I told Thackeray once that it was not only his best work, but so much the best, that there was none second to it. "That was what I intended," he said, "but I have failed. Nobody reads it. After all, what does it matter?" he went on after awhile. "If they like anything, one ought to be satisfied. After all, Esmond was a prig." Then he laughed and changed the subject, not caring to dwell on thoughts painful to him. The elbow-grease of thinking was always distasteful to him, and had no doubt been so when he conceived and carried out this work.
To the ordinary labour necessary for such a novel he added very much by his resolution to write it in a style different, not only from that which he had made his own, but from that also which belonged to the time. He had devoted20 himself to the reading of the literature of Queen Anne's reign21, and having chosen to throw his story into that period, and to create in it personages who were to be peculiarly concerned with the period, he resolved to use as the vehicle for his story the forms of expression then prevalent. No one who has not tried it can understand [Pg 125]how great is the difficulty of mastering a phase of one's own language other than that which habit has made familiar. To write in another language, if the language be sufficiently22 known, is a much less arduous23 undertaking24. The lad who attempts to write his essay in Ciceronian Latin struggles to achieve a style which is not indeed common to him, but is more common than any other he has become acquainted with in that tongue. But Thackeray in his work had always to remember his Swift, his Steele, and his Addison, and to forget at the same time the modes of expression which the day had adopted. Whether he asked advice on the subject, I do not know. But I feel sure that if he did he must have been counselled against it. Let my reader think what advice he would give to any writer on such a subject. Probably he asked no advice, and would have taken none. No doubt he found himself, at first imperceptibly, gliding25 into a phraseology which had attractions for his ear, and then probably was so charmed with the peculiarly masculine forms of sentences which thus became familiar to him, that he thought it would be almost as difficult to drop them altogether as altogether to assume the use of them. And if he could do so successfully, how great would be the assistance given to the local colouring which is needed for a novel in prose, the scene of which is thrown far back from the writer's period! Were I to write a poem about C?ur de Lion I should not mar26 my poem by using the simple language of the day; but if I write a prose story of the time, I cannot altogether avoid some attempt at far-away quaintnesses in language. To call a purse a "gypsire," and to begin your little speeches with "Marry come up," or to finish them with "Quotha," are but poor attempts. But even they have had their effect. Scott did the best he could with his [Pg 126]C?ur de Lion. When we look to it we find that it was but little; though in his hands it passed for much. "By my troth," said the knight27, "thou hast sung well and heartily28, and in high praise of thine order." We doubt whether he achieved any similarity to the language of the time; but still, even in the little which he attempted there was something of the picturesque29. But how much more would be done if in very truth the whole language of a story could be thrown with correctness into the form of expression used at the time depicted30?
It was this that Thackeray tried in his Esmond, and he has done it almost without a flaw. The time in question is near enough to us, and the literature sufficiently familiar to enable us to judge. Whether folk swore by their troth in the days of king Richard I. we do not know, but when we read Swift's letters, and Addison's papers, or Defoe's novels we do catch the veritable sounds of Queen Anne's age, and can say for ourselves whether Thackeray has caught them correctly or not. No reader can doubt that he has done so. Nor is the reader ever struck with the affectation of an assumed dialect. The words come as though they had been written naturally,—though not natural to the middle of the nineteenth century. It was a tour de force; and successful as such a tour de force so seldom is. But though Thackeray was successful in adopting the tone he wished to assume, he never quite succeeded, as far as my ear can judge, in altogether dropping it again.
And yet it has to be remembered that though Esmond deals with the times of Queen Anne, and "copies the language" of the time, as Thackeray himself says in the dedication31, the story is not supposed to have been written till the reign of George II. Esmond in his [Pg 127]narrative32 speaks of Fielding and Hogarth, who did their best work under George II. The idea is that Henry Esmond, the hero, went out to Virginia after the events told, and there wrote the memoir18 in the form of an autobiography33. The estate of Castlewood in Virginia had been given to the Esmond family by Charles II., and this Esmond, our hero, finding that expatriation would best suit both his domestic happiness and his political difficulties,—as the reader of the book will understand might be the case,—settles himself in the colony, and there writes the history of his early life. He retains the manners, and with the manners the language of his youth. He lives among his own people, a country gentleman with a broad domain34, mixing but little with the world beyond, and remains35 an English gentleman of the time of Queen Anne. The story is continued in The Virginians, the name given to a record of two lads who were grandsons of Harry36 Esmond, whose names are Warrington. Before The Virginians appeared we had already become acquainted with a scion37 of that family, the friend of Arthur Pendennis, a younger son of Sir Miles Warrington, of Suffolk. Henry Esmond's daughter had in a previous generation married a younger son of the then baronet. This is mentioned now to show the way in which Thackeray's mind worked afterwards upon the details and characters which he had originated in Esmond.
It is not my purpose to tell the story here, but rather to explain the way in which it is written, to show how it differs from other stories, and thus to explain its effect. Harry Esmond, who tells the story, is of course the hero. There are two heroines who equally command our sympathy,—Lady Castlewood the wife of Harry's kinsman38, [Pg 128]and her daughter Beatrix. Thackeray himself declared the man to be a prig, and he was not altogether wrong. Beatrix, with whom throughout the whole book he is in love, knew him well. "Shall I be frank with you, Harry," she says, when she is engaged to another suitor, "and say that if you had not been down on your knees and so humble39, you might have fared better with me? A woman of my spirit, cousin, is to be won by gallantry, and not by sighs and rueful faces. All the time you are worshipping and singing hymns41 to me, I know very well I am no goddess." And again: "As for you, you want a woman to bring your slippers42 and cap, and to sit at your feet and cry, O caro, caro! O bravo! whilst you read your Shakespeares and Miltons and stuff." He was a prig, and the girl he loved knew him, and being quite of another way of thinking herself, would have nothing to say to him in the way of love. But without something of the aptitudes43 of a prig the character which the author intended could not have been drawn44. There was to be courage,—military courage,—and that propensity45 to fighting which the tone of the age demanded in a finished gentleman. Esmond therefore is ready enough to use his sword. But at the same time he has to live as becomes one whose name is in some degree under a cloud; for though he be not in truth an illegitimate offshoot of the noble family which is his, and though he knows that he is not so, still he has to live as though he were. He becomes a soldier, and it was just then that our army was accustomed "to swear horribly in Flanders." But Esmond likes his books, and cannot swear or drink like other soldiers. Nevertheless he has a sort of liking46 for fast ways in others, knowing that such are the ways of a gallant40 cavalier. There is a [Pg 129]melancholy47 over his life which makes him always, to himself and to others, much older than his years. He is well aware that, being as he is, it is impossible that Beatrix should love him. Now and then there is a dash of lightness about him, as though he had taught himself in his philosophy that even sorrow may be borne with a smile,—as though there was something in him of the Stoic's doctrine48, which made him feel that even disappointed love should not be seen to wound too deep. But still when he smiles, even when he indulges in some little pleasantry, there is that garb49 of melancholy over him which always makes a man a prig. But he is a gentleman from the crown of his head to the sole of his foot. Thackeray had let the whole power of his intellect apply itself to a conception of the character of a gentleman. This man is brave, polished, gifted with that old-fashioned courtesy which ladies used to love, true as steel, loyal as faith himself, with a power of self-abnegation which astonishes the criticising reader when he finds such a virtue8 carried to such an extent without seeming to be unnatural50. To draw the picture of a man and say that he is gifted with all the virtues is easy enough,—easy enough to describe him as performing all the virtues. The difficulty is to put your man on his legs, and make him move about, carrying his virtues with a natural gait, so that the reader shall feel that he is becoming acquainted with flesh and blood, not with a wooden figure. The virtues are all there with Henry Esmond, and the flesh and blood also, so that the reader believes in them. But still there is left a flavour of the character which Thackeray himself tasted when he called his hero a prig.
