It was interesting, as it had been in Spain, to discover the anomalies and false appearances and thin lava-crusts on which we seemed to live so securely. Being well aware of how I saw myself in my own mind, it was interesting to study what was in the minds of other royal personages—to see how they regarded themselves and how they thought they were regarded—and to learn what real credit we had and what actual appearance we made in the minds of the people who saluted6 us with such varying degrees of curiosity and respect.
In Paris, where we went first, Royalty has no problems. Being for ever dispossessed of its claims in France, it is accepted there without awe8 and without enmity. It flees to Paris from the dulness of{108} its official life in every monarchy9 of Europe; and at times it seems that more royalties10 are there than in all the other capitals of the Continent together. Paris has become a holiday rendezvous11 for them; and it needs them as little as it does its tourists. They can meet and dine and gossip, unobserved even by the Press. They can find circles of aristocracy in which they will be received as formally as they would be in their Courts. Or they may enjoy, if they can, on terms of some human naturalness, the life of salons12 and studios. And if they desire the crowded solitude13 of the streets, they will rarely find any one to stare. Paris is freedom, even for princesses. It was, for me, on that first return, an old home of childhood that I was revisiting; and I went to the convent to see the nuns14 who had taught me, and hunted up some of my playmates to recall myself to them after the nine years that seemed a lifetime that had passed. Then, in a week, we set out for England; and there we were Royalty again.
It was then I first saw Queen Victoria, and I shall not easily describe what a surprise it was. She had been for a long time the great Queen in my thoughts, on the throne of an empire beyond imagination in
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Dowager Queen Alexandra of England, Queen Maud of Norway and Prince Olaf, Crown Prince of Norway
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wealth and power, and ruling so many millions of the most civilised people devoted15 in their loyalty16. I had formed a mental picture of I do not know what majesty17 and grandeur18 for her. We came to her from the City of London (so impressive after Paris) to have luncheon19 with her in Windsor Castle, that is so noble a seat of sovereignty; and when I entered the room in which she waited to receive us, I had a shock of pity and dismay. She was so small that I thought at first she must be sitting down. And she was not only feeble with age, but evidently ill, her eyes dulled, her hands swollen20, her face as if feverish21. Her merely human aspect of infirmity was increased by the black dress of mourning and widow’s cap that she wore; and standing22 with her two Indian servants behind her, leaning on her short cane23, in that magnificent apartment that would have dwarfed24 a giant, holding out a tired hand to you vaguely25 as if she did not clearly see you—it brought a lump to the throat. Here was Royalty then! The greatest and most famous of us all! Queen Victoria!
My father-in-law and she had known each other many years, and at the luncheon table he sat beside her and kept up a conversation with her. She said{110} very little, and with her eyes most often on her plate, like a person who is polite, but distracted by illness, and incapable26 of rousing the mind. The English Royal Family has the sensible habit of dining without the ladies-in-waiting, who take their meals in another room; so we were en famille; and the conversation was that of intimate domestic interests and the little social happenings of the day. One could hardly find a family more charming, more serene27, more simply happy.
And the explanation of this air of the English Court is easily found. England is a country of accepted classes, of which each class makes no infringement28 on the rights of the class above it and fears none from the class below. There are even upper and lower servants in a household. And each class receives servility from the class below it to reimburse29 it for the servility that it pays to the class above. Royalty is just a final upper class, neither envied by an aristocracy which cannot aspire30 to it, nor feared by the lower classes over which it has no authority. It is a social ornament31 of government, a symbol of national majesty.
The aristocracy is almost equally ornamental32, with{111} certain appearances of power that are allowed it by the sufferance of the rest. The real government is the commerce and industry of the nation. It is a commercial empire, ruled by considerations of trade, but disguising itself, even to itself, by forms of administration that are aristocratic, with an established church in a nation largely nonconformist, a military power that in the main engages in wars for the extension or protection of commercial interests, and an ideal of empire for humanitarian34 ends—at the same time making it pay. You will always hear, for example, of the devoted self-sacrifice of the British rule in India, which carries the peaceful blessings35 of civilisation36 to natives incapable of self-government; but if India were being held at a continual loss to the British tax-payer—if he had to pay out of his own purse, without return, to protect the natives from their own incapacity—I wonder whether the British Empire in India would last a year. It is this faculty37 of almost honest self-deception which makes the Englishman so insoluble a puzzle to the foreigner.
