| adj.装饰的；作装饰用的；n.装饰品；观赏植物 | |
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49
suburban
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| adj.城郊的，在郊区的 | |
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50
vented
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| 表达，发泄（感情，尤指愤怒）( vent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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51
writhing
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| （因极度痛苦而）扭动或翻滚( writhe的现在分词 ) | |
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52
anguish
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| n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦，烦恼 | |
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53
weird
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| adj.古怪的，离奇的；怪诞的，神秘而可怕的 | |
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54
supplication
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| n.恳求，祈愿，哀求 | |
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55
sockets
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| n.套接字，使应用程序能够读写与收发通讯协定(protocol)与资料的程序( Socket的名词复数 )；孔( socket的名词复数 )；（电器上的）插口；托座；凹穴 | |
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56
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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57
poised
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| a.摆好姿势不动的 | |
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58
wreckage
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| n.（失事飞机等的）残骸，破坏，毁坏 | |
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59
growling
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| n.吠声, 咆哮声 v.怒吠, 咆哮, 吼 | |
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60
liking
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| n.爱好；嗜好；喜欢 | |
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61
adjourned
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| （使）休会， （使）休庭( adjourn的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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62
confidential
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| adj.秘（机）密的，表示信任的，担任机密工作的 | |
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63
backbone
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| n.脊骨，脊柱，骨干；刚毅，骨气 | |
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64
plunder
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| vt.劫掠财物，掠夺；n.劫掠物，赃物；劫掠 | |
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65
bumper
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| n.(汽车上的)保险杠；adj.特大的，丰盛的 | |
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66
vend
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| v.公开表明观点，出售，贩卖 | |
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67
prostrate
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| v.拜倒，平卧，衰竭；adj.拜倒的，平卧的，衰竭的 | |
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68
commemorating
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| v.纪念，庆祝( commemorate的现在分词 ) | |
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69
battered
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| adj.磨损的；v.连续猛击；磨损 | |
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70
mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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71
vicissitudes
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| n.变迁，世事变化；变迁兴衰( vicissitude的名词复数 )；盛衰兴废 | |
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72
marvelling
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| v.惊奇，对…感到惊奇( marvel的现在分词 ) | |
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73
audacity
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| n.大胆，卤莽，无礼 | |
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74
ruptured
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| v.（使）破裂( rupture的过去式和过去分词 )；（使体内组织等）断裂；使（友好关系）破裂；使绝交 | |
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75
spinal
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| adj.针的，尖刺的，尖刺状突起的；adj.脊骨的，脊髓的 | |
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76
patriotic
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| adj.爱国的，有爱国心的 | |
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77
depicting
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| 描绘，描画( depict的现在分词 )； 描述 | |
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78
swollen
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| adj.肿大的，水涨的；v.使变大，肿胀 | |
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79
derided
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| v.取笑，嘲笑( deride的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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80
gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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81
boon
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| n.恩赐，恩物，恩惠 | |
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82
systematically
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| adv.有系统地 | |
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83
incision
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| n．切口，切开 | |
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84
notch
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| n.(V字形)槽口，缺口，等级 | |
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85
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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86
colossal
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|
| adj.异常的，庞大的 | |
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87
perpetuate
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| v.使永存，使永记不忘 | |
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88
virtue
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| n.德行，美德；贞操；优点；功效，效力 | |
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89
glorify
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| vt.颂扬，赞美，使增光，美化 | |
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90
exalting
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| a.令人激动的，令人喜悦的 | |
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91
imperialism
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| n.帝国主义，帝国主义政策 | |
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92
inciting
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| 刺激的，煽动的 | |
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93
emulate
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| v.努力赶上或超越，与…竞争；效仿 | |
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94
wholesale
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| n.批发；adv.以批发方式；vt.批发，成批出售 | |
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95
slaughter
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| n.屠杀，屠宰；vt.屠杀，宰杀 | |
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96
cannon
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| n.大炮，火炮；飞机上的机关炮 | |
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97
trophy
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| n.优胜旗，奖品，奖杯，战胜品，纪念品 | |
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98
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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99
brute
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| n.野兽，兽性 | |
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100
conquerors
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| 征服者，占领者( conqueror的名词复数 ) | |
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101
conspiracy
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| n.阴谋，密谋，共谋 | |
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102
demolished
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| v.摧毁( demolish的过去式和过去分词 )；推翻；拆毁（尤指大建筑物）；吃光 | |
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103
hearths
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| 壁炉前的地板，炉床，壁炉边( hearth的名词复数 ) | |
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104
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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105
touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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106
belongings
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| n.私人物品，私人财物 | |
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107
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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108
elicited
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| 引出，探出( elicit的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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109
distress
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| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
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110
misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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111
fiddle
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| n.小提琴；vi.拉提琴；不停拨弄，乱动 | |
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112
vengeance
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| n.报复，报仇，复仇 | |
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113
sip
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| v.小口地喝，抿，呷；n.一小口的量 | |
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114
sipping
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| v.小口喝，呷，抿( sip的现在分词 ) | |
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115
devoutly
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| adv.虔诚地，虔敬地，衷心地 | |
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116
rites
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| 仪式，典礼( rite的名词复数 ) | |
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117
invoke
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| v.求助于(神、法律)；恳求，乞求 | |
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118
amiable
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| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
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119
gaping
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| adj.口的；张口的；敞口的；多洞穴的v.目瞪口呆地凝视( gape的现在分词 )；张开，张大 | |
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120
squads
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| n.（军队中的）班( squad的名词复数 )；（暗杀）小组；体育运动的运动（代表）队；（对付某类犯罪活动的）警察队伍 | |
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121
dames
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| n.（在英国）夫人（一种封号），夫人（爵士妻子的称号）( dame的名词复数 )；女人 | |
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122
wares
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| n. 货物, 商品 | |
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123
prospects
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| n.希望，前途(恒为复数) | |
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124
abeyance
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| n.搁置，缓办，中止，产权未定 | |
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125
travail
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| n.阵痛；努力 | |
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126
bragging
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| v.自夸，吹嘘( brag的现在分词 )；大话 | |
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127
sentries
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| 哨兵，步兵( sentry的名词复数 ) | |
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128
ominous
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| adj.不祥的，不吉的，预兆的，预示的 | |
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129
coup
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| n.政变；突然而成功的行动 | |
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130
slung
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| 抛( sling的过去式和过去分词 )； 吊挂； 遣送； 押往 | |
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131
provincials
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| n.首都以外的人，地区居民( provincial的名词复数 ) | |
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132
grandeur
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| n.伟大，崇高，宏伟，庄严，豪华 | |
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133
conveyances
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| n.传送( conveyance的名词复数 )；运送；表达；运输工具 | |
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134
reign
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| n.统治时期，统治，支配，盛行；v.占优势 | |
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135
reigned
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| vi.当政，统治（reign的过去式形式） | |
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136
congregating
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| （使）集合，聚集( congregate的现在分词 ) | |
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137
moths
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| n.蛾( moth的名词复数 ) | |
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138
graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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139
severely
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| adv.严格地；严厉地；非常恶劣地 | |
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140
vice
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| n.坏事；恶习；[pl.]台钳，老虎钳；adj.副的 | |
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141
scurrilous
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| adj.下流的，恶意诽谤的 | |
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142
vile
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| adj.卑鄙的，可耻的，邪恶的；坏透的 | |
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143
lurid
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| adj.可怕的；血红的；苍白的 | |
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144
evoked
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| [医]诱发的 | |
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145
recording
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| n.录音，记录 | |
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146
illustrating
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| 给…加插图( illustrate的现在分词 )； 说明； 表明； （用示例、图画等）说明 | |
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147
blessings
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| n.（上帝的）祝福( blessing的名词复数 )；好事；福分；因祸得福 | |
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148
twigs
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| 细枝，嫩枝( twig的名词复数 ) | |
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149
evacuated
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| 撤退者的 | |
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150
stipulated
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| vt.& vi.规定；约定adj.[法]合同规定的 | |
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151
indemnity
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| n.赔偿，赔款，补偿金 | |
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152
regiment
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| n.团，多数，管理；v.组织，编成团，统制 | |
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153
smitten
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| 猛打，重击，打击( smite的过去分词 ) | |
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154
enlisted
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| adj.应募入伍的v.（使）入伍， （使）参军( enlist的过去式和过去分词 )；获得（帮助或支持） | |
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155
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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156
hereditary
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| adj.遗传的，遗传性的，可继承的，世袭的 | |
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157
foe
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| n.敌人，仇敌 | |
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158
batches
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| 一批( batch的名词复数 )； 一炉； （食物、药物等的）一批生产的量； 成批作业 | |
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159
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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160
callous
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| adj.无情的，冷淡的，硬结的，起老茧的 | |
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161
avenged
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| v.为…复仇，报…之仇( avenge的过去式和过去分词 )；为…报复 | |
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162
defiance
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| n.挑战，挑衅，蔑视，违抗 | |
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163
ruffled
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| adj. 有褶饰边的, 起皱的 动词ruffle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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164
wretches
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| n.不幸的人( wretch的名词复数 )；可怜的人；恶棍；坏蛋 | |
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165
doom
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| n.厄运，劫数；v.注定，命定 | |
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166
tainted
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| adj.腐坏的；污染的；沾污的；感染的v.使变质( taint的过去式和过去分词 )；使污染；败坏；被污染，腐坏，败坏 | |
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