The carnival of 1859 was an exceptionally brilliant one. The Prince of Wales attended it with a suite7 of young English nobles, who, always decorous and polite on public occasions, nevertheless infused great spirit into the proceedings8. Sumner and Motley were there, and Motley rented a balcony in a palace, to which the Hawthornes received general and repeated invitations. On March 7, Miss Una was driven through the Corso in a barouche, and the Prince of Wales threw her a bouquet9, probably recognizing her father, who was with her; and to prove his good intentions he threw her another, when her carriage returned from the Piazza10, del Popolo. The present English sovereign has always been noted11 for a sort of journalistic interest in prominent men of letters, science, and public affairs, and it is likely that he was better informed in regard to the Hawthornes than they imagined. Hawthorne himself was too much subdued12 by his recent trial to enter into the spirit of the carnival, even with a heart much relieved from anxiety, but he sometimes appeared in the Motleys’ balcony, and sometimes went along the narrow sidewalk of the Corso, “for an hour or so among the people, just on the edges of the fun.” Sumner invited Mrs. Hawthorne to take a stroll and see pictures with him, from which she returned delighted with his criticisms and erudition.
A few days later Franklin Pierce suddenly appeared at No. 68 Piazza Poli, with that shadow on his face which was never wholly to leave it. The man who fears God and keeps his commandments will never feel quite alone in the world; but for the man who lives on popularity, what will there be left when that forsakes13 him? Hawthorne was almost shocked at the change in his friend’s appearance; not only at his gray hair and wrinkled brow, but at the change in his voice, and at a certain lack of substance in him, as if the personal magnetism14 had gone out of him. Hawthorne went to walk with him, and tried to encourage him by suggesting another term of the presidency15, but this did not help much, for even Pierce’s own State had deserted16 him,—a fact of which Hawthorne may not have been aware. The companionship of his old friend, however, and the manifold novelty of Rome itself, somewhat revived the ex-President, as may be imagined; and a month later he left for Venice, in better spirits than he came.
They celebrated17 the Ides of March by going to see Harriet Hosmer’s statue of Zenobia, which was afterward18 exhibited in America. Hawthorne immediately detected its resemblance to the antique,—the figure was in fact a pure plagiarism19 from the smaller statue of Ceres in the Vatican,—but Miss Hosmer succeeded in giving the face an expression of injured and sorrowing majesty20, which Hawthorne was equally ready to appreciate.
On this second visit to Rome he became acquainted with a sculptor21, whose name is not given, but who criticised Hiram Powers with a rather suspicious severity. He would not allow Powers “to be an artist at all, or to know anything of the laws of art,” although acknowledging him to be a great bust-maker, and to have put together the “Greek Slave” and the “Fisher-Boy” very ingeniously. “The latter, however (he says), is copied from the Spinario in the Tribune of the Uffizi; and the former made up of beauties that had no reference to one another; and he affirms that Powers is ready to sell, and has actually sold, the ‘Greek Slave,’ limb by limb, dismembering it by reversing the process of putting it together. Powers knows nothing scientifically of the human frame, and only succeeds in representing it, as a natural bone-doctor succeeds in setting a dislocated limb, by a happy accident or special providence22.” {Footnote: Italian Note-book, 483.}
We may judge, from “the style, the matter, and the drift” of this discourse23, that it emanated24 from the same sculptor who is mentioned, in “Nathaniel Hawthorne and His Wife,” as having traduced25 Margaret Fuller and her husband Count Ossoli. As Tennyson says, “A lie that is half a truth is ever the blackest of lies,” and this fellow would seem to have been an adept26 in unveracious exaggeration. It is remarkable27 that Hawthorne should have given serious attention to such a man; but an English critic said in regard to this same incident that if Hawthorne had been a more communicative person, if he had talked freely to a larger number of people, he would not have been so easily prejudiced by those few with whom he was chiefly intimate. To which it could be added, that he might also have taken broader views in regard to public affairs.
Hawthorne was fortunate to have been present at the discovery of the St. Petersburg “Venus,” the twin sister of the “Venus dé Medici,” which was dug up in a vineyard outside the Porta Portese. The proprietor28 of the vineyard, who made his fortune at a stroke by the discovery, happened to select the site for a new building over the buried ruins of an ancient villa29, and the “Venus” was discovered in what appeared to Hawthorne as an old Roman bath-room. The statue was in more perfect preservation30 than the “Venus dé Medici,” both of whose arms have been restored, and Hawthorne noticed that the head was larger and the face more characteristic, with wide-open eyes and a more confident expression. He was one of the very few who saw it before it was transported to St. Petersburg, and a thorough artistic31 analysis of it is still one of the desiderata. The difference in expression, however, would seem to be in favor of the “Venus dé Medici,” as more in accordance with the ruling motive32 of the figure.
Miss Una Hawthorne had not sufficiently33 recovered to travel until the last of May, when they all set forth34 northward35 by way of Genoa and Marseilles, in which latter place we find them on the 28th, enjoying the comfort and elegance36 of a good French hotel. Thence they proceeded to Avignon, but did not find much to admire there except the Rhone; so they continued to Geneva, the most pleasant, homelike resting place in Europe, but quite deficient37 in other attractions.
It seems as if Hawthorne’s Roman friends were somewhat remiss38 in not giving him better advice in regard to European travelling. At Geneva he was within a stone’s throw of Chamounix, and hardly more than that of Strasburg Cathedral, and yet he visited neither. Why did he go out of his way to see so little and to miss so much? He went across the lake to visit Lausanne and the Castle of Chillon, and he was more than astonished at the view of the Pennine Alps from the deck of the steamer. He had never imagined anything like it; and he might have said the same if he had visited Cologne Cathedral. Instead of that, however, he hurried through France again, with the intention of sailing for America the middle of July; but after reaching London he concluded to remain another year in England, to write his “Romance of Monte Beni,” and obtain an English copyright for it.
He left Geneva on June 15, and as he turned his face northward, he felt that Henry Bright and Francis Bennoch were his only real friends in Great Britain. There could hardly have been a stronger contrast than these two. Bright was tall, slender, rather pale for an Englishman, grave and philosophical39. Bennoch was short, plump, lively and jovial40, with a ready fund of humor much in the style of Dickens, with whom he was personally acquainted. Yet Hawthorne recognized that Bright and Bennoch liked him for what he was, in and of himself, and not for his celebrity41 alone.
Bright was in London when Hawthorne reached there, and proposed that they should go together to call on Sumner, {Footnote: J. Hawthorne, ii. 223.} who had been cured from the effects of Brooks’s assault by an equally heroic treatment; but Hawthorne objected that as neither of them was Lord Chancellor42, Sumner would not be likely to pay them much attention; to which Bright replied, that Sumner had been very kind to him in America, and they accordingly went. Sumner was kind to thousands,—the kindest as well as the most upright man of his time,—and no one in America, except Longfellow, appreciated Hawthorne so well; but he was the champion of the anti-slavery movement and the inveterate43 opponent of President Pierce. I suppose a man’s mind cannot help being colored somewhat by such conditions and influences.
Hawthorne wished for a quiet, healthful place, where he could write his romance without the disturbances44 that are incident to celebrity, and his friends recommended Redcar, on the eastern coast of Yorkshire, a town that otherwise Americans would not have heard of. He went there about the middle of July, remaining until the 5th of October, but of his life there we know nothing except that he must have worked assiduously, for in that space of time he nearly finished a book containing almost twice as many pages as “The Scarlet45 Letter.” Meanwhile Mrs. Hawthorne entertained the children and kept them from interfering46 with their father (in his small cottage), by making a collection of sea-mosses, which Una and Julian gathered at low tides, and which their mother afterward dried and preserved on paper. On October 4th Una Hawthorne wrote to her aunt, Elizabeth Peabody:
“Our last day in Redcar, and a most lovely one it is. The sea seems to reproach us for leaving it. But I am glad we are going, for I feel so homesick that I want constant change to divert my thoughts. How troublesome feelings and affections are.”
{Footnote: Mrs. Lathrop, 35 a.}
One can see that it was a pleasant place even after the days had begun to shorten, which they do very rapidly in northern England. From Redcar, Hawthorne went to Leamington, where he finished his romance about the first of December, and remained until some time in March, living quietly and making occasional pedestrian tours to neighboring towns. He was particularly fond of the walk to Warwick Castle, and of standing47 on the bridge which crosses the Avon, and gazing at the walls of the Castle, as they rise above the trees—“as fine a piece of English scenery as exists anywhere; the gray towers and long line of windows of the lordly castle, with a picturesquely48 varied49 outline; ancient strength, a little softened50 by decay.” It is a view that has often been sketched51, painted and engraved52.
The romance was written, but had to be revised, the least pleasant portion of an author’s duties,—unless he chooses to make the index himself. This required five or six weeks longer, after which Hawthorne went to London and arranged for its publication with Smith & Elder, who agreed to bring it out in three volumes—although two would have been quite sufficient; but according to English ideas, the length of a work of fiction adds to its importance. Unfortunately, Smith & Elder also desired to cater53 to the more prosaic54 class of readers by changing the name of the romance from “The Marble Faun” to “Transformation,” and they appear to have done this without consulting Hawthorne’s wishes in the matter. It was simply squeezing the title dry of all poetic55 suggestions; and it would have been quite as appropriate to change the name of “The Scarlet Letter” to “The Clergyman’s Penance,” or to call “The Blithedale Romance” “The Suicide of a Jilt.” If Smith & Elder considered “The Marble Faun” too recondite56 a title for the English public, what better name could they have hit upon than “The Romance of Monte Beni”? Would not the Count of Monte Beni be a cousin Italian, as it were, to the Count of Monte Cristo? We are thankful to observe that when Hawthorne published the book in America, he had his own way in regard to this point.
It was now that a new star was rising in the literary firmament57, not of the “shooting” or transitory species, and the genius of Marian Evans (George Eliot) was casting its genial58 penetrating59 radiance over Great Britain and the United States. She was as difficult a person to meet with as Hawthorne himself, and they never saw one another; but a friend of Mr. Bennoch, who lived at Coventry, invited the Hawthornes there in the first week of February to meet Bennoch and others, and Marian Evans would seem to have been the chief subject of conversation at the table that evening. What Hawthorne gathered concerning her on that occasion he has preserved in this compact and discriminating60 statement:
“Miss Evans (who wrote ‘Adam Bede’) was the daughter of a steward61, and gained her exact knowledge of English rural life by the connection with which this origin brought her with the farmers. She was entirely62 self-educated, and has made herself an admirable scholar in classical as well as in modern languages. Those who knew her had always recognized her wonderful endowments, and only watched to see in what way they would develop themselves. She is a person of the simplest manners and character, amiable63 and unpretending, and Mrs. B—— spoke64 of her with great affection and respect.”
There is actually more of the real George Eliot in this summary than in the three volumes of her biography by Mr. Cross.
Thorwaldsen’s well-known simile65 in regard to the three stages of sculpture, the life, the death and the resurrection, also has its application to literature. The manuscript is the birth of an author’s work, and its revision always seems like taking the life out of it; but when the proof comes, it is like a new birth, and he sees his design for the first time in its true proportions. Then he goes over it as the sculptor does his newly-cast bronze, smoothing the rough places and giving it those final touches which serve to make its expression clearer. Hawthorne was never more to be envied than while correcting the proof of “The Marble Faun” at Leamington. The book was given to the public at Easter-time; and there seems to have been only one person in England that appreciated it, even as a work of art—John Lothrop Motley. The most distinguished reviewers wholly failed to catch the significance of it; and even Henry Bright, while warmly admiring the story, expressed a dissatisfaction at the conclusion of it,—although he could have found a notable precedent66 for that in Goethe’s “Wilhelm Meister.” The Saturday Review, a publication similar in tone to the New York Nation, said of “Transformation:”
{Footnote: J. Hawthorne, ii. 250.}
“A mystery is set before us to unriddle; at the end the author turns round and asks us what is the good of solving it. That the impression of emptiness and un-meaningness thus produced is in itself a blemish67 to the work no one can deny. Mr. Hawthorne really trades upon the honesty of other writers. We feel a sort of interest in the story, slightly and sketchily68 as it is told, because our experience of other novels leads us to assume that, when an author pretends to have a plot, he has one.”
The Art Journal said of it: {Footnote: J. Hawthorne, ii. 249.}
“We are not to accept this book as a story; in that respect it is grievously deficient. The characters are utterly69 untrue to nature and to fact; they speak, all and always, the sentiments of the author; their words also are his; there is no one of them for which the world has furnished a model.”
And the London Athenaeum said: {Footnote: Ibid., ii. 244.}
“To Mr. Hawthorne truth always seems to arrive through the medium of the imagination.... His hero, the Count of Monte Beni, would never have lived had not the Faun of Praxiteles stirred the author’s admiration70.... The other characters, Mr. Hawthorne must bear to be told, are not new to a tale of his. Miriam, the mysterious, with her hideous71 tormentor72, was indicated in the Zenobia of ‘The Blithedale Romance.’ Hilda, the pure and innocent, is own cousin to Phoebe in ‘The House of the Seven Gables’.”
If the reviewer is to be reviewed, it is not too much to designate these criticisms as miserable73 failures. They are not even well written. Henry Bright seemed to be thankful that they were no worse, for he wrote to Hawthorne: “I am glad that sulky Athenaeum was so civil; for they are equally powerful and unprincipled.” The writer in the Athenaeum evidently belonged to that class of domineering critics who have no literary standing, but who, like bankers’ clerks, arrogate74 to themselves all the importance of the establishment with which they are connected. Fortunately, there are few such in America. No keen-witted reader would ever confound the active, rosy75, domestic Phoebe Pyncheon with the dreamy, sensitive, and strongly subjective76 Hilda of “The Marble Faun;” and Hawthorne might have sent a communication to the Athenaeum to refresh the reviewer’s memory, for it was not Zenobia in “The Blithedale Romance” who was dogged by a mysterious persecutor77, but her half-sister—Priscilla. Shakespeare’s Beatrice and his Rosalind are more alike (for Brandes supposes them to have been taken from the same model) than Zenobia and Miriam; and the difference between the persecutors of Priscilla and Miriam, as well as their respective methods, is world-wide; but there are none so blind as those who are enveloped78 in the turbid79 medium of their self-conceit.
The pure-hearted, chivalrous80 Motley read these reviews, and wrote to Hawthorne a vindication81 of his work, which must have seemed to him like a broad belt of New England sunshine in the midst of the London fog. In reference to its disparagement82 by so-called authorities, Motley said: {Footnote: Mrs. Lathrop, 408.}
“I have said a dozen times that nobody can write English but you. With regard to the story which has been slightingly criticised, I can only say that to me it is quite satisfactory. I like those shadowy, weird83, fantastic, Hawthornesque shapes flitting through the golden gloom which is the atmosphere of the book. I like the misty84 way in which the story is indicated rather than revealed. The outlines are quite definite enough, from the beginning to the end, to those who have imagination enough to follow you in your airy flights; and to those who complain—-
“I beg your pardon for such profanation85, but it really moves my spleen that people should wish to bring down the volatile86 figures of your romance to the level of an everyday novel. It is exactly the romantic atmosphere of the book in which I revel87.”
The calm face of Motley, with his classic features, rises before us as we read this, illumined as it were by “the mild radiance of a hidden sun.” He also had known what it was to be disparaged88 by English periodicals; and if it had not been for Froude’s spirited assertion in his behalf, his history of the Dutch Republic might not have met with the celebrity it deserved. He was aware of the difference between a Hawthorne and a Reade or a Trollope, and knew how unfair it would be to judge Hawthorne even by the same standard as Thackeray. He does not touch in this letter on the philosophical character of the work, although that must have been evident to him, for he had said enough without it; but one could wish that he had printed the above statement over his own name, in some English journal.
American reviewers were equally puzzled by “The Marble Faun,” and, although it was generally praised here, the literary critics treated it in rather a cautious manner, as if it contained material of a dangerous nature. The North American, which should have devoted90 five or six pages to it, gave it less than one; praising it in a conventional and rather unsympathetic tone. Longfellow read it, and wrote in his diary, “A wonderful book; but with the old, dull pain in it that runs through all Hawthorne’s writings.” There was always something of this dull pain in the expression of Hawthorne’s face.
ANALYSIS OF “THE MARBLE FAUN”
It is like a picture, or a succession of pictures, painted in what the Italians call the sfumato, or “smoky” manner. The book is pervaded91 with the spirit of a dreamy pathos92, such as constitutes the mental atmosphere of modern Rome; not unlike the haze93 of an Indian summer day, which we only half enjoy from a foreboding of the approach of winter. All outlines are softened and partially94 blurred95 in it, as time and decay have softened the outlines of the old Roman ruins. We recognize the same style with which we are familiar in “The Scarlet Letter,” but influenced by a change in Hawthorne’s external impressions.
It is a rare opportunity when the work of a great writer can be traced back to its first nebulous conception, as we trace the design of a pictorial97 artist to the first drawing that he made for his subject. Although we cannot witness the development of the plot of this romance in Hawthorne’s mind, it is much to see in what manner the different elements of which it is composed, first presented themselves to him, and how he adapted them to his purpose.
The first of these in order of time was the beautiful Jewess, whom he met at the Lord Mayor’s banquet in London; who attracted him by her tout98 ensemble99, but at the same time repelled100 him by an indefinable impression, a mysterious something, that he could not analyze101. There would seem, however, to have been another Jewess connected with the character of Miriam; for I once heard Mrs. Hawthorne narrating102 a story in which she stated that she and her husband were driving through London in a cab, and passing close to the sidewalk in a crowded street they saw a beautiful woman, with black hair and a ruddy complexion103, walking with the most ill-favored and disagreeable looking Jew that could be imagined; and on the woman’s face there was an expression of such deep-seated unhappiness that Hawthorne and his wife turned to each other, and he said, “I think that woman’s face will always haunt me.” I did not hear the beginning of Mrs. Hawthorne’s tale, but I always supposed that it related to “The Marble Faun,” and it would seem as if the character of Miriam was a composite of these two daughters of Israel, uniting the enigmatical quality of one with the unfortunate companionship of the other, and the beauty of both.
As previously104 noticed, the portrait of Beatrice Cenci excited a deeply penetrating interest in Hawthorne, and his reflections on it day after day would naturally lead him to a similar design in regard to the romance which he was contemplating105. The attribution of a catastrophe106 like Beatrice’s to either of the two Jewesses, would of course be adventitious107, and should be considered in the light of an artistic privilege.
The “Faun” of Praxiteles in the museum of the Capitol next attracted his attention. This is but a poor copy of the original; but he penetrated108 the motive of the sculptor with those deep-seeing eyes of his, and there is no analysis of an ancient statue by Brunn or Furtw?ngler that equals Hawthorne’s description of this one. It seems as if he must have looked backward across the centuries into the very mind of Praxiteles, and he was, in fact, the first critic to appreciate its high value. The perfect ease and simple beauty of the figure belong to a higher grade of art than the Apollo Belvedere, and Hawthorne discovered what Winckelmann had overlooked. He immediately conceived the idea of bringing the faun to life, and seeing how he would behave and comport109 himself in the modern world—in brief, to use the design of Praxiteles as the mainspring of a romance. In the evening of April 22, 1858, he wrote in his journal:
{Illustration: STATUE OF PRAXITELES’ RESTING FAUN, WHICH HAWTHORNE HAS DESCRIBED AND BROUGHT TO LIFE IN THE CHARACTER OF DONATELLO}
“I looked at the Faun of Praxiteles, and was sensible of a peculiar110 charm in it; a sylvan111 beauty and homeliness112, friendly and wild at once. It seems to me that a story, with all sorts of fun and pathos in it, might be contrived113 on the idea of their species having become intermingled with the human race; a family with the faun blood in them, having prolonged itself from the classic era till our own days. The tail might have disappeared, by dint114 of constant intermarriages with ordinary mortals; but the pretty hairy ears should occasionally reappear in members of the family; and the moral instincts and intellectual characteristics of the faun might be most picturesquely brought out, without detriment115 to the human interest of the story.”
This statue served to concentrate the various speculative116 objects which had been hovering117 before Hawthorne’s imagination during the past winter, and when he reached Florence six weeks later, the chief details of the plot were already developed in his mind.
Hilda and Kenyon are, of course, subordinate characters, like the first walking lady and the first walking gentleman on the stage. They are the sympathetic friends who watch the progress of the drama, continually hoping to be of service, but still finding themselves powerless to prevent the catastrophe. It was perhaps their unselfish interest in their mutual118 friends that at length taught them to know each other’s worth, so that they finally became more than friends to one another. True love, to be firmly based, requires such a mutual interest or common ground on which the parties can meet,—something in addition to the usual attraction of the sexes. Mrs. Hawthorne has been supposed by some to have been the original of Hilda; and by others her daughter Una.
Conway holds an exceptional opinion, that Hilda was the feminine counterpart of Hawthorne himself; but Hilda is only too transparent119 a character, while Hawthorne always was, and still remains120, impenetrable; and there was enough of her father in Miss Una, to render the same objection applicable in her case. Hilda seems to me very much like Mrs. Hawthorne, as one may imagine her in her younger days; like her in her mental purity, her conscientiousness121, her devotion to her art,—which we trust afterwards was transformed into a devotion to her husband,—her tendency to self-seclusion, her sensitiveness and her lack of decisive resolution. She is essentially122 what they call on the stage an ingenue character; that is, one that remains inexperienced in the midst of experience; and it is in this character that she contributes to the catastrophe of the drama.
If Hawthorne appears anywhere in his own fiction, it is not in “The Blithedale Romance,” but in the r?le of Kenyon. Although Kenyon’s profession is that of a sculptor, he is not to be confounded with the gay and versatile123 Story. Neither is he statuesque, as the English reviewer criticised him. He is rather a shadowy character, as Hawthorne himself was shadowy, and as an author always must be shadowy to his readers; but Kenyon is to Hawthorne what Prospero is to Shakespeare, and if he does not make use of magic arts, it is because they no longer serve their purpose in human affairs. He is a wise, all-seeing, sympathetic mind, and his active influence in the play is less conspicuous124 because it is always so quiet, and so correct.
It will be noticed that the first chapter and the last chapter of this romance have the same title: “Miriam, Hilda, Kenyon, Donatello.” This is according to their respective ages and sexes; but it is also the terms of a proportion,—as Miriam is to Hilda, so is Kenyon to Donatello. As the experienced woman is to the inexperienced woman, so is the experienced man to the inexperienced man. This seems simple enough, but it has momentous125 consequences in the story. Donatello, who is a type of natural but untried virtue126, falls in love with Miriam, not only for her beauty, but because she has acquired that worldly experience which he lacks. Hilda, suddenly aroused to a sense of her danger in the isolated127 life she is leading, accepts Kenyon as a protector. The means in this proportion come together and unite, because they are the mean terms, and pursue a medium course. The extremes fly apart and are separated, simply because they are extremes. But there is a spiritual bond between them, invisible, but stronger than steel, which will bring them together again—at the Day of Judgment128, if not sooner.
All tragedy is an investigation129 or exemplification of that form of human error which we call sin; a catastrophe of nature or a simple error of judgment may be tragical130, but will not constitute a tragedy without the moral or poetic element.
In “The Scarlet Letter,” we have the sin of concealment131 and its consequences. The first step toward reformation is confession132, and without that, repentance133 is little more than a good intention.
In “The House of the Seven Gables,” Hawthorne has treated the sin of hypocrisy134—a smiling politician who courts popularity and pretends to be everybody’s friend, and agrees with everybody,—only with a slight reservation. There may be occasions on which hypocrisy is a virtue; but the habit of hypocrisy for personal ends is like a dry rot in the heart of man.
In “The Blithedale Romance,” we find the sin of moral affectation. Neither Hollingsworth nor Zenobia is really what they pretend themselves to be. Their morality is a hollow shell, and gives way to the first effective temptation. Zenobia betrays Priscilla; and is betrayed in turn by Hollingsworth,—as well as the interests of the association which had been committed to his charge.
The kernel135 of “The Marble Faun” is original sin. It is a story of the fall of man, told again in the light of modern science. It is a wonderful coincidence that almost in the same months that Hawthorne was writing this romance, Charles Darwin was also finishing his work on the “Origin of Species;” for one is the moral counterpart of the other. Hawthorne did not read scientific and philosophical books, but he may have heard something of Darwin’s undertaking136 in England, as well as Napoleon’s prophetic statement at St. Helena, that all the animals form an ascending137 series, leading up to man. {Footnote: Dr. O’Meara’s “A Voice from St. Helena."} The skeleton of a prehistoric138 man discovered in the Neanderthal cave, which was supposed to have proved the Darwinian theory, does not suggest a figure similar to the “Faun” of Praxiteles, but the followers139 of Darwin have frequently adverted140 to the Hellenic traditions of fauns and satyrs in support of their theory. Hawthorne, however, has made a long stride beyond Darwin, for he has endeavored to reconcile this view of creation with the Mosaic141 cosmogony; and it must be admitted that he has been fairly successful. The lesson that Hawthorne teaches is, that evil does not reside in error, but in neglecting to be instructed by our errors. It is this which makes the difference between a St. Paul and a Nero. The fall of man was only apparent; it was really a rise in life. The Garden of Eden prefigures the childhood of the human race. Do we not all go through this idyllic142 moral condition in childhood, learning through our errors that the only true happiness consists in self-control? Do not all judicious143 parents protect their children from a knowledge of the world’s wickedness, so long as it is possible to prevent it,—and yet not too long, for then they would become unfitted for their struggle with the world, and in order to avoid the pitfalls144 of mature life they must know where the pitfalls are. It is no longer essential for the individual to pass through the Cain and Abel experience—that has been accomplished145 by the race as a whole; but it is quite possible to imagine an incipient146 condition of society in which the distinction of justifiable147 homicide in self-defence (which is really the justification148 of war between nations) has not yet obtained.
Hawthorne’s Donatello is supposed to belong, in theory at least, to that primitive149 era; but it is not necessary to go back further than the feudal150 period to look for a man who never has known a will above his own. Donatello seizes Miriam’s tormentor and casts him down the Tarpeian Rock,—from the same instinct, or clairvoyant151 perception, that a hound springs at the throat of his master’s enemy. When the deed is done he recognizes that the punishment is out of all proportion to the offence,—which is in itself the primary recognition of a penal152 code,—and more especially that the judgment of man is against him. He realizes for the first time the fearful possibilities of his nature, and begins to reflect. He is a changed person; and if not changed for the better yet with a possibility of great improvement in the future. His act was at least an unselfish one, and it might serve as the argument for a debate, whether Donatello did not do society a service in ridding the earth of such a human monstrosity. Hawthorne has adjusted the moral balance of his case so nicely, that a single scruple153 would turn the scales.
The tradition among the Greeks and Romans, of a Golden Age, corresponds in a manner to the Garden of Eden of Semitic belief. There may be some truth in it. Captain Speke, while exploring the sources of the Nile, discovered in central Africa a negro tribe uncontaminated by European traders, and as innocent of guile154 as the antelopes155 upon their own plains; and this suggests to us that all families and races of men may have passed through the Donatello stage of existence.
Hawthorne’s master-stroke in the romance is his description or analysis of the effect produced by this homicide on the different members of the group to which he has introduced us. The experienced and worldly-wise Kenyon is not informed of the deed until his engagement to Hilda, but he has sufficient reason to suspect something of the kind from the simultaneous disappearance156 of Donatello and the model, as well as from the sudden change in Miriam’s behavior. Yet he does not treat Donatello with any lack of confidence. He visits him at his castle of Monte Beni, which is simply the Villa Manteuto somewhat idealized and removed into the recesses157 of the Apennines; he consoles him in his melancholy158 humor; tries to divert him from gloomy thoughts; and meanwhile watches with a keen eye and friendly solicitude159 for the denouement160 of this mysterious drama. If he had seen what Hilda saw, he would probably have left Rome as quickly as possible, never to return; and Donatello’s fate might have been different.
The effect on the sensitive and inexperienced Hilda was like a horrible nightmare. She cannot believe her senses, and yet she has to believe them. It seems to her as if the fiery161 pit has yawned between her and the rest of the human race. Her position is much like that of Hamlet, and the effect on her is somewhat similar. She thrusts Miriam from her with bitterness; yet forms no definite resolutions, and does she knows not what; until, overburdened by the consciousness of her fatal secret, she discloses the affair to an unknown priest in the church of St. Peter. Neither does she seem to be aware at any time of the serious consequences of this action.
Miriam, more experienced even than Kenyon, is not affected162 by the death of her tormentor so much directly as she is by its influence on Donatello. Hitherto she had been indifferently pleased by his admiration for her; now the tables are turned and she conceives the very strongest attachment163 for him. She follows him to his castle in disguise, dogs his footsteps on the excursion which he and Kenyon make together, shadows his presence again in Rome, and is with him at the moment of his arrest. This is all that we know of her from the time of her last unhappy interview with Hilda. Her crime consisted merely in a look,—the expression of her eyes,—and the whole world is free to her; but her heart is imprisoned164 in the same cell with Donatello. There is not a more powerful ethical165 effect in Dante or Sophocles.
A certain French writer {Footnote: Name forgotten, but the fact is indelible.} blames Hilda severely166 for her betrayal of Miriam (who was at least her best friend in Rome), and furthermore designates her as an immoral167 character. This, we may suppose, is intended for a hit at New England Puritanism; and from the French stand-point, it is not unfair. Hilda represents Puritanism in its weakness and in its strength. It is true, what Hamlet says, that “conscience makes cowards of us all,” but only true under conditions like those of Hamlet,—desperate emergencies, which require exceptional expedients168. On the contrary, in carrying out a great reform like the abolition169 of slavery, the education of the blind, or the foundation of national unity96, a man’s conscience becomes a tower of strength to him. As already intimated, what Hilda ought to have done was, to leave Rome at once, and forever; but she is no more capable of forming such a resolution, than Hamlet was of organizing a conspiracy170 against his usurping171 uncle. When, however, the priest steps out from the confessional-box and attempts to make a convert of Hilda,—for which indeed she has given him a fair opening,—she asserts herself and her New England training, with true feminine dignity, and in fact has decidedly the best of the argument. It is a trying situation, in which she develops unexpected resources. Hawthorne’s genius never shone forth more brilliantly than in this scene at St. Peter’s. It is Shakespearian.
Much dissatisfaction was expressed when “The Marble Faun” was first published, at the general vagueness of its conclusion. Hawthorne’s admirers wished especially for some clearer explanation of Miriam’s earlier life, and of her relation to the strange apparition172 of the catacombs. He answered these interrogatories in a supplementary173 chapter which practically left the subject where it was before—an additional piece of mystification. In a letter to Henry Bright he admitted that he had no very definite scheme in his mind in regard to Miriam’s previous history, and this is probably the reason why his readers feel this vague sense of dissatisfaction with the plot. I have myself often tried to think out a prelude174 to the story, but without any definite result. Miriam’s persecuting175 model was evidently a husband who had been forced upon her by her parents, and would not that be sufficient to account for her moods of gloom and despondency? Yet Hawthorne repeatedly intimates that there was something more than this. Let us not think of it. If the tale was not framed in mystery, Donatello would not seem so real to us. Do not the characters in “Don Quixote” and “Wilhelm Meister” spring up as it were out of the ground? They come we know not whence, and they go we know not whither. It is with these that “The Marble Faun” should be classed and compared, and not with “Middle-march,” “Henry Esmond,” or “The Heart of Midlothian.”
{Illustration: TORRE MEDIAVALLE DELLA SCIMMIA (HILDA’S TOWER), OF THE VIA PORTOGHESE AT ROME, WHERE HAWTHORNE REPRESENTS HILDA TO HAVE LIVED AND TENDED THE LAMP AT THE VIRGIN176’S SHRINE177 ON THE TOP OF THE TOWER}
Goethe said, while looking at the group of the “Laoco?n,” “I think that young fellow on the right will escape the serpents.” This was not according to the story Virgil tells, but it is true to natural history. Similarly, it is pleasant to think that the Pope’s mercy may ultimately have been extended to Donatello. We can imagine an aged89 couple living a serious, retired178 life in the castle of Monte Beni, childless, and to a certain extent joyless, but taking comfort in their mutual affection, and in acts of kindness to their fellow-mortals.
In order to see Hilda’s tower in Rome, go straight down from the Spanish Steps to the Corso, turn to the right, and you will soon come to the Via Portoghese (on the opposite side), where you will easily recognize the tower on the right hand. The tower is five stories in height, set in the front of the palace, and would seem to be older than the building about it; the relic179, perhaps, of some distinguished mediaeval structure. The odd little shrine to the Virgin, a toy-like affair, still surmounts180 it; but its lamp is no longer burning. It was fine imagination to place Hilda in this lofty abode181.
点击
收听单词发音
收听单词发音 |
1
carnival
|
|
| n.嘉年华会，狂欢，狂欢节，巡回表演 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
intrigue
|
|
| vt.激起兴趣，迷住；vi.耍阴谋；n.阴谋，密谋 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
determined
|
|
| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
advent
|
|
| n.(重要事件等的)到来，来临 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
distinguished
|
|
| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
overdrawn
|
|
| 透支( overdraw的过去分词 )； (overdraw的过去分词) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
suite
|
|
| n.一套(家具)；套房；随从人员 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
proceedings
|
|
| n.进程，过程，议程；诉讼(程序)；公报 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
bouquet
|
|
| n.花束，酒香 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
piazza
|
|
| n.广场；走廊 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
noted
|
|
| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
subdued
|
|
| adj. 屈服的，柔和的，减弱的 动词subdue的过去式和过去分词 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
forsakes
|
|
| 放弃( forsake的第三人称单数 )； 弃绝； 抛弃； 摒弃 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
magnetism
|
|
| n.磁性，吸引力，磁学 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
presidency
|
|
| n.总统(校长，总经理)的职位(任期) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
deserted
|
|
| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
celebrated
|
|
| adj.有名的，声誉卓著的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
afterward
|
|
| adv.后来；以后 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
plagiarism
|
|
| n.剽窃，抄袭 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
majesty
|
|
| n.雄伟，壮丽，庄严，威严；最高权威，王权 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
sculptor
|
|
| n.雕刻家，雕刻家 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
providence
|
|
| n.深谋远虑，天道，天意；远见；节约；上帝 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
discourse
|
|
| n.论文，演说；谈话；话语；vi.讲述，著述 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
emanated
|
|
| v.从…处传出，传出( emanate的过去式和过去分词 )；产生，表现，显示 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
traduced
|
|
| v.诋毁( traduce的过去式和过去分词 )；诽谤；违反；背叛 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
adept
|
|
| adj.老练的，精通的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
remarkable
|
|
| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
proprietor
|
|
| n.所有人；业主；经营者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
villa
|
|
| n.别墅，城郊小屋 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
preservation
|
|
| n.保护，维护，保存，保留，保持 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
artistic
|
|
| adj.艺术(家)的，美术(家)的；善于艺术创作的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
motive
|
|
| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
sufficiently
|
|
| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
forth
|
|
| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
northward
|
|
| adv.向北；n.北方的地区 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
elegance
|
|
| n.优雅；优美，雅致；精致，巧妙 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
deficient
|
|
| adj.不足的，不充份的，有缺陷的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
remiss
|
|
| adj.不小心的，马虎 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
philosophical
|
|
| adj.哲学家的，哲学上的，达观的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
jovial
|
|
| adj.快乐的，好交际的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
celebrity
|
|
| n.名人，名流；著名，名声，名望 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
chancellor
|
|
| n.(英)大臣；法官；(德、奥)总理；大学校长 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
inveterate
|
|
| adj.积习已深的，根深蒂固的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
disturbances
|
|
| n.骚乱( disturbance的名词复数 )；打扰；困扰；障碍 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
scarlet
|
|
| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
interfering
|
|
| adj. 妨碍的 动词interfere的现在分词 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
standing
|
|
| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
picturesquely
|
|
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
varied
|
|
| adj.多样的，多变化的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
softened
|
|
| （使）变软( soften的过去式和过去分词 )； 缓解打击； 缓和； 安慰 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
51
sketched
|
|
| v.草拟（sketch的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
52
engraved
|
|
| v.在（硬物）上雕刻（字，画等）( engrave的过去式和过去分词 )；将某事物深深印在（记忆或头脑中） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
53
cater
|
|
| vi.(for/to)满足，迎合；(for)提供饮食及服务 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
54
prosaic
|
|
| adj.单调的，无趣的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
55
poetic
|
|
| adj.富有诗意的，有诗人气质的，善于抒情的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
56
recondite
|
|
| adj.深奥的，难解的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
57
firmament
|
|
| n.苍穹；最高层 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
58
genial
|
|
| adj.亲切的，和蔼的，愉快的，脾气好的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
59
penetrating
|
|
| adj.（声音）响亮的，尖锐的adj.（气味）刺激的adj.（思想）敏锐的，有洞察力的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
60
discriminating
|
|
| a.有辨别能力的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
61
steward
|
|
| n.乘务员，服务员；看管人；膳食管理员 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
62
entirely
|
|
| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
63
amiable
|
|
| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
64
spoke
|
|
| 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 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
65
simile
|
|
| n.直喻，明喻 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
66
precedent
|
|
| n.先例，前例；惯例；adj.在前的，在先的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
67
blemish
|
|
| v.损害；玷污；瑕疵，缺点 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
68
sketchily
|
|
| adv.写生风格地，大略地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
69
utterly
|
|
| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
70
admiration
|
|
| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
71
hideous
|
|
| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
72
tormentor
|
|
| n. 使苦痛之人, 使苦恼之物, 侧幕 =tormenter | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
73
miserable
|
|
| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
74
arrogate
|
|
| v.冒称具有...权利，霸占 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
75
rosy
|
|
| adj.美好的，乐观的，玫瑰色的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
76
subjective
|
|
| a.主观(上)的，个人的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
77
persecutor
|
|
| n. 迫害者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
78
enveloped
|
|
| v.包围，笼罩，包住( envelop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
79
turbid
|
|
| adj.混浊的，泥水的，浓的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
80
chivalrous
|
|
| adj.武士精神的；对女人彬彬有礼的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
81
vindication
|
|
| n.洗冤，证实 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
82
disparagement
|
|
| n.轻视，轻蔑 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
83
weird
|
|
| adj.古怪的，离奇的；怪诞的，神秘而可怕的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
84
misty
|
|
| adj.雾蒙蒙的，有雾的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
85
profanation
|
|
| n.亵渎 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
86
volatile
|
|
| adj.反复无常的，挥发性的，稍纵即逝的，脾气火爆的；n.挥发性物质 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
87
revel
|
|
| vi.狂欢作乐，陶醉；n.作乐，狂欢 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
88
disparaged
|
|
| v.轻视( disparage的过去式和过去分词 )；贬低；批评；非难 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
89
aged
|
|
| adj.年老的，陈年的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
90
devoted
|
|
| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
91
pervaded
|
|
| v.遍及，弥漫( pervade的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
92
pathos
|
|
| n.哀婉，悲怆 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
93
haze
|
|
| n.霾，烟雾；懵懂，迷糊；vi.(over)变模糊 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
94
partially
|
|
| adv.部分地，从某些方面讲 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
95
blurred
|
|
| v.（使）变模糊( blur的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）难以区分；模模糊糊；迷离 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
96
unity
|
|
| n.团结，联合，统一；和睦，协调 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
97
pictorial
|
|
| adj.绘画的；图片的；n．画报 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
98
tout
|
|
| v.推销，招徕；兜售；吹捧，劝诱 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
99
ensemble
|
|
| n.合奏(唱)组；全套服装；整体，总效果 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
100
repelled
|
|
| v.击退( repel的过去式和过去分词 )；使厌恶；排斥；推开 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
101
analyze
|
|
| vt.分析，解析 (=analyse) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
102
narrating
|
|
| v.故事( narrate的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
103
complexion
|
|
| n.肤色；情况，局面；气质，性格 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
104
previously
|
|
| adv.以前，先前（地） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
105
contemplating
|
|
| 深思，细想，仔细考虑( contemplate的现在分词 )； 注视，凝视； 考虑接受（发生某事的可能性）； 深思熟虑，沉思，苦思冥想 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
106
catastrophe
|
|
| n.大灾难，大祸 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
107
adventitious
|
|
| adj.偶然的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
108
penetrated
|
|
| adj. 击穿的，鞭辟入里的 动词penetrate的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
109
comport
|
|
| vi.相称，适合 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
110
peculiar
|
|
| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
111
sylvan
|
|
| adj.森林的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
112
homeliness
|
|
| n.简朴，朴实；相貌平平 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
113
contrived
|
|
| adj.不自然的，做作的；虚构的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
114
dint
|
|
| n.由于，靠；凹坑 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
115
detriment
|
|
| n.损害；损害物，造成损害的根源 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
116
speculative
|
|
| adj.思索性的，暝想性的，推理的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
117
hovering
|
|
| 鸟( hover的现在分词 )； 靠近（某事物）； （人）徘徊； 犹豫 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
118
mutual
|
|
| adj.相互的，彼此的；共同的，共有的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
119
transparent
|
|
| adj.明显的，无疑的；透明的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
120
remains
|
|
| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
121
conscientiousness
|
|
| 责任心 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
122
essentially
|
|
| adv.本质上，实质上，基本上 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
123
versatile
|
|
| adj.通用的，万用的；多才多艺的，多方面的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
124
conspicuous
|
|
| adj.明眼的，惹人注目的；炫耀的，摆阔气的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
125
momentous
|
|
| adj.重要的，重大的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
126
virtue
|
|
| n.德行，美德；贞操；优点；功效，效力 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
127
isolated
|
|
| adj.与世隔绝的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
128
judgment
|
|
| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
129
investigation
|
|
| n.调查，调查研究 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
130
tragical
|
|
| adj. 悲剧的, 悲剧性的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
131
concealment
|
|
| n.隐藏, 掩盖，隐瞒 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
132
confession
|
|
| n.自白，供认，承认 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
133
repentance
|
|
| n.懊悔 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
134
hypocrisy
|
|
| n.伪善，虚伪 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
135
kernel
|
|
| n.(果实的)核，仁；(问题)的中心，核心 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
136
undertaking
|
|
| n.保证，许诺，事业 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
137
ascending
|
|
| adj.上升的，向上的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
138
prehistoric
|
|
| adj.（有记载的）历史以前的，史前的，古老的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
139
followers
|
|
| 追随者( follower的名词复数 )； 用户； 契据的附面； 从动件 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
140
adverted
|
|
| 引起注意（advert的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
141
mosaic
|
|
| n./adj.镶嵌细工的，镶嵌工艺品的，嵌花式的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
142
idyllic
|
|
| adj.质朴宜人的，田园风光的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
143
judicious
|
|
| adj.明智的，明断的，能作出明智决定的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
144
pitfalls
|
|
| （捕猎野兽用的）陷阱( pitfall的名词复数 )； 意想不到的困难，易犯的错误 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
145
accomplished
|
|
| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
146
incipient
|
|
| adj.起初的，发端的，初期的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
147
justifiable
|
|
| adj.有理由的，无可非议的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
148
justification
|
|
| n.正当的理由；辩解的理由 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
149
primitive
|
|
| adj.原始的；简单的；n.原(始)人，原始事物 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
150
feudal
|
|
| adj.封建的，封地的，领地的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
151
clairvoyant
|
|
| adj.有预见的；n.有预见的人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
152
penal
|
|
| adj.刑罚的；刑法上的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
153
scruple
|
|
| n./v.顾忌，迟疑 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
154
guile
|
|
| n.诈术 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
155
antelopes
|
|
| 羚羊( antelope的名词复数 )； 羚羊皮革 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
156
disappearance
|
|
| n.消失，消散，失踪 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
157
recesses
|
|
| n.壁凹( recess的名词复数 )；（工作或业务活动的）中止或暂停期间；学校的课间休息；某物内部的凹形空间v.把某物放在墙壁的凹处( recess的第三人称单数 )；将（墙）做成凹形，在（墙）上做壁龛；休息，休会，休庭 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
158
melancholy
|
|
| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
159
solicitude
|
|
| n.焦虑 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
160
denouement
|
|
| n.结尾，结局 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
161
fiery
|
|
| adj.燃烧着的，火红的；暴躁的；激烈的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
162
affected
|
|
| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
163
attachment
|
|
| n.附属物，附件；依恋；依附 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
164
imprisoned
|
|
| 下狱，监禁( imprison的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
165
ethical
|
|
| adj.伦理的，道德的，合乎道德的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
166
severely
|
|
| adv.严格地；严厉地；非常恶劣地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
167
immoral
|
|
| adj.不道德的，淫荡的，荒淫的，有伤风化的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
168
expedients
|
|
| n.应急有效的，权宜之计的( expedient的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
169
abolition
|
|
| n.废除，取消 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
170
conspiracy
|
|
| n.阴谋，密谋，共谋 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
171
usurping
|
|
| 篡夺，霸占( usurp的现在分词 )； 盗用； 篡夺，篡权 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
172
apparition
|
|
| n.幽灵，神奇的现象 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
173
supplementary
|
|
| adj.补充的，附加的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
174
prelude
|
|
| n.序言，前兆，序曲 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
175
persecuting
|
|
| （尤指宗教或政治信仰的）迫害(~sb. for sth.)( persecute的现在分词 )； 烦扰，困扰或骚扰某人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
176
virgin
|
|
| n.处女，未婚女子；adj.未经使用的；未经开发的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
177
shrine
|
|
| n.圣地，神龛，庙；v.将...置于神龛内，把...奉为神圣 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
178
retired
|
|
| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
179
relic
|
|
| n.神圣的遗物，遗迹，纪念物 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
180
surmounts
|
|
| 战胜( surmount的第三人称单数 )； 克服（困难）； 居于…之上； 在…顶上 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
181
abode
|
|
| n.住处，住所 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |