Everyone understood the allusion2: he was referring to the execution of Lec?ur, the butcher’s assistant, who had been sentenced to death on the 27th of November, for the murder of Madame Houssieu. This young criminal supplied the entire township with an interest in life. Judge Roquincourt, who had a reputation in society as a ladies’ man, had courteously3 admitted Madame Dellion and Madame de Gromance to the prison and allowed them a glimpse of the prisoner through the barred grating of the cell where he was playing cards with a gaoler. In his turn, the governor of the prison, M. Ossian Colot, an officer of the Academy, gladly did the honours of his condemned4 prisoner to journalists as well as to prominent townsmen. M. Ossian Colot had written with the knowledge of an expert on various questions of the penal148 code. He was proud of his establishment, which was run on the most up-to-date lines, and he by no means despised popularity. The visitors cast curious glances at Lec?ur, while they speculated on the relationship between this youth of twenty and the nonagenarian widow who had become his victim. They stood stupefied by astonishment6 before this monstrous7 brute8. Yet Abbé Tabarit, the prison chaplain, told with tears in his eyes how the poor lad had expressed the most edifying9 sentiments of repentance10 and piety11. Meanwhile, from morning to night throughout three whole months, Lec?ur played cards with his gaolers and disputed the points in their own slang, for they were of the same class. His darkened soul never revealed its sufferings in words, but the rosy12, chubby13 lad who, only ten months before, was to be met whistling in the street with his basket on his head, and his white apron14 knotted round his muscular loins, now shivered in his strait waistcoat with pale, cadaverous face and looked like a sick man of forty. His herculean neck was wasted and now protruded15 from his drooping16 shoulders, thin and disproportionately long. By this time it was agreed on all sides that he had exhausted17 the abhorrence18, the pity and the curiosity of his fellow-citizens, and that it was high time to put an end to him.
149 “For six o’clock to-morrow. I heard it from Surcouf himself,” added M. de Terremondre. “They’ve got the guillotine at the station.”
“That’s a good thing,” said Dr. Fornerol. “For three nights the crowd has been congregating19 at the cross-roads of les évées and there have been several accidents. Julien’s son fell from a tree on his head and cracked his skull20. I’m afraid it’s impossible to save him.
“As for the condemned,” continued the doctor, “nobody, not even the President of the Republic, could prolong his life. For this young lad who was vigorous and sound up to the time of his arrest is now in the last stage of consumption.”
“Have you seen him in his cell, then?” asked Paillot.
“Several times,” answered Dr. Fornerol, “and I have even attended him professionally at Ossian Colot’s request, for he is always deeply interested in the moral and physical well-being21 of his boarders.”
“He’s a real philanthropist,” answered M. de Terremondre. “And the fact ought to be recognised that, in its way, our municipal prison is an admirable institution, with its clean, white cells, all radiating from a central watch-tower, and so skilfully22 arranged that all the occupants are constantly under observation without being aware of the fact. Nothing can be said against it, it is complete and150 modern and all on the newest lines. Last year, when I was on a walking tour in Morocco, I saw at Tangier, in a courtyard shaded by a mulberry tree, a wretched building of mud and plaster, with a huge negro dressed in rags lying asleep in front of it. Being a soldier, he was armed with a cudgel. Swarthy hands clasping wicker baskets were projecting from the narrow windows of the building. These belonged to the prisoners, who were offering the passers-by the products of their lazy efforts, in exchange for a copper23 or two. Their guttural voices whined24 out prayers and complaints, which were harshly punctuated25 at intervals26 by curses and furious shouts. For they were all shut up together in a vast hall and spent the time in quarrelling with one another about the apertures27, through which they all wanted to pass their baskets. Whenever a dispute was too noisy, the black soldier would wake up and force both baskets and suppliant28 hands back within the walls by a vigorous onslaught of his cudgel. In a few seconds, however, more hands would appear, all sunburnt and tattooed30 in blue like the first ones. I had the curiosity to peep into the prison hall through the chinks in an old wooden door. I could see in the dim-lit, shadowy place a horde31 of tatterdemalions scattered32 over the damp ground, bronzed bodies sleeping on piles of red rags, solemn faces with long venerable beards beneath151 their turbans, nimble blackamoors weaving baskets with shouts of laughter. On swollen33 limbs here and there could be seen soiled linen34 bandages barely hiding sores and ulcers35, and one could see and hear the vermin wave and rustle36 in all directions. Sometimes a laugh passed round the room. And a black hen was pecking at the filthy37 ground with her beak38. The soldier allowed me to watch the prisoners as long as I liked, waiting for me to go, before he begged of me. Then I thought of the governor of our splendid municipal prison, and I said to myself: ‘If only M. Ossian Colot were to come to Tangier he would soon discover and sweep away this crowding, this horrible promiscuity39.’”
“You paint a picture of barbarism which I recognise,” answered M. Bergeret. “It is far less cruel than civilisation40. For these Mussulman prisoners have no sufferings to undergo, save such as arise from the indifference41 or the occasional savagery42 of their gaolers. At least the philanthropists leave them alone and their life is endurable, for they escape the torture of the cell system, and in comparison with the cell invented by the penal5 code of science, every other sort of prison is quite pleasant.
“There is,” continued M. Bergeret, “a peculiar44 savagery in civilised peoples, which surpasses in cruelty all that the imagination of barbarism can conceive. A criminal expert is a much fiercer152 being than a savage43, and a philanthropist will invent tortures unknown in China or Persia. A Persian executioner kills his prisoners by starving them, but it required a philanthropist to conceive the idea of killing45 them with solitude46. It is on the principle of solitude that the punishment of the cell system depends, and no other penalty can be compared with it for duration and cruelty. The sufferer, if he is lucky, becomes mad through it, and madness mercifully destroys in him all sense of his sufferings. People imagine they are justifying47 this abominable48 system when they allege49 that the prisoner must be withdrawn50 from the bad influence of his fellows and put in a position where he cannot give way to immoral51 or criminal instincts. People who reason in this way are really such great fools that one can scarcely call them hypocrites.”
“You are right,” said M. Mazure. “But let us be just to our own age. The Revolution not only accomplished52 a reform in judicial53 procedure, but also much improved the lot of the prisoner. The dungeons54 of the olden times were generally dark, pestilential dens56.”
“It is true,” replied M. Bergeret, “that men have been cruel and malicious57 in every age and have always delighted in tormenting58 the wretched. But before philanthropists arose, at any rate, men153 were only tortured through a simple feeling of hatred59 and desire for revenge, and not for the good of their morals.”
“You forget,” answered M. Mazure, “that the Middle Ages gave birth to the most accursed form of philanthropy ever known—the spiritual. For it is just this name that suits the spirit of the holy Inquisition. It was through pure charity alone that this tribunal handed heretics over to the stake, and if it destroyed the body, it was, so they said, only in order to save the soul.”
“They never said that,” answered M. Bergeret, “and they never thought it. Victor Hugo did, indeed, believe that Torquemada ordered men to be burnt for their good, in order that their eternal happiness might be secured at the price of a short pain. On this theory he constructed a drama that sparkles with the play of antithesis60. But there is no foundation whatever for this idea of his, and I should never have imagined that a scholar like you, fattening61, as you have done, on old parchments, would have been led astray by a poet’s lies. The truth is that the tribunal of the Inquisition, in handing the heretic over to the secular62 arm, was simply cutting away a diseased limb from the Church, for fear lest the whole body should be contaminated. As for the limb thus cut off, its fate was in the hands of God. Such was the spirit154 of the Inquisition, frightful63 enough, but by no means romantic. But where the Holy Office showed what you rightly call spiritual philanthropy was in the treatment it meted64 out to those converted from the error of their ways. It charitably condemned them to perpetual imprisonment65, and immured66 them for the good of their souls. But I was merely referring to the State prisons, just now, such as they were in the Middle Ages and in modern times up to the reign68 of Louis XIV.”
“It is true,” said M. de Terremondre, “that the system of solitary69 confinement70 has not produced all the happy results that were expected from it in the reformation of prisoners.”
“This system,” said Dr. Fornerol, “often produces rather serious mental disorders71. Yet it is only fair to add that criminals are naturally predisposed to troubles of this kind. We recognise to-day that the criminal is a degenerate72. Thus, for instance, thanks to M. Ossian Colot’s courtesy, I have been allowed to make an examination of our murderer, this fellow Lec?ur. I found many physiological73 defects in him.... His teeth, for instance, are quite abnormal. I argue from that fact that he is only partially74 responsible for his acts.”
“Yet,” said M. Bergeret, “one of the sisters of Mithridates had a double row of teeth in each jaw75, and in her brother’s estimation, at any rate, she155 was a woman of noble courage. So dearly did he love her that when he was a fugitive76 pursued by Lucullus, he gave orders that she should be strangled by a mute to prevent her falling alive into the hands of the Romans. Nor did she then fail to live up to her brother’s lofty estimation of her character, but suffering death by the bowstring with joyous77 calmness, said: ‘I thank the king, my brother, for having had a care to my honour, even in the midst of his own besetting78 troubles.’ You see from this example that heroism79 is not impossible even with a row of abnormal teeth.”
“Lec?ur’s case,” replied the doctor, “presents many other peculiarities80 which cannot fail to be significant in the eyes of a scientist. Like so many born criminals his senses are blunted. Thus I found, when I examined him, that he was tattooed in every part of his body. You would be surprised at the lewd81 fancy shown in the choice of scenes and symbols painted on his skin.”
“Really?” said M. de Terremondre.
“The skin of this patient,” said Dr. Fornerol, “really ought to be properly prepared and preserved in our museum. But it is not the character of the tattooing83 that I want to insist upon, but rather the number of the pictures and their arrangement on the body. Certain parts of the operation156 must have caused the patient an amount of pain which could scarcely have been bearable to a person of ordinary sensibility.”
“There you are making a mistake!” exclaimed M. de Terremondre. “It is evident that you don’t know my friend Jilly. Yet he is a very well-known man. Jilly was quite young when, in 1885 or ’86, he made the tour of the world with his friend Lord Turnbridge on the yacht Old Friend. Jilly swears that throughout the whole voyage, through storms and calm, neither Lord Turnbridge nor himself ever put foot on deck for a single moment. The whole time they remained in the cabin drinking champagne84 with an old top-man of the marines who had been taught tattooing by a Tasmanian chief. In the course of the voyage this old top-man covered the two friends from head to foot with tattoo29 marks, and Jilly returned to France adorned85 with a fox-hunt that comprises as many as three hundred and twenty-four figures of men, women, horses and dogs. He is always delighted to show it when he sups with boon86 companions at an inn. Now I really cannot say whether Jilly is abnormally insensitive to pain, but what I can tell you is that he is a fine fellow, and a man of honour and that he is incapable87 of....”
“But,” asked M. Bergeret, “do you think it right that this butcher’s boy should be guillotined?157 For you confess that there are such things as born criminals, and in your own phrase it seems that Lec?ur was only partially responsible for his acts, through a congenital predisposition to crime.”
“Then what would you do with him?” he asked.
“As a matter of fact,” replied M. Bergeret, “I am but little interested in the fate of this particular man. But I am, nevertheless, opposed to the death penalty.”
“Let’s hear your reasons, Bergeret,” said Mazure, the archivist, for to him, living as he did in admiration89 of ’93 and the Terror, the idea of the guillotine carried with it mystic suggestions of moral beauty. “For my part, I would prohibit the death penalty in common law, but re-establish it in political cases.”
M. de Terremondre had appointed Paillot’s shop as a rendezvous90 for M. Georges Frémont, the inspector91 of fine arts, and just at the moment when this civic92 discussion was in progress, he entered the shop. They were going together to inspect Queen Marguerite’s house. Now, M. Bergeret stood rather in awe93 of M. Frémont, for he felt himself a poor creature by the side of such a great man. For M. Bergeret, who feared nothing in the world of ideas, was very diffident where living men were concerned.
158 M. de Terremondre had not got the key of the house, so he sent Léon to fetch it, while he made M. Georges Frémont sit down in the corner among the old books.
“Monsieur Bergeret,” said he, “is singing the praises of the old-fashioned prisons.”
“Not at all,” said M. Bergeret, a little annoyed, “not at all. They were nothing but sewers94 where the poor wretches95 lived chained to the wall. But, at any rate, they were not alone—they had companions—and the citizens, as well as the lords and ladies, used to come and visit them. Visiting the prisons was one of the seven works of mercy. Nobody is tempted96 to do that now, and if they were, the prison regulations would not allow it.”
“It is true,” said M. de Terremondre, “that in olden times it was customary to visit the prisoners. In my portfolios97 I have an engraving98 by Abraham Bosse, which represents a nobleman wearing a plumed99 felt hat, accompanying a lady in a veil of Venice point and a peaked brocade bodice, into a dungeon55 which is swarming100 with beggars clothed in a few shreds101 of filthy rags. The engraving is one of a set of seven original proofs which I possess. And with these one always has to be on one’s guard, for nowadays they reprint them from the old worn plates.”
“Visiting the prisons,” said Georges Frémont,159 “is a common subject of Christian102 art in Italy, Flanders and France. It is treated with peculiar vigour103 and truth in the Della Robbias on the frieze104 of painted terra-cotta that surrounds the hospital at Pistoia in its superb embrace.... You know Pistoia, Monsieur Bergeret?...”
The Professor had to acknowledge that he had never been in Tuscany.
“Look, Monsieur Frémont,” said he, “towards the square at the right of the church. You will see the prettiest woman in the town go by.”
“That’s Madame de Gromance,” said M. Bergeret. “She is charming.”
“She occasions a lot of gossip,” said M. Mazure. “She was a Demoiselle Chapon. Her father was a solicitor106, and the greatest skinflint in the department. Yet she is a typical aristocrat107.”
“What is called the aristocratic type,” said Georges Frémont, “is a pure conception of the brain. There is no more reality in it than in the classic type of the Bacchante or the Muse82. I have often wondered how this aristocratic type of womanhood arose, how it managed to root itself in the popular conception. It takes its origin, I think, from several elements of real life. Among these I should point to the actresses in tragedy and160 comedy, both those of the old Gymnase and of the Théatre-Fran?ais, as well as of the Boulevard du Crime and the Porte-Saint-Martin. For a whole century these actresses have been presenting to our spectacle-loving people numberless studies of princesses and great ladies. Besides these, one must include the models from whom painters create queens and duchesses for their genre108, or historical pictures. Nor must one overlook the more recent and less far-reaching, yet still powerful, influence of the mannequins, or lay-figures, of the great dressmakers, those beautiful girls with tall figures who show off a dress so superbly. Now these actresses, these models, these shop-girls, are all women of the lower class. From this I deduce the fact that the aristocratic type proceeds entirely109 from plebeian110 elegance111. Hence there is nothing surprising in the fact that Madame de Gromance, née Chapon, should be found to belong to this type. She is graceful112, and what is a rare thing in our towns, with their sharp paving-stones and dirty footpaths—she walks well. But I rather fancy she falls a little short of perfection as regards the hips113. That’s a serious defect!”
Lifting his nose from the thirty-eighth volume of l’Histoire générale des Voyages, M. Bergeret looked with admiring awe at this red-bearded Parisian who could thus pass judgment114 on Madame de161 Gromance’s delicious beauty and worshipful shape in the cold and measured accents of an inquisitor.
“Now I know your tastes,” said M. de Terremondre, “I will introduce you to my aunt Courtrai. She is heavily built and can only sit down in a certain family arm-chair, which, for the past three hundred years, has been in the habit of receiving all the old ladies of Courtrai-Maillan within its capaciously wide and complacent115 embrace. As for her face, it suits well with the rest of her, and I hope you will like it. My aunt Courtrai is as red as a tomato, with fair moustaches that wave negligently116 in their beauty. Ah! my aunt Courtrai’s type has no connection with your actresses, models, and dressmakers’ dummies117.”
“The ancient nobility,” said M. Mazure, “used to live the life of our large farmers of to-day, and, of course, they could not avoid resembling those whose lives they led.”
“It is a well-proved fact,” said Dr. Fornerol, “that the human race is degenerating119.”
“Do you really think so?” asked M. Frémont. “Yet in France and Italy, during the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, the flower of their chivalry120 must have been very slender. The royal coats of mail belonging to the end of the Middle Ages and162 the Renaissance121 times were skilfully wrought122, and damascened and chased with exquisite123 art, yet so narrow in the shoulders are they and so meagre in figure, that a man of our day could only wear them with difficulty. They were almost all made for small, slight men, and in fact, French portraits of the fifteenth century, and the miniatures of Jehan Foucquet show us a world of almost stunted125 folk.”
Léon entered with the key, in a great state of excitement.
“It is fixed for to-morrow,” he said to his master. “Deibler and his assistants came by the half-past three train. They went to the H?tel de Paris, but there they wouldn’t take them in. Then they went to the inn at the bottom of Duroc Hill, le Cheval Bleu, a regular cut-throat place.”
“Ah, yes,” said Frémont, “I heard this morning at the prefecture that there was an execution in your town. The topic was in everybody’s mouth.”
“There are so few amusements in the provinces!” said M. de Terremondre.
“But that spirit,” said M. Bergeret, “is revolting. A legal execution takes place in secret. But why should we still carry it on at all, if we are ashamed of it? President Grévy, who was a man of great insight, practically abolished the death penalty, by never passing a sentence of death. Would that his successors had followed his example!163 Personal security in the modern state is not obtained by mere67 fear of punishment. Many European nations have now abolished the death penalty, and in such countries crime is no more common than in the nations where this base custom yet exists. And even in countries where this practice is still found, it is in a weak and languishing126 condition, no longer retaining power or efficacy. It is nothing but a piece of useless unseemliness, for the practice is a mere survival of the principle on which it rested. Those ideas of right and justice which formerly127 laid men’s heads low in majestic128 fashion are now shaken to their roots by the morality which has blossomed upon the natural sciences. And since the death penalty is visibly on the point of death, the wisest thing would be to let it die.”
“You are right,” said M. Frémont. “The death penalty has become an intolerable practice, since now we no longer connect any idea of expiation129 with it, for expiation is a purely130 theological notion.”
“The President would certainly have sent a pardon,” said Léon, with a consequential131 air. “But the crime was too horrible.”
“The power of pardon,” said M. Bergeret, “was one of the attributes of divine right. The king could only exercise it because, as the representative164 of God on earth, he was above the ordinary human justice. In passing from the king to the President of the Republic, this right lost its essential character and therefore its legality. It thenceforth became a flimsy prerogative132, a judicial power outside justice and yet no longer above it; it created an arbitrary jurisdiction133, foreign to our conception of the lawgiver. In practice it is good, since by its action the wretched are saved. But bear in mind that it has become ridiculous. The mercy of the king was the mercy of God Himself, but just imagine M. Félix Faure invested with the attributes of divinity! M. Thiers, who did not fancy himself the Lord’s Anointed, and who, indeed, was not consecrated134 at Rheims, released himself from this right of pardon by appointing a commission which was entrusted135 with the task of being merciful for him.”
“It was only moderately so,” said M. Frémont.
Here a young soldier entered the shop and asked for Le Parfait Secrétaire.
“Remains of barbarism,” said M. Bergeret, “still persist in modern civilisation. Our code of military justice, for instance, will make our memory hateful in the eyes of the near future. That code was framed to deal with the bands of armed brigands136 who ravaged137 Europe in the eighteenth century. It was perpetuated138 by the165 Republic of ’92 and reduced to a system during the first half of this century. When a nation had taken the place of an army, they forgot to change the code, for one cannot think of everything. Those brutal139 laws which were framed in the first place to curb140 a savage soldiery are now used to govern scared young peasants, or the children of our towns, who could easily be led by kindness. And that is considered a natural proceeding141!”
“I don’t follow you,” said M. de Terremondre. “Our military code, prepared, I believe, at the Restoration, only dates from the Second Empire. About 1875 it was revised and made to suit the new organisation142 of the army. You cannot, therefore, say that it was framed for the armies of former times.”
“I can with truth,” answered M. Bergeret, “for this code is nothing more than a mere collection of orders respecting the armies of Louis XIV and Louis XV. Everyone knows what these armies were, a conglomeration143 of kidnappers144 and kidnapped, the scourings of the country, divided into lots which were bought by the young nobles, often mere children. In such regiments145 discipline was maintained by perpetual threats of death. But everything is now changed: the soldiery of the monarchy146 and the two Empires has given place to a166 vast and peaceful national guard. There is no longer any fear of mutiny or violence. Nevertheless, death at every turn still threatens these gentle flocks of peasants and artisans clumsily disguised as soldiers. The contrast between their harmless conduct and the savage laws in force against them is almost laughable. And a moment’s reflection would prove that it is as absurd as it is hateful to punish with death crimes which could easily be dealt with by the simple penal code devised for the maintenance of public order.”
“But,” said M. de Terremondre, “the soldiers of to-day are armed as were the soldiers of former ages, and it is quite necessary that a small, unarmed body of officers should be able to ensure obedience147 and respect from a mob of men armed with muskets148 and cartridges149. That’s the gist150 of the whole matter.”
“It is an ancient prejudice,” said M. Bergeret, “to believe in the necessity of punishment and to fancy that the severer the punishment the more efficacious it is. The death penalty for assaulting a superior officer is a survival of the time when the officers were not of the same blood as the soldiers. These penalties were still retained in the republican armies. Brindamour, who became a general in 1792, employed the customs of bygone days in the service of the Revolution and shot volunteers167 in grand style. At any rate, it may be said that Brindamour waged war and fought strenuously151 from the time that he became general. It was a matter of keeping the upper hand: it was not a man’s life that was at stake, but the safety of the country.”
“It was theft especially,” said M. Mazure, “that the generals of the year II punished with relentless152 severity. A light-infantry man in the Army of the North, who had merely exchanged his old hat for a new one, was shot. Two drummers, the eldest153 of whom was only eighteen, were shot in sight of their comrades for having stolen some worthless ornaments154 from an old peasant. It was the heroic age.”
“It was not only thieves,” answered M. Bergeret, “who were shot down from day to day in the republican armies, it was also mutineers. And those soldiers, who have been so much belauded since, were dragooned like convicts, even to the point of semi-starvation. It is true that they were occasionally in an awkward mood. Witness the three hundred gunners of the 33rd demi-brigade who, at Mantua in the year IV, demanded their pay by turning their cannon155 on the generals.
“They were jolly dogs with whom jesting was not safe! If enemies were not come-at-able they were capable of spitting a dozen of their superior officers. Such is the heroic temperament156. But168 Dumanet is not a hero nowadays, since peace no longer produces such beings. Sergeant157 Bridoux has nothing to fear in his peaceful quarters, yet it pleases him to be still able to say that a man cannot raise a hand against him without being immediately shot with musical honours. However, in the present state of our manners and in time of peace, such a circumstance is out of proportion, although nobody can see it. It is true that when a sentence of death has been passed by court-martial158 it is never carried out, save in Algeria, and that, as far as possible, we avoid giving these martial and musical entertainments in France. It is recognised that here they would produce a bad effect: and in that fact you have a tacit condemnation159 of the military code.”
“If,” answered M. Bergeret, “you had only seen a batch161 of raw recruits filing into the barrack yard, you would no longer think it necessary to be for ever hurling162 threats of death at these sheep-like creatures in order to maintain discipline among them. They are thinking of nothing but of how to get through their three years, as they put it, and Sergeant Bridoux would be touched even to tears by their pitiful docility163, were it not that he thirsts to terrify them in order that he may169 enjoy his own sense of power. It is not that Sergeant Bridoux was born with a more callous164 heart than anyone else. But he is doubly perverted165, both as slave and tyrant166, and if Marcus Aurelius had been a non-commissioned officer I would not go so far as to promise that he would never have tyrannised over his men. However that may be, this tyranny suffices to produce that submission167 tempered by deceit that is the soldier’s most useful virtue168 in time of peace.
“It is high time that our military codes of law, with their paraphernalia169 of death, should be seen no more, save in the chamber170 of horrors, by the side of the keys of the Bastille and the thumb-screws of the Inquisition.”
“Army affairs,” said M. de Terremondre, “require most cautious handling. The army means safety and it means hope. It is also the training school of duty. Where else, save there, can be found self-sacrifice and devotion?”
“It is true,” said M. Bergeret, “that men consider it the primary social duty to learn to kill their fellows according to rule, and that, in civilised nations, the glory of massacre171 is the greatest glory known. And, after all, though man may be irredeemably evil and mischievous172, the bad work he does is but small in comparison with the whole170 universe. For this planet is but a clod of earth in space and the sun but a gaseous173 bubble that will soon dissolve.”
“I see,” said M. Frémont, “that you are no positivist. For you treat the great fetich but scornfully.”
“What is the great fetich?” asked M. de Terremondre.
“You know,” answered M. Frémont, “that the positivists classify man as the worshipping animal. Auguste Comte was very anxious to provide for the wants of this worshipping animal and, after long reflection, supplied him with a fetich. But his choice fell on the earth and not on God. This was not because he was an atheist174. On the contrary, he held that the existence of a creative power is quite probable. Only he opined that God was too difficult for comprehension, and therefore his disciples175, who are very religious men, practise the worship of the dead, of great men, of woman, and of the great fetich, which is the earth. Hence it comes about that the followers176 of this cult124 make plans for the happiness of men and busy themselves in regulating the affairs of the planet with a view to our happiness.”
“They will have a great deal to do,” said M. Bergeret, “and it is quite evident that they are optimists177. They must be optimistic to a171 degree, and this temperament of theirs fills me with astonishment, for it is difficult to realise that intelligent and thoughtful men such as these can cherish the hope of some day making our sojourn178 on this petty ball bearable to us. For this earth, revolving179 clumsily round a yellow, half-darkened sun, carries us with it as though we were vermin on a mouldy crust. The great fetich does not seem to me in any way worshipful.”
Dr. Fornerol stooped down to whisper in M. de Terremondre’s ear:
“Bergeret wouldn’t gird at the universe in this way if he hadn’t some special trouble. It isn’t natural to see the seamy side of everything.”
“You’re right,” said M. de Terremondre.
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1 fixed | |
adj.固定的,不变的,准备好的;(计算机)固定的 | |
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2 allusion | |
n.暗示,间接提示 | |
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3 courteously | |
adv.有礼貌地,亲切地 | |
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4 condemned | |
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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5 penal | |
adj.刑罚的;刑法上的 | |
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6 astonishment | |
n.惊奇,惊异 | |
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7 monstrous | |
adj.巨大的;恐怖的;可耻的,丢脸的 | |
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8 brute | |
n.野兽,兽性 | |
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9 edifying | |
adj.有教训意味的,教训性的,有益的v.开导,启发( edify的现在分词 ) | |
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10 repentance | |
n.懊悔 | |
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11 piety | |
n.虔诚,虔敬 | |
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12 rosy | |
adj.美好的,乐观的,玫瑰色的 | |
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13 chubby | |
adj.丰满的,圆胖的 | |
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14 apron | |
n.围裙;工作裙 | |
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15 protruded | |
v.(使某物)伸出,(使某物)突出( protrude的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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16 drooping | |
adj. 下垂的,无力的 动词droop的现在分词 | |
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17 exhausted | |
adj.极其疲惫的,精疲力尽的 | |
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18 abhorrence | |
n.憎恶;可憎恶的事 | |
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19 congregating | |
(使)集合,聚集( congregate的现在分词 ) | |
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20 skull | |
n.头骨;颅骨 | |
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21 well-being | |
n.安康,安乐,幸福 | |
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22 skilfully | |
adv. (美skillfully)熟练地 | |
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23 copper | |
n.铜;铜币;铜器;adj.铜(制)的;(紫)铜色的 | |
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24 whined | |
v.哀号( whine的过去式和过去分词 );哀诉,诉怨 | |
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25 punctuated | |
v.(在文字中)加标点符号,加标点( punctuate的过去式和过去分词 );不时打断某事物 | |
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26 intervals | |
n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 );间隔时间;[数学]区间;(戏剧、电影或音乐会的)幕间休息 | |
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27 apertures | |
n.孔( aperture的名词复数 );隙缝;(照相机的)光圈;孔径 | |
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28 suppliant | |
adj.哀恳的;n.恳求者,哀求者 | |
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29 tattoo | |
n.纹身,(皮肤上的)刺花纹;vt.刺花纹于 | |
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30 tattooed | |
v.刺青,文身( tattoo的过去式和过去分词 );连续有节奏地敲击;作连续有节奏的敲击 | |
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31 horde | |
n.群众,一大群 | |
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32 scattered | |
adj.分散的,稀疏的;散步的;疏疏落落的 | |
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33 swollen | |
adj.肿大的,水涨的;v.使变大,肿胀 | |
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34 linen | |
n.亚麻布,亚麻线,亚麻制品;adj.亚麻布制的,亚麻的 | |
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35 ulcers | |
n.溃疡( ulcer的名词复数 );腐烂物;道德败坏;腐败 | |
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36 rustle | |
v.沙沙作响;偷盗(牛、马等);n.沙沙声声 | |
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37 filthy | |
adj.卑劣的;恶劣的,肮脏的 | |
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38 beak | |
n.鸟嘴,茶壶嘴,钩形鼻 | |
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39 promiscuity | |
n.混杂,混乱;(男女的)乱交 | |
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40 civilisation | |
n.文明,文化,开化,教化 | |
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41 indifference | |
n.不感兴趣,不关心,冷淡,不在乎 | |
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42 savagery | |
n.野性 | |
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43 savage | |
adj.野蛮的;凶恶的,残暴的;n.未开化的人 | |
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44 peculiar | |
adj.古怪的,异常的;特殊的,特有的 | |
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45 killing | |
n.巨额利润;突然赚大钱,发大财 | |
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46 solitude | |
n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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47 justifying | |
证明…有理( justify的现在分词 ); 为…辩护; 对…作出解释; 为…辩解(或辩护) | |
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48 abominable | |
adj.可厌的,令人憎恶的 | |
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49 allege | |
vt.宣称,申述,主张,断言 | |
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50 withdrawn | |
vt.收回;使退出;vi.撤退,退出 | |
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51 immoral | |
adj.不道德的,淫荡的,荒淫的,有伤风化的 | |
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52 accomplished | |
adj.有才艺的;有造诣的;达到了的 | |
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53 judicial | |
adj.司法的,法庭的,审判的,明断的,公正的 | |
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54 dungeons | |
n.地牢( dungeon的名词复数 ) | |
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55 dungeon | |
n.地牢,土牢 | |
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56 dens | |
n.牙齿,齿状部分;兽窝( den的名词复数 );窝点;休息室;书斋 | |
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57 malicious | |
adj.有恶意的,心怀恶意的 | |
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58 tormenting | |
使痛苦的,使苦恼的 | |
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59 hatred | |
n.憎恶,憎恨,仇恨 | |