The two heroines, Lady Castlewood and Beatrix, are mother and daughter, of whom the former is in love with [Pg 130]Esmond, and the latter is loved by him. Fault has been found with the story, because of the unnatural rivalry,—because it has been felt that a mother's solicitude51 for her daughter should admit of no such juxtaposition52. But the criticism has come, I think, from those who have failed to understand, not from those who have understood, the tale;—not because they have read it, but because they have not read it, and have only looked at it or heard of it. Lady Castlewood is perhaps ten years older than the boy Esmond, whom she first finds in her husband's house, and takes as a protégé; and from the moment in which she finds that he is in love with her own daughter, she does her best to bring about a marriage between them. Her husband is alive, and though he is a drunken brute,—after the manner of lords of that time,—she is thoroughly53 loyal to him. The little touches, of which the woman is herself altogether unconscious, that gradually turn a love for the boy into a love for the man, are told so delicately, that it is only at last that the reader perceives what has in truth happened to the woman. She is angry with him, grateful to him, careful over him, gradually conscious of all his worth, and of all that he does to her and hers, till at last her heart is unable to resist. But then she is a widow;—and Beatrix has declared that her ambition will not allow her to marry so humble a swain, and Esmond has become,—as he says of himself when he calls himself "an old gentleman,"—"the guardian54 of all the family," "fit to be the grandfather of you all."
The character of Lady Castlewood has required more delicacy55 in its manipulation than perhaps any other which Thackeray has drawn. There is a mixture in it of self-negation and of jealousy56, of gratefulness of heart and of the weary thoughtfulness of age, of occasional sprightliness57 [Pg 131]with deep melancholy, of injustice58 with a thorough appreciation59 of the good around her, of personal weakness,—as shown always in her intercourse60 with her children, and of personal strength,—as displayed when she vindicates61 the position of her kinsman Henry to the Duke of Hamilton, who is about to marry Beatrix;—a mixture which has required a master's hand to trace. These contradictions are essentially62 feminine. Perhaps it must be confessed that in the unreasonableness63 of the woman, the author has intended to bear more harshly on the sex than it deserves. But a true woman will forgive him, because of the truth of Lady Castlewood's heart. Her husband had been killed in a duel64, and there were circumstances which had induced her at the moment to quarrel with Harry and to be unjust to him. He had been ill, and had gone away to the wars, and then she had learned the truth, and had been wretched enough. But when he comes back, and she sees him, by chance at first, as the anthem65 is being sung in the cathedral choir66, as she is saying her prayers, her heart flows over with tenderness to him. "I knew you would come back," she said; "and to-day, Harry, in the anthem when they sang it,—'When the Lord turned the captivity67 of Zion we were like them that dream,'—I thought, yes, like them that dream,—them that dream. And then it went on, 'They that sow in tears shall reap in joy, and he that goeth forth68 and weepeth, shall doubtless come home again with rejoicing, bringing his sheaves with him.' I looked up from the book and saw you. I was not surprised when I saw you. I knew you would come, my dear, and saw the gold sunshine round your head." And so it goes on, running into expressions of heartmelting tenderness. And yet she herself does not know that her own heart [Pg 132]is seeking his with all a woman's love. She is still willing that he should possess Beatrix. "I would call you my son," she says, "sooner than the greatest prince in Europe." But she warns him of the nature of her own girl. "'Tis for my poor Beatrix I tremble, whose headstrong will affrights me, whose jealous temper, and whose vanity no prayers of mine can cure." It is but very gradually that Esmond becomes aware of the truth. Indeed, he has not become altogether aware of it till the tale closes. The reader does not see that transfer of affection from the daughter to the mother which would fail to reach his sympathy. In the last page of the last chapter it is told that it is so,—that Esmond marries Lady Castlewood,—but it is not told till all the incidents of the story have been completed.