It makes the English Royal Family the most popularly revered38 in Europe, even though it has, of all the royal families, the least governmental power to{112} compel awe, and has no English blood in it to endear it to the nation, and is allowed not even a pretence39 of leadership in peace or war to make it picturesque40. When I attended Queen Victoria’s jubilee41, about a year after my first meeting with her, it seemed as if the whole nation had poured itself into the streets of London to celebrate the fiftieth anniversary of her succession to the throne. And if one were sceptical, it might be said that they were only to come to enjoy the spectacle and to rejoice in the display of their own national magnificence. But the celebration had all the evidences of a personal tribute, and it was undoubtedly42 so accepted by the Queen and her family.
King Edward, who was a man of the world not easily deceived, always seemed to have this conviction of his importance in the eyes of his people. I do not know to what extent he interested himself privately43 in the problems of their government, from which the Royal Family is so jealously excluded; certainly, in years of familiar acquaintance with him, I never once heard him refer to them. Yet he was a man whose intellect would have been of value to his country, for he was one of the cleverest sovereigns of Europe, a striking personality, genial44 and shrewd.{113} It seemed a pity that such a brain should be wasted in the idleness of royal life after it had succeeded in developing itself in spite of the restrictions45 that make most royal brains so dull.
Coming first to England from the animations46 of the South, I thought the people looked as stupefied as if they were all just recovering from a fit; and I felt the same general blank of reserved dulness among the aristocratic and official circles that surrounded the Court. It seemed a country that was not ruled by intelligence but by property. Property is a blind master, and great masses of the people were already rotted out by a poverty and industrial oppression from which any governing intelligence would have protected them. It took the fiasco of the Boer War, and the strikes and internal disorders47 of the last few years, to awaken48 the nation from its stupor49 of imperial complacency. Since that time there has been a great appearance of revolt and reform; and I have been interested to hear the foreign speculation50 on the probable fate of the throne in the final issue of the upheaval51. I should like to know what power the British throne still has of which the country could deprive it, or what liberty the people could acquire{114} by its abolition52! They would gain as little as if, by a popular uprising, the citizens of London killed the lions in their Zoo. There may have been a time when lions were dangerous in England, but the sight of them in their cages now can only give a pleasurable holiday-shudder of awe—of which, I think, the nation will not willingly deprive itself.
There was then beginning the great industrial and commercial rivalry53 between England and Germany that before war came led to so much talk of it; and this rivalry was paralleled by an antipathy54 between the Kaiser and King Edward that was as frank as the enmity between the nations. Neither sovereign made any disguise of it even when they were together, and I always felt that it did them both good—for a strong hostility55 is often as potent56 as a strong affection to make character.
But let me leave the sovereigns for a moment and turn to the people. The English impressed and baffled me in many ways. To the foreigner of Latin blood and temperament57, the English character indeed presents an almost insoluble enigma58. Often just when we feel that we are really beginning to understand it, we are faced with some contradictory59 trait{115} that completely baffles us. Certainly when we saw the country, apparently60 seething61 with internal dissensions, lay aside its family quarrels and present a united front to the enemy, we realised more than ever what a complex thing the English mentality62 is.
I must confess I thought that it would be hard for England to rise to any great national emergency, not so much because things seemed to have reached the breaking point in Ireland or because her colonies seemed bound to her more by self-interest than by real loyalty, but on account of the devastating63 habits of ease and luxury that had spread like a disease among her aristocracy. But now we know that these corrupting64 influences had not vitally affected65 the upper classes. Unlike the extravagances of ancient Rome that had eaten to the heart of the nation’s energies, England’s hurt was only skin-deep.
We can have no doubt of this when we see great ladies facing unfamiliar66 hardships and risks at the battle front, others dismantling67 their huge country houses and transforming them into hospitals and others freely giving their whole time and activities to the great relief organisations for the war’s sufferers.{116} The English aristocracy’s ingrained sense of responsibility to the nation remains68 untouched by all its latterly acquired taste for luxury and over-indulgence in sports.
I say “latterly acquired,” because it is undoubtedly true that this love of extravagance has grown enormously during the last decade or so. From the pomp and lavishness70 displayed nowadays in certain smart establishments, I should never realise that I was in the same circle whose courtesy and simplicity71 used to delight me so in the England I learned to love years ago.
