Seated at the shady end of a bench three parts steeped in sunlight, M. Bergeret forgot, under these classic trees, in the friendly solitude6, his wife and his three daughters, his cramped7 life and his cramped home; like ?sop8 he revelled9 in the freedom of his mind, and his analytical10 imagination roved irresponsibly among the living and the dead.
However Abbé Lantaigne, head of the high seminary, was passing, with his breviary in his hand, down the broad walk of the Mall. M. Bergeret rose to offer his shady place on the bench to the149 priest. M. Lantaigne came up and sank into it composedly, with that priestly dignity which never left him and which in him was just simplicity11. M. Bergeret sat near him, at the spot where the shadow fell mingled12 with light from the feathery end of the branches, so that his black clothing was covered with golden discs, and over his dazzled eyes his eyelids13 began to blink.
He congratulated Abbé Lantaigne in these words:
“It is said everywhere, monsieur l’abbé, that you will be called to the bishopric of Tourcoing.
“The sign I hail, and from it dare to hope.[J]
But this choice is too good a one not to make one doubtful. You are believed to be a royalist, and that counts against you. Are you not a republican like the Pope?”
[J] “J’en accepte l’augure et j’ose l’espérer.”
M. LANTAIGNE: “I am a republican like the Pope. That is to say, I am at peace and not at war with the government of the Republic. But peace is not love. And I do not love the Republic.”
M. BERGERET: “I guess your reasons. You condemn15 it for being freethinking and hostile to the clergy16.”
M. LANTAIGNE: “Assuredly I condemn it as irreligious and inimical to the priests. But this irreligion, these hostilities17, are not inherent in it.150 They are the attributes of republicans, not of the Republic. They diminish or increase at every change of ministers. They are less to-day than they were yesterday. Possibly they will increase to-morrow. Perhaps a time will come when they will be non-existent, as they were non-existent under the rule of Marshal MacMahon, or at least during the delusive18 beginnings of that rule and under the deceptive19 ministry20 of May 16th. They are accidental, not essential. But even if it were respectful towards religion and its ministers, I should still hate the Republic.”
M. BERGERET: “Why?”
M. LANTAIGNE: “Because it is diversity. In that it is essentially21 bad.”
M. BERGERET: “I don’t quite understand you, monsieur l’abbé.”
M. LANTAIGNE: “That comes from your not having the theological mind. At one time even laymen22 received some impress of it. Their college note-books, which they preserved, supplied them with the elements of philosophy. That is especially true of the men of the seventeenth century. At that time all those who were educated knew how to reason, even the poets. It is the teaching of Port-Royal that underlies23 the Phèdre of Racine. But to-day when theology has been relegated24 to the seminaries, no one knows how to reason, and men of151 the world are almost as foolish as poets and savants. Did not M. de Terremondre, believing that he was speaking to the point, tell me yesterday, on the Mall, that Church and State ought to make mutual26 concessions27? People no longer know, they no longer think. Empty words pass and repass in the air. We are in Babel. You, Monsieur Bergeret, are much better read in Voltaire than in Saint Thomas.”
M. BERGERET: “It is true. But did you not say, monsieur l’abbé, that the Republic is diversity, and that in that respect it is essentially bad? That is what I beg you to explain to me. Perhaps I might succeed in understanding you. I know more theology than you credit me with. Note-book in hand, I have read Baronius.”
M. LANTAIGNE: “Baronius is only an annalist, although the greatest of all; and I am quite sure that from him you have only been able to carry away some historic odds28 and ends. If you were in the slightest degree a theologian, you would be neither surprised nor disconcerted at what I have just said.
“Diversity is hateful. It is the characteristic of evil to be diverse. This characteristic manifests itself in the government of the Republic, which is more alienated29 than any other from unity30. With its want of unity it fails in independence, permanence, and power. It fails in knowledge, and one may say152 of it that it knows not what it does. Although for our chastisement31 it continues, yet it has no continuity. For the idea of continuity implies that of identity, and the Republic of one day is never the same as that of the day before. Even its ugliness and its vices32 do not belong to it. And you have yourself remarked that by them it has never been discredited34. Reproaches and scandals that would have ruined the mightiest35 empire have poured over it harmlessly. It is indestructible, for it is destruction. It is dispersion, it is discontinuity, it is diversity, it is evil.”
M. BERGERET: “Are you speaking of Republics in general, or only of our own?”
M. LANTAIGNE: “Obviously I am considering neither the Roman Republic, nor the Dutch, nor the Swiss, but only the French. For these governments have nothing in common save the name, and you will not charge me with judging them by the name by which they call themselves, nor by those points in which they seem, one and all, opposed to monarchy36—an opposition37 which is not in itself necessarily to be condemned38; but the Republic in France means nothing more than the lack of a prince and the want of a governing power. And this nation was too old at the time of the amputation39 for one not to fear that it would die of it.”
M. BERGERET: “Yet France has already survived153 the Empire by twenty-seven years, the bourgeois-king by forty-eight years, and the legitimate40 sovereign by sixty-six years.”
M. LANTAIGNE: “Say rather that for a century France, wounded to death, has been dragging out a miserable41 remnant of life in alternate fits of fever and prostration42. And do not imagine that I flatter the past or base my regrets on lying pictures of an age of gold which never existed. The conditions of national life are quite familiar to me. Its hours are marked by perils43, its days by disasters. And it is just and necessary that it should be so. Its life, like that of individual men, if it were exempt45 from trials, would have no meaning. The early history of France is full of crimes and expiations. God ceaselessly chastened this nation with the zeal46 of an untiring love, and in the time of the kings His mercy spared her no suffering. But, being then Christian47, her woes48 were useful and precious to her. In them she recognised the ennobling power of chastisement. From them she derived49 her lessons, her merits, her salvation50, her power, and her renown51. Now her sufferings have no longer any meaning for her; she neither understands them nor acquiesces52 in them. Whilst undergoing the test she rebels against it. And the demented state expects good fortune! It is in losing faith in God that one loses, along with the idea of the absolute, the154 knowledge of the relative and even the historic sense. God alone informs the logical sequence of human events which, without Him, would no longer follow one another in a rational and conceivable manner. And for the last hundred years the history of France has been an enigma53 for the French. Yet even in our days there was one solemn hour of hope and expectation.
“The horseman who rides forth54 at the hour appointed by God, and who is called now Shalmanezar, now Nebuchadnezzar, then Cyrus, Cambyses, Memmius, Titus, Alaric, Attila, Mahomet II., or William, had ridden with fiery55 trail across France. Humiliated56, bleeding, and mutilated, she raised her eyes to Heaven. May that moment be counted to her for righteousness! She seemed to understand, and along with her faith to recover her intelligence, to recognise the value and the use of her vast and providential woes. She aroused her just men, her Christians57, to form a sovereign assembly. Then appeared the spectacle of that assembly, renewing a solemn custom and consecrating58 France to the heart of Jesus. We saw, as in the times of Saint Louis, churches rising on the mountains, before the gaze of penitent59 cities; we saw the foremost citizens preparing for the restoration of the monarchy.”
M. BERGERET (sotto voce): “1. The Assembly of Bordeaux. 2. The Sacré-C?ur of Montmartre and155 the Church of Fourvières at Lyons. 3. The Commission of the Nine and the mission of M. Chesnelong.”
M. LANTAIGNE: “What do you say?”
M. BERGERET: “Nothing. I am filling in the headings in the Discours sur l’Histoire universelle.”
M. LANTAIGNE: “Do not jest and do not deny. Coming along the roads sounded the white horses that were bringing the king to his own again. Henri Dieudonné was coming to re-establish the principle of authority from which spring the two social forces: command and obedience60; he was coming to restore human order along with divine order, political wisdom along with the religious spirit, the hierarchy61, law, discipline, true liberty and unity. The nation, linking up its traditions once more, was recovering, along with the sense of its mission, the secret of its power and the pledge of victory.?… God willed it not. These great designs, thwarted62 by the enemy who still hated us after having satisfied his hatred63, opposed by a great number of the French, miserably64 supported even by those who had formed them, were brought to naught65 in one day. The frontier of our country was barricaded66 against Henri Dieudonné, and the people subsided67 into a Republic; that is to say, they repudiated68 their birthright, they renounced69 their rights and their duties, in order to govern themselves according to156 their own inclinations71 and to live at their ease in that liberty which God curbs72 and which overturns both law and order, the temporal images of Himself. Henceforth evil was king and proclaimed its edicts. The Church, exposed to incessant73 vexations, was perfidiously74 tempted75 on the one side to an impossible renunciation and on the other to revolt involving punishment.”
M. BERGERET: “You doubtless reckon among the vexatious measures the expulsion of the fraternities?”
M. LANTAIGNE: “It is clear that the expulsion of the fraternities was prompted by evil intentions, and was the result of malicious76 calculation. It is also certain that the religious who were expelled did not deserve such treatment. In striking them it was believed that the Church was being struck. But the blow, badly aimed, strengthened the body that they wished to shake, and restored to the parishes the authority and the resources which had been diverted from them. Our enemies did not know the Church, and their chief minister of that time, less ignorant than they, but more desirous of satisfying them than of destroying us, made a war on us that was merely mimic77 and for purposes of show. For I do not regard the expulsion of the non-licensed orders as an effective attack. Of course, I honour the victims of this clumsy persecution78; but157 I consider that the Church of France has in the secular79 clergy a sufficient staff to govern and minister to souls without the help of the regulars. Alas80! the Republic has inflicted81 deeper and more secret wounds on the Church. You know too much about educational questions, Monsieur Bergeret, not to have discovered several of these plague-spots; but the most poisonous one was induced by the introduction into the episcopate of priests feeble in mind or in character.?… I have said enough about that. The Christian at least consoles and reassures82 himself, knowing that the Church will not perish. But what will be the patriot’s consolation83? He discovers that all the members of the State are gangrened and rotten. In twenty years what progress in corruption84! A chief of the State whose sole virtue86 is his powerlessness, and who is denounced as criminal if it should get wind that he ventures to act, or even merely to think; ministers subject to a foolish Parliament, which is believed to be corrupt85, and whose members, more ignorant every day, were chosen, moulded, nominated in the godless clubs of the freemasons to carry out an evil policy of which they are yet incapable87, and which is surpassed by the evils brought about through their turbulent inaction; an incessantly88 increasing bureaucracy, vast, greedy, and mischievous89, in which the Republic believes she is securing for herself a band of supporters, but158 which she is nourishing to her own ruin; a magistracy recruited without law or equity90, and too often canvassed91 by the government not to be suspected of obsequiousness92; an army, nay93, a whole nation, unceasingly pervaded94 by the fatal spirit of independence and equality, is poured back straightway into town and country, a whole community, depraved by barrack life, unfitted for arts and trades, and disliking all labour; an educational body which has a mission to teach atheism95 and immorality96; a diplomatic corps97 which fails in readiness and authority, and which leaves the care of our foreign policy and the conclusion of our alliances to innkeepers, shopkeepers and journalists; in a word, all the powers, the legislative98 and the executive, the judicial99, the military, and the civil, intermingled, confused, destroyed one by the other; a farcical rule which, in its destructive weakness, has given to society the two most powerful instruments of death that wickedness ever devised: divorce and malthusianism. And all the evils of which I have made a rapid summary belong to the Republic and spring naturally from her: the Republic is essentially unrighteous. She is unrighteous in willing a liberty which God has not willed, since He is the master, and since He has delegated to priests and kings a part of his authority; she is unrighteous in willing an equality which God has not willed, since He has established the hierarchy159 of dignities in Heaven and on earth; she is unrighteous in instituting that tolerance100 which cannot be the will of God, since evil is intolerable; she is unrighteous in consulting the will of the people, as if the multitude of ignorant ought to prevail against the small company of those who bow themselves before the will of God, which overshadows the government and even the details of administration, as a principle whose consequences are never-ending; in a word, she is unrighteous in proclaiming her indifference101 to religion—that is to say, her impiety102, her unbelief, her blasphemies103 (of which the very smallest is mortal sin), and her adhesion to diversity, which is evil and death.”
M. BERGERET: “Did you not say just now, monsieur l’abbé, that being as republican as the Pope, you were resolved to live at peace with the Republic?”
M. LANTAIGNE: “Certainly, I will live with her in submission104 and obedience. In rebelling against her, I should act according to her principles, and contrary to my own. By being seditious I should resemble her, and I should no longer resemble myself.
“It is unlawful to return evil for evil. Sovereignty is hers. Whether she decrees ill or does not decree, hers is the guilt106. Let it rest with her! My duty is to obey. I shall do it. I shall obey. As a priest and, if it please God, as a bishop14, I shall160 refuse nothing to the Republic of what I owe her. I call to mind that Saint Augustine, in Hippo, then besieged107 by the Vandals, died a bishop and a Roman citizen. For myself, the lowest member of this illustrious Church of the Gauls, after the example of the greatest of the doctors, I will die in France, a priest and a French citizen, praying God to scatter108 the Vandals.”
The elm-trees on the Mall began to incline their shadow towards the east. A fresh breeze coming from a region of distant storm stirred among the leaves. Whilst a ladybird travelled over the sleeve of his coat, M. Bergeret replied to Abbé Lantaigne in a tone of the greatest affability.
“Monsieur l’abbé, you have just traced, with an eloquence109 only to be found on your lips, the characteristics of democratic rule. This government is very much as you describe it. And yet it is the one I prefer. In it all bonds are loosened, which weakens the State, but relieves individuals and ensures a certain ease of life and a liberty which unfortunately local tyrannies counteract110. It is true that corruption appears to be greater in it than in monarchies111. That springs from the number and diversity of the people who are raised to power. But this corruption would be less visible if the secret of it were better kept. The lack of secrecy112 and the want of continuity render all enterprise impossible in a democratic161 Republic. But, since the enterprises of monarchies have most often ruined the nations, I am not very sorry to live under a government incapable of great designs. What rejoices me especially in our Republic is the sincere desire which she shows not to provoke war in Europe. She rejoices in militarism, but is not at all bellicose113. In considering the chances of a war, other governments have nothing to fear save defeat. Ours fears equally—and justly so—both victory and defeat. This salutary fear secures us peace, which is the greatest of blessings114.
“The worst fault of the present régime is that it costs very dear. It makes no outward show: it is not ostentatious. It is gorgeous neither in its women nor its horses. But, with its humble115 appearance and neglected exterior116, it is expensive. It has too many poor relations, too many friends to provide for. It is a spendthrift. The most grievous point is that it lives on an exhausted117 country, whose powers are waning118 and which no longer thrives. And the administration has great need of money. It is aware that it is in difficulties. And its difficulties are greater than it fancies. They will increase still more. The evil is not new. It is the one which killed the old régime. I am going, monsieur l’abbé, to tell you a great truth: as long as the State contents itself with the revenues supplied by the poor, as long as it has enough from the subsidies162 which are assured to it with mechanical regularity119 by those who work with their hands, it lives happy, peaceful, and honoured. Economists120 and financiers are pleased to acknowledge its honesty. But as soon as this unhappy State, driven by need, makes a show of asking for money from those who have it, and of levying121 some slight toll122 on the rich, it is made to feel that it is committing a horrible outrage123, is violating all rights, is wanting in respect to a sacred thing, is destroying commerce and industry, and crushing the poor by touching124 the rich. No one hides his conviction that discredit33 is at hand. And it sinks beneath the genuine contempt of the good citizen. Yet ruin comes slowly and surely. The State touches capital: it is lost.
“Our ministers are jesting at us when they speak of the clerical or the socialist125 peril44. There is but one peril, the financial peril. The Republic is beginning to recognise this. I pity her, I shall regret her. I was reared under the Empire, in love for the Republic. ‘She is justice,’ my father, professor of rhetoric126 at the college of Saint-Omer, used to say to me. He did not know her. She is not justice, but she is ease. Monsieur l’abbé, if you had a soul less exalted127, less serious, and more given to jesting thoughts, I should confide128 to you that the present Republic, the Republic of 1896, delights me and touches me by its modesty129. She acquiesces in163 not being admired. She exacts but a trifling130 respect, and even renounces131 esteem132. It is enough for her to live. That is her sole desire; it is a lawful105 one. The humblest beings cling to life. Like the woodcutter of the fabulist, like the apothecary133 of Mantua, who so greatly astonished that young fool of a Romeo, she fears death, and it is her only fear. She mistrusts princes and soldiers. In danger of death, she would be very ill to handle. Fear would make her abandon her own nature and would render her ferocious134. That would be a pity. But as long as they make no attempt on her life, and as long as they only attack her honour, she is good-natured. A government of this kind suits me and gives me confidence. So many others were merciless through self-esteem! So many others made sure of their rights, their grandeur135, and their prosperity by cruelties! So many others have poured out blood for their prerogative136 and their majesty137! She has no self-esteem; she has no majesty. A fortunate lack which keeps her innocuous to us! Provided that she lives, she is content. She rules laxly, and I should be tempted to praise her for that more than for all the rest. And since she governs laxly, I forgive her for governing badly. I suspect men at all times of having much exaggerated the necessity of government and the benefits of a strong administration. Certainly strong administrations make164 nations great and prosperous. But the nations have suffered so much all through the centuries for their grandeur and prosperity, that I fancy they would renounce70 it. Glory has cost them too dear for them to resent the fact that our present rulers have only procured138 for us the colonial variety of it. If the uselessness of all government should at last be discovered, the Republic of M. Carnot would have paved the way for this priceless discovery. And one ought to feel some gratitude139 towards it for that. Taking everything into consideration, I feel much attached to our institutions.”
Abbé Lantaigne rose, drew out from his pocket his blue-checkered handkerchief, passed it over his lips, returned it to his pocket, smiled, contrary to his custom, secured his breviary under his arm, and said:
“You express yourself pleasantly, Monsieur Bergeret. Just so did the rhetors talk in Rome when Alaric entered it with his Visigoths. Yet under the terebinth trees of the Esquiline the rhetors of the fifth century let fall thoughts of less vanity. For then Rome was Christian. You are that no longer.”
“Monsieur l’abbé,” replied the professor, “be a bishop and not the head of the University.”
165 “It is true, Monsieur Bergeret,” said the priest with a loud laugh, “that if I were head of the University I should forbid you to be a teacher of youth.”
“And you would do me a great service. For then I should write in the papers, like M. Jules Lema?tre, and who knows whether, like him?…”
“Well! well! you would not be out of place among the wits. And the French Academy has a partiality for freethinkers.”
He spoke and walked away with a firm, straight, heavy tread. M. Bergeret remained alone in the middle of the bench, which was now three-parts covered by shade. The ladybird which had been fluttering its wing-cases on his shoulder for a moment flew away. He began to dream. He was not happy, for he had an acute mind whose points were not always turned outwards141, and very often he pricked142 himself with the needle-points of his own criticism. An?mic and bilious143, he had a very weak digestion144 and enfeebled senses, which brought him more disgust and suffering than pleasure and happiness. He was reckless in speech, and in unerringness and precision his tactlessness attained145 the same results as the most practised skill. With cunning art he seized every opportunity of injuring himself. He inspired the majority of people with a natural aversion, and being sociable146 and inclined166 to fraternise with his fellows, he suffered from that fact. He had never succeeded in moulding his pupils, and he delivered his lectures on Latin literature in a gloomy, damp, deserted cellar, in which he was buried through the Dean’s burning hatred of him. The University buildings were, however, spacious147. Built in 1894, “these new premises,” according to the words of M. Worms-Clavelin at the opening, “testified to the zeal of the government of the Republic for the diffusion148 of learning.” They boasted an amphitheatre, decorated by M. Léon Glaize with allegorical paintings representing Science and Literature, where M. Compagnon gave his much-belauded lectures on mathematics. The other gownsmen in their red or yellow taught different subjects in handsome, well-lighted rooms. M. Bergeret alone, under the bedel’s ironic149 glance, had to descend150, followed by three students, into a dusky, subterranean151 hole. There, in the heavy, noisome152 air, he expounded153 the ?neid with German scholarship and French subtlety154; there, by his literary and moral pessimism155, he afflicted156 M. Roux, of Bordeaux, his best pupil; there, he opened up new vistas157, whose aspect was terrifying; there, one evening he pronounced those words now become famous, but which ought rather to have perished, stifled158 in the shadow of the vault159: “Fragments of differing origins, soldered160 clumsily on to each other,167 made up the Iliad and the Odyssey161. Such are the models of composition that have been imitated by Virgil, by Fénelon, and in general, in classic literatures, by writers of narratives162 in verse or in prose.”
M. Bergeret was not happy. He had received no honorary distinction. It is true that he despised honours. But he felt that it would have been much finer to despise them while accepting them. He was obscure and less well known in the town for works of talent than M. de Terremondre, author of a Tourist Guide; than General Milher, a distinguished163 miscellaneous writer of the department; less even than his pupil, M. Albert Roux, of Bordeaux, author of Nirée, a poem in vers libres. Certainly he despised literary fame, knowing that that of Virgil in Europe rested on a double misconception, one absurd and the other fabulous164. But he suffered at having no intercourse165 with writers who, like MM. Faguet, Doumic, or Pellissier, seemed akin25 to him in mind. He would have liked to know them, to live with them in Paris, like them to write in reviews, to contradict, to rival, perhaps to outstrip166 them. He recognised in himself a certain subtlety of intellect, and he had written pages which he knew to be pleasing.
He was not happy. He was poor, shut up with his wife and his three daughters in a little dwelling167, where he tasted to the full the inconveniences of168 domestic life; and it harassed168 him to find hair-curlers on his writing-table, and to see the margins169 of his manuscripts singed170 by curling-tongs. The only secure and pleasant place of retreat that he had in the world was that bench on the Mall shaded by an ancient elm, and the old-book corner in Paillot’s shop.
He meditated171 for a moment on his sad condition; then he rose from his bench and took the road which leads to the bookseller’s.
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darted
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| v.投掷，投射( dart的过去式和过去分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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orb
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| n.太阳；星球；v.弄圆；成球形 | |
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repose
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| v.(使)休息；n.安息 | |
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deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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6
solitude
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| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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cramped
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| a.狭窄的 | |
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sop
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| n.湿透的东西，懦夫；v.浸，泡，浸湿 | |
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revelled
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| v.作乐( revel的过去式和过去分词 )；狂欢；着迷；陶醉 | |
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analytical
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| adj.分析的；用分析法的 | |
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simplicity
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| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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mingled
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| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
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eyelids
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| n.眼睑( eyelid的名词复数 )；眼睛也不眨一下；不露声色；面不改色 | |
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bishop
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| n.主教，（国际象棋）象 | |
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condemn
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| vt.谴责，指责；宣判(罪犯)，判刑 | |
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16
clergy
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| n.[总称]牧师，神职人员 | |
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hostilities
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| n.战争；敌意(hostility的复数)；敌对状态；战事 | |
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delusive
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| adj.欺骗的，妄想的 | |
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deceptive
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| adj.骗人的，造成假象的，靠不住的 | |
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ministry
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| n.(政府的)部；牧师 | |
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essentially
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| adv.本质上，实质上，基本上 | |
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laymen
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| 门外汉，外行人( layman的名词复数 )； 普通教徒（有别于神职人员） | |
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underlies
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| v.位于或存在于（某物）之下( underlie的第三人称单数 )；构成…的基础（或起因），引起 | |
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relegated
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| 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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akin
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| adj.同族的，类似的 | |
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mutual
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| adj.相互的，彼此的；共同的，共有的 | |
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concessions
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| n.（尤指由政府或雇主给予的）特许权( concession的名词复数 )；承认；减价；（在某地的）特许经营权 | |
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odds
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| n.让步，机率，可能性，比率；胜败优劣之别 | |
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29
alienated
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| adj.感到孤独的，不合群的v.使疏远( alienate的过去式和过去分词 )；使不友好；转让；让渡（财产等） | |
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30
unity
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| n.团结，联合，统一；和睦，协调 | |
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31
chastisement
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| n.惩罚 | |
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32
vices
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| 缺陷( vice的名词复数 )； 恶习； 不道德行为； 台钳 | |
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33
discredit
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| vt.使不可置信；n.丧失信义；不信，怀疑 | |
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34
discredited
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| 不足信的，不名誉的 | |
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35
mightiest
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| adj.趾高气扬( mighty的最高级 )；巨大的；强有力的；浩瀚的 | |
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36
monarchy
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| n.君主，最高统治者；君主政体，君主国 | |
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37
opposition
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| n.反对，敌对 | |
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38
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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39
amputation
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| n.截肢 | |
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40
legitimate
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| adj.合法的，合理的，合乎逻辑的；v.使合法 | |
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41
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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42
prostration
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| n. 平伏, 跪倒, 疲劳 | |
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43
perils
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| 极大危险( peril的名词复数 )； 危险的事（或环境） | |
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44
peril
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| n.(严重的)危险；危险的事物 | |
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45
exempt
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| adj.免除的；v.使免除；n.免税者，被免除义务者 | |
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46
zeal
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| n.热心，热情，热忱 | |
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47
Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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48
woes
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| 困境( woe的名词复数 )； 悲伤； 我好苦哇； 某人就要倒霉 | |
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49
derived
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| vi.起源；由来；衍生；导出v.得到( derive的过去式和过去分词 )；（从…中）得到获得；源于；（从…中）提取 | |
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50
salvation
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| n.（尤指基督）救世，超度，拯救，解困 | |
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51
renown
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| n.声誉，名望 | |
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52
acquiesces
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| v.默认，默许( acquiesce的第三人称单数 ) | |
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53
enigma
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| n.谜，谜一样的人或事 | |
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54
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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55
fiery
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| adj.燃烧着的，火红的；暴躁的；激烈的 | |
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56
humiliated
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| 感到羞愧的 | |
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57
Christians
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| n.基督教徒( Christian的名词复数 ) | |
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58
consecrating
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| v.把…奉为神圣，给…祝圣( consecrate的现在分词 )；奉献 | |
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59
penitent
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| adj.后悔的；n.后悔者；忏悔者 | |
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60
obedience
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| n.服从，顺从 | |
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61
hierarchy
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| n.等级制度；统治集团，领导层 | |
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62
thwarted
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| 阻挠( thwart的过去式和过去分词 )； 使受挫折； 挫败； 横过 | |
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63
hatred
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| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
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64
miserably
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| adv.痛苦地；悲惨地；糟糕地；极度地 | |
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65
naught
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| n.无，零 [=nought] | |
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66
barricaded
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| 设路障于，以障碍物阻塞( barricade的过去式和过去分词 )； 设路障[防御工事]保卫或固守 | |
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67
subsided
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| v.（土地）下陷（因在地下采矿）( subside的过去式和过去分词 )；减弱；下降至较低或正常水平；一下子坐在椅子等上 | |
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68
repudiated
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| v.（正式地）否认( repudiate的过去式和过去分词 )；拒绝接受；拒绝与…往来；拒不履行（法律义务） | |
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69
renounced
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| v.声明放弃( renounce的过去式和过去分词 )；宣布放弃；宣布与…决裂；宣布摒弃 | |
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70
renounce
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| v.放弃；拒绝承认，宣布与…断绝关系 | |
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71
inclinations
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| 倾向( inclination的名词复数 )； 倾斜； 爱好； 斜坡 | |
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72
curbs
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| v.限制，克制，抑制( curb的第三人称单数 ) | |
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73
incessant
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| adj.不停的，连续的 | |
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74
perfidiously
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| adv.不忠实地，背信地 | |
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75
tempted
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| v.怂恿（某人）干不正当的事；冒…的险（tempt的过去分词） | |
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76
malicious
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| adj.有恶意的，心怀恶意的 | |
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77
mimic
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| v.模仿，戏弄；n.模仿他人言行的人 | |
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78
persecution
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| n. 迫害,烦扰 | |
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79
secular
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| n.牧师，凡人；adj.世俗的，现世的，不朽的 | |
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80
alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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81
inflicted
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| 把…强加给，使承受，遭受( inflict的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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82
reassures
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| v.消除恐惧或疑虑，恢复信心( reassure的第三人称单数 ) | |
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83
consolation
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| n.安慰，慰问 | |
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84
corruption
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| n.腐败，堕落，贪污 | |
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85
corrupt
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| v.贿赂，收买；adj.腐败的，贪污的 | |
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86
virtue
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| n.德行，美德；贞操；优点；功效，效力 | |
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87
incapable
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| adj.无能力的，不能做某事的 | |
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88
incessantly
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| ad.不停地 | |
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89
mischievous
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| adj.调皮的，恶作剧的，有害的，伤人的 | |
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90
equity
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| n.公正，公平，（无固定利息的）股票 | |
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91
canvassed
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| v.（在政治方面）游说( canvass的过去式和过去分词 )；调查（如选举前选民的）意见；为讨论而提出（意见等）；详细检查 | |
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92
obsequiousness
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| 媚骨 | |
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93
nay
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| adv.不；n.反对票，投反对票者 | |
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94
pervaded
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| v.遍及，弥漫( pervade的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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95
atheism
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| n.无神论，不信神 | |
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96
immorality
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| n. 不道德, 无道义 | |
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97
corps
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| n.(通信等兵种的)部队；(同类作的)一组 | |
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98
legislative
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| n.立法机构，立法权；adj.立法的，有立法权的 | |
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99
judicial
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| adj.司法的，法庭的，审判的，明断的，公正的 | |
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100
tolerance
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| n.宽容；容忍，忍受；耐药力；公差 | |
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101
indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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102
impiety
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| n.不敬；不孝 | |
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103
blasphemies
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| n.对上帝的亵渎，亵渎的言词[行为]( blasphemy的名词复数 )；侮慢的言词（或行为） | |
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104
submission
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| n.服从，投降；温顺，谦虚；提出 | |
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105
lawful
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| adj.法律许可的，守法的，合法的 | |
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106
guilt
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| n.犯罪；内疚；过失，罪责 | |
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107
besieged
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| 包围，围困，围攻( besiege的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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108
scatter
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| vt.撒，驱散，散开；散布/播；vi.分散，消散 | |
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109
eloquence
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| n.雄辩；口才，修辞 | |
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110
counteract
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| vt.对…起反作用，对抗，抵消 | |
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111
monarchies
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| n. 君主政体, 君主国, 君主政治 | |
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112
secrecy
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| n.秘密，保密，隐蔽 | |
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113
bellicose
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| adj.好战的；好争吵的 | |
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114
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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115
humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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116
exterior
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| adj.外部的，外在的；表面的 | |
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117
exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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118
waning
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| adj.（月亮）渐亏的，逐渐减弱或变小的n.月亏v.衰落( wane的现在分词 )；（月）亏；变小；变暗淡 | |
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119
regularity
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| n.规律性，规则性；匀称，整齐 | |
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120
economists
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| n.经济学家，经济专家( economist的名词复数 ) | |
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121
levying
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| 征（兵）( levy的现在分词 )； 索取； 发动（战争）； 征税 | |
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122
toll
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| n.过路(桥)费；损失，伤亡人数；v.敲(钟) | |
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123
outrage
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| n.暴行，侮辱，愤怒；vt.凌辱，激怒 | |
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124
touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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125
socialist
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| n.社会主义者；adj.社会主义的 | |
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126
rhetoric
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| n.修辞学，浮夸之言语 | |
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127
exalted
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| adj.(地位等)高的，崇高的；尊贵的，高尚的 | |
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128
confide
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| v.向某人吐露秘密 | |
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129
modesty
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| n.谦逊，虚心，端庄，稳重，羞怯，朴素 | |
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130
trifling
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| adj.微不足道的；没什么价值的 | |
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131
renounces
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| v.声明放弃( renounce的第三人称单数 )；宣布放弃；宣布与…决裂；宣布摒弃 | |
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132
esteem
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| n.尊敬，尊重；vt.尊重，敬重；把…看作 | |
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133
apothecary
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| n.药剂师 | |
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134
ferocious
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| adj.凶猛的，残暴的，极度的，十分强烈的 | |
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135
grandeur
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| n.伟大，崇高，宏伟，庄严，豪华 | |
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136
prerogative
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| n.特权 | |
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137
majesty
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| n.雄伟，壮丽，庄严，威严；最高权威，王权 | |
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138
procured
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| v.（努力）取得， （设法）获得( procure的过去式和过去分词 )；拉皮条 | |
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139
gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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140
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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141
outwards
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| adj.外面的，公开的，向外的；adv.向外；n.外形 | |
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142
pricked
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| 刺，扎，戳( prick的过去式和过去分词 )； 刺伤； 刺痛； 使剧痛 | |
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143
bilious
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| adj.胆汁过多的；易怒的 | |
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144
digestion
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| n.消化，吸收 | |
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145
attained
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| （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） | |
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146
sociable
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| adj.好交际的，友好的，合群的 | |
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147
spacious
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| adj.广阔的，宽敞的 | |
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148
diffusion
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| n.流布；普及；散漫 | |
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149
ironic
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| adj.讽刺的，有讽刺意味的，出乎意料的 | |
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150
descend
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| vt./vi.传下来，下来，下降 | |
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151
subterranean
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| adj.地下的，地表下的 | |
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152
noisome
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| adj.有害的，可厌的 | |
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153
expounded
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| 论述，详细讲解( expound的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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154
subtlety
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| n.微妙，敏锐，精巧；微妙之处，细微的区别 | |
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155
pessimism
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| n.悲观者，悲观主义者，厌世者 | |
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156
afflicted
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| 使受痛苦，折磨( afflict的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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157
vistas
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| 长条形景色( vista的名词复数 )； 回顾； 展望； （未来可能发生的）一系列情景 | |
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158
stifled
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| （使）窒息， （使）窒闷( stifle的过去式和过去分词 )； 镇压，遏制； 堵 | |
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159
vault
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| n.拱形圆顶，地窖，地下室 | |
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160
soldered
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| v.（使）焊接，焊合( solder的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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161
odyssey
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| n.长途冒险旅行；一连串的冒险 | |
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162
narratives
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| 记叙文( narrative的名词复数 )； 故事； 叙述； 叙述部分 | |
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163
distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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164
fabulous
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| adj.极好的；极为巨大的；寓言中的，传说中的 | |
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165
intercourse
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| n.性交；交流，交往，交际 | |
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166
outstrip
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| v.超过，跑过 | |
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167
dwelling
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| n.住宅，住所，寓所 | |
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168
harassed
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| adj. 疲倦的，厌烦的 动词harass的过去式和过去分词 | |
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169
margins
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| 边( margin的名词复数 )； 利润； 页边空白； 差数 | |
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170
singed
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| v.浅表烧焦( singe的过去式和过去分词 )；（毛发）燎，烧焦尖端[边儿] | |
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171
meditated
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| 深思，沉思，冥想( meditate的过去式和过去分词 )； 内心策划，考虑 | |
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