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60 antithesis | |
n.对立;相对 | |
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61 fattening | |
adj.(食物)要使人发胖的v.喂肥( fatten的现在分词 );养肥(牲畜);使(钱)增多;使(公司)升值 | |
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62 secular | |
n.牧师,凡人;adj.世俗的,现世的,不朽的 | |
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63 frightful | |
adj.可怕的;讨厌的 | |
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64 meted | |
v.(对某人)施以,给予(处罚等)( mete的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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65 imprisonment | |
n.关押,监禁,坐牢 | |
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66 immured | |
v.禁闭,监禁( immure的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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67 mere | |
adj.纯粹的;仅仅,只不过 | |
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68 reign | |
n.统治时期,统治,支配,盛行;v.占优势 | |
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69 solitary | |
adj.孤独的,独立的,荒凉的;n.隐士 | |
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70 confinement | |
n.幽禁,拘留,监禁;分娩;限制,局限 | |
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71 disorders | |
n.混乱( disorder的名词复数 );凌乱;骚乱;(身心、机能)失调 | |
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72 degenerate | |
v.退步,堕落;adj.退步的,堕落的;n.堕落者 | |
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73 physiological | |
adj.生理学的,生理学上的 | |
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74 partially | |
adv.部分地,从某些方面讲 | |
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75 jaw | |
n.颚,颌,说教,流言蜚语;v.喋喋不休,教训 | |
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76 fugitive | |
adj.逃亡的,易逝的;n.逃犯,逃亡者 | |
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77 joyous | |
adj.充满快乐的;令人高兴的 | |
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78 besetting | |
adj.不断攻击的v.困扰( beset的现在分词 );不断围攻;镶;嵌 | |
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79 heroism | |
n.大无畏精神,英勇 | |
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80 peculiarities | |
n. 特质, 特性, 怪癖, 古怪 | |
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81 lewd | |
adj.淫荡的 | |
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82 muse | |
n.缪斯(希腊神话中的女神),创作灵感 | |
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83 tattooing | |
n.刺字,文身v.刺青,文身( tattoo的现在分词 );连续有节奏地敲击;作连续有节奏的敲击 | |
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84 champagne | |
n.香槟酒;微黄色 | |
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85 adorned | |
[计]被修饰的 | |
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86 boon | |
n.恩赐,恩物,恩惠 | |
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87 incapable | |
adj.无能力的,不能做某事的 | |
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88 shrugged | |
vt.耸肩(shrug的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
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89 admiration | |
n.钦佩,赞美,羡慕 | |
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90 rendezvous | |
n.约会,约会地点,汇合点;vi.汇合,集合;vt.使汇合,使在汇合地点相遇 | |
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91 inspector | |
n.检查员,监察员,视察员 | |
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92 civic | |
adj.城市的,都市的,市民的,公民的 | |
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93 awe | |
n.敬畏,惊惧;vt.使敬畏,使惊惧 | |
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94 sewers | |
n.阴沟,污水管,下水道( sewer的名词复数 ) | |
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95 wretches | |
n.不幸的人( wretch的名词复数 );可怜的人;恶棍;坏蛋 | |
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96 tempted | |
v.怂恿(某人)干不正当的事;冒…的险(tempt的过去分词) | |
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97 portfolios | |
n.投资组合( portfolio的名词复数 );(保险)业务量;(公司或机构提供的)系列产品;纸夹 | |
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98 engraving | |
n.版画;雕刻(作品);雕刻艺术;镌版术v.在(硬物)上雕刻(字,画等)( engrave的现在分词 );将某事物深深印在(记忆或头脑中) | |
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99 plumed | |
饰有羽毛的 | |
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100 swarming | |
密集( swarm的现在分词 ); 云集; 成群地移动; 蜜蜂或其他飞行昆虫成群地飞来飞去 | |
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101 shreds | |
v.撕碎,切碎( shred的第三人称单数 );用撕毁机撕毁(文件) | |
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102 Christian | |
adj.基督教徒的;n.基督教徒 | |
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103 vigour | |
(=vigor)n.智力,体力,精力 | |
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104 frieze | |
n.(墙上的)横饰带,雕带 | |
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105 standing | |
n.持续,地位;adj.永久的,不动的,直立的,不流动的 | |
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106 solicitor | |
n.初级律师,事务律师 | |
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107 aristocrat | |
n.贵族,有贵族气派的人,上层人物 | |
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108 genre | |
n.(文学、艺术等的)类型,体裁,风格 | |
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109 entirely | |
ad.全部地,完整地;完全地,彻底地 | |
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110 plebeian | |
adj.粗俗的;平民的;n.平民;庶民 | |
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111 elegance | |
n.优雅;优美,雅致;精致,巧妙 | |
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112 graceful | |
adj.优美的,优雅的;得体的 | |
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113 hips | |
abbr.high impact polystyrene 高冲击强度聚苯乙烯,耐冲性聚苯乙烯n.臀部( hip的名词复数 );[建筑学]屋脊;臀围(尺寸);臀部…的 | |
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114 judgment | |
n.审判;判断力,识别力,看法,意见 | |
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115 complacent | |
adj.自满的;自鸣得意的 | |
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116 negligently | |
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117 dummies | |
n.仿制品( dummy的名词复数 );橡皮奶头;笨蛋;假传球 | |
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118 worthy | |
adj.(of)值得的,配得上的;有价值的 | |
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119 degenerating | |
衰退,堕落,退化( degenerate的现在分词 ) | |
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120 chivalry | |
n.骑士气概,侠义;(男人)对女人彬彬有礼,献殷勤 | |
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121 renaissance | |
n.复活,复兴,文艺复兴 | |
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122 wrought | |
v.引起;以…原料制作;运转;adj.制造的 | |
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123 exquisite | |
adj.精美的;敏锐的;剧烈的,感觉强烈的 | |
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124 cult | |
n.异教,邪教;时尚,狂热的崇拜 | |
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125 stunted | |
adj.矮小的;发育迟缓的 | |
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126 languishing | |
a. 衰弱下去的 | |
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127 formerly | |
adv.从前,以前 | |
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128 majestic | |
adj.雄伟的,壮丽的,庄严的,威严的,崇高的 | |
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129 expiation | |
n.赎罪,补偿 | |
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130 purely | |
adv.纯粹地,完全地 | |
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131 consequential | |
adj.作为结果的,间接的;重要的 | |
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132 prerogative | |
n.特权 | |
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133 jurisdiction | |
n.司法权,审判权,管辖权,控制权 | |
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134 consecrated | |
adj.神圣的,被视为神圣的v.把…奉为神圣,给…祝圣( consecrate的过去式和过去分词 );奉献 | |
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135 entrusted | |
v.委托,托付( entrust的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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136 brigands | |
n.土匪,强盗( brigand的名词复数 ) | |
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137 ravaged | |
毁坏( ravage的过去式和过去分词 ); 蹂躏; 劫掠; 抢劫 | |
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138 perpetuated | |
vt.使永存(perpetuate的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
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139 brutal | |
adj.残忍的,野蛮的,不讲理的 | |
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140 curb | |
n.场外证券市场,场外交易;vt.制止,抑制 | |
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141 proceeding | |
n.行动,进行,(pl.)会议录,学报 | |
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142 organisation | |
n.组织,安排,团体,有机休 | |
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143 conglomeration | |
n.团块,聚集,混合物 | |
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144 kidnappers | |
n.拐子,绑匪( kidnapper的名词复数 ) | |
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145 regiments | |
(军队的)团( regiment的名词复数 ); 大量的人或物 | |
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146 monarchy | |
n.君主,最高统治者;君主政体,君主国 | |
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147 obedience | |
n.服从,顺从 | |
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148 muskets | |
n.火枪,(尤指)滑膛枪( musket的名词复数 ) | |
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149 cartridges | |
子弹( cartridge的名词复数 ); (打印机的)墨盒; 录音带盒; (唱机的)唱头 | |
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150 gist | |
n.要旨;梗概 | |
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151 strenuously | |
adv.奋发地,费力地 | |
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152 relentless | |
adj.残酷的,不留情的,无怜悯心的 | |
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153 eldest | |
adj.最年长的,最年老的 | |
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154 ornaments | |
n.装饰( ornament的名词复数 );点缀;装饰品;首饰v.装饰,点缀,美化( ornament的第三人称单数 ) | |
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155 cannon | |
n.大炮,火炮;飞机上的机关炮 | |
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156 temperament | |
n.气质,性格,性情 | |
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157 sergeant | |
n.警官,中士 | |
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158 martial | |
adj.战争的,军事的,尚武的,威武的 | |
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159 condemnation | |
n.谴责; 定罪 | |
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160 impair | |
v.损害,损伤;削弱,减少 | |
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161 batch | |
n.一批(组,群);一批生产量 | |
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162 hurling | |
n.爱尔兰式曲棍球v.猛投,用力掷( hurl的现在分词 );大声叫骂 | |
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163 docility | |
n.容易教,易驾驶,驯服 | |
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164 callous | |
adj.无情的,冷淡的,硬结的,起老茧的 | |
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165 perverted | |
adj.不正当的v.滥用( pervert的过去式和过去分词 );腐蚀;败坏;使堕落 | |
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166 tyrant | |
n.暴君,专制的君主,残暴的人 | |
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167 submission | |
n.服从,投降;温顺,谦虚;提出 | |
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168 virtue | |
n.德行,美德;贞操;优点;功效,效力 | |
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169 paraphernalia | |
n.装备;随身用品 | |
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170 chamber | |
n.房间,寝室;会议厅;议院;会所 | |
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171 massacre | |
n.残杀,大屠杀;v.残杀,集体屠杀 | |
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172 mischievous | |
adj.调皮的,恶作剧的,有害的,伤人的 | |
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173 gaseous | |
adj.气体的,气态的 | |
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174 atheist | |
n.无神论者 | |
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175 disciples | |
n.信徒( disciple的名词复数 );门徒;耶稣的信徒;(尤指)耶稣十二门徒之一 | |
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176 followers | |
追随者( follower的名词复数 ); 用户; 契据的附面; 从动件 | |
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177 optimists | |
n.乐观主义者( optimist的名词复数 ) | |
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178 sojourn | |
v./n.旅居,寄居;逗留 | |
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179 revolving | |
adj.旋转的,轮转式的;循环的v.(使)旋转( revolve的现在分词 );细想 | |
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