It was, as I have said, as a young married woman that I had my first experience of English life. The Comte and Comtesse de Paris, my husband’s relatives, had been exiled from France and had been living for some time in Tunbridge Wells. I spent many months with them there, and, through their large circle of friends, I became acquainted with all sorts and conditions of people, and soon found myself accepting the hospitality of these newly-made friends. When I made it clear to my host and hostess that I desired them to forget that I was an Infanta and to be treated as an ordinary individual,{117} etiquette72 was banished73, and I was able to do as I liked.
Life in the country houses always pleased me best. In those days it was the custom for the family and guests to breakfast together, and I loved the informality of it all undisturbed by the ministrations of liveried lackeys74. Often, when there were children in the house, they were allowed to come to the table too, and we all had very jolly times over the porridge.
We often went bicycling for the whole day, carrying our lunches with us and eating them in some pleasant grove75 by the wayside. Sometimes we went on coaching expeditions and lunched in some old thatch-covered inn. When my children were little, I seldom missed passing some time in England each summer, so that they too could enjoy the freedom of the open-air life.
It did not take me long to appreciate the charm of the English home and country, which are vastly different from anything abroad. In Spain, people never live all the year round in the country if they can possibly avoid it, and they seldom visit their estates unless they wish practically to retire from the world. On the rare occasions when they do snatch{118} themselves from the conventional round of gaieties in the cities or the big watering places, they shut themselves up in their big, bare castles, receiving no one and seldom venturing outside their own properties. It is almost a time of penance76.
They are simply incapable of understanding the English love of life in the open air, with its many exhilarating and ingenious pastimes which appeal so strongly to me. More than that, they are inclined to look upon such taste as rather ill-bred. For instance, only the humblest Spaniard would dream of eating his cold lunch by the roadside, and I am sure that the true aristocrat33 would never appreciate the charm of seeking out some picturesque spot and having tea from a tea-basket. No Spanish lady of quality would even allow herself to walk hatless in her own garden, and reclining in a hammock or on the grass would be ruthlessly banned by her traditions and upbringing.
One summer day Queen Cristina came to me with a look of sheer consternation78 on her face.
“Eulalia,” she said, “I have just seen an appalling79 sight: an Englishwoman lying on the grass in the park.{119}”
The culprit was a lady-in-waiting, who had been brought to Spain by an English princess visiting the Court. I had some difficulty in convincing the Queen that such an action would not be considered such a shocking breach80 of etiquette in England as she imagined.
In France, country life in the Smart Set is more animated81 than in Spain, but it still lacks the spontaneity and freedom of the English out-of-doors. The chateaux are occasionally thrown open to visitors, but the guests are content to undergo the same routine as in Paris—the only difference being that it is adapted to another setting. Of course, there are hunting meets, and, of late years, garden parties, but much of the entertaining takes place indoors—dinner-parties, theatrical82 performances, afternoon receptions, etc. The French have not yet learned how really to live in the country, to relax and to change their entire mode of thought and activities.
There is hardly a county in England that I am not familiar with. I have spent many weeks in Cornwall, Devon and Yorkshire, and have returned again and again to Brighton, Tunbridge Wells and Richmond. Curiously83 enough, during one visit to{120} Richmond I received a message from the Duchess of Teck that her daughter, then Princess of Wales, had just given birth to her first boy. I went at once to White Lodge84 to offer my congratulations, and I fancy that I was the first, outside the immediate85 family, to hold the future Prince of Wales in my arms.
What to me is convincing proof of the change in latter years from simplicity to lavish69 display is the difference in the way of living I have remarked amongst many of my friends. Each time I have visited England recently I have been struck with this.
One thing that used to delight me so was the informality of the English tea. It was invariably served sans cérémonie in the drawing-room. After the servants had brought it in they retired86 and left us to our own devices. Neighbours frequently dropped in without warning, and often, as we gathered round a big blazing fire and ate those wonderful home-made delicacies87 unknown to Continentals88, there was a charming feeling of expansiveness and intimacy89 that we never had at other times of the day.
Of late years I have noticed that the custom has
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Courtesy of Collier’s
King George V, the Late King Edward VII and the Prince of Wales
{121}
changed. When you are invited to tea, you find your place set at a table loaded with expensive flowers and accessories from the chic90 caterer91. Footmen are in constant attendance and the charm of informality has entirely92 gone.
