Those on The English Humorists were given first. The second set was on The Four Georges. In the volume now before us The Georges are printed first, and the whole is produced simply as a part of Thackeray's literary work. Looked at, however, in that light the merit of the [Pg 155]two sets of biographical essays is very different. In the one we have all the anecdotes8 which could be brought together respecting four of our kings,—who as men were not peculiar, though their reigns9 were, and will always be, famous, because the country during the period was increasing greatly in prosperity and was ever strengthening the hold it had upon its liberties. In the other set the lecturer was a man of letters dealing11 with men of letters, and himself a prince among humorists is dealing with the humorists of his own country and language. One could not imagine a better subject for such discourses12 from Thackeray's mouth than the latter. The former was not, I think, so good.
In discussing the lives of kings the biographer may trust to personal details or to historical facts. He may take the man, and say what good or evil may be said of him as a man;—or he may take the period, and tell his readers what happened to the country while this or the other king was on the throne. In the case with which we are dealing, the lecturer had not time enough or room enough for real history. His object was to let his audience know of what nature were the men; and we are bound to say that the pictures have not on the whole been flattering. It was almost necessary that with such a subject such should be the result. A story of family virtues13, with princes and princesses well brought up, with happy family relations, all couleur de rose,—as it would of course become us to write if we were dealing with the life of a living sovereign,—would not be interesting. No one on going to hear Thackeray lecture on the Georges expected that. There must be some piquancy15 given, or the lecture would be dull;—and the eulogy16 of personal virtues can seldom be piquant17. It is difficult to [Pg 156]speak fittingly of a sovereign, either living or not, long since gone. You can hardly praise such a one without flattery. You can hardly censure18 him without injustice19. We are either ignorant of his personal doings or we know them as secrets, which have been divulged20 for the most part either falsely or treacherously21,—often both falsely and treacherously. It is better, perhaps, that we should not deal with the personalities22 of princes.
I believe that Thackeray fancied that he had spoken well of George III., and am sure that it was his intention to do so. But the impression he leaves is poor. "He is said not to have cared for Shakespeare or tragedy much; farces23 and pantomimes were his joy;—and especially when clown swallowed a carrot or a string of sausages, he would laugh so outrageously25 that the lovely princess by his side would have to say, 'My gracious monarch26, do compose yourself.' 'George, be a king!' were the words which she,"—his mother,—"was ever croaking27 in the ears of her son; and a king the simple, stubborn, affectionate, bigoted28 man tried to be." "He did his best; he worked according to his lights; what virtues he knew he tried to practise; what knowledge he could master he strove to acquire." If the lectures were to be popular, it was absolutely necessary that they should be written in this strain. A lecture simply laudatory29 on the life of St. Paul would not draw even the bench of bishops30 to listen to it; but were a flaw found in the apostle's life, the whole Church of England would be bound to know all about it. I am quite sure that Thackeray believed every word that he said in the lectures, and that he intended to put in the good and the bad, honestly, as they might come to his hand. We may be quite sure that he did not intend to flatter the royal family;—equally sure that he would not [Pg 157]calumniate. There were, however, so many difficulties to be encountered that I cannot but think that the subject was ill-chosen. In making them so amusing as he did and so little offensive great ingenuity32 was shown.
