Easy-going Austria—Vienna—Charm of town—A little piece of history—-International families—Family pride—"Schlüssel-Geld"—Excellence of Vienna restaurants—The origin of "Croissants"—Good looks of Viennese women—Strauss's operettas—A ball in an old Vienna house—Court entertainments—The Empress Elisabeth—Delightful1 environs of Vienna—The Berlin Congress of 1878—Lord Beaconsfield—M. de Blowitz—Treaty telegraphed to London—Environs of Berlin—Potsdam and its lakes—The bow-oar of the Embassy "four"—Narrow escape of ex-Kaiser—The Potsdam palaces—Transfer to Petrograd—Glamour2 of Russia—An evening with the Crown Prince at Potsdam.
Our Embassy at Vienna was greatly overworked at this time, owing to the illness of two of the staff, and some fresh developments of the perennial3 "Eastern Question." I was accordingly "lent" to the Vienna Embassy for as long as was necessary, and left at once for the Austrian capital.
At the frontier station of Tetschen the transition from cast-iron, dictatorial5, overbearing Prussian efficiency to the good-natured, easy-going, slipshod methods of the "ramshackle Empire" was immediately apparent.
The change from Berlin to Vienna was refreshing7. The straight, monotonous8, well-kept streets of the Northern capital lacked life and animation9. It was a very fine frame enclosing no picture. The Vienna
{49}
streets were as gay as those of Paris, and one was conscious of being in a city with centuries of traditions. The Inner Town of Vienna with its narrow winding10 streets is extraordinarily11 picturesque12. The demolisher13 has not been given the free hand he has been allowed in Paris, and the fine baroque houses still remaining give an air of great distinction to this part of the town, with its many highly-decorative14, if somewhat florid, fountains and columns. One was no longer in the "pushful" atmosphere of Prussia. These cheery, easy-going Viennese loved music and dancing, eating and drinking, laughter and fun. They were quite content to drift lazily down the stream of life, with as much enjoyment15 and as little trouble as possible. They might be a decadent16 race, but they were essentially17 gem18üthliche Leute. The untranslatable epithet19 gemüthlich implies something at once "comfortable," "sociable," "cosy," and "pleasant."
The Austrian aristocracy were most charming people. They had all intermarried for centuries, and if they did not trouble their intellect much, there may have been physical difficulties connected with the process for which they were not responsible. The degree of warmth of their reception of foreigners was largely dependent upon whether he, or she, could show the indispensable sechzehn Ahnen (the "sixteen quarterings"). Once satisfied (or the reverse) as to this point, to which they attach immense importance, the situation became easier. As the whole of these people were interrelated, they
{50}
were all on Christian22 names terms, and the various "Mitzis," "Kitzis," "Fritzis," and other characteristically Austrian abbreviations were a little difficult to place at times.
It was impossible not to realise that the whole nation was living on the traditions of their splendid past. It must be remembered that in the sixteenth century the Hapsburgs ruled the whole of Europe with the exception of France, England, Russia, and the Scandinavian countries. For centuries after Charlemagne assumed the Imperial Crown there had been only one Emperor in Europe, the "Holy Roman Emperor," the "Heiliger Römischer Kaiser," the fiction being, of course, that he was the descendant of the Cæsars. The word "Kaiser" is only the German variant24 of Cæsar. France and England had always consistently refused to acknowledge the overlordship of the Emperor, but the prestige of the title in German-speaking lands was immense, though the Holy Roman Empire itself was a mere25 simulacrum of power. In theory the Emperor was elected; in practice the title came to be a hereditary26 appanage of the proud Hapsburgs. It was, I think, Talleyrand who said "L'Autrice a la Fächeuse habitude d'être toujours battue," and this was absolutely true. Austria was defeated with unfailing regularity27 in almost every campaign, and the Hapsburgs saw their immense dominions28 gradually slipping from their grasp. It was on May 14, 1804, that Napoleon was crowned Emperor of the French in Paris, and Francis II, the last of
{51}
the Holy Roman Emperors, was fully29 aware that Napoleon's next move would be to supplant30 him and get himself elected as "Roman Emperor." This Napoleon would have been able to achieve, as he had bribed31 the Electors of Bavaria, Württemberg, and Saxony by creating them kings. For once a Hapsburg acted with promptitude. On August 11, 1804, Francis proclaimed himself hereditary Emperor of Austria, and two years later he abolished the title of Holy Roman Emperor. The Empire, after a thousand years of existence, flickered32 out ingloriously in 1806. The pride of the Hapsburgs had received a hundred years previously33 a rude shock. Peter the Great, after consolidating34 Russia, abolished the title of Tsar of Muscovy, and proclaimed himself Emperor of All the Russias; purposely using the same term "Imperator" as that employed by the Roman Emperor, and thus putting himself on an equality with him.
I know by experience that it is impossible to din4 into the heads of those unfamiliar35 with Russia that since Peter the Great's time there has never been a Tsar. The words "Tsar," "Tsarina," "Cesarevitch," beloved of journalists, exist only in their imagination; they are never heard in Russia. The Russians termed their Emperor "Gosudar Imperator," using either or both of the words. Empress is "Imperatritza"; Heir Apparent "Nadslyédnik." If you mentioned the words "Tsar" or "Tsarina" to any ordinary Russian peasant, I doubt if he would understand you, but I am well
{52}
aware that it is no use repeating this, the other idea is too firmly ingrained. The Hapsburgs had yet another bitter pill to swallow. Down to the middle of the nineteenth century the ancient prestige of the title Kaiser and the glamour attached to it were maintained throughout the Germanic Confederation, but in 1871 a second brand-new Kaiser arose on the banks of the Spree, and the Hapsburgs were shorn of their long monopoly.
Franz Josef of Austria must have rued36 the day when Sigismund sold the sandy Mark of Brandenburg to Frederick Count of Hohenzollern in 1415, and regretted the acquiescence37 in 1701 of his direct ancestor, the Emperor Leopold I, in the Elector of Brandenburg's request that he might assume the title of King of Prussia. The Hohenzollerns were ever a grasping race. I think that it was Louis XIV of France who, whilst officially recognising the new King of Prussia, refused to speak of him as such, and always alluded38 to him as "Monsieur le Marquis de Brandenbourg."
No wonder that the feeling of bitterness against Prussia amongst the upper classes of Austria was very acute in the "'seventies." The events of 1866 were still too recent to have been forgotten. In my time the great Austrian ladies affected39 the broadest Vienna popular dialect, probably to emphasise40 the fact that they were not Prussians. Thus the sentence "ein Glas Wasser, bitte," became, written in phonetic41 English, "a' Glawss Vawsser beet42." I myself was much rallied on my pedantic43
{53}
North-German pronunciation, and had in self-defence to adopt unfamiliar Austrian equivalents for many words.
The curious international families which seemed to abound44 in Vienna always puzzled me. Thus the princes d'Aremberg are Belgians, but there was one Prince d'Aremberg in the Austrian service, whilst his brother was in the Prussian Diplomatic Service, the remainder of the family being Belgians. There were, in the same way, many German-speaking Pourtales in Berlin in the German service, and more French-speaking ones in Paris in the French service. The Duc de Croy was both a Belgian and an Austrian subject. The Croys are one of the oldest families in Europe, and are ebenbürtig ("born on an equality") with all the German Royalties45. They therefore show no signs of respect to Archdukes and Archduchesses when they meet them. Although I cannot vouch46 personally for them, never having myself seen them, I am told that there are two pictures in the Croy Palace at Brussels which reach the apogee47 of family pride. The first depicts48 Noah embarking49 on his ark. Although presumably anxious about the comfort of the extensive live-stock he has on board, Noah finds time to give a few parting instructions to his sons. On what is technically50 called a "bladder" issuing from his mouth are the words, "And whatever you do, don't forget to bring with you the family papers of the Croys." ("Et surtout ayez soin de ne pas oublier les papiers de la Maison de Croy!") The
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other picture represents the Madonna and Child, with the then Duke of Croy kneeling in adoration51 before them. Out of the Virgin52 Mary's mouth comes a "bladder" with the words "But please put on your hat, dear cousin." ("Mais couvrez vous donc, cher cousin.")
The whole of Viennese life is regulated by one exceedingly tiresome53 custom. After 10 or 10.15 p.m. the hall porter (known in Vienna as the "House-master") of every house in the city has the right of levying54 a small toll55 of threepence on each person entering or leaving the house. The whole life of the Vienna bourgeois56 is spent in trying to escape this tax, known as "Schlüssel-Geld." The theatres commence accordingly at 6 p.m. or 6.30, which entails58 dining about 5 p.m. A typical Viennese middle-class family will hurry out in the middle of the last act and scurry59 home breathlessly, as the fatal hour approaches. Arrived safely in their flat, in the last stages of exhaustion60, they say triumphantly61 to each other. "We have missed the end of the play, and we are rather out of breath, but never mind, we have escaped the 'Schlüssel-Geld,' and as we are four, that makes a whole shilling saved!"
An equally irritating custom is the one that ordains62 that in restaurants three waiters must be tipped in certain fixed63 proportions. The "Piccolo," who brings the wine and bread, receives one quarter of the tip; the "Speisetrager," who brings the actual food, gets one half; the "Zahlkellner,"
{55}
who brings the bill, gets one quarter. All these must be given separately, so not only does it entail57 a hideous64 amount of mental arithmetic, but it also necessitates65 the perpetual carrying about of pocketfuls of small change.
The Vienna restaurants were quite excellent, with a local cuisine66 of extraordinary succulence, and more extraordinary names. A universal Austrian custom, not only in restaurants but in private houses as well, is to serve a glass of the delicious light Vienna beer with the soup. Even at State dinners at the Hof-Burg, a glass of beer was always offered with the soup. The red wine, Voslauer, grown in the immediate6 vicinity of the city, is so good, and has such a distinctive67 flavour, that I wonder it has never been exported. The restaurants naturally suggest the matchless Viennese orchestras. They were a source of never-ending delight to me. The distinction they manage to give to quite commonplace little airs is extraordinary. The popular songs, "Wiener-Couplets," melodious69, airy nothings, little light soap-bubbles of tunes70, are one of the distinctive features of Vienna. Played by an Austrian band as only an Austrian band can play them, with astonishing vim71 and fire, and supremely72 dainty execution, these little fragile melodies are quite charming and irresistibly73 attractive. We live in a progressive age. In the place of these Austrian bands with their finished execution and consummately74 musicianly feeling, the twentieth century
{56}
has invented the Jazz band with its ear-splitting, chaotic75 din.
There is a place in Vienna known as the Heiden-Schuss, or "Shooting of the heathens." The origin of this is quite interesting.
In 1683 the Turks invaded Hungary, and, completely overrunning the country, reached Vienna, to which they laid siege, for the second time in its history. Incidentally, they nearly succeeded in capturing it. During the siege bakers77' apprentices78 were at work one night in underground bakehouses, preparing the bread for next day's consumption. The lads heard a rhythmic79 "thump80, thump, thump," and were much puzzled by it. Two of the apprentices, more intelligent than the rest, guessed that the Turks were driving a mine, and ran off to the Commandant of Vienna with their news. They saw the principal engineer officer and told him of their discovery. He accompanied them back to the underground bakehouse, and at once determined81 that the boys were right. Having got the direction from the sound, the Austrians drove a second tunnel, and exploded a powerful counter-mine. Great numbers of Turks were killed, and the siege was temporarily raised. On September 12 of the same year (1683) John Sobieski, King of Poland, utterly82 routed the Turks, drove them back into their own country, and Vienna was saved. As a reward for the intelligence shown by the baker76-boys, they were granted the privilege of making and selling a rich kind of roll (into the
{57}
composition of which butter entered largely) in the shape of the Turkish emblem83, the crescent. These rolls became enormously popular amongst the Viennese, who called them Kipfeln. When Marie Antoinette married Louis XVI of France, she missed her Kipfel, and sent to Vienna for an Austrian baker to teach his Paris confrères the art of making them. These rolls, which retained their original shape, became as popular in Paris as they had been in Vienna, and were known as Croissants, and that is the reason why one of the rolls which are brought you with your morning coffee in Paris will be baked in the form of a crescent.
The extraordinary number of good-looking women, of all classes to be seen in the streets of Vienna was most striking, especially after Berlin, where a lower standard of feminine beauty prevailed. Particularly noticeable were the admirable figures with which most Austrian women are endowed. In the far-off "'seventies" ladies did not huddle84 themselves into a shapeless mass of abbreviated85 oddments of material—they dressed, and their clothes fitted them; and a woman on whom Nature (or Art) had bestowed86 a good figure was able to display her gifts to the world. In the same way, Fashion did not compel a pretty girl to smother87 up her features in unbecoming tangles88 of tortured hair. The usual fault of Austrian faces is their breadth across the cheek-bones; the Viennese too have a decided89 tendency
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to embonpoint, but in youth these defects are not accentuated90. Amongst the Austrian aristocracy the great beauty of the girls was very noticeable, as was their height, in marked contrast to the short stature91 of most of the men. I have always heard that one of the first outward signs of the decadence92 of a race is that the girls grow taller, whilst the men get shorter.
The Vienna theatres are justly celebrated93. At the Hof-Burg Theatre may be seen the most finished acting94 on the German stage. The Burg varied95 its programme almost nightly, and it was an amusing sight to see the troops of liveried footmen inquiring at the box-office, on behalf of their mistresses, whether the play to be given that night was or was not a Comtessen-Stück, i.e., a play fit for young girls to see. The box-keeper always gave a plain "Yes" or "No" in reply. After Charles Garnier's super-ornate pile in Paris, the Vienna Opera-house is the finest in Europe, and the musical standard reaches the highest possible level, completely eclipsing Paris in that respect. In the "'seventies" Johann Strauss's delightful comic operas still retained their vogue96. Bubbling over with merriment, full of delicious ear-tickling melodies, and with a "go" and an irresistible97 intoxication98 about them that no French composer has ever succeeded in emulating99, these operettas, "Die Fledermaus," "Prinz Methusalem," and "La Reine Indigo," would well stand revival100. When the "Fledermaus"
{59}
was revived in London some ten years ago it ran, if my memory serves me right, for nearly a year. Occasionally Strauss himself conducted one of his own operettas; then the orchestra, responding to his magical baton101, played like very demons102. Strauss had one peculiarity103. Should he be dissatisfied with the vim the orchestra put into one of his favourite numbers, he would snatch the instrument from the first violin and play it himself. Then the orchestra answered like one man, and one left the theatre with the entrancing strains still tingling105 in one's ears.
The family houses of most of the Austrian nobility were in the Inner Town, the old walled city, where space was very limited. These fine old houses, built for the greater part in the Italian baroque style, though splendid for entertaining, were almost pitch dark and very airless in the daytime. Judging, too, from the awful smells in them, they must have been singularly insanitary dwellings106. The Lobkowitz Palace, afterwards the French Embassy, was so dark by day that artificial light had always to be used. In the great seventeenth century ball-room of the Lobkowitz Palace there was a railed off oak-panelled alcove107 containing a bust108 of Beethoven, an oak table, and three chairs. It was in that alcove, and at that table, that Beethoven, when librarian to Prince Lobkowitz, composed some of his greatest works.
Our own Embassy in the Metternichgasse, built
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by the British Government, was rather cramped109 and could in no way compare with the Berlin house.
I remember well a ball given by Prince S——, head of one of the greatest Austrian families, in his fine but extremely dark house in the Inner Town. It was Prince S——'s custom on these occasions to have three hundred young peasants sent up from his country estates, and to have them all thrust into the family livery. These bucolic110 youths, looking very sheepish in their unfamiliar plush breeches and stockings, with their unkempt heads powdered, and with swords at their sides, stood motionless on every step of the staircase. I counted one hundred of these rustic111 retainers on the staircase alone. They would have looked better had their liveries occasionally fitted them. The ball-room at Prince S——'s was hung with splendid Brussels seventeenth century tapestry112 framed in mahogany panels, heavily carved and gilt113. I have never seen this combination of mahogany, gilding114, and tapestry anywhere else. It was wonderfully decorative, and with the elaborate painted ceiling made a fine setting for an entertainment. It was a real pleasure to see how whole-heartedly the Austrians threw themselves into the dancing. I think they all managed to retain a child's power of enjoyment, and they never detracted from this by any unnecessary brainwork. Still they were delightfully115 friendly, easy-going people. A distinctive feature of every Vienna ball
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was the "Comtessen-Zimmer," or room reserved for girls. At the end of every dance they all trooped in there, giggling116 and gossiping, and remained there till the music for the next dance struck up. No married woman dared intrude117 into the "Comtessen-Zimmer," and I shudder118 to think of what would have befallen the rash male who ventured to cross that jealously-guarded threshold. I imagine that the charming and beautifully-dressed Austrian married women welcomed this custom, for between the dances at all events they could still hold the field, free from the competition of a younger and fresher generation.
At Prince S——'s, at midnight, armies of rustic retainers, in their temporary disguise, brought battalions119 of supper tables into the ball-room, and all the guests sat down to a hot supper at the same time. As an instance of how Austrians blended simplicity120 with a great love of externals, I see from my diary that the supper consisted of bouillon, of plain-boiled carp with horse-radish, of thick slices of hot roast beef, and a lemon ice—and nothing else whatever. A sufficiently121 substantial repast, but hardly in accordance with modern ideas as to what a ball-supper should consist of. The young peasants, considering that it was their first attempt at waiting, did not break an undue122 number of plates; they tripped at times, though, over their unaccustomed swords, and gaped123 vacantly, or would get hitched124 up with each other, when more dishes crashed to their doom125.
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In Vienna there was a great distinction drawn126 between a "Court Ball" (Hof-Ball) and a "Ball at the Court" (Ball bei Hof). To the former everyone on the Palace list was invited, to the latter only a few people; and the one was just as crowded and disagreeable as the other was the reverse. The great rambling127 pile of the Hof-Burg contains some very fine rooms and a marvellous collection of works of art, and the so-called "Ceremonial Apartments" are of quite Imperial magnificence, but the general effect was far less striking than in Berlin.
In spite of the beauty of the women, the coup68 d'oeil was spoilt by the ugly Austrian uniforms. After the disastrous128 campaign of 1866, the traditional white of the Austrian Army was abolished, and the uniforms were shorn of all unnecessary trappings. The military tailors had evolved hideous garments, ugly in colour, unbecoming in cut. One can only trust that they proved very economical, but the contrast with the splendid and admirably made uniforms of the Prussian Army was very marked. The Hungarian magnates in their traditional family costumes (from which all Hussar uniforms are derived) added a note of gorgeous colour, with their gold-laced tunics129 and their many-hued velvet131 slung-jackets. I remember, on the occasion of Queen Victoria's Jubilee132 in 1887, the astonishment133 caused by a youthful and exceedingly good-looking Hungarian who appeared at Buckingham Palace in skin-tight blue breeches
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lavishly134 embroidered135 with gold over the thighs136, entirely137 gilt Hessian boots to the knee, and a tight-fitting tunic130 cut out of a real tiger-skin, fastened with some two dozen turquoise138 buttons the size of five-shilling pieces. When this resplendent youth reappeared in London ten years later at the Diamond Jubilee, it was with a tonsured139 head, and he was wearing the violet robes of a prelate of the Roman Church.
As an instance of the inflexibility140 of the cast-iron rules of the Hapsburg Court: I may mention that the beautiful Countess Karolyi, Austrian Ambassadress in Berlin, was never asked to Court in Vienna, as she lacked the necessary "sixteen quarterings." To a non-Austrian mind it seems illogical that the lovely lady representing Austria in Berlin should have been thought unfitted for an invitation from her own Sovereign.
The immense deference141 paid to the Austrian Archdukes and Archduchesses was very striking after the comparatively unceremonious fashion in which minor142 German royalties (always excepting the Emperor and the Crown Prince) were treated in Berlin. The Archduchesses especially were very tenacious143 of their privileges. They never could forget that they were Hapsburgs, and exacted all the traditional signs of respect.
The unfortunate Empress Elisabeth, destined144 years after to fall under the dagger145 of an assassin at Geneva, made but seldom a public appearance in her husband's dominions. She had an almost
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morbid146 horror of fulfilling any of the duties of her position. During my stay in the Austrian capital I only caught one glimpse of her, driving through the streets. She was astonishingly handsome, with coiled masses of dark hair, and a very youthful and graceful147 figure, but the face was so impassive that it produced the effect of a beautiful, listless mask. The Empress was a superb horse-woman, and every single time she rode she was literally148 sewn into her habit by a tailor, in order to ensure a perfect fit.
The innumerable cafés of Vienna were crowded from morning to night. Seeing them crammed149 with men in the forenoon, one naturally wondered how the business of the city was transacted150. Probably, in typical Austrian fashion, these worthy151 Viennese left their businesses to take care of themselves whilst they enjoyed themselves in the cafés. The super-excellence of the Vienna coffee would afford a more or less legitimate152 excuse for this. Nowhere in the world is such coffee made, and a "Capuziner," or a "Melange," the latter with thick whipped cream on the top of it, were indeed things of joy.
Few capitals are more fortunate in their environs than Vienna. The beautiful gardens and park of Schönbrunn Palace have a sort of intimate charm which is wholly lacking at Versailles. They are stately, yet do not overwhelm you with a sense of vast spaces. They are crowned by a sort of temple, known as the Gloriette,
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from which a splendid view is obtained.
In less than three hours from the capital, the railway climbs 3,000 feet to the Semmering, where the mountain scenery is really grand. During the summer months the whole of Vienna empties itself on to the Semmering and the innumerable other hill-resorts within easy distance from the city.
When the time came for my departure, I felt genuinely sorry at leaving this merry, careless, music and laughter-loving town, and these genial154, friendly, hospitable155 incompetents156. I feel some compunction in using this word, as people had been very good to me. I cannot help feeling, though, that it is amply warranted. A bracing157 climate is doubtless wholesome158; but a relaxing one can be very pleasant for a time. I went back to Berlin feeling like a boy returning to school after his holidays.
The Viennese had but little love for their upstart rival on the Spree. They had invented the name "Parvenupopolis" for Berlin, and a little popular song, which I may be forgiven for quoting in the original German, expressed their sentiments fairly accurately159:
Es gibt nur eine Kaiserstadt,
Es gibt nur ein Wien;
Es gibt nur ein Raubernest,
Und das heisst Berlin.
At the frontier station of Tetschen the transition from cast-iron, dictatorial5, overbearing Prussian efficiency to the good-natured, easy-going, slipshod methods of the "ramshackle Empire" was immediately apparent.
The change from Berlin to Vienna was refreshing7. The straight, monotonous8, well-kept streets of the Northern capital lacked life and animation9. It was a very fine frame enclosing no picture. The Vienna
{49}
streets were as gay as those of Paris, and one was conscious of being in a city with centuries of traditions. The Inner Town of Vienna with its narrow winding10 streets is extraordinarily11 picturesque12. The demolisher13 has not been given the free hand he has been allowed in Paris, and the fine baroque houses still remaining give an air of great distinction to this part of the town, with its many highly-decorative14, if somewhat florid, fountains and columns. One was no longer in the "pushful" atmosphere of Prussia. These cheery, easy-going Viennese loved music and dancing, eating and drinking, laughter and fun. They were quite content to drift lazily down the stream of life, with as much enjoyment15 and as little trouble as possible. They might be a decadent16 race, but they were essentially17 gem18üthliche Leute. The untranslatable epithet19 gemüthlich implies something at once "comfortable," "sociable," "cosy," and "pleasant."
The Austrian aristocracy were most charming people. They had all intermarried for centuries, and if they did not trouble their intellect much, there may have been physical difficulties connected with the process for which they were not responsible. The degree of warmth of their reception of foreigners was largely dependent upon whether he, or she, could show the indispensable sechzehn Ahnen (the "sixteen quarterings"). Once satisfied (or the reverse) as to this point, to which they attach immense importance, the situation became easier. As the whole of these people were interrelated, they
{50}
were all on Christian22 names terms, and the various "Mitzis," "Kitzis," "Fritzis," and other characteristically Austrian abbreviations were a little difficult to place at times.
It was impossible not to realise that the whole nation was living on the traditions of their splendid past. It must be remembered that in the sixteenth century the Hapsburgs ruled the whole of Europe with the exception of France, England, Russia, and the Scandinavian countries. For centuries after Charlemagne assumed the Imperial Crown there had been only one Emperor in Europe, the "Holy Roman Emperor," the "Heiliger Römischer Kaiser," the fiction being, of course, that he was the descendant of the Cæsars. The word "Kaiser" is only the German variant24 of Cæsar. France and England had always consistently refused to acknowledge the overlordship of the Emperor, but the prestige of the title in German-speaking lands was immense, though the Holy Roman Empire itself was a mere25 simulacrum of power. In theory the Emperor was elected; in practice the title came to be a hereditary26 appanage of the proud Hapsburgs. It was, I think, Talleyrand who said "L'Autrice a la Fächeuse habitude d'être toujours battue," and this was absolutely true. Austria was defeated with unfailing regularity27 in almost every campaign, and the Hapsburgs saw their immense dominions28 gradually slipping from their grasp. It was on May 14, 1804, that Napoleon was crowned Emperor of the French in Paris, and Francis II, the last of
{51}
the Holy Roman Emperors, was fully29 aware that Napoleon's next move would be to supplant30 him and get himself elected as "Roman Emperor." This Napoleon would have been able to achieve, as he had bribed31 the Electors of Bavaria, Württemberg, and Saxony by creating them kings. For once a Hapsburg acted with promptitude. On August 11, 1804, Francis proclaimed himself hereditary Emperor of Austria, and two years later he abolished the title of Holy Roman Emperor. The Empire, after a thousand years of existence, flickered32 out ingloriously in 1806. The pride of the Hapsburgs had received a hundred years previously33 a rude shock. Peter the Great, after consolidating34 Russia, abolished the title of Tsar of Muscovy, and proclaimed himself Emperor of All the Russias; purposely using the same term "Imperator" as that employed by the Roman Emperor, and thus putting himself on an equality with him.
I know by experience that it is impossible to din4 into the heads of those unfamiliar35 with Russia that since Peter the Great's time there has never been a Tsar. The words "Tsar," "Tsarina," "Cesarevitch," beloved of journalists, exist only in their imagination; they are never heard in Russia. The Russians termed their Emperor "Gosudar Imperator," using either or both of the words. Empress is "Imperatritza"; Heir Apparent "Nadslyédnik." If you mentioned the words "Tsar" or "Tsarina" to any ordinary Russian peasant, I doubt if he would understand you, but I am well
{52}
aware that it is no use repeating this, the other idea is too firmly ingrained. The Hapsburgs had yet another bitter pill to swallow. Down to the middle of the nineteenth century the ancient prestige of the title Kaiser and the glamour attached to it were maintained throughout the Germanic Confederation, but in 1871 a second brand-new Kaiser arose on the banks of the Spree, and the Hapsburgs were shorn of their long monopoly.
Franz Josef of Austria must have rued36 the day when Sigismund sold the sandy Mark of Brandenburg to Frederick Count of Hohenzollern in 1415, and regretted the acquiescence37 in 1701 of his direct ancestor, the Emperor Leopold I, in the Elector of Brandenburg's request that he might assume the title of King of Prussia. The Hohenzollerns were ever a grasping race. I think that it was Louis XIV of France who, whilst officially recognising the new King of Prussia, refused to speak of him as such, and always alluded38 to him as "Monsieur le Marquis de Brandenbourg."
No wonder that the feeling of bitterness against Prussia amongst the upper classes of Austria was very acute in the "'seventies." The events of 1866 were still too recent to have been forgotten. In my time the great Austrian ladies affected39 the broadest Vienna popular dialect, probably to emphasise40 the fact that they were not Prussians. Thus the sentence "ein Glas Wasser, bitte," became, written in phonetic41 English, "a' Glawss Vawsser beet42." I myself was much rallied on my pedantic43
{53}
North-German pronunciation, and had in self-defence to adopt unfamiliar Austrian equivalents for many words.
The curious international families which seemed to abound44 in Vienna always puzzled me. Thus the princes d'Aremberg are Belgians, but there was one Prince d'Aremberg in the Austrian service, whilst his brother was in the Prussian Diplomatic Service, the remainder of the family being Belgians. There were, in the same way, many German-speaking Pourtales in Berlin in the German service, and more French-speaking ones in Paris in the French service. The Duc de Croy was both a Belgian and an Austrian subject. The Croys are one of the oldest families in Europe, and are ebenbürtig ("born on an equality") with all the German Royalties45. They therefore show no signs of respect to Archdukes and Archduchesses when they meet them. Although I cannot vouch46 personally for them, never having myself seen them, I am told that there are two pictures in the Croy Palace at Brussels which reach the apogee47 of family pride. The first depicts48 Noah embarking49 on his ark. Although presumably anxious about the comfort of the extensive live-stock he has on board, Noah finds time to give a few parting instructions to his sons. On what is technically50 called a "bladder" issuing from his mouth are the words, "And whatever you do, don't forget to bring with you the family papers of the Croys." ("Et surtout ayez soin de ne pas oublier les papiers de la Maison de Croy!") The
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other picture represents the Madonna and Child, with the then Duke of Croy kneeling in adoration51 before them. Out of the Virgin52 Mary's mouth comes a "bladder" with the words "But please put on your hat, dear cousin." ("Mais couvrez vous donc, cher cousin.")
The whole of Viennese life is regulated by one exceedingly tiresome53 custom. After 10 or 10.15 p.m. the hall porter (known in Vienna as the "House-master") of every house in the city has the right of levying54 a small toll55 of threepence on each person entering or leaving the house. The whole life of the Vienna bourgeois56 is spent in trying to escape this tax, known as "Schlüssel-Geld." The theatres commence accordingly at 6 p.m. or 6.30, which entails58 dining about 5 p.m. A typical Viennese middle-class family will hurry out in the middle of the last act and scurry59 home breathlessly, as the fatal hour approaches. Arrived safely in their flat, in the last stages of exhaustion60, they say triumphantly61 to each other. "We have missed the end of the play, and we are rather out of breath, but never mind, we have escaped the 'Schlüssel-Geld,' and as we are four, that makes a whole shilling saved!"
An equally irritating custom is the one that ordains62 that in restaurants three waiters must be tipped in certain fixed63 proportions. The "Piccolo," who brings the wine and bread, receives one quarter of the tip; the "Speisetrager," who brings the actual food, gets one half; the "Zahlkellner,"
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who brings the bill, gets one quarter. All these must be given separately, so not only does it entail57 a hideous64 amount of mental arithmetic, but it also necessitates65 the perpetual carrying about of pocketfuls of small change.
The Vienna restaurants were quite excellent, with a local cuisine66 of extraordinary succulence, and more extraordinary names. A universal Austrian custom, not only in restaurants but in private houses as well, is to serve a glass of the delicious light Vienna beer with the soup. Even at State dinners at the Hof-Burg, a glass of beer was always offered with the soup. The red wine, Voslauer, grown in the immediate6 vicinity of the city, is so good, and has such a distinctive67 flavour, that I wonder it has never been exported. The restaurants naturally suggest the matchless Viennese orchestras. They were a source of never-ending delight to me. The distinction they manage to give to quite commonplace little airs is extraordinary. The popular songs, "Wiener-Couplets," melodious69, airy nothings, little light soap-bubbles of tunes70, are one of the distinctive features of Vienna. Played by an Austrian band as only an Austrian band can play them, with astonishing vim71 and fire, and supremely72 dainty execution, these little fragile melodies are quite charming and irresistibly73 attractive. We live in a progressive age. In the place of these Austrian bands with their finished execution and consummately74 musicianly feeling, the twentieth century
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has invented the Jazz band with its ear-splitting, chaotic75 din.
There is a place in Vienna known as the Heiden-Schuss, or "Shooting of the heathens." The origin of this is quite interesting.
In 1683 the Turks invaded Hungary, and, completely overrunning the country, reached Vienna, to which they laid siege, for the second time in its history. Incidentally, they nearly succeeded in capturing it. During the siege bakers77' apprentices78 were at work one night in underground bakehouses, preparing the bread for next day's consumption. The lads heard a rhythmic79 "thump80, thump, thump," and were much puzzled by it. Two of the apprentices, more intelligent than the rest, guessed that the Turks were driving a mine, and ran off to the Commandant of Vienna with their news. They saw the principal engineer officer and told him of their discovery. He accompanied them back to the underground bakehouse, and at once determined81 that the boys were right. Having got the direction from the sound, the Austrians drove a second tunnel, and exploded a powerful counter-mine. Great numbers of Turks were killed, and the siege was temporarily raised. On September 12 of the same year (1683) John Sobieski, King of Poland, utterly82 routed the Turks, drove them back into their own country, and Vienna was saved. As a reward for the intelligence shown by the baker76-boys, they were granted the privilege of making and selling a rich kind of roll (into the
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composition of which butter entered largely) in the shape of the Turkish emblem83, the crescent. These rolls became enormously popular amongst the Viennese, who called them Kipfeln. When Marie Antoinette married Louis XVI of France, she missed her Kipfel, and sent to Vienna for an Austrian baker to teach his Paris confrères the art of making them. These rolls, which retained their original shape, became as popular in Paris as they had been in Vienna, and were known as Croissants, and that is the reason why one of the rolls which are brought you with your morning coffee in Paris will be baked in the form of a crescent.
The extraordinary number of good-looking women, of all classes to be seen in the streets of Vienna was most striking, especially after Berlin, where a lower standard of feminine beauty prevailed. Particularly noticeable were the admirable figures with which most Austrian women are endowed. In the far-off "'seventies" ladies did not huddle84 themselves into a shapeless mass of abbreviated85 oddments of material—they dressed, and their clothes fitted them; and a woman on whom Nature (or Art) had bestowed86 a good figure was able to display her gifts to the world. In the same way, Fashion did not compel a pretty girl to smother87 up her features in unbecoming tangles88 of tortured hair. The usual fault of Austrian faces is their breadth across the cheek-bones; the Viennese too have a decided89 tendency
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to embonpoint, but in youth these defects are not accentuated90. Amongst the Austrian aristocracy the great beauty of the girls was very noticeable, as was their height, in marked contrast to the short stature91 of most of the men. I have always heard that one of the first outward signs of the decadence92 of a race is that the girls grow taller, whilst the men get shorter.
The Vienna theatres are justly celebrated93. At the Hof-Burg Theatre may be seen the most finished acting94 on the German stage. The Burg varied95 its programme almost nightly, and it was an amusing sight to see the troops of liveried footmen inquiring at the box-office, on behalf of their mistresses, whether the play to be given that night was or was not a Comtessen-Stück, i.e., a play fit for young girls to see. The box-keeper always gave a plain "Yes" or "No" in reply. After Charles Garnier's super-ornate pile in Paris, the Vienna Opera-house is the finest in Europe, and the musical standard reaches the highest possible level, completely eclipsing Paris in that respect. In the "'seventies" Johann Strauss's delightful comic operas still retained their vogue96. Bubbling over with merriment, full of delicious ear-tickling melodies, and with a "go" and an irresistible97 intoxication98 about them that no French composer has ever succeeded in emulating99, these operettas, "Die Fledermaus," "Prinz Methusalem," and "La Reine Indigo," would well stand revival100. When the "Fledermaus"
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was revived in London some ten years ago it ran, if my memory serves me right, for nearly a year. Occasionally Strauss himself conducted one of his own operettas; then the orchestra, responding to his magical baton101, played like very demons102. Strauss had one peculiarity103. Should he be dissatisfied with the vim the orchestra put into one of his favourite numbers, he would snatch the instrument from the first violin and play it himself. Then the orchestra answered like one man, and one left the theatre with the entrancing strains still tingling105 in one's ears.
The family houses of most of the Austrian nobility were in the Inner Town, the old walled city, where space was very limited. These fine old houses, built for the greater part in the Italian baroque style, though splendid for entertaining, were almost pitch dark and very airless in the daytime. Judging, too, from the awful smells in them, they must have been singularly insanitary dwellings106. The Lobkowitz Palace, afterwards the French Embassy, was so dark by day that artificial light had always to be used. In the great seventeenth century ball-room of the Lobkowitz Palace there was a railed off oak-panelled alcove107 containing a bust108 of Beethoven, an oak table, and three chairs. It was in that alcove, and at that table, that Beethoven, when librarian to Prince Lobkowitz, composed some of his greatest works.
Our own Embassy in the Metternichgasse, built
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by the British Government, was rather cramped109 and could in no way compare with the Berlin house.
I remember well a ball given by Prince S——, head of one of the greatest Austrian families, in his fine but extremely dark house in the Inner Town. It was Prince S——'s custom on these occasions to have three hundred young peasants sent up from his country estates, and to have them all thrust into the family livery. These bucolic110 youths, looking very sheepish in their unfamiliar plush breeches and stockings, with their unkempt heads powdered, and with swords at their sides, stood motionless on every step of the staircase. I counted one hundred of these rustic111 retainers on the staircase alone. They would have looked better had their liveries occasionally fitted them. The ball-room at Prince S——'s was hung with splendid Brussels seventeenth century tapestry112 framed in mahogany panels, heavily carved and gilt113. I have never seen this combination of mahogany, gilding114, and tapestry anywhere else. It was wonderfully decorative, and with the elaborate painted ceiling made a fine setting for an entertainment. It was a real pleasure to see how whole-heartedly the Austrians threw themselves into the dancing. I think they all managed to retain a child's power of enjoyment, and they never detracted from this by any unnecessary brainwork. Still they were delightfully115 friendly, easy-going people. A distinctive feature of every Vienna ball
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was the "Comtessen-Zimmer," or room reserved for girls. At the end of every dance they all trooped in there, giggling116 and gossiping, and remained there till the music for the next dance struck up. No married woman dared intrude117 into the "Comtessen-Zimmer," and I shudder118 to think of what would have befallen the rash male who ventured to cross that jealously-guarded threshold. I imagine that the charming and beautifully-dressed Austrian married women welcomed this custom, for between the dances at all events they could still hold the field, free from the competition of a younger and fresher generation.
At Prince S——'s, at midnight, armies of rustic retainers, in their temporary disguise, brought battalions119 of supper tables into the ball-room, and all the guests sat down to a hot supper at the same time. As an instance of how Austrians blended simplicity120 with a great love of externals, I see from my diary that the supper consisted of bouillon, of plain-boiled carp with horse-radish, of thick slices of hot roast beef, and a lemon ice—and nothing else whatever. A sufficiently121 substantial repast, but hardly in accordance with modern ideas as to what a ball-supper should consist of. The young peasants, considering that it was their first attempt at waiting, did not break an undue122 number of plates; they tripped at times, though, over their unaccustomed swords, and gaped123 vacantly, or would get hitched124 up with each other, when more dishes crashed to their doom125.
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In Vienna there was a great distinction drawn126 between a "Court Ball" (Hof-Ball) and a "Ball at the Court" (Ball bei Hof). To the former everyone on the Palace list was invited, to the latter only a few people; and the one was just as crowded and disagreeable as the other was the reverse. The great rambling127 pile of the Hof-Burg contains some very fine rooms and a marvellous collection of works of art, and the so-called "Ceremonial Apartments" are of quite Imperial magnificence, but the general effect was far less striking than in Berlin.
In spite of the beauty of the women, the coup68 d'oeil was spoilt by the ugly Austrian uniforms. After the disastrous128 campaign of 1866, the traditional white of the Austrian Army was abolished, and the uniforms were shorn of all unnecessary trappings. The military tailors had evolved hideous garments, ugly in colour, unbecoming in cut. One can only trust that they proved very economical, but the contrast with the splendid and admirably made uniforms of the Prussian Army was very marked. The Hungarian magnates in their traditional family costumes (from which all Hussar uniforms are derived) added a note of gorgeous colour, with their gold-laced tunics129 and their many-hued velvet131 slung-jackets. I remember, on the occasion of Queen Victoria's Jubilee132 in 1887, the astonishment133 caused by a youthful and exceedingly good-looking Hungarian who appeared at Buckingham Palace in skin-tight blue breeches
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lavishly134 embroidered135 with gold over the thighs136, entirely137 gilt Hessian boots to the knee, and a tight-fitting tunic130 cut out of a real tiger-skin, fastened with some two dozen turquoise138 buttons the size of five-shilling pieces. When this resplendent youth reappeared in London ten years later at the Diamond Jubilee, it was with a tonsured139 head, and he was wearing the violet robes of a prelate of the Roman Church.
As an instance of the inflexibility140 of the cast-iron rules of the Hapsburg Court: I may mention that the beautiful Countess Karolyi, Austrian Ambassadress in Berlin, was never asked to Court in Vienna, as she lacked the necessary "sixteen quarterings." To a non-Austrian mind it seems illogical that the lovely lady representing Austria in Berlin should have been thought unfitted for an invitation from her own Sovereign.
The immense deference141 paid to the Austrian Archdukes and Archduchesses was very striking after the comparatively unceremonious fashion in which minor142 German royalties (always excepting the Emperor and the Crown Prince) were treated in Berlin. The Archduchesses especially were very tenacious143 of their privileges. They never could forget that they were Hapsburgs, and exacted all the traditional signs of respect.
The unfortunate Empress Elisabeth, destined144 years after to fall under the dagger145 of an assassin at Geneva, made but seldom a public appearance in her husband's dominions. She had an almost
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morbid146 horror of fulfilling any of the duties of her position. During my stay in the Austrian capital I only caught one glimpse of her, driving through the streets. She was astonishingly handsome, with coiled masses of dark hair, and a very youthful and graceful147 figure, but the face was so impassive that it produced the effect of a beautiful, listless mask. The Empress was a superb horse-woman, and every single time she rode she was literally148 sewn into her habit by a tailor, in order to ensure a perfect fit.
The innumerable cafés of Vienna were crowded from morning to night. Seeing them crammed149 with men in the forenoon, one naturally wondered how the business of the city was transacted150. Probably, in typical Austrian fashion, these worthy151 Viennese left their businesses to take care of themselves whilst they enjoyed themselves in the cafés. The super-excellence of the Vienna coffee would afford a more or less legitimate152 excuse for this. Nowhere in the world is such coffee made, and a "Capuziner," or a "Melange," the latter with thick whipped cream on the top of it, were indeed things of joy.
Few capitals are more fortunate in their environs than Vienna. The beautiful gardens and park of Schönbrunn Palace have a sort of intimate charm which is wholly lacking at Versailles. They are stately, yet do not overwhelm you with a sense of vast spaces. They are crowned by a sort of temple, known as the Gloriette,
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from which a splendid view is obtained.
In less than three hours from the capital, the railway climbs 3,000 feet to the Semmering, where the mountain scenery is really grand. During the summer months the whole of Vienna empties itself on to the Semmering and the innumerable other hill-resorts within easy distance from the city.
When the time came for my departure, I felt genuinely sorry at leaving this merry, careless, music and laughter-loving town, and these genial154, friendly, hospitable155 incompetents156. I feel some compunction in using this word, as people had been very good to me. I cannot help feeling, though, that it is amply warranted. A bracing157 climate is doubtless wholesome158; but a relaxing one can be very pleasant for a time. I went back to Berlin feeling like a boy returning to school after his holidays.
The Viennese had but little love for their upstart rival on the Spree. They had invented the name "Parvenupopolis" for Berlin, and a little popular song, which I may be forgiven for quoting in the original German, expressed their sentiments fairly accurately159:
Es gibt nur eine Kaiserstadt,
Es gibt nur ein Wien;
Es gibt nur ein Raubernest,
Und das heisst Berlin.
I had a Bavarian friend in Berlin. We talked over the amazing difference in temperament160 there
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was between the Austrians and the Prussians, and the curious charm there was about the former, lacking in intellect though they might be, a charm wholly lacking in the pushful, practical Prussians. My friend agreed, but claimed the same attractive qualities for his own beloved Bavarians; "but," he added impressively, "mark my words, in twenty years from now the whole of Germany will be Prussianised!" ("Ganz Deutschland wird verpreussert werden") Events have shown how absolutely correct my Bavarian friend was in his forecast.
In June, 1878, the great Congress for the settlement of the terms of peace between Russia and Turkey assembled in Berlin. It was an extraordinarily interesting occasion, for almost every single European notability was to be seen in the German capital. The Russian plenipotentiaries were the veteran Prince Gortchakoff and Count Peter Schouvaloff, that most genial faux-bonhomme; the Turks were championed by Ali Pasha and by Katheodory Pasha. Great Britain was represented by Lords Beaconsfield and Salisbury; Austria by Count Andrassy, the Prime Minister; France by M. Waddington. In spite of the very large staff brought out from London by the British plenipotentiaries, an enormous amount of work fell upon us at the Embassy.
To a youngster there is something very fascinating in being regarded as so worthy of confidence that the most secret details of the great game of diplomacy161 were all known to him from
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day to day. A boy of twenty-one feels very proud of the trust reposed162 in him, and at being the repository of such weighty and important secrets. That is the traditional method of the British Diplomatic Service.
As all the Embassies gave receptions in honour of their own plenipotentiaries, we met almost nightly all the great men of Europe, and had occasional opportunities for a few words with them. Prince Gortchakoff, who fancied himself Bismarck's only rival, was a little, short, tubby man in spectacles; wholly undistinguished in appearance, and looking for all the world like an average French provincial163 notaire. Count Andrassy, the Hungarian, was a tall, strikingly handsome man, with an immense head of hair. To me, he always recalled the leader of a "Tzigane" orchestra. M. Waddington talked English like an Englishman, and was so typically British in appearance that it was almost impossible to realise that he was a Frenchman. Our admiration164 for him was increased when we learnt that he had rowed in the Cambridge Eight. But without any question whatever, the personality which excited the greatest interest at the Berlin Congress was that of Lord Beaconsfield, the Jew who by sheer force of intellect had raised himself from nothing into his present commanding position. His peculiar104, colourless, inscrutable face, with its sphinx-like impassiveness; the air of mystery which somehow clung about him; the romantic story of his career; even the remnants of
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dandyism which he still retained in his old age—all these seemed to whet21 the insatiable public curiosity about him. Some enterprising Berlin tradesmen had brought out fans, with leaves composed of plain white vellum, designed expressly for the Congress. Armed with one of these fans, and with pen and ink, indefatigable165 feminine autograph-hunters moved about at these evening receptions, securing the signatures of the plenipotentiaries on the white vellum leaves. Many of those fans must still be in existence, and should prove very interesting to-day. Bismarck alone invariably refused his autograph.
At all these gatherings166, M. de Blowitz, the then Paris correspondent of the Times, was much to the fore20. In the "'seventies" the prestige of the Times on the Continent of Europe was enormous. In reality the influence of the Times was very much overrated, since all Continentals167 persisted in regarding it as the inspired mouthpiece of the British Government. Great was the Times, but greater still was de Blowitz, its prophet. This most remarkable168 man was a veritable prince of newspaper correspondents. There was no move on the European chess-board of which he was not cognisant, and as to which he did not keep his paper well informed, and his information was always accurate. De Blowitz knew no English, and his lengthy169 daily telegrams to the Times were always written in French and were translated in London. He was really a Bohemian Jew of the name of
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Oppen, and he had bestowed the higher-sounding name of de Blowitz on himself. He was a very short, fat little man, with immensely long grey side-whiskers, and a most consequential170 manner. He was a very great personage indeed in official circles. De Blowitz has in his Memoirs171 given a full account of the trick by which he learnt of the daily proceedings172 of the Congress and so transmitted them to his paper. I need not, therefore, go into details about this; it is enough to say that a daily exchange of hats, in the lining173 of the second of which a summary of the day's deliberations was concealed174, played a great part in it.
When the Treaty had been drawn up in French, Lord Salisbury rather startled us by saying that he wished it translated into English and cyphered to London that very evening in extenso. This was done to obviate175 the possibility of the news-paper correspondents getting a version of the Treaty through to London before the British Government had received the actual text. As the Treaty was what I, in the light of later experiences, would now describe as of fifteen thousand words length, this was a sufficiently formidable undertaking176. Fifteen of us sat down to the task about 6 p.m., and by working at high pressure we got the translation finished and the last cyphered sheet sent off to the telegraph office by 5 a.m. The translation done at such breakneck speed was possibly a little crude in places. One clause in the Treaty provided that ships in ballast were to have
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free passage through the Dardanelles. Now the French for "ships in ballast," is "navires en lest." The person translating this (who was not a member of the British Diplomatic Service) rendered "navires en lest" as "ships in the East," and in this form it was cyphered to London. As, owing to the geographical177 position of the Dardanelles, any ship approaching them would be, in one sense of the term, a "ship in the East," there was considerable perturbation in Downing Street over this clause, until the mistake was discovered.
Berlin has wonderful natural advantages, considering that it is situated178 in a featureless, sandy plain. In my day it was quite possible to walk from the Embassy into a real, wild pine-forest, the Grünewald. The Grünewald, being a Royal forest, was unbuilt on, and quite unspoilt. It extended for miles, enclosing many pretty little lakelets. Now I understand that it has been invaded by "villa179 colonies," so its old charm of wildness must have vanished. The Tiergarten, too, the park of Berlin, retains in places the look of a real country wood. It is inadvisable to venture into the Tiergarten after nightfall, should you wish to retain possession of your watch, purse, and other portable property. The sandy nature of the soil makes it excellent for riding. Within quite a short distance of the city you can find tracts180 of heathery moor181, and can get a good gallop182 almost anywhere.
There is quite fair partridge-shooting, too, within
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a few miles of Berlin, in the immense potato fields, though the entire absence of cover in this hedgeless land makes it very difficult at times to approach the birds. It is pre-eminently a country for "driving" partridges, though most Germans prefer the comparatively easy shots afforded by "walking the birds up."
Potsdam has had but scant183 justice done it by foreigners. The town is almost surrounded by the river Havel, which here broadens out into a series of winding, wooded lakes, surrounded by tree-clad hills. The Potsdam lakes are really charmingly pretty, and afford an admirable place for rowing or sailing. Neither of these pursuits seems to make the least appeal to Germans. The Embassy kept a small yacht at Potsdam, but she was practically the only craft then on the lakes. As on all narrow waters enclosed by wooded hills, the sailing was very tricky184, owing to the constant shifting of the wind. Should it be blowing fresh, it was advisable to sail under very light canvas; and it was always dangerous to haul up the centre-board, even when "running," as on rounding some wooded point you would get "taken aback" to a certainty. Once in the fine open stretch of water between Wansee and Spandau, you could hoist185 every stitch of canvas available, and indulge with impunity186 in the most complicated nautical187 manoeuvres. Possibly my extreme fondness for the Potsdam lakes may be due to their extraordinary resemblance to the lakes at my own Northern country home.
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The Embassy also owned a light Thames-built four-oar. At times a short, thick-set young man of nineteen pulled bow in our four. The short young man had a withered188 arm, and the doctors hoped that the exercise of rowing might put some strength into it. He seemed quite a commonplace young man, yet this short, thick-set youth was destined less than forty years after to plunge189 the world into the greatest calamity190 it has ever known; to sacrifice millions and millions of human lives to his own inordinate191 ambition; and to descend23 to posterity192 as one of the most sinister193 characters in the pages of history.
Moored194 in the "Jungfernsee," one of the Potsdam lakes, lay a miniature sailing frigate195, a complete model of a larger craft down to the smallest details. This toy frigate had been a present from King William IV of England to the then King of Prussia. The little frigate had been built in London, and though of only 30-tons burden, had been sailed down the Thames, across the North Sea, and up the Elbe and Havel to Potsdam, by a British naval196 officer. A pretty bit of seamanship! I have always heard that it was the sight of this toy frigate, lying on the placid197 lake at Potsdam, that first inspired William of Hohenzollern with the idea of building a gigantic navy.
The whole history of the world might have been changed by an incident which occurred on these same Potsdam lakes in 1880. I have already said that William of Hohenzollern, then only Prince
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William, pulled at times in our Embassy four, in the hope that it might strengthen his withered arm. He was very anxious to see if he could learn to scull, in spite of his physical defect, and asked the Ambassadress, Lady Ampthill, whether she would herself undertake to coach him. Lady Ampthill consented, and met Prince William next day at the landing-stage with a light Thames-built skiff, belonging to the Embassy. Lady Ampthill, with the caution of one used to light boats, got in carefully, made her way aft, and grasped the yoke-lines. She then explained to Prince William that this was not a heavy boat such as he had been accustomed to, that he must exercise extreme care, and in getting in must tread exactly in the centre of the boat. William of Hohenzollern, who had never taken advice from anyone in his life, and was always convinced that he himself knew best, responded by jumping into the boat from the landing-stage, capsizing it immediately, and throwing himself and Lady Ampthill into the water. Prince William, owing to his malformation, was unable to swim one stroke, but help was at hand. Two of the Secretaries of the British Embassy had witnessed the accident, and rushed up to aid. The so-called "Naval Station" was close by, where the Emperor's Potsdam yacht lay, a most singularly shabby old paddle-boat. Some German sailors from the "Naval Post" heard the shouting and ran up, and a moist, and we will trust a chastened William and a dripping Ambassadress were
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eventually rescued from the lake. Otherwise William of Hohenzollern might have ended his life in the "Jungfernsee" at Potsdam that day, and millions of other men would have been permitted to live out their allotted198 span of existence.
Potsdam itself is quite a pleasing town, with a half-Dutch, half-Italian physiognomy. Both were deliberately199 borrowed; the first by Frederick William I, who constructed the tree-lined canals which give Potsdam its half-Batavian aspect; the second by Frederick the Great, who fronted Teutonic dwellings with façades copied from Italy to add dignity to the town. It must in justice be added that both are quite successful, though Potsdam, like most other things connected with the Hohenzollerns, has only a couple of hundred years' tradition behind it. The square opposite the railway really does recall Italy. The collection of palaces at Potsdam is bewildering. Of these, three are of the first rank: the Town Palace, Sans-souci, and the great pile of the "New Palace." Either Frederick the Great was very fortunate in his architects, or else he chose them with great discrimination. The Town Palace, even in my time but seldom inhabited, is very fine in the finished details of its decoration. Sans-souci is an absolute gem; its rococo200 style may be a little over-elaborate, but it produces the effect of a finished, complete whole, in the most admirable taste; even though the exuberant201 imagination of the eighteenth century has been allowed to run riot in it. The gardens of Sans-souci, too,
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are most attractive. The immense red-brick building of the New Palace was erected203 by Frederick the Great during the Seven Years' War, out of sheer bravado204. He was anxious to impress on his enemies the fact that his financial resources were not yet exhausted205. Considering that he already possessed206 two stately palaces within a mile of it, the New Palace may be looked upon as distinctly a work of supererogation, also as an appalling207 waste of money. As a piece of architecture, it is distinctly a success. This list does not, however, nearly exhaust the palatial208 resources of Potsdam. The eighteenth century had contributed its successes; it remained for the nineteenth to add its failures. Babelsberg, the old Emperor William's favourite residence, was an awful example of a ginger-bread pseudo-Gothic castle. The Marble Palace on the so-called "Holy Lake" was a dull, unimaginative building; and the "Red Prince's" house at Glienicke was frankly209 terrible. The main features of this place was an avenue of huge cast-iron gilded210 lions. These golden lions were such a blot211 on an otherwise charming landscape that one felt relieved by recalling that the apparently212 ineradicable tendency of the children of Israel to erect202 Golden Calves213 at various places in olden days had always been severely214 discountenanced.
In spite of the carpenter-Gothic of Babelsberg, and of the pinchbeck golden lions of Glienicke, Potsdam will remain in my mind, to the end of my life, associated with memories of fresh breezes
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and bellying215 sails; of placid lakes and swift-gliding keels responding to the straining muscles of back and legs; a place of verdant216 hills dipping into clear waters; of limbs joyously217 cleaving218 those clear waters with all the exultation219 of the swimmer; a place of rest and peace, with every fibre in one's being rejoicing in being away, for the time being, from crowded cities and stifling220 streets, in the free air amidst woods, waters, and gently-swelling, tree-clad heights.
A year later, I was notified that I was transferred to Petrograd, then of course still known as St. Petersburg. This was in accordance with the dearest wish of my heart. Ever since my childhood's days I had been filled with an intense desire to go to Russia. Like most people unacquainted with the country, I had formed the most grotesquely221 incorrect mental pictures of Russia. I imagined it a vast Empire of undreamed of magnificence, pleasantly tempered with relics222 of barbarism; and all these glittering splendours were enveloped223 in the snow and ice of a semi-Arctic climate, which gave additional piquancy224 to their glories. I pictured huge tractless forests, their dark expanse only broken by the shimmering225 golden domes226 of the Russian churches. I fancied this glamour-land peopled by a species of transported French, full of culture, and all of them polyglot227, more brilliant and infinitely228 more intellectual than their West European prototypes. I imagined this hyperborean paradise served by a race of super-astute
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diplomatists and officials, with whom we poor Westerners could not hope to contend, and by Generals whom no one could withstand. The evident awe229 with which Germans envisaged230 their Eastern neighbours strengthened this idea, and both in England and in France I had heard quite responsible persons gloomily predict, after contemplating231 the map, that the Northern Colossus was fatally destined at some time to absorb the whole of the rest of Europe.
Apart then from its own intrinsic attraction, I used to gaze at the map of Russia with some such feelings as, I imagine, the early Christians232 experienced when, on their Sunday walks in Rome, they went to look at the lions in their dens153 in the circus, and speculated as to their own sensations when, as seemed but too probable, they might have to meet these interesting quadrupeds on the floor of the arena233, in a brief, exciting, but definitely final encounter.
Everything I had seen or heard about this mysterious land had enhanced its glamour. The hair-raising rumours234 which reached Berlin as to revolutionary plots and counter-plots; the appalling stories one heard about the terrible secret police; the atmosphere of intrigue235 which seemed indigenous236 to the place—all added to its fascinations237. Even the externals were attractive. I had attended weddings and funeral services at the chapel238 of the Russian Embassy. Here every detail was exotic, and utterly dissimilar to anything in one's previous
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experience. The absence of seats, organ, or pulpit in the chapel itself; the elaborate Byzantine decorations of the building; the exquisitely239 beautiful but quite unfamiliar singing; the long-bearded priests in their archaic240 vestments of unaccustomed golden brocades—everything struck a novel note. It all came from a world apart, centuries removed from the prosaic241 routine of Western Europe.
Even quite minor details, such as the curiously242 sumptuous243 Russian national dresses of the ladies of the Embassy at Court functions, the visits to Berlin of the Russian ballets and troupes244 of Russian singing gipsies, had all the same stamp of strong racial individuality, of something temperamentally different from all we had been accustomed to.
I was overjoyed at the prospect245 of seeing for myself at last this land of mingled246 splendour and barbarism, this country which had retained its traditional racial characteristics in spite of the influences of nineteenth century drab uniformity of type.
As the Petrograd Embassy was short-handed at the time, it was settled that I should postpone247 my leave for some months and proceed to Russia without delay.
The Crown Prince and Crown Princess, who had been exceedingly kind to me during my stay in Berlin, were good enough to ask me to the New Palace at Potsdam for one night, to take leave of them.
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I had never before had an opportunity of going all over the New Palace. I thought it wonderfully fine, though quite French in feeling. The rather faded appearance of some of the rooms increased their look of dignity. It was not of yesterday. The great "Shell Hall," or "Muschel-Saal," much admired of Prussians, is frankly horrible; one of the unfortunate aberrations248 of eighteenth century taste of which several examples occur in English country-houses of the same date.
My own bedroom was charming; of the purest Louis XV, with apple-green polished panelling and heavily silvered mouldings and mirrors.
Nothing could be more delightful than the Crown Prince's manner on occasions such as this. The short-lived Emperor Frederick had the knack249 of blending absolute simplicity with great dignity, as had the Empress Frederick. For the curious in such matters, and as an instance of the traditional frugality250 of the Prussian Court, I may add that supper that evening, at which only the Crown Prince and Princess, the equerry and lady-in-waiting, and myself were present, consisted solely251 of curds252 and whey, veal253 cutlets, and a rice pudding. Nothing else whatever. We sat afterwards in a very stately, lofty, thoroughly254 French room. The Crown Prince, the equerry, and myself drank beer, whilst the Prince smoked his long pipe. It seemed incongruous to drink beer amid such absolutely French surroundings. I noticed that the Crown Princess always laid down her needlework to refill
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her husband's pipe and to bring him a fresh tankard of beer. The "Kronprinzliches Paar," as a German would have described them, were both perfectly255 charming in their conversation with a dull, uninteresting youth of twenty-one. They each had marvellous memories, and recalled many trivial half-forgotten details about my own family. That evening in the friendly atmosphere of the great, dimly-lit room in the New Palace at Potsdam will always live in my memory.
Two days afterwards I drove through the trim, prosaic, well-ordered, stuccoed streets of Berlin to the Eastern Station; for me, the gateway256 to the land of my desires, vast, mysterious Russia.
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was between the Austrians and the Prussians, and the curious charm there was about the former, lacking in intellect though they might be, a charm wholly lacking in the pushful, practical Prussians. My friend agreed, but claimed the same attractive qualities for his own beloved Bavarians; "but," he added impressively, "mark my words, in twenty years from now the whole of Germany will be Prussianised!" ("Ganz Deutschland wird verpreussert werden") Events have shown how absolutely correct my Bavarian friend was in his forecast.
In June, 1878, the great Congress for the settlement of the terms of peace between Russia and Turkey assembled in Berlin. It was an extraordinarily interesting occasion, for almost every single European notability was to be seen in the German capital. The Russian plenipotentiaries were the veteran Prince Gortchakoff and Count Peter Schouvaloff, that most genial faux-bonhomme; the Turks were championed by Ali Pasha and by Katheodory Pasha. Great Britain was represented by Lords Beaconsfield and Salisbury; Austria by Count Andrassy, the Prime Minister; France by M. Waddington. In spite of the very large staff brought out from London by the British plenipotentiaries, an enormous amount of work fell upon us at the Embassy.
To a youngster there is something very fascinating in being regarded as so worthy of confidence that the most secret details of the great game of diplomacy161 were all known to him from
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day to day. A boy of twenty-one feels very proud of the trust reposed162 in him, and at being the repository of such weighty and important secrets. That is the traditional method of the British Diplomatic Service.
As all the Embassies gave receptions in honour of their own plenipotentiaries, we met almost nightly all the great men of Europe, and had occasional opportunities for a few words with them. Prince Gortchakoff, who fancied himself Bismarck's only rival, was a little, short, tubby man in spectacles; wholly undistinguished in appearance, and looking for all the world like an average French provincial163 notaire. Count Andrassy, the Hungarian, was a tall, strikingly handsome man, with an immense head of hair. To me, he always recalled the leader of a "Tzigane" orchestra. M. Waddington talked English like an Englishman, and was so typically British in appearance that it was almost impossible to realise that he was a Frenchman. Our admiration164 for him was increased when we learnt that he had rowed in the Cambridge Eight. But without any question whatever, the personality which excited the greatest interest at the Berlin Congress was that of Lord Beaconsfield, the Jew who by sheer force of intellect had raised himself from nothing into his present commanding position. His peculiar104, colourless, inscrutable face, with its sphinx-like impassiveness; the air of mystery which somehow clung about him; the romantic story of his career; even the remnants of
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dandyism which he still retained in his old age—all these seemed to whet21 the insatiable public curiosity about him. Some enterprising Berlin tradesmen had brought out fans, with leaves composed of plain white vellum, designed expressly for the Congress. Armed with one of these fans, and with pen and ink, indefatigable165 feminine autograph-hunters moved about at these evening receptions, securing the signatures of the plenipotentiaries on the white vellum leaves. Many of those fans must still be in existence, and should prove very interesting to-day. Bismarck alone invariably refused his autograph.
At all these gatherings166, M. de Blowitz, the then Paris correspondent of the Times, was much to the fore20. In the "'seventies" the prestige of the Times on the Continent of Europe was enormous. In reality the influence of the Times was very much overrated, since all Continentals167 persisted in regarding it as the inspired mouthpiece of the British Government. Great was the Times, but greater still was de Blowitz, its prophet. This most remarkable168 man was a veritable prince of newspaper correspondents. There was no move on the European chess-board of which he was not cognisant, and as to which he did not keep his paper well informed, and his information was always accurate. De Blowitz knew no English, and his lengthy169 daily telegrams to the Times were always written in French and were translated in London. He was really a Bohemian Jew of the name of
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Oppen, and he had bestowed the higher-sounding name of de Blowitz on himself. He was a very short, fat little man, with immensely long grey side-whiskers, and a most consequential170 manner. He was a very great personage indeed in official circles. De Blowitz has in his Memoirs171 given a full account of the trick by which he learnt of the daily proceedings172 of the Congress and so transmitted them to his paper. I need not, therefore, go into details about this; it is enough to say that a daily exchange of hats, in the lining173 of the second of which a summary of the day's deliberations was concealed174, played a great part in it.
When the Treaty had been drawn up in French, Lord Salisbury rather startled us by saying that he wished it translated into English and cyphered to London that very evening in extenso. This was done to obviate175 the possibility of the news-paper correspondents getting a version of the Treaty through to London before the British Government had received the actual text. As the Treaty was what I, in the light of later experiences, would now describe as of fifteen thousand words length, this was a sufficiently formidable undertaking176. Fifteen of us sat down to the task about 6 p.m., and by working at high pressure we got the translation finished and the last cyphered sheet sent off to the telegraph office by 5 a.m. The translation done at such breakneck speed was possibly a little crude in places. One clause in the Treaty provided that ships in ballast were to have
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free passage through the Dardanelles. Now the French for "ships in ballast," is "navires en lest." The person translating this (who was not a member of the British Diplomatic Service) rendered "navires en lest" as "ships in the East," and in this form it was cyphered to London. As, owing to the geographical177 position of the Dardanelles, any ship approaching them would be, in one sense of the term, a "ship in the East," there was considerable perturbation in Downing Street over this clause, until the mistake was discovered.
Berlin has wonderful natural advantages, considering that it is situated178 in a featureless, sandy plain. In my day it was quite possible to walk from the Embassy into a real, wild pine-forest, the Grünewald. The Grünewald, being a Royal forest, was unbuilt on, and quite unspoilt. It extended for miles, enclosing many pretty little lakelets. Now I understand that it has been invaded by "villa179 colonies," so its old charm of wildness must have vanished. The Tiergarten, too, the park of Berlin, retains in places the look of a real country wood. It is inadvisable to venture into the Tiergarten after nightfall, should you wish to retain possession of your watch, purse, and other portable property. The sandy nature of the soil makes it excellent for riding. Within quite a short distance of the city you can find tracts180 of heathery moor181, and can get a good gallop182 almost anywhere.
There is quite fair partridge-shooting, too, within
{71}
a few miles of Berlin, in the immense potato fields, though the entire absence of cover in this hedgeless land makes it very difficult at times to approach the birds. It is pre-eminently a country for "driving" partridges, though most Germans prefer the comparatively easy shots afforded by "walking the birds up."
Potsdam has had but scant183 justice done it by foreigners. The town is almost surrounded by the river Havel, which here broadens out into a series of winding, wooded lakes, surrounded by tree-clad hills. The Potsdam lakes are really charmingly pretty, and afford an admirable place for rowing or sailing. Neither of these pursuits seems to make the least appeal to Germans. The Embassy kept a small yacht at Potsdam, but she was practically the only craft then on the lakes. As on all narrow waters enclosed by wooded hills, the sailing was very tricky184, owing to the constant shifting of the wind. Should it be blowing fresh, it was advisable to sail under very light canvas; and it was always dangerous to haul up the centre-board, even when "running," as on rounding some wooded point you would get "taken aback" to a certainty. Once in the fine open stretch of water between Wansee and Spandau, you could hoist185 every stitch of canvas available, and indulge with impunity186 in the most complicated nautical187 manoeuvres. Possibly my extreme fondness for the Potsdam lakes may be due to their extraordinary resemblance to the lakes at my own Northern country home.
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The Embassy also owned a light Thames-built four-oar. At times a short, thick-set young man of nineteen pulled bow in our four. The short young man had a withered188 arm, and the doctors hoped that the exercise of rowing might put some strength into it. He seemed quite a commonplace young man, yet this short, thick-set youth was destined less than forty years after to plunge189 the world into the greatest calamity190 it has ever known; to sacrifice millions and millions of human lives to his own inordinate191 ambition; and to descend23 to posterity192 as one of the most sinister193 characters in the pages of history.
Moored194 in the "Jungfernsee," one of the Potsdam lakes, lay a miniature sailing frigate195, a complete model of a larger craft down to the smallest details. This toy frigate had been a present from King William IV of England to the then King of Prussia. The little frigate had been built in London, and though of only 30-tons burden, had been sailed down the Thames, across the North Sea, and up the Elbe and Havel to Potsdam, by a British naval196 officer. A pretty bit of seamanship! I have always heard that it was the sight of this toy frigate, lying on the placid197 lake at Potsdam, that first inspired William of Hohenzollern with the idea of building a gigantic navy.
The whole history of the world might have been changed by an incident which occurred on these same Potsdam lakes in 1880. I have already said that William of Hohenzollern, then only Prince
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William, pulled at times in our Embassy four, in the hope that it might strengthen his withered arm. He was very anxious to see if he could learn to scull, in spite of his physical defect, and asked the Ambassadress, Lady Ampthill, whether she would herself undertake to coach him. Lady Ampthill consented, and met Prince William next day at the landing-stage with a light Thames-built skiff, belonging to the Embassy. Lady Ampthill, with the caution of one used to light boats, got in carefully, made her way aft, and grasped the yoke-lines. She then explained to Prince William that this was not a heavy boat such as he had been accustomed to, that he must exercise extreme care, and in getting in must tread exactly in the centre of the boat. William of Hohenzollern, who had never taken advice from anyone in his life, and was always convinced that he himself knew best, responded by jumping into the boat from the landing-stage, capsizing it immediately, and throwing himself and Lady Ampthill into the water. Prince William, owing to his malformation, was unable to swim one stroke, but help was at hand. Two of the Secretaries of the British Embassy had witnessed the accident, and rushed up to aid. The so-called "Naval Station" was close by, where the Emperor's Potsdam yacht lay, a most singularly shabby old paddle-boat. Some German sailors from the "Naval Post" heard the shouting and ran up, and a moist, and we will trust a chastened William and a dripping Ambassadress were
{74}
eventually rescued from the lake. Otherwise William of Hohenzollern might have ended his life in the "Jungfernsee" at Potsdam that day, and millions of other men would have been permitted to live out their allotted198 span of existence.
Potsdam itself is quite a pleasing town, with a half-Dutch, half-Italian physiognomy. Both were deliberately199 borrowed; the first by Frederick William I, who constructed the tree-lined canals which give Potsdam its half-Batavian aspect; the second by Frederick the Great, who fronted Teutonic dwellings with façades copied from Italy to add dignity to the town. It must in justice be added that both are quite successful, though Potsdam, like most other things connected with the Hohenzollerns, has only a couple of hundred years' tradition behind it. The square opposite the railway really does recall Italy. The collection of palaces at Potsdam is bewildering. Of these, three are of the first rank: the Town Palace, Sans-souci, and the great pile of the "New Palace." Either Frederick the Great was very fortunate in his architects, or else he chose them with great discrimination. The Town Palace, even in my time but seldom inhabited, is very fine in the finished details of its decoration. Sans-souci is an absolute gem; its rococo200 style may be a little over-elaborate, but it produces the effect of a finished, complete whole, in the most admirable taste; even though the exuberant201 imagination of the eighteenth century has been allowed to run riot in it. The gardens of Sans-souci, too,
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are most attractive. The immense red-brick building of the New Palace was erected203 by Frederick the Great during the Seven Years' War, out of sheer bravado204. He was anxious to impress on his enemies the fact that his financial resources were not yet exhausted205. Considering that he already possessed206 two stately palaces within a mile of it, the New Palace may be looked upon as distinctly a work of supererogation, also as an appalling207 waste of money. As a piece of architecture, it is distinctly a success. This list does not, however, nearly exhaust the palatial208 resources of Potsdam. The eighteenth century had contributed its successes; it remained for the nineteenth to add its failures. Babelsberg, the old Emperor William's favourite residence, was an awful example of a ginger-bread pseudo-Gothic castle. The Marble Palace on the so-called "Holy Lake" was a dull, unimaginative building; and the "Red Prince's" house at Glienicke was frankly209 terrible. The main features of this place was an avenue of huge cast-iron gilded210 lions. These golden lions were such a blot211 on an otherwise charming landscape that one felt relieved by recalling that the apparently212 ineradicable tendency of the children of Israel to erect202 Golden Calves213 at various places in olden days had always been severely214 discountenanced.
In spite of the carpenter-Gothic of Babelsberg, and of the pinchbeck golden lions of Glienicke, Potsdam will remain in my mind, to the end of my life, associated with memories of fresh breezes
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and bellying215 sails; of placid lakes and swift-gliding keels responding to the straining muscles of back and legs; a place of verdant216 hills dipping into clear waters; of limbs joyously217 cleaving218 those clear waters with all the exultation219 of the swimmer; a place of rest and peace, with every fibre in one's being rejoicing in being away, for the time being, from crowded cities and stifling220 streets, in the free air amidst woods, waters, and gently-swelling, tree-clad heights.
A year later, I was notified that I was transferred to Petrograd, then of course still known as St. Petersburg. This was in accordance with the dearest wish of my heart. Ever since my childhood's days I had been filled with an intense desire to go to Russia. Like most people unacquainted with the country, I had formed the most grotesquely221 incorrect mental pictures of Russia. I imagined it a vast Empire of undreamed of magnificence, pleasantly tempered with relics222 of barbarism; and all these glittering splendours were enveloped223 in the snow and ice of a semi-Arctic climate, which gave additional piquancy224 to their glories. I pictured huge tractless forests, their dark expanse only broken by the shimmering225 golden domes226 of the Russian churches. I fancied this glamour-land peopled by a species of transported French, full of culture, and all of them polyglot227, more brilliant and infinitely228 more intellectual than their West European prototypes. I imagined this hyperborean paradise served by a race of super-astute
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diplomatists and officials, with whom we poor Westerners could not hope to contend, and by Generals whom no one could withstand. The evident awe229 with which Germans envisaged230 their Eastern neighbours strengthened this idea, and both in England and in France I had heard quite responsible persons gloomily predict, after contemplating231 the map, that the Northern Colossus was fatally destined at some time to absorb the whole of the rest of Europe.
Apart then from its own intrinsic attraction, I used to gaze at the map of Russia with some such feelings as, I imagine, the early Christians232 experienced when, on their Sunday walks in Rome, they went to look at the lions in their dens153 in the circus, and speculated as to their own sensations when, as seemed but too probable, they might have to meet these interesting quadrupeds on the floor of the arena233, in a brief, exciting, but definitely final encounter.
Everything I had seen or heard about this mysterious land had enhanced its glamour. The hair-raising rumours234 which reached Berlin as to revolutionary plots and counter-plots; the appalling stories one heard about the terrible secret police; the atmosphere of intrigue235 which seemed indigenous236 to the place—all added to its fascinations237. Even the externals were attractive. I had attended weddings and funeral services at the chapel238 of the Russian Embassy. Here every detail was exotic, and utterly dissimilar to anything in one's previous
{78}
experience. The absence of seats, organ, or pulpit in the chapel itself; the elaborate Byzantine decorations of the building; the exquisitely239 beautiful but quite unfamiliar singing; the long-bearded priests in their archaic240 vestments of unaccustomed golden brocades—everything struck a novel note. It all came from a world apart, centuries removed from the prosaic241 routine of Western Europe.
Even quite minor details, such as the curiously242 sumptuous243 Russian national dresses of the ladies of the Embassy at Court functions, the visits to Berlin of the Russian ballets and troupes244 of Russian singing gipsies, had all the same stamp of strong racial individuality, of something temperamentally different from all we had been accustomed to.
I was overjoyed at the prospect245 of seeing for myself at last this land of mingled246 splendour and barbarism, this country which had retained its traditional racial characteristics in spite of the influences of nineteenth century drab uniformity of type.
As the Petrograd Embassy was short-handed at the time, it was settled that I should postpone247 my leave for some months and proceed to Russia without delay.
The Crown Prince and Crown Princess, who had been exceedingly kind to me during my stay in Berlin, were good enough to ask me to the New Palace at Potsdam for one night, to take leave of them.
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I had never before had an opportunity of going all over the New Palace. I thought it wonderfully fine, though quite French in feeling. The rather faded appearance of some of the rooms increased their look of dignity. It was not of yesterday. The great "Shell Hall," or "Muschel-Saal," much admired of Prussians, is frankly horrible; one of the unfortunate aberrations248 of eighteenth century taste of which several examples occur in English country-houses of the same date.
My own bedroom was charming; of the purest Louis XV, with apple-green polished panelling and heavily silvered mouldings and mirrors.
Nothing could be more delightful than the Crown Prince's manner on occasions such as this. The short-lived Emperor Frederick had the knack249 of blending absolute simplicity with great dignity, as had the Empress Frederick. For the curious in such matters, and as an instance of the traditional frugality250 of the Prussian Court, I may add that supper that evening, at which only the Crown Prince and Princess, the equerry and lady-in-waiting, and myself were present, consisted solely251 of curds252 and whey, veal253 cutlets, and a rice pudding. Nothing else whatever. We sat afterwards in a very stately, lofty, thoroughly254 French room. The Crown Prince, the equerry, and myself drank beer, whilst the Prince smoked his long pipe. It seemed incongruous to drink beer amid such absolutely French surroundings. I noticed that the Crown Princess always laid down her needlework to refill
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her husband's pipe and to bring him a fresh tankard of beer. The "Kronprinzliches Paar," as a German would have described them, were both perfectly255 charming in their conversation with a dull, uninteresting youth of twenty-one. They each had marvellous memories, and recalled many trivial half-forgotten details about my own family. That evening in the friendly atmosphere of the great, dimly-lit room in the New Palace at Potsdam will always live in my memory.
Two days afterwards I drove through the trim, prosaic, well-ordered, stuccoed streets of Berlin to the Eastern Station; for me, the gateway256 to the land of my desires, vast, mysterious Russia.
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1
delightful
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adj.令人高兴的,使人快乐的 | |
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2
glamour
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n.魔力,魅力;vt.迷住 | |
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3
perennial
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adj.终年的;长久的 | |
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din
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n.喧闹声,嘈杂声 | |
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dictatorial
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adj. 独裁的,专断的 | |
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immediate
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adj.立即的;直接的,最接近的;紧靠的 | |
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7
refreshing
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adj.使精神振作的,使人清爽的,使人喜欢的 | |
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8
monotonous
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adj.单调的,一成不变的,使人厌倦的 | |
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9
animation
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n.活泼,兴奋,卡通片/动画片的制作 | |
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10
winding
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n.绕,缠,绕组,线圈 | |
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11
extraordinarily
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adv.格外地;极端地 | |
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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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13
demolisher
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拆除 | |
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14
decorative
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adj.装饰的,可作装饰的 | |
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15
enjoyment
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n.乐趣;享有;享用 | |
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decadent
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adj.颓废的,衰落的,堕落的 | |
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17
essentially
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adv.本质上,实质上,基本上 | |
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18
gem
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n.宝石,珠宝;受爱戴的人 [同]jewel | |
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19
epithet
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n.(用于褒贬人物等的)表述形容词,修饰语 | |
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20
fore
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adv.在前面;adj.先前的;在前部的;n.前部 | |
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21
whet
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v.磨快,刺激 | |
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Christian
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adj.基督教徒的;n.基督教徒 | |
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23
descend
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vt./vi.传下来,下来,下降 | |
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variant
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adj.不同的,变异的;n.变体,异体 | |
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25
mere
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adj.纯粹的;仅仅,只不过 | |
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hereditary
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adj.遗传的,遗传性的,可继承的,世袭的 | |
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regularity
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n.规律性,规则性;匀称,整齐 | |
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dominions
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统治权( dominion的名词复数 ); 领土; 疆土; 版图 | |
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fully
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adv.完全地,全部地,彻底地;充分地 | |
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supplant
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vt.排挤;取代 | |
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bribed
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v.贿赂( bribe的过去式和过去分词 );向(某人)行贿,贿赂 | |
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flickered
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(通常指灯光)闪烁,摇曳( flicker的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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previously
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adv.以前,先前(地) | |
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consolidating
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v.(使)巩固, (使)加强( consolidate的现在分词 );(使)合并 | |
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unfamiliar
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adj.陌生的,不熟悉的 | |
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rued
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v.对…感到后悔( rue的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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acquiescence
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n.默许;顺从 | |
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alluded
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提及,暗指( allude的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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39
affected
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adj.不自然的,假装的 | |
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40
emphasise
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vt.加强...的语气,强调,着重 | |
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41
phonetic
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adj.语言的,语言上的,表示语音的 | |
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42
beet
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n.甜菜;甜菜根 | |
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43
pedantic
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adj.卖弄学问的;迂腐的 | |
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44
abound
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vi.大量存在;(in,with)充满,富于 | |
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45
royalties
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特许权使用费 | |
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46
vouch
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v.担保;断定;n.被担保者 | |
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47
apogee
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n.远地点;极点;顶点 | |
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48
depicts
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描绘,描画( depict的第三人称单数 ); 描述 | |
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49
embarking
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乘船( embark的现在分词 ); 装载; 从事 | |
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50
technically
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adv.专门地,技术上地 | |
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51
adoration
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n.爱慕,崇拜 | |
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52
virgin
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n.处女,未婚女子;adj.未经使用的;未经开发的 | |
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53
tiresome
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adj.令人疲劳的,令人厌倦的 | |
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54
levying
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征(兵)( levy的现在分词 ); 索取; 发动(战争); 征税 | |
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55
toll
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n.过路(桥)费;损失,伤亡人数;v.敲(钟) | |
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56
bourgeois
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adj./n.追求物质享受的(人);中产阶级分子 | |
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57
entail
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vt.使承担,使成为必要,需要 | |
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58
entails
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使…成为必要( entail的第三人称单数 ); 需要; 限定继承; 使必需 | |
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59
scurry
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vi.急匆匆地走;使急赶;催促;n.快步急跑,疾走;仓皇奔跑声;骤雨,骤雪;短距离赛马 | |
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60
exhaustion
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n.耗尽枯竭,疲惫,筋疲力尽,竭尽,详尽无遗的论述 | |
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61
triumphantly
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ad.得意洋洋地;得胜地;成功地 | |
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62
ordains
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v.任命(某人)为牧师( ordain的第三人称单数 );授予(某人)圣职;(上帝、法律等)命令;判定 | |
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63
fixed
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adj.固定的,不变的,准备好的;(计算机)固定的 | |
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64
hideous
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adj.丑陋的,可憎的,可怕的,恐怖的 | |
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65
necessitates
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使…成为必要,需要( necessitate的第三人称单数 ) | |
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66
cuisine
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n.烹调,烹饪法 | |
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67
distinctive
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adj.特别的,有特色的,与众不同的 | |
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68
coup
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n.政变;突然而成功的行动 | |
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69
melodious
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adj.旋律美妙的,调子优美的,音乐性的 | |
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70
tunes
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n.曲调,曲子( tune的名词复数 )v.调音( tune的第三人称单数 );调整;(给收音机、电视等)调谐;使协调 | |
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71
vim
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n.精力,活力 | |
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72
supremely
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adv.无上地,崇高地 | |
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73
irresistibly
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adv.无法抵抗地,不能自持地;极为诱惑人地 | |
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74
consummately
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adv.完成地,至上地 | |
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75
chaotic
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adj.混沌的,一片混乱的,一团糟的 | |
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76
baker
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n.面包师 | |
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77
bakers
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n.面包师( baker的名词复数 );面包店;面包店店主;十三 | |
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78
apprentices
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学徒,徒弟( apprentice的名词复数 ) | |
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79
rhythmic
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adj.有节奏的,有韵律的 | |
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80
thump
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v.重击,砰然地响;n.重击,重击声 | |
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81
determined
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adj.坚定的;有决心的 | |
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82
utterly
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adv.完全地,绝对地 | |
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83
emblem
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n.象征,标志;徽章 | |
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84
huddle
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vi.挤作一团;蜷缩;vt.聚集;n.挤在一起的人 | |
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85
abbreviated
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adj. 简短的,省略的 动词abbreviate的过去式和过去分词 | |
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86
bestowed
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赠给,授予( bestow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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87
smother
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vt./vi.使窒息;抑制;闷死;n.浓烟;窒息 | |
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88
tangles
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(使)缠结, (使)乱作一团( tangle的第三人称单数 ) | |
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89
decided
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adj.决定了的,坚决的;明显的,明确的 | |
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90
accentuated
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v.重读( accentuate的过去式和过去分词 );使突出;使恶化;加重音符号于 | |
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91
stature
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n.(高度)水平,(高度)境界,身高,身材 | |
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92
decadence
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n.衰落,颓废 | |
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93
celebrated
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adj.有名的,声誉卓著的 | |
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94
acting
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n.演戏,行为,假装;adj.代理的,临时的,演出用的 | |
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95
varied
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adj.多样的,多变化的 | |
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96
Vogue
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n.时髦,时尚;adj.流行的 | |
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97
irresistible
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adj.非常诱人的,无法拒绝的,无法抗拒的 | |
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98
intoxication
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n.wild excitement;drunkenness;poisoning | |
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99
emulating
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v.与…竞争( emulate的现在分词 );努力赶上;计算机程序等仿真;模仿 | |
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100
revival
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n.复兴,复苏,(精力、活力等的)重振 | |
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101
baton
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n.乐队用指挥杖 | |
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102
demons
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n.恶人( demon的名词复数 );恶魔;精力过人的人;邪念 | |
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103
peculiarity
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n.独特性,特色;特殊的东西;怪癖 | |
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104
peculiar
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adj.古怪的,异常的;特殊的,特有的 | |
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105
tingling
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v.有刺痛感( tingle的现在分词 ) | |
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106
dwellings
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n.住处,处所( dwelling的名词复数 ) | |
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107
alcove
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n.凹室 | |
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108
bust
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vt.打破;vi.爆裂;n.半身像;胸部 | |
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109
cramped
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a.狭窄的 | |
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110
bucolic
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adj.乡村的;牧羊的 | |
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111
rustic
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adj.乡村的,有乡村特色的;n.乡下人,乡巴佬 | |
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112
tapestry
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n.挂毯,丰富多采的画面 | |
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113
gilt
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adj.镀金的;n.金边证券 | |
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114
gilding
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n.贴金箔,镀金 | |
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115
delightfully
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大喜,欣然 | |
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116
giggling
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v.咯咯地笑( giggle的现在分词 ) | |
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117
intrude
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vi.闯入;侵入;打扰,侵扰 | |
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118
shudder
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v.战粟,震动,剧烈地摇晃;n.战粟,抖动 | |
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119
battalions
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n.(陆军的)一营(大约有一千兵士)( battalion的名词复数 );协同作战的部队;军队;(组织在一起工作的)队伍 | |
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120
simplicity
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n.简单,简易;朴素;直率,单纯 | |
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121
sufficiently
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adv.足够地,充分地 | |
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122
undue
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adj.过分的;不适当的;未到期的 | |
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123
gaped
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v.目瞪口呆地凝视( gape的过去式和过去分词 );张开,张大 | |
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124
hitched
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(免费)搭乘他人之车( hitch的过去式和过去分词 ); 搭便车; 攀上; 跃上 | |
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125
doom
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n.厄运,劫数;v.注定,命定 | |
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126
drawn
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v.拖,拉,拔出;adj.憔悴的,紧张的 | |
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127
rambling
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adj.[建]凌乱的,杂乱的 | |
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128
disastrous
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adj.灾难性的,造成灾害的;极坏的,很糟的 | |
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129
tunics
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n.(动植物的)膜皮( tunic的名词复数 );束腰宽松外衣;一套制服的短上衣;(天主教主教等穿的)短祭袍 | |
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130
tunic
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n.束腰外衣 | |
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131
velvet
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n.丝绒,天鹅绒;adj.丝绒制的,柔软的 | |
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132
jubilee
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n.周年纪念;欢乐 | |
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133
astonishment
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n.惊奇,惊异 | |
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134
lavishly
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adv.慷慨地,大方地 | |
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135
embroidered
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adj.绣花的 | |
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136
thighs
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n.股,大腿( thigh的名词复数 );食用的鸡(等的)腿 | |
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137
entirely
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ad.全部地,完整地;完全地,彻底地 | |
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138
turquoise
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n.绿宝石;adj.蓝绿色的 | |
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139
tonsured
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v.剃( tonsure的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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140
inflexibility
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n.不屈性,顽固,不变性;不可弯曲;非挠性;刚性 | |
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141
deference
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n.尊重,顺从;敬意 | |
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142
minor
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adj.较小(少)的,较次要的;n.辅修学科;vi.辅修 | |
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143
tenacious
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adj.顽强的,固执的,记忆力强的,粘的 | |
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144
destined
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adj.命中注定的;(for)以…为目的地的 | |
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145
dagger
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n.匕首,短剑,剑号 | |
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146
morbid
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adj.病的;致病的;病态的;可怕的 | |
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147
graceful
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adj.优美的,优雅的;得体的 | |
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148
literally
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adv.照字面意义,逐字地;确实 | |
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149
crammed
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adj.塞满的,挤满的;大口地吃;快速贪婪地吃v.把…塞满;填入;临时抱佛脚( cram的过去式) | |
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150
transacted
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v.办理(业务等)( transact的过去式和过去分词 );交易,谈判 | |
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151
worthy
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adj.(of)值得的,配得上的;有价值的 | |
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152
legitimate
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adj.合法的,合理的,合乎逻辑的;v.使合法 | |
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153
dens
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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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154
genial
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adj.亲切的,和蔼的,愉快的,脾气好的 | |
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155
hospitable
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adj.好客的;宽容的;有利的,适宜的 | |
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156
incompetents
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n.无能力的,不称职的,不胜任的( incompetent的名词复数 ) | |
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157
bracing
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adj.令人振奋的 | |
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158
wholesome
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adj.适合;卫生的;有益健康的;显示身心健康的 | |
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159
accurately
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adv.准确地,精确地 | |
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160
temperament
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n.气质,性格,性情 | |
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161
diplomacy
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n.外交;外交手腕,交际手腕 | |
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162
reposed
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v.将(手臂等)靠在某人(某物)上( repose的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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163
provincial
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adj.省的,地方的;n.外省人,乡下人 | |
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164
admiration
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n.钦佩,赞美,羡慕 | |
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165
indefatigable
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adj.不知疲倦的,不屈不挠的 | |
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166
gatherings
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聚集( gathering的名词复数 ); 收集; 采集; 搜集 | |
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167
continentals
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n.(欧洲)大陆人( continental的名词复数 ) | |
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168
remarkable
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adj.显著的,异常的,非凡的,值得注意的 | |
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169
lengthy
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adj.漫长的,冗长的 | |
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170
consequential
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adj.作为结果的,间接的;重要的 | |
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171
memoirs
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n.回忆录;回忆录传( mem,自oir的名词复数) | |
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172
proceedings
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n.进程,过程,议程;诉讼(程序);公报 | |
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173
lining
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n.衬里,衬料 | |
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174
concealed
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a.隐藏的,隐蔽的 | |
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175
obviate
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v.除去,排除,避免,预防 | |
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176
undertaking
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n.保证,许诺,事业 | |
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177
geographical
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adj.地理的;地区(性)的 | |
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178
situated
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adj.坐落在...的,处于某种境地的 | |
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179
villa
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n.别墅,城郊小屋 | |
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180
tracts
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大片土地( tract的名词复数 ); 地带; (体内的)道; (尤指宣扬宗教、伦理或政治的)短文 | |
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181
moor
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n.荒野,沼泽;vt.(使)停泊;vi.停泊 | |
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182
gallop
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v./n.(马或骑马等)飞奔;飞速发展 | |
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183
scant
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adj.不充分的,不足的;v.减缩,限制,忽略 | |
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184
tricky
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adj.狡猾的,奸诈的;(工作等)棘手的,微妙的 | |
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185
hoist
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n.升高,起重机,推动;v.升起,升高,举起 | |
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186
impunity
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n.(惩罚、损失、伤害等的)免除 | |
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187
nautical
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adj.海上的,航海的,船员的 | |
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188
withered
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adj. 枯萎的,干瘪的,(人身体的部分器官)因病萎缩的或未发育良好的 动词wither的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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189
plunge
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v.跳入,(使)投入,(使)陷入;猛冲 | |
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190
calamity
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n.灾害,祸患,不幸事件 | |
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191
inordinate
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adj.无节制的;过度的 | |
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192
posterity
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n.后裔,子孙,后代 | |
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193
sinister
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adj.不吉利的,凶恶的,左边的 | |
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194
moored
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adj. 系泊的 动词moor的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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195
frigate
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n.护航舰,大型驱逐舰 | |
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196
naval
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adj.海军的,军舰的,船的 | |
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197
placid
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adj.安静的,平和的 | |
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198
allotted
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分配,拨给,摊派( allot的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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199
deliberately
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adv.审慎地;蓄意地;故意地 | |
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200
rococo
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n.洛可可;adj.过分修饰的 | |
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201
exuberant
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adj.充满活力的;(植物)繁茂的 | |
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202
erect
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n./v.树立,建立,使竖立;adj.直立的,垂直的 | |
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203
ERECTED
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adj. 直立的,竖立的,笔直的 vt. 使 ... 直立,建立 | |
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204
bravado
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n.虚张声势,故作勇敢,逞能 | |
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205
exhausted
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adj.极其疲惫的,精疲力尽的 | |
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206
possessed
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adj.疯狂的;拥有的,占有的 | |
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207
appalling
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adj.骇人听闻的,令人震惊的,可怕的 | |
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208
palatial
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adj.宫殿般的,宏伟的 | |
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209
frankly
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adv.坦白地,直率地;坦率地说 | |
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210
gilded
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a.镀金的,富有的 | |
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211
blot
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vt.弄脏(用吸墨纸)吸干;n.污点,污渍 | |
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212
apparently
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adv.显然地;表面上,似乎 | |
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213
calves
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n.(calf的复数)笨拙的男子,腓;腿肚子( calf的名词复数 );牛犊;腓;小腿肚v.生小牛( calve的第三人称单数 );(冰川)崩解;生(小牛等),产(犊);使(冰川)崩解 | |
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214
severely
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adv.严格地;严厉地;非常恶劣地 | |
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215
bellying
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鼓出部;鼓鼓囊囊 | |
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216
verdant
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adj.翠绿的,青翠的,生疏的,不老练的 | |
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217
joyously
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ad.快乐地, 高兴地 | |
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218
cleaving
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v.劈开,剁开,割开( cleave的现在分词 ) | |
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219
exultation
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n.狂喜,得意 | |
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220
stifling
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a.令人窒息的 | |
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221
grotesquely
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adv. 奇异地,荒诞地 | |
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222
relics
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[pl.]n.遗物,遗迹,遗产;遗体,尸骸 | |
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223
enveloped
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v.包围,笼罩,包住( envelop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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224
piquancy
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n.辛辣,辣味,痛快 | |
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225
shimmering
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v.闪闪发光,发微光( shimmer的现在分词 ) | |
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226
domes
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n.圆屋顶( dome的名词复数 );像圆屋顶一样的东西;圆顶体育场 | |
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227
polyglot
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adj.通晓数种语言的;n.通晓多种语言的人 | |
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228
infinitely
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adv.无限地,无穷地 | |
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229
awe
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n.敬畏,惊惧;vt.使敬畏,使惊惧 | |
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230
envisaged
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想像,设想( envisage的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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231
contemplating
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深思,细想,仔细考虑( contemplate的现在分词 ); 注视,凝视; 考虑接受(发生某事的可能性); 深思熟虑,沉思,苦思冥想 | |
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232
Christians
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n.基督教徒( Christian的名词复数 ) | |
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233
arena
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n.竞技场,运动场所;竞争场所,舞台 | |
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234
rumours
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n.传闻( rumour的名词复数 );风闻;谣言;谣传 | |
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235
intrigue
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vt.激起兴趣,迷住;vi.耍阴谋;n.阴谋,密谋 | |
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236
indigenous
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adj.土产的,土生土长的,本地的 | |
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237
fascinations
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n.魅力( fascination的名词复数 );有魅力的东西;迷恋;陶醉 | |
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238
chapel
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n.小教堂,殡仪馆 | |
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239
exquisitely
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adv.精致地;强烈地;剧烈地;异常地 | |
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240
archaic
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adj.(语言、词汇等)古代的,已不通用的 | |
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241
prosaic
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adj.单调的,无趣的 | |
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242
curiously
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adv.有求知欲地;好问地;奇特地 | |
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243
sumptuous
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adj.豪华的,奢侈的,华丽的 | |
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244
troupes
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n. (演出的)一团, 一班 vi. 巡回演出 | |
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245
prospect
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n.前景,前途;景色,视野 | |
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246
mingled
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混合,混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 ); 混进,与…交往[联系] | |
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247
postpone
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v.延期,推迟 | |
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248
aberrations
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n.偏差( aberration的名词复数 );差错;脱离常规;心理失常 | |
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249
knack
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n.诀窍,做事情的灵巧的,便利的方法 | |
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250
frugality
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n.节约,节俭 | |
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251
solely
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adv.仅仅,唯一地 | |
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252
curds
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n.凝乳( curd的名词复数 ) | |
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253
veal
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n.小牛肉 | |
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254
thoroughly
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adv.完全地,彻底地,十足地 | |
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255
perfectly
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adv.完美地,无可非议地,彻底地 | |
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256
gateway
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n.大门口,出入口,途径,方法 | |
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