Friends of mine who used to be content to dine in some simple tea-gown now wear the latest Paris creations and their jewels—and this every evening. Although the Frenchwoman may still think that the Englishwoman’s taste in dress is far beneath her own standard, she would have to admit, if she were invited to some fashionable house-party, that the Englishwoman of means has far eclipsed her in the matter of frequent change. She would see the hostess and guests appear in tweed suits and stout93 boots for their morning constitutional and breakfast, then reappear in white flannels94 for their afternoon game of tennis or boating. She would wonder how, in the thick of sports and entertainment, these energetic women found time to put on some clinging creation for tea which would later be laid aside for the décolleté dinner-gown.
Of course, these departures from the simple tastes of twenty years ago seem harmless enough in them{122}selves, but they are surely indications of a constantly growing love of lavishness in the whole social routine. I am sorry to say that the fine old-time courtesies of the English gentry95 seem to have suffered by these more luxurious96 habits of living. In many smart circles, polished manners seem to have become as super-annuated as crinolines and stage coaches.
Whatever may be the faults of the English land-lord-system—faults inherited from the centuries—the system used to work excellently whenever the lord of the castle or manor-house lived up to his responsibilities. In spite of its touch of paternalism, there was something impressive about the white-haired earl inspecting his broad acres, bowing tenants97 standing aside to let his carriage pass, and something altogether touching98 about his lady visiting the cottagers, her footman—far haughtier99 in mien100 than she—bearing gifts of food and warm clothing. As long as the villagers were well cared for, I suppose they never questioned whether it was right for their master to have a mansion101 while they had to toil102 so hard to keep their humble77 thatched roof over their heads. But when the young lord took to dissipating the family fortunes on the turf, when he married some foot{123}light favourite—in other words, when he began to neglect the responsibilities of his race—that, probably, was the beginning of their doubt in the justice of the English social order. Then they forgot to curtsy whenever the young lord and his bride motored through the village, and they began to listen to the itinerant103 labour agitator104 at the tavern105.
Of course, the democratic spirit that is spreading all over the world has been at work in England for years, undermining rigid106 caste distinctions and differences, but I feel that it could not have grown so quickly nor expressed itself in just such forms as it has, if the extravagance and irresponsibility of many of the rich and powerful had not paved the way for it. Destroy respect and you destroy docility107. There is no doubt that the English lower classes, in their first efforts toward democracy and equality, have made some pretty ludicrous mistakes. Instead of copying the fine qualities of the aristocracy, they have, more frequently than not, managed to imitate their shortcomings and limitations. I remember hearing that the valet of some prince insisted on having a valet for himself! I know that French maids, whom I have taken to England, have had their heads{124} turned by the amazing etiquette of the servants’ hall—all unquestionably due to the servants’ desire to pattern their masters.
The maid of the Infanta is a great person, and she soon found that she could take precedence over all the others. She had to be elegantly dressed. Indeed, whenever I go to England, I always remark that my maid has double the luggage she requires when I take her to other countries. Once I discovered that the English servants’ attitude toward their work had so affected one maid that she was almost completely spoilt. For instance, after a visit to England on which she had accompanied me, this maid broke down and sobbed108 when I told her to light a fire.
“I can’t, I can’t,” she said, piteously, with tears streaming down her face.
“But for years you have been accustomed to light fires for me,” I said. “What has happened to make it such a terrible thing to light one now?”
She explained that she had learnt in England that it was beneath the dignity of a lady’s-maid to do menial work.
A Spanish maid from Seville had more sense, and{125} amused me immensely by telling me that the English servants had told her that it was exceedingly smart to walk out on Sunday afternoons with a soldier, and they had added that if she desired to show herself with a Guardsman, he would expect to be paid.
“Fancy my paying a soldier to walk out with me!” she said, laughing.
However, it is not unreasonable109 to hope that the war, which has already done so much toward rousing the rich from their lethargy of extravagance and neglect of responsibilities to the most praiseworthy usefulness, will help correct the lower class conception of equality. As I have already said, no character is so full of surprises as the English—so capable of appearing to be one thing while underneath110 it is the exact opposite. Can this be what people of other nationalities mean when they speak of English hypocrisy111? It is rather an innate112 reserve which the foreigner finds great difficulty in penetrating113. It comes, no doubt, from the Englishman’s veneration114 for tradition, and for centuries he has been schooled to show no emotion. That is often why he is supposed to be either stupid or inattentive. As a matter of fact, this very exterior115 gives him the great ad{126}vantage of being able to size up a situation without betraying either the process or his conclusions.
The proof of what I say is the Englishman’s unquestioned superiority in diplomacy116. People who have no experience of cosmopolitan117 society seem to think that the successful diplomat118 must be a detective of the popular novel type: an astute119 if somewhat unscrupulous politician and a polished lady’s man all rolled into one. To be sure, the representatives of certain countries often do their best to realise just such an ideal, but, although this type may succeed in carrying some of their machinations to a conclusion satisfactory to themselves, they almost never accomplish anything really worth while for their governments. Most of the English diplomats120 I have known on the Continent give the impression of being serenely121 indifferent to any intrigues122 that may be going on around them. It has often amused me to watch them at dinner-parties. Unlike certain representatives of other powers, they never go out of their way to make themselves agreeable to ladies. I have never seen them pay special attention to the wives of powerful statesmen for the purposes of their profession—indeed, they seem to scorn these back{127}door methods. Perhaps, it is because they know very well that real diplomacy is built on more solid foundations than on the gleanings of drawing-room conversations or the chance confidences of indiscreet women.
And they are right in this, for the whole tradition of diplomacy in England is different from that of any great power. She has not changed her tactics for centuries.
England has established such a prestige among nations that she is able to transact124 her international affairs in London, and has at her disposal the brains of her best statesmen. King Edward, in bringing about the entente125 cordiale, thus probably initiated126 the French Government into this way of conducting its international affairs, for of late years French diplomacy has steadily127 improved.
King Edward himself possessed7 in a high degree those national qualities that make the English such good diplomats. Not only in the conduct of nations, but in society, his self-possession and tact123 were unfailing. They certainly did not fail him on one occasion when I saw him placed in a very comical and embarrassing situation. We were both at a dinner-{128}party in a great London house, and among the guests was a lady who bore an historic Italian title. She was English by birth, and before her marriage had been famous in London society for her great beauty and her charm of manner. A wealthy Jew, who shall be disguised under the name of Abraham, was madly in love with her, and her friends, including King Edward, saw his growing infatuation with concern.
“Don’t you marry that man,” was the advice given her, peremptorily128 but good-naturedly, by King Edward.
But marry him she did; not, however, before he had been to Italy and bought the palace and the pompous129 title of an impoverished130 Florentine noble. Of this fact the king was unaware131, and when the lady was presented to him at the dinner-table as the Marchesa di X., he smiled and said: “I am delighted to meet you again as the Marchesa di X., and so thankful you didn’t marry that awful Abraham.”
A few moments later, the king observed that the “awful Abraham” was standing close by and had heard the unfortunate remark. Without turning a{129} hair, he smiled at him and congratulated him heartily132 upon his marriage.
King Edward was the first member of the English Royal Family that I met. My acquaintance with him started in Madrid when, as Prince of Wales, he came with his brother, the Duke of Connaught, one of the most charming princes in Europe, to be present at the festivities given in honour of the marriage of my brother.
Later I stayed with him and Queen Alexandra at Sandringham. One of the first things to impress me there was the king’s extreme punctuality. Somebody used always to come and warn me ten minutes before meal-times that I must not keep him waiting. For some unknown reason, he had all the clocks in the house set half-an-hour in advance of the right time, and one of the first things that guests at Sandringham learnt was the existence of this curious practice. The king liked to be amused, and, as he had a taste for the Gallic turn of wit that makes Latin races such good raconteurs133, there were always one or two foreigners about who, although they did not wear the cap and bells which would have defined their func{130}tions in an earlier age, played the part of Court jester admirably, and enlivened conversation at the dinner-table with praiseworthy persistence134.
The Princess Louise, now Duchess of Argyle, possesses a share of the talent which distinguished135 her brother and their sister, the Empress Frederick. I spent a very agreeable time with her in the Isle136 of Wight, when I went to England for the first time. We had many cosy137 times together, leaving our husbands to amuse each other, and our mutual138 interest in art and literature naturally drew us together.
Undoubtedly, one of the cleverest and most charming figures in the royal circle is the Duchess of Connaught. Her husband would, I am certain, be the first to admit that his success in creating for himself the special place he holds in English life and in the life of the British Empire is largely due to the Duchess’s loyal help and wise advice. In spite of her German upbringing, she has given herself wholeheartedly to the country of her adoption139, and her daughters, the Crown Princess of Sweden and Princess Patricia, are delightful140 and typically English girls.
The Russian princess, known best in England as{131} the Duchess of Edinburgh and now Duchess of Coburg, was unable to adapt herself to life in a strange country. It is a canon of Court etiquette that imperial personages take precedence of royal personages, and consequently it was held in Russia that the Duchess of Edinburgh, being the daughter of the Emperor of Russia, should take precedence of the Princess of Wales, who was merely the daughter of a king. Queen Alexandra is so amiable141 that I believe that she would have contentedly142 allowed the duchess and anybody else who wanted to do so to pass before her; but obviously the wife of the heir to the throne could not be permitted to take any place but the first after the Sovereign. What was to be done? Queen Victoria solved the difficulty very cleverly. She caused herself to be proclaimed Empress of India, and the claim put forward by the duchess immediately fell to the ground. The assumption of imperial rank by the Queen was undoubtedly dictated143 by political considerations, but the solution of the difficulty, created by the conservatism of Court etiquette, was an argument which weighed with her when she took the decisive step.
In no country is the veneration of royalty carried{132} to greater lengths than in England. That is doubtless why King Edward’s many American and Jewish friends were so readily received by the smart set, although these new-comers brought with them a love of lavishness and display that went counter to the taste and tradition of the English noblesse. When society opened its doors to these people of vast wealth and luxurious habits, and accepted their prodigal144 entertainments, it is hardly surprising that their example became infectious. Let us hope that England’s ingrained respect for royalty will induce the aristocracy to copy the simplicity and dignity of King George’s and Queen Mary’s life, and that this influence will aid in completely reviving the old-time ideals of courtesy and good-breeding.
As I have already said, this revival145 has already begun. The war, which has had the effect of rousing the rich from their over-indulgence in luxury and sports, will no doubt do much toward leavening146 the attitude of the classes toward each other. Surely, since they have been drawn147 together in a spontaneous movement of patriotism148 in the face of the enemy, they will lose much of their common mistrust and misunderstanding and the real democracy of the{133} spirit—not the sham149 equality of externals—will have freer leeway. More than that, I dare hope that the war, which has not only forced different classes but different nations to stand side by side, will break down their insular150 habit of thought which sees no good in foreign life and customs.
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inquisitive
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| adj.求知欲强的，好奇的，好寻根究底的 | |
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philosophical
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| adj.哲学家的，哲学上的，达观的 | |
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royalty
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| n.皇家，皇族 | |
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faction
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| n.宗派，小集团；派别；派系斗争 | |
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embellished
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| v.美化( embellish的过去式和过去分词 )；装饰；修饰；润色 | |
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saluted
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| v.欢迎，致敬( salute的过去式和过去分词 )；赞扬，赞颂 | |
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possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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awe
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| n.敬畏，惊惧；vt.使敬畏，使惊惧 | |
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monarchy
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| n.君主，最高统治者；君主政体，君主国 | |
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royalties
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| 特许权使用费 | |
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rendezvous
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| 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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salons
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| n.（营业性质的）店( salon的名词复数 )；厅；沙龙（旧时在上流社会女主人家的例行聚会或聚会场所）；（大宅中的）客厅 | |
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solitude
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| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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nuns
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| n.（通常指基督教的）修女， （佛教的）尼姑( nun的名词复数 ) | |
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devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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loyalty
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| n.忠诚，忠心 | |
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majesty
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| n.雄伟，壮丽，庄严，威严；最高权威，王权 | |
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grandeur
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| n.伟大，崇高，宏伟，庄严，豪华 | |
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luncheon
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| n.午宴，午餐，便宴 | |
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swollen
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| adj.肿大的，水涨的；v.使变大，肿胀 | |
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feverish
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| adj.发烧的，狂热的，兴奋的 | |
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22
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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23
cane
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| n.手杖，细长的茎，藤条；v.以杖击，以藤编制的 | |
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24
dwarfed
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| vt.（使）显得矮小（dwarf的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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25
vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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26
incapable
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| adj.无能力的，不能做某事的 | |
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27
serene
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| adj. 安详的，宁静的，平静的 | |
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28
infringement
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| n.违反；侵权 | |
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29
reimburse
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| v.补偿，付还 | |
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30
aspire
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| vi.(to，after)渴望，追求，有志于 | |
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31
ornament
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| v.装饰，美化；n.装饰，装饰物 | |
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ornamental
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| adj.装饰的；作装饰用的；n.装饰品；观赏植物 | |
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33
aristocrat
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| n.贵族，有贵族气派的人，上层人物 | |
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34
humanitarian
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| n.人道主义者，博爱者，基督凡人论者 | |
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35
blessings
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| n.（上帝的）祝福( blessing的名词复数 )；好事；福分；因祸得福 | |
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36
civilisation
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| n.文明，文化，开化，教化 | |
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37
faculty
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| n.才能；学院，系；(学院或系的)全体教学人员 | |
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38
revered
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| v.崇敬，尊崇，敬畏( revere的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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39
pretence
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| n.假装，作假；借口，口实；虚伪；虚饰 | |
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40
picturesque
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| adj.美丽如画的，（语言）生动的，绘声绘色的 | |
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41
jubilee
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| n.周年纪念；欢乐 | |
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42
undoubtedly
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| adv.确实地，无疑地 | |
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43
privately
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| adv.以私人的身份，悄悄地，私下地 | |
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genial
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| adj.亲切的，和蔼的，愉快的，脾气好的 | |
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45
restrictions
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| 约束( restriction的名词复数 )； 管制； 制约因素； 带限制性的条件（或规则） | |
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46
animations
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| n.生气( animation的名词复数 )；兴奋；动画片；（指电影、录像、电脑游戏的）动画制作 | |
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47
disorders
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| n.混乱( disorder的名词复数 )；凌乱；骚乱；（身心、机能）失调 | |
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48
awaken
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| vi.醒，觉醒；vt.唤醒，使觉醒，唤起，激起 | |
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49
stupor
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| v.昏迷；不省人事 | |
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50
speculation
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| n.思索，沉思；猜测；投机 | |
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51
upheaval
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| n.胀起，(地壳)的隆起；剧变，动乱 | |
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52
abolition
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| n.废除，取消 | |
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53
rivalry
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| n.竞争，竞赛，对抗 | |
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54
antipathy
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| n.憎恶；反感，引起反感的人或事物 | |
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55
hostility
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| n.敌对，敌意；抵制［pl.］交战，战争 | |
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56
potent
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| adj.强有力的，有权势的；有效力的 | |
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57
temperament
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| n.气质，性格，性情 | |
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58
enigma
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| n.谜，谜一样的人或事 | |
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59
contradictory
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| adj.反驳的，反对的，抗辩的；n.正反对，矛盾对立 | |
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60
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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61
seething
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| 沸腾的，火热的 | |
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62
mentality
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| n.心理，思想，脑力 | |
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63
devastating
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| adj.毁灭性的，令人震惊的，强有力的 | |
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64
corrupting
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| （使）败坏( corrupt的现在分词 )； （使）腐化； 引起（计算机文件等的）错误； 破坏 | |
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65
affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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66
unfamiliar
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| adj.陌生的，不熟悉的 | |
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67
dismantling
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| （枪支）分解 | |
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68
remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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69
lavish
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| adj.无节制的；浪费的；vt.慷慨地给予，挥霍 | |
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70
lavishness
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| n.浪费，过度 | |
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71
simplicity
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| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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72
etiquette
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| n.礼仪，礼节；规矩 | |
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73
banished
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| v.放逐，驱逐( banish的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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74
lackeys
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| n.听差( lackey的名词复数 )；男仆（通常穿制服）；卑躬屈膝的人；被待为奴仆的人 | |
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75
grove
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| n.林子，小树林，园林 | |
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76
penance
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| n.（赎罪的）惩罪 | |
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77
humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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78
consternation
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| n.大为吃惊，惊骇 | |
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79
appalling
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| adj.骇人听闻的，令人震惊的，可怕的 | |
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80
breach
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| n.违反，不履行；破裂；vt.冲破，攻破 | |
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81
animated
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| adj.生气勃勃的，活跃的，愉快的 | |
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82
theatrical
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| adj.剧场的，演戏的；做戏似的，做作的 | |
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83
curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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84
lodge
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| v.临时住宿，寄宿，寄存，容纳；n.传达室，小旅馆 | |
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85
immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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86
retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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87
delicacies
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| n.棘手( delicacy的名词复数 )；精致；精美的食物；周到 | |
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88
continentals
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| n.（欧洲）大陆人( continental的名词复数 ) | |
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89
intimacy
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| n.熟悉，亲密，密切关系，亲昵的言行 | |
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90
chic
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| n./adj.别致(的)，时髦(的)，讲究的 | |
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91
caterer
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| n. 备办食物者，备办宴席者 | |
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92
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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94
flannels
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| 法兰绒男裤； 法兰绒( flannel的名词复数 ) | |
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95
gentry
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| n.绅士阶级，上层阶级 | |
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96
luxurious
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| adj.精美而昂贵的；豪华的 | |
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97
tenants
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| n.房客( tenant的名词复数 )；佃户；占用者；占有者 | |
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98
touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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99
haughtier
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| haughty（傲慢的，骄傲的）的比较级形式 | |
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100
mien
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| n.风采；态度 | |
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101
mansion
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| n.大厦，大楼；宅第 | |
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102
toil
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| vi.辛劳工作，艰难地行动；n.苦工，难事 | |
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103
itinerant
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| adj.巡回的；流动的 | |
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104
agitator
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| n.鼓动者；搅拌器 | |
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105
tavern
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| n.小旅馆，客栈；小酒店 | |
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106
rigid
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| adj.严格的，死板的；刚硬的，僵硬的 | |
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107
docility
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| n.容易教，易驾驶，驯服 | |
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108
sobbed
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| 哭泣，啜泣( sob的过去式和过去分词 )； 哭诉，呜咽地说 | |
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109
unreasonable
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| adj.不讲道理的，不合情理的，过度的 | |
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110
underneath
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| adj.在...下面，在...底下；adv.在下面 | |
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111
hypocrisy
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| n.伪善，虚伪 | |
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112
innate
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| adj.天生的，固有的，天赋的 | |
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113
penetrating
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| 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 | |
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114
veneration
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| n.尊敬，崇拜 | |
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115
exterior
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| adj.外部的，外在的；表面的 | |
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116
diplomacy
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| n.外交；外交手腕，交际手腕 | |
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117
cosmopolitan
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| adj.世界性的，全世界的，四海为家的，全球的 | |
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118
diplomat
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| n.外交官，外交家；能交际的人，圆滑的人 | |
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119
astute
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| adj.机敏的，精明的 | |
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120
diplomats
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| n.外交官( diplomat的名词复数 )；有手腕的人，善于交际的人 | |
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121
serenely
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| adv.安详地，宁静地，平静地 | |
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122
intrigues
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| n.密谋策划( intrigue的名词复数 )；神秘气氛；引人入胜的复杂情节v.搞阴谋诡计( intrigue的第三人称单数 )；激起…的好奇心 | |
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123
tact
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| n.机敏，圆滑，得体 | |
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124
transact
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| v.处理；做交易；谈判 | |
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125
entente
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| n.协定；有协定关系的各国 | |
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126
initiated
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| n. 创始人 adj. 新加入的 vt. 开始，创始，启蒙，介绍加入 | |
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127
steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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128
peremptorily
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| adv.紧急地，不容分说地，专横地 | |
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129
pompous
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| adj.傲慢的，自大的；夸大的；豪华的 | |
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130
impoverished
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| adj.穷困的，无力的，用尽了的v.使（某人）贫穷( impoverish的过去式和过去分词 )；使（某物）贫瘠或恶化 | |
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131
unaware
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| a.不知道的，未意识到的 | |
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132
heartily
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| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
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133
raconteurs
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| n.善于讲轶事的人( raconteur的名词复数 ) | |
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134
persistence
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| n.坚持，持续，存留 | |
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135
distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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136
isle
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| n.小岛，岛 | |
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137
cosy
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| adj.温暖而舒适的，安逸的 | |
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138
mutual
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| adj.相互的，彼此的；共同的，共有的 | |
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139
adoption
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| n.采用，采纳，通过；收养 | |
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140
delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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141
amiable
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| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
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142
contentedly
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| adv.心满意足地 | |
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143
dictated
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| v.大声讲或读( dictate的过去式和过去分词 )；口授；支配；摆布 | |
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144
prodigal
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| adj.浪费的，挥霍的，放荡的 | |
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145
revival
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| n.复兴，复苏，（精力、活力等的）重振 | |
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146
leavening
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| n.酵母，发酵，发酵物v.使（面团）发酵( leaven的现在分词 )；在…中掺入改变的因素 | |
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147
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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148
patriotism
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| n.爱国精神，爱国心，爱国主义 | |
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149
sham
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| n./adj.假冒(的)，虚伪(的) | |
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150
insular
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| adj.岛屿的，心胸狭窄的 | |
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