I will now go back to the first series, in which the lecturer treated of Swift, Congreve, Addison, Steele, Prior, Gay, Pope, Hogarth, Smollett, Fielding, Sterne, and Goldsmith. All these Thackeray has put in their proper order, placing the men from the date of their birth, except Prior, who was in truth the eldest33 of the lot, but whom it was necessary to depose34, in order that the great Swift might stand first on the list, and Smollett, who was not born till fourteen years after Fielding, eight years after Sterne, and who has been moved up, I presume, simply from caprice. From the birth of the first to the death of the last, was a period of nearly a hundred years. They were never absolutely all alive together; but it was nearly so, Addison and Prior having died before Smollett was born. Whether we should accept as humorists the full catalogue, may be a question; though we shall hardly wish to eliminate any one from such a dozen of names. Pope we should hardly define as a humorist, were we to be seeking for a definition specially24 fit for him, though we shall certainly not deny the gift of humour to the author of The Rape35 of the Lock, or to the translator of any portion of The Odyssey36. Nor should we have included Fielding or Smollett, in spite of Parson Adams and Tabitha Bramble, unless anxious to fill a good company. That Hogarth was specially a humorist no one will deny; but in speaking of humorists we should have presumed, unless otherwise notified, that humorists in letters only had been intended. As Thackeray explains clearly what he means by a humorist, I may as well here repeat the passage: [Pg 158]"If humour only meant laughter, you would scarcely feel more interest about humorous writers than about the private life of poor Harlequin just mentioned, who possesses in common with these the power of making you laugh. But the men regarding whose lives and stories your kind presence here shows that you have curiosity and sympathy, appeal to a great number of our other faculties37, besides our mere sense of ridicule38. The humorous writer professes39 to awaken40 and direct your love, your pity, your kindness,—your scorn for untruth, pretension41, imposture,—your tenderness for the weak, the poor, the oppressed, the unhappy. To the best of his means and ability he comments on all the ordinary actions and passions of life almost. He takes upon himself to be the week-day preacher, so to speak. Accordingly, as he finds, and speaks, and feels the truth best, we regard him, esteem42 him,—sometimes love him. And as his business is to mark other people's lives and peculiarities43, we moralise upon his life when he is gone,—and yesterday's preacher becomes the text for to-day's sermon."
Having thus explained his purpose, Thackeray begins his task, and puts Swift in his front rank as a humorist. The picture given of this great man has very manifestly the look of truth, and if true, is terrible indeed. We do, in fact, know it to be true,—even though it be admitted that there is still room left for a book to be written on the life of the fearful dean. Here was a man endued44 with an intellect pellucid45 as well as brilliant; who could not only conceive but see also,—with some fine instincts too; whom fortune did not flout46; whom circumstances fairly served; but who, from first to last, was miserable47 himself, who made others miserable, and who deserved misery48. Our business, during the page or two which we can give to the [Pg 159]subject, is not with Swift but with Thackeray's picture of Swift. It is painted with colours terribly strong and with shadows fearfully deep. "Would you like to have lived with him?" Thackeray asks. Then he says how pleasant it would have been to have passed some time with Fielding, Johnson, or Goldsmith. "I should like to have been Shakespeare's shoeblack," he says. "But Swift! If you had been his inferior in parts,—and that, with a great respect for all persons present, I fear is only very likely,—his equal in mere social station, he would have bullied49, scorned, and insulted you. If, undeterred by his great reputation, you had met him like a man, he would have quailed50 before you and not had the pluck to reply,—and gone home, and years after written a foul51 epigram upon you." There is a picture! "If you had been a lord with a blue riband, who flattered his vanity, or could help his ambition, he would have been the most delightful52 company in the world.... How he would have torn your enemies to pieces for you, and made fun of the Opposition53! His servility was so boisterous54 that it looked like independence." He was a man whose mind was never fixed55 on high things, but was striving always after something which, little as it might be, and successful as he was, should always be out of his reach. It had been his misfortune to become a clergyman, because the way to church preferment seemed to be the readiest. He became, as we all know, a dean,—but never a bishop31, and was therefore wretched. Thackeray describes him as a clerical highwayman, seizing on all he could get. But "the great prize has not yet come. The coach with the mitre and crozier in it, which he intends to have for his share, has been delayed on the way from St. James's; and he waits and waits till nightfall, when his runners come and tell him that the [Pg 160]coach has taken a different way and escaped him. So he fires his pistol into the air with a curse, and rides away into his own country;"—or, in other words, takes a poor deanery in Ireland.
Thackeray explains very correctly, as I think, the nature of the weapons which the man used,—namely, the words and style with which he wrote. "That Swift was born at No. 7, Hoey's Court, Dublin, on November 30, 1667, is a certain fact, of which nobody will deny the sister-island the honour and glory; but it seems to me he was no more an Irishman than a man born of English parents at Calcutta is a Hindoo. Goldsmith was an Irishman and always an Irishman; Steele was an Irishman and always an Irishman; Swift's heart was English and in England, his habits English, his logic57 eminently58 English; his statement is elaborately simple; he shuns59 tropes and metaphors60, and uses his ideas and words with a wise thrift61 and economy, as he used his money;—with which he could be generous and splendid upon great occasions, but which he husbanded when there was no need to spend it. He never indulges in needless extravagance of rhetoric62, lavish63 epithets64, profuse65 imagery. He lays his opinions before you with a grave simplicity66 and a perfect neatness." This is quite true of him, and the result is that though you may deny him sincerity67, simplicity, humanity, or good taste, you can hardly find fault with his language.
Swift was a clergyman, and this is what Thackeray says of him in regard to his sacred profession. "I know of few things more conclusive68 as to the sincerity of Swift's religion, than his advice to poor John Gay to turn clergyman, and look out for a seat on the Bench! Gay, the author of The Beggar's Opera; Gay, the [Pg 161]wildest of the wits about town! It was this man that Jonathan Swift advised to take orders, to mount in a cassock and bands,—just as he advised him to husband his shillings, and put his thousand pounds out to interest."
It was not that he was without religion,—or without, rather, his religious beliefs and doubts, "for Swift," says Thackeray, "was a reverent69, was a pious70 spirit. For Swift could love and could pray." Left to himself and to the natural thoughts of his mind, without those "orders" to which he had bound himself as a necessary part of his trade, he could have turned to his God with questionings which need not then have been heartbreaking. "It is my belief," says Thackeray, "that he suffered frightfully from the consciousness of his own scepticism, and that he had bent71 his pride so far down as to put his apostasy72 out to hire." I doubt whether any of Swift's works are very much read now, but perhaps Gulliver's travels are oftener in the hands of modern readers than any other. Of all the satires73 in our language it is probably the most cynical74, the most absolutely illnatured, and therefore the falsest. Let those who care to form an opinion of Swift's mind from the best known of his works, turn to Thackeray's account of Gulliver. I can imagine no greater proof of misery than to have been able to write such a book as that.
It is thus that the lecturer concludes his lecture about Swift. "He shrank away from all affections sooner or later. Stella and Vanessa both died near him, and away from him. He had not heart enough to see them die. He broke from his fastest friend, Sheridan. He slunk away from his fondest admirer, Pope. His laugh jars on one's ear after seven-score years. He was always alone,—alone [Pg 162]and gnashing in the darkness, except when Stella's sweet smile came and shone on him. When that went, silence and utter night closed over him. An immense genius, an awful downfall and ruin! So great a man he seems to me, that thinking of him is like thinking of an empire falling. We have other great names to mention,—none I think, however, so great or so gloomy." And so we pass on from Swift, feeling that though the man was certainly a humorist, we have had as yet but little to do with humour.
Congreve is the next who, however truly he may have been a humorist, is described here rather as a man of fashion. A man of fashion he certainly was, but is best known in our literature as a comedian,—worshipping that comic Muse75 to whom Thackeray hesitates to introduce his audience, because she is not only merry but shameless also. Congreve's muse was about as bad as any muse that ever misbehaved herself,—and I think, as little amusing. "Reading in these plays now," says Thackeray, "is like shutting your ears and looking at people dancing. What does it mean?—the measures, the grimaces76, the bowing, shuffling77, and retreating, the cavaliers seuls advancing upon their ladies, then ladies and men twirling round at the end in a mad galop, after which everybody bows and the quaint78 rite14 is celebrated79?" It is always so with Congreve's plays, and Etherege's and Wycherley's. The world we meet there is not our world, and as we read the plays we have no sympathy with these unknown people. It was not that they lived so long ago. They are much nearer to us in time than the men and women who figured on the stage in the reign10 of James I. But their nature is farther from our nature. They sparkle but never warm. They are witty80 but leave no impression. [Pg 163]I might almost go further, and say that they are wicked but never allure81. "When Voltaire came to visit the Great Congreve," says Thackeray, "the latter rather affected82 to despise his literary reputation; and in this, perhaps, the great Congreve was not far wrong. A touch of Steele's tenderness is worth all his finery; a flash of Swift's lightning, a beam of Addison's pure sunshine, and his tawdry playhouse taper83 is invisible. But the ladies loved him, and he was undoubtedly84 a pretty fellow."
There is no doubt as to the true humour of Addison, who next comes up before us, but I think that he makes hardly so good a subject for a lecturer as the great gloomy man of intellect, or the frivolous85 man of pleasure. Thackeray tells us all that is to be said about him as a humorist in so few lines that I may almost insert them on this page: "But it is not for his reputation as the great author of Cato and The Campaign, or for his merits as Secretary of State, or for his rank and high distinction as Lady Warwick's husband, or for his eminence86 as an examiner of political questions on the Whig side, or a guardian87 of British liberties, that we admire Joseph Addison. It is as a Tattler of small talk and a Spectator of mankind that we cherish and love him, and owe as much pleasure to him as to any human being that ever wrote. He came in that artificial age, and began to speak with his noble natural voice. He came the gentle satirist88, who hit no unfair blow; the kind judge, who castigated89 only in smiling. While Swift went about hanging and ruthless, a literary Jeffreys, in Addison's kind court only minor90 cases were tried;—only peccadilloes91 and small sins against society, only a dangerous libertinism92 in tuckers and hoops93, or a nuisance in the abuse of beaux canes94 and [Pg 164]snuffboxes." Steele set The Tatler a going. "But with his friend's discovery of The Tatler, Addison's calling was found, and the most delightful Tattler in the world began to speak. He does not go very deep. Let gentlemen of a profound genius, critics accustomed to the plunge95 of the bathos, console themselves by thinking that he couldn't go very deep. There is no trace of suffering in his writing. He was so good, so honest, so healthy, so cheerfully selfish,—if I must use the word!"
Such was Addison as a humorist; and when the hearer shall have heard also,—or the reader read,—that this most charming Tattler also wrote Cato, became a Secretary of State, and married a countess, he will have learned all that Thackeray had to tell of him.
Steele was one who stood much less high in the world's esteem, and who left behind him a much smaller name,—but was quite Addison's equal as a humorist and a wit. Addison, though he had the reputation of a toper, was respectability itself. Steele was almost always disreputable. He was brought from Ireland, placed at the Charter House, and then transferred to Oxford96, where he became acquainted with Addison. Thackeray says that "Steele found Addison a stately college don at Oxford." The stateliness and the don's rank were attributable no doubt to the more sober character of the English lad, for, in fact, the two men were born in the same year, 1672. Steele, who during his life was affected by various different tastes, first turned himself to literature, but early in life was bitten by the hue97 of a red coat and became a trooper in the Horse Guards. To the end he vacillated in the same way. "In that charming paper in The Tatler, in which he records his father's death, his mother's griefs, his own most solemn [Pg 165]and tender emotions, he says he is interrupted by the arrival of a hamper98 of wine, 'the same as is to be sold at Garraway's next week;' upon the receipt of which he sends for three friends, and they fall to instantly, drinking two bottles apiece, with great benefit to themselves, and not separating till two o'clock in the morning."
He had two wives, whom he loved dearly and treated badly. He hired grand houses, and bought fine horses for which he could never pay. He was often religious, but more often drunk. As a man of letters, other men of letters who followed him, such as Thackeray, could not be very proud of him. But everybody loved him; and he seems to have been the inventor of that flying literature which, with many changes in form and manner, has done so much for the amusement and edification of readers ever since his time. He was always commencing, or carrying on,—often editing,—some one of the numerous periodicals which appeared during his time. Thackeray mentions seven: The Tatler, The Spectator, The Guardian, The Englishman, The Lover, The Reader, and The Theatre; that three of them are well known to this day,—the three first named,—and are to be found in all libraries, is proof that his life was not thrown away.
I almost question Prior's right to be in the list, unless indeed the mastery over well-turned conceits99 is to be included within the border of humour. But Thackeray had a strong liking100 for Prior, and in his own humorous way rebukes101 his audience for not being familiar with The Town and Country Mouse. He says that Prior's epigrams have the genuine sparkle, and compares Prior to Horace. "His song, his philosophy, his good sense, his happy easy [Pg 166]turns and melody, his loves and his epicureanism bear a great resemblance to that most delightful and accomplished102 master." I cannot say that I agree with this. Prior is generally neat in his expression. Horace is happy,—which is surely a great deal more.
All that is said of Gay, Pope, Hogarth, Smollett, and Fielding is worth reading, and may be of great value both to those who have not time to study the authors, and to those who desire to have their own judgments103 somewhat guided, somewhat assisted. That they were all men of humour there can be no doubt. Whether either of them, except perhaps Gay, would have been specially ranked as a humorist among men of letters, may be a question.
Sterne was a humorist, and employed his pen in that line, if ever a writer did so, and so was Goldsmith. Of the excellence104 and largeness of the disposition105 of the one, and the meanness and littleness of the other, it is not necessary that I should here say much. But I will give a short passage from our author as to each. He has been quoting somewhat at length from Sterne, and thus he ends; "And with this pretty dance and chorus the volume artfully concludes. Even here one can't give the whole description. There is not a page in Sterne's writing but has something that were better away, a latent corruption,—a hint as of an impure106 presence. Some of that dreary107 double entendre may be attributed to freer times and manners than ours,—but not all. The foul satyr's eyes leer out of the leaves constantly. The last words the famous author wrote were bad and wicked. The last lines the poor stricken wretch56 penned were for pity and pardon." Now a line or two about Goldsmith, and I will then let my reader go to the volume and study the lectures for himself. "The poor fellow was never so friendless [Pg 167]but that he could befriend some one; never so pinched and wretched but he could give of his crust, and speak his word of compassion108. If he had but his flute109 left, he would give that, and make the children happy in the dreary London courts."
Of this too I will remind my readers,—those who have bookshelves well-filled to adorn110 their houses,—that Goldsmith stands in the front where all the young people see the volumes. There are few among the young people who do not refresh their sense of humour occasionally from that shelf, Sterne is relegated111 to some distant and high corner. The less often that he is taken down the better. Thackeray makes some half excuse for him because of the greater freedom of the times. But "the times" were the same for the two. Both Sterne and Goldsmith wrote in the reign of George II.; both died in the reign of George III.
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1 peculiar | |
adj.古怪的,异常的;特殊的,特有的 | |
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2 surmise | |
v./n.猜想,推测 | |
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3 eloquence | |
n.雄辩;口才,修辞 | |
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4 eloquent | |
adj.雄辩的,口才流利的;明白显示出的 | |
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5 cadences | |
n.(声音的)抑扬顿挫( cadence的名词复数 );节奏;韵律;调子 | |
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6 proprieties | |
n.礼仪,礼节;礼貌( propriety的名词复数 );规矩;正当;合适 | |
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7 mere | |
adj.纯粹的;仅仅,只不过 | |
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8 anecdotes | |
n.掌故,趣闻,轶事( anecdote的名词复数 ) | |
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9 reigns | |
n.君主的统治( reign的名词复数 );君主统治时期;任期;当政期 | |
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10 reign | |
n.统治时期,统治,支配,盛行;v.占优势 | |
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11 dealing | |
n.经商方法,待人态度 | |
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12 discourses | |
论文( discourse的名词复数 ); 演说; 讲道; 话语 | |
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13 virtues | |
美德( virtue的名词复数 ); 德行; 优点; 长处 | |
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14 rite | |
n.典礼,惯例,习俗 | |
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15 piquancy | |
n.辛辣,辣味,痛快 | |
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16 eulogy | |
n.颂词;颂扬 | |
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17 piquant | |
adj.辛辣的,开胃的,令人兴奋的 | |
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18 censure | |
v./n.责备;非难;责难 | |
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19 injustice | |
n.非正义,不公正,不公平,侵犯(别人的)权利 | |
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20 divulged | |
v.吐露,泄露( divulge的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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21 treacherously | |
背信弃义地; 背叛地; 靠不住地; 危险地 | |
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22 personalities | |
n. 诽谤,(对某人容貌、性格等所进行的)人身攻击; 人身攻击;人格, 个性, 名人( personality的名词复数 ) | |
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23 farces | |
n.笑剧( farce的名词复数 );闹剧;笑剧剧目;作假的可笑场面 | |
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24 specially | |
adv.特定地;特殊地;明确地 | |
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25 outrageously | |
凶残地; 肆无忌惮地; 令人不能容忍地; 不寻常地 | |
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26 monarch | |
n.帝王,君主,最高统治者 | |
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27 croaking | |
v.呱呱地叫( croak的现在分词 );用粗的声音说 | |
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28 bigoted | |
adj.固执己见的,心胸狭窄的 | |
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29 laudatory | |
adj.赞扬的 | |
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30 bishops | |
(基督教某些教派管辖大教区的)主教( bishop的名词复数 ); (国际象棋的)象 | |
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31 bishop | |
n.主教,(国际象棋)象 | |
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32 ingenuity | |
n.别出心裁;善于发明创造 | |
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33 eldest | |
adj.最年长的,最年老的 | |
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34 depose | |
vt.免职;宣誓作证 | |
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35 rape | |
n.抢夺,掠夺,强奸;vt.掠夺,抢夺,强奸 | |
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36 odyssey | |
n.长途冒险旅行;一连串的冒险 | |
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37 faculties | |
n.能力( faculty的名词复数 );全体教职员;技巧;院 | |
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38 ridicule | |
v.讥讽,挖苦;n.嘲弄 | |
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39 professes | |
声称( profess的第三人称单数 ); 宣称; 公开表明; 信奉 | |
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40 awaken | |
vi.醒,觉醒;vt.唤醒,使觉醒,唤起,激起 | |
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41 pretension | |
n.要求;自命,自称;自负 | |
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42 esteem | |
n.尊敬,尊重;vt.尊重,敬重;把…看作 | |
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43 peculiarities | |
n. 特质, 特性, 怪癖, 古怪 | |
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44 endued | |
v.授予,赋予(特性、才能等)( endue的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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45 pellucid | |
adj.透明的,简单的 | |
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46 flout | |
v./n.嘲弄,愚弄,轻视 | |
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47 miserable | |
adj.悲惨的,痛苦的;可怜的,糟糕的 | |
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48 misery | |
n.痛苦,苦恼,苦难;悲惨的境遇,贫苦 | |
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49 bullied | |
adj.被欺负了v.恐吓,威逼( bully的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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50 quailed | |
害怕,发抖,畏缩( quail的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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51 foul | |
adj.污秽的;邪恶的;v.弄脏;妨害;犯规;n.犯规 | |
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52 delightful | |
adj.令人高兴的,使人快乐的 | |
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53 opposition | |
n.反对,敌对 | |
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54 boisterous | |
adj.喧闹的,欢闹的 | |
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55 fixed | |
adj.固定的,不变的,准备好的;(计算机)固定的 | |
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56 wretch | |
n.可怜的人,不幸的人;卑鄙的人 | |
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57 logic | |
n.逻辑(学);逻辑性 | |
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58 eminently | |
adv.突出地;显著地;不寻常地 | |
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59 shuns | |
v.避开,回避,避免( shun的第三人称单数 ) | |
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60 metaphors | |
隐喻( metaphor的名词复数 ) | |
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61 thrift | |
adj.节约,节俭;n.节俭,节约 | |
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62 rhetoric | |
n.修辞学,浮夸之言语 | |
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63 lavish | |
adj.无节制的;浪费的;vt.慷慨地给予,挥霍 | |
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64 epithets | |
n.(表示性质、特征等的)词语( epithet的名词复数 ) | |
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65 profuse | |
adj.很多的,大量的,极其丰富的 | |
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66 simplicity | |
n.简单,简易;朴素;直率,单纯 | |
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67 sincerity | |
n.真诚,诚意;真实 | |
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68 conclusive | |
adj.最后的,结论的;确凿的,消除怀疑的 | |
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69 reverent | |
adj.恭敬的,虔诚的 | |
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70 pious | |
adj.虔诚的;道貌岸然的 | |
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71 bent | |
n.爱好,癖好;adj.弯的;决心的,一心的 | |
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72 apostasy | |
n.背教,脱党 | |
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73 satires | |
讽刺,讥讽( satire的名词复数 ); 讽刺作品 | |
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74 cynical | |
adj.(对人性或动机)怀疑的,不信世道向善的 | |
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75 muse | |
n.缪斯(希腊神话中的女神),创作灵感 | |
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76 grimaces | |
n.(表蔑视、厌恶等)面部扭曲,鬼脸( grimace的名词复数 )v.扮鬼相,做鬼脸( grimace的第三人称单数 ) | |
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77 shuffling | |
adj. 慢慢移动的, 滑移的 动词shuffle的现在分词形式 | |
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78 quaint | |
adj.古雅的,离奇有趣的,奇怪的 | |
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79 celebrated | |
adj.有名的,声誉卓著的 | |
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80 witty | |
adj.机智的,风趣的 | |
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81 allure | |
n.诱惑力,魅力;vt.诱惑,引诱,吸引 | |
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82 affected | |
adj.不自然的,假装的 | |
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83 taper | |
n.小蜡烛,尖细,渐弱;adj.尖细的;v.逐渐变小 | |
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84 undoubtedly | |
adv.确实地,无疑地 | |
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85 frivolous | |
adj.轻薄的;轻率的 | |
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86 eminence | |
n.卓越,显赫;高地,高处;名家 | |
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87 guardian | |
n.监护人;守卫者,保护者 | |
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88 satirist | |
n.讽刺诗作者,讽刺家,爱挖苦别人的人 | |
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89 castigated | |
v.严厉责骂、批评或惩罚(某人)( castigate的过去式 ) | |
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90 minor | |
adj.较小(少)的,较次要的;n.辅修学科;vi.辅修 | |
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91 peccadilloes | |
n.轻罪,小过失( peccadillo的名词复数 ) | |
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92 libertinism | |
n.放荡,玩乐,(对宗教事物的)自由思想 | |
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93 hoops | |
n.箍( hoop的名词复数 );(篮球)篮圈;(旧时儿童玩的)大环子;(两端埋在地里的)小铁弓 | |
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94 canes | |
n.(某些植物,如竹或甘蔗的)茎( cane的名词复数 );(用于制作家具等的)竹竿;竹杖 | |
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95 plunge | |
v.跳入,(使)投入,(使)陷入;猛冲 | |
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96 Oxford | |
n.牛津(英国城市) | |
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97 hue | |
n.色度;色调;样子 | |
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98 hamper | |
vt.妨碍,束缚,限制;n.(有盖的)大篮子 | |
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99 conceits | |
高傲( conceit的名词复数 ); 自以为; 巧妙的词语; 别出心裁的比喻 | |
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100 liking | |
n.爱好;嗜好;喜欢 | |
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101 rebukes | |
责难或指责( rebuke的第三人称单数 ) | |
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102 accomplished | |
adj.有才艺的;有造诣的;达到了的 | |
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103 judgments | |
判断( judgment的名词复数 ); 鉴定; 评价; 审判 | |
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104 excellence | |
n.优秀,杰出,(pl.)优点,美德 | |
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105 disposition | |
n.性情,性格;意向,倾向;排列,部署 | |
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106 impure | |
adj.不纯净的,不洁的;不道德的,下流的 | |
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107 dreary | |
adj.令人沮丧的,沉闷的,单调乏味的 | |
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108 compassion | |
n.同情,怜悯 | |
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109 flute | |
n.长笛;v.吹笛 | |
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110 adorn | |
vt.使美化,装饰 | |
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111 relegated | |
v.使降级( relegate的过去式和过去分词 );使降职;转移;把…归类 | |
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