But of the three characters I have named, Beatrix is the one that has most strongly exercised the writer's powers, and will most interest the reader. As far as outward person is concerned she is very lovely,—so charming, that every man that comes near to her submits himself to her attractions and caprices. It is but rarely that a novelist can succeed in impressing his reader with a sense of female loveliness. The attempt is made so frequently,—comes so much as a matter of course in every novel that is written, and fails so much as a matter of course, that the reader does not feel the failure. There are things which we do not expect to have done for us in literature because they are done so seldom. Novelists are apt to describe the rural scenes among which their characters play their parts, but seldom leave any impression of the places described. Even in poetry how often does this occur? The words used are pretty, well chosen, perhaps musical to the ear, and in that way befitting; but unless [Pg 133]the spot has violent characteristics of its own, such as Burley's cave or the waterfall of Lodore, no striking portrait is left. Nor are we disappointed as we read, because we have not been taught to expect it to be otherwise. So it is with those word-painted portraits of women, which are so frequently given and so seldom convey any impression. Who has an idea of the outside look of Sophia Western, or Edith Bellenden, or even of Imogen, though Iachimo, who described her, was so good at words? A series of pictures,—illustrations,—as we have with Dickens' novels, and with Thackeray's, may leave an impression of a figure,—though even then not often of feminine beauty. But in this work Thackeray has succeeded in imbuing69 us with a sense of the outside loveliness of Beatrix by the mere force of words. We are not only told it, but we feel that she was such a one as a man cannot fail to covet70, even when his judgment71 goes against his choice.
Here the judgment goes altogether against the choice. The girl grows up before us from her early youth till her twenty-fifth or twenty-sixth year, and becomes,—such as her mother described her,—one whose headlong will, whose jealousy, and whose vanity nothing could restrain. She has none of those soft foibles, half allied72 to virtues, by which weak women fall away into misery73 or perhaps distraction74. She does not want to love or to be loved. She does not care to be fondled. She has no longing75 for caresses76. She wants to be admired,—and to make use of the admiration77 she shall achieve for the material purposes of her life. She wishes to rise in the world; and her beauty is the sword with which she must open her oyster78. As to her heart, it is a thing of which she becomes aware, only to assure herself that it must be laid aside and put [Pg 134]out of the question. Now and again Esmond touches it. She just feels that she has a heart to be touched. But she never has a doubt as to her conduct in that respect. She will not allow her dreams of ambition to be disturbed by such folly79 as love.
In all that there might be something, if not good and great, nevertheless grand, if her ambition, though worldly, had in it a touch of nobility. But this poor creature is made with her bleared blind eyes to fall into the very lowest depths of feminine ignobility80. One lover comes after another. Harry Esmond is, of course, the lover with whom the reader interests himself. At last there comes a duke,—fifty years old, indeed, but with semi-royal appanages. As his wife she will become a duchess, with many diamonds, and be her Excellency. The man is stern, cold, and jealous; but she does not doubt for a moment. She is to be Duchess of Hamilton, and towers already in pride of place above her mother, and her kinsman lover, and all her belongings81. The story here, with its little incidents of birth, and blood, and ignoble82 pride, and gratified ambition, with a dash of true feminine nobility on the part of the girl's mother, is such as to leave one with the impression that it has hardly been beaten in English prose fiction. Then, in the last moment, the duke is killed in a duel, and the news is brought to the girl by Esmond. She turns upon him and rebukes83 him harshly. Then she moves away, and feels in a moment that there is nothing left for her in this world, and that she can only throw herself upon devotion for consolation84. "I am best in my own room and by myself," she said. Her eyes were quite dry, nor did Esmond ever see them otherwise, save once, in respect of that grief. She gave him a cold hand as she went out. "Thank you, brother," she said in a [Pg 135]low voice, and with a simplicity85 more touching86 than tears, "all that you have said is true and kind, and I will go away and will ask pardon."
But the consolation coming from devotion did not go far with such a one as her. We cannot rest on religion merely by saying that we will do so. Very speedily there comes consolation in another form. Queen Anne is on her deathbed, and a young Stuart prince appears upon the scene, of whom some loyal hearts dream that they can make a king. He is such as Stuarts were, and only walks across the novelist's canvas to show his folly and heartlessness. But there is a moment in which Beatrix thinks that she may rise in the world to the proud place of a royal mistress. That is her last ambition! That is her pride! That is to be her glory! The bleared eyes can see no clearer than that. But the mock prince passes away, and nothing but the disgrace of the wish remains.
Such is the story of Esmond, leaving with it, as does all Thackeray's work, a melancholy conviction of the vanity of all things human. Vanitas vanitatum, as he wrote on the pages of the French lady's album, and again in one of the earlier numbers of The Cornhill Magazine. With much that is picturesque, much that is droll87, much that is valuable as being a correct picture of the period selected, the gist88 of the book is melancholy throughout. It ends with the promise of happiness to come, but that is contained merely in a concluding paragraph. The one woman, during the course of the story, becomes a widow, with a living love in which she has no hope, with children for whom her fears are almost stronger than her affection, who never can rally herself to happiness for a moment. The other, with all her beauty and all her brilliance89, becomes what we have described,—and marries [Pg 136]at last her brother's tutor, who becomes a bishop90 by means of her intrigues91. Esmond, the hero, who is compounded of all good gifts, after a childhood and youth tinged92 throughout with melancholy, vanishes from us, with the promise that he is to be rewarded by the hand of the mother of the girl he has loved.
And yet there is not a page in the book over which a thoughtful reader cannot pause with delight. The nature in it is true nature. Given a story thus sad, and persons thus situated93, and it is thus that the details would follow each other, and thus that the people would conduct themselves. It was the tone of Thackeray's mind to turn away from the prospect94 of things joyful95, and to see,—or believe that he saw,—in all human affairs, the seed of something base, of something which would be antagonistic96 to true contentment. All his snobs97, and all his fools, and all his knaves98, come from the same conviction. Is it not the doctrine on which our religion is founded,—though the sadness of it there is alleviated99 by the doubtful promise of a heaven?
Though thrice a thousand years are passed Since David's son, the sad and splendid, The weary king ecclesiast Upon his awful tablets penned it.
So it was that Thackeray preached his sermon. But melancholy though it be, the lesson taught in Esmond is salutary from beginning to end. The sermon truly preached is that glory can only come from that which is truly glorious, and that the results of meanness end always in the mean. No girl will be taught to wish to shine like Beatrix, nor will any youth be made to think that to gain the love of such a one it can be worth his while to expend100 his energy or his heart.
[Pg 137]
Esmond was published in 1852. It was not till 1858, some time after he had returned from his lecturing tours, that he published the sequel called The Virginians. It was first brought out in twenty-four monthly numbers, and ran through the years 1858 and 1859, Messrs. Bradbury and Evans having been the publishers. It takes up by no means the story of Esmond, and hardly the characters. The twin lads, who are called the Virginians, and whose name is Warrington, are grandsons of Esmond and his wife Lady Castlewood. Their one daughter, born at the estate in Virginia, had married a Warrington, and the Virginians are the issue of that marriage. In the story, one is sent to England, there to make his way; and the other is for awhile supposed to have been killed by the Indians. How he was not killed, but after awhile comes again forward in the world of fiction, will be found in the story, which it is not our purpose to set forth here. The most interesting part of the narrative is that which tells us of the later fortunes of Madame Beatrix,—the Baroness101 Bernstein,—the lady who had in her youth been Beatrix Esmond, who had then condescended102 to become Mrs. Tasker, the tutor's wife, whence she rose to be the "lady" of a bishop, and, after the bishop had been put to rest under a load of marble, had become the baroness,—a rich old woman, courted by all her relatives because of her wealth.
In The Virginians, as a work of art, is discovered, more strongly than had shown itself yet in any of his works, that propensity to wandering which came to Thackeray because of his idleness. It is, I think, to be found in every book he ever wrote,—except Esmond; but is here more conspicuous103 than it had been in his earlier years. Though he can settle himself down to his pen and ink,—not always even to that without a struggle, but [Pg 138]to that with sufficient burst of energy to produce a large average amount of work,—he cannot settle himself down to the task of contriving104 a story. There have been those,—and they have not been bad judges of literature,—who have told me that they have best liked these vague narratives105. The mind of the man has been clearly exhibited in them. In them he has spoken out his thoughts, and given the world to know his convictions, as well as could have been done in the carrying out any well-conducted plot. And though the narratives be vague, the characters are alive. In The Virginians, the two young men and their mother, and the other ladies with whom they have to deal, and especially their aunt, the Baroness Bernstein, are all alive. For desultory106 reading, for that picking up of a volume now and again which requires permission to forget the plot of a novel, this novel is admirably adapted. There is not a page of it vacant or dull. But he who takes it up to read as a whole, will find that it is the work of a desultory writer, to whom it is not infrequently difficult to remember the incidents of his own narrative. "How good it is, even as it is!—but if he would have done his best for us, what might he not have done!" This, I think, is what we feel when we read The Virginians. The author's mind has in one way been active enough,—and powerful, as it always is; but he has been unable to fix it to an intended purpose, and has gone on from day to day furthering the difficulty he has intended to master, till the book, under the stress of circumstances,—demands for copy and the like,—has been completed before the difficulty has even in truth been encountered.
点击
收听单词发音
收听单词发音 |
1
abstain
|
|
| v.自制，戒绝，弃权，避免 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
niche
|
|
| n.壁龛；合适的职务(环境、位置等) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
justify
|
|
| vt.证明…正当(或有理)，为…辩护 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
attained
|
|
| （通常经过努力）实现( attain的过去式和过去分词 )； 达到； 获得； 达到（某年龄、水平、状况） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
excellence
|
|
| n.优秀，杰出，(pl.)优点，美德 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
wont
|
|
| adj.习惯于；v.习惯；n.习惯 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
virtues
|
|
| 美德( virtue的名词复数 )； 德行； 优点； 长处 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
virtue
|
|
| n.德行，美德；贞操；优点；功效，效力 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
vices
|
|
| 缺陷( vice的名词复数 )； 恶习； 不道德行为； 台钳 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
absurdity
|
|
| n.荒谬，愚蠢；谬论 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
tellers
|
|
| n.（银行）出纳员( teller的名词复数 )；（投票时的）计票员；讲故事等的人；讲述者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
cosily
|
|
| adv.舒适地，惬意地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
mere
|
|
| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
hatred
|
|
| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
consecutive
|
|
| adj.连续的，联贯的，始终一贯的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
rascal
|
|
| n.流氓；不诚实的人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
strings
|
|
| n.弦 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
memoir
|
|
| n.[pl.]回忆录，自传；记事录 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
memoirs
|
|
| n.回忆录；回忆录传( mem,自oir的名词复数) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
devoted
|
|
| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
reign
|
|
| n.统治时期，统治，支配，盛行；v.占优势 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
sufficiently
|
|
| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
arduous
|
|
| adj.艰苦的，费力的，陡峭的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
undertaking
|
|
| n.保证，许诺，事业 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
gliding
|
|
| v. 滑翔 adj. 滑动的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
mar
|
|
| vt.破坏，毁坏，弄糟 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
knight
|
|
| n.骑士，武士；爵士 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
heartily
|
|
| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
picturesque
|
|
| adj.美丽如画的，（语言）生动的，绘声绘色的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
depicted
|
|
| 描绘，描画( depict的过去式和过去分词 )； 描述 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
dedication
|
|
| n.奉献，献身，致力，题献，献辞 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
narrative
|
|
| n.叙述，故事；adj.叙事的，故事体的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
autobiography
|
|
| n.自传 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
domain
|
|
| n.(活动等)领域，范围；领地，势力范围 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
remains
|
|
| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
harry
|
|
| vt.掠夺，蹂躏，使苦恼 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
scion
|
|
| n.嫩芽，子孙 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
kinsman
|
|
| n.男亲属 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
humble
|
|
| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
gallant
|
|
| adj.英勇的，豪侠的；(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
hymns
|
|
| n.赞美诗，圣歌，颂歌( hymn的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
slippers
|
|
| n. 拖鞋 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
aptitudes
|
|
| （学习方面的）才能，资质，天资( aptitude的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
drawn
|
|
| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
propensity
|
|
| n.倾向；习性 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
liking
|
|
| n.爱好；嗜好；喜欢 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
melancholy
|
|
| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
doctrine
|
|
| n.教义；主义；学说 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
garb
|
|
| n.服装，装束 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
unnatural
|
|
| adj.不自然的；反常的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
51
solicitude
|
|
| n.焦虑 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
52
juxtaposition
|
|
| n.毗邻，并置，并列 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
53
thoroughly
|
|
| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
54
guardian
|
|
| n.监护人；守卫者，保护者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
55
delicacy
|
|
| n.精致，细微，微妙，精良；美味，佳肴 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
56
jealousy
|
|
| n.妒忌，嫉妒，猜忌 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
57
sprightliness
|
|
| n.愉快，快活 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
58
injustice
|
|
| n.非正义，不公正，不公平，侵犯（别人的）权利 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
59
appreciation
|
|
| n.评价；欣赏；感谢；领会，理解；价格上涨 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
60
intercourse
|
|
| n.性交；交流，交往，交际 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
61
vindicates
|
|
| n.澄清（某人/某事物）受到的责难或嫌疑( vindicate的名词复数 )；表明或证明（所争辩的事物）属实、正当、有效等；维护v.澄清（某人/某事物）受到的责难或嫌疑( vindicate的第三人称单数 )；表明或证明（所争辩的事物）属实、正当、有效等；维护 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
62
essentially
|
|
| adv.本质上，实质上，基本上 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
63
unreasonableness
|
|
| 无理性； 横逆 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
64
duel
|
|
| n./v.决斗；(双方的)斗争 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
65
anthem
|
|
| n.圣歌，赞美诗，颂歌 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
66
choir
|
|
| n.唱诗班，唱诗班的席位，合唱团，舞蹈团；v.合唱 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
67
captivity
|
|
| n.囚禁；被俘；束缚 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
68
forth
|
|
| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
69
imbuing
|
|
| v.使（某人/某事）充满或激起（感情等）( imbue的现在分词 )；使充满；灌输；激发（强烈感情或品质等） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
|
70
covet
|
|
| vt.垂涎；贪图(尤指属于他人的东西) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
71
judgment
|
|
| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
72
allied
|
|
| adj.协约国的；同盟国的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
73
misery
|
|
| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
74
distraction
|
|
| n.精神涣散，精神不集中，消遣，娱乐 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
75
longing
|
|
| n.（for）渴望 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
76
caresses
|
|
| 爱抚，抚摸( caress的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
77
admiration
|
|
| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
78
oyster
|
|
| n.牡蛎；沉默寡言的人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
79
folly
|
|
| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
80
ignobility
|
|
| 无能，无力； 无才能； 无能为力 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
81
belongings
|
|
| n.私人物品，私人财物 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
82
ignoble
|
|
| adj.不光彩的，卑鄙的；可耻的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
83
rebukes
|
|
| 责难或指责( rebuke的第三人称单数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
84
consolation
|
|
| n.安慰，慰问 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
85
simplicity
|
|
| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
86
touching
|
|
| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
87
droll
|
|
| adj.古怪的，好笑的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
88
gist
|
|
| n.要旨；梗概 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
89
brilliance
|
|
| n.光辉，辉煌，壮丽，（卓越的）才华，才智 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
90
bishop
|
|
| n.主教，（国际象棋）象 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
91
intrigues
|
|
| n.密谋策划( intrigue的名词复数 )；神秘气氛；引人入胜的复杂情节v.搞阴谋诡计( intrigue的第三人称单数 )；激起…的好奇心 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
92
tinged
|
|
| v.（使）发丁丁声( ting的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
93
situated
|
|
| adj.坐落在...的，处于某种境地的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
94
prospect
|
|
| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
95
joyful
|
|
| adj.欢乐的，令人欢欣的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
96
antagonistic
|
|
| adj.敌对的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
97
snobs
|
|
| （谄上傲下的）势利小人( snob的名词复数 )； 自高自大者，自命不凡者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
98
knaves
|
|
| n.恶棍，无赖( knave的名词复数 )；（纸牌中的）杰克 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
99
alleviated
|
|
| 减轻，缓解，缓和( alleviate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
100
expend
|
|
| vt.花费，消费，消耗 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
101
baroness
|
|
| n.男爵夫人，女男爵 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
102
condescended
|
|
| 屈尊，俯就( condescend的过去式和过去分词 )； 故意表示和蔼可亲 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
103
conspicuous
|
|
| adj.明眼的，惹人注目的；炫耀的，摆阔气的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
104
contriving
|
|
| （不顾困难地）促成某事( contrive的现在分词 )； 巧妙地策划，精巧地制造（如机器）； 设法做到 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
105
narratives
|
|
| 记叙文( narrative的名词复数 )； 故事； 叙述； 叙述部分 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
106
desultory
|
|
| adj.散漫的，无方法的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |