We are now coming to the most important part of the question of Story-Telling, to which all the foregoing remarks have been gradually leading, and that is the Effects of these stories upon the child, apart from the dramatic joy he experiences in listening to them, which would in itself be quite enough to justify1 us in the telling. But, since I have urged upon teachers the extreme importance of giving so much time to the manner of telling and of bestowing3 so much care on the selection of the material, it is right that they should expect some permanent results, or else those who are not satisfied with the mere4 enjoyment5 of the children will seek other methods of appeal—and it is to them that I most specially6 dedicate this chapter.
I think we are on the threshold of the re-discovery of an old truth, that the Dramatic Presentation is the quickest and surest, because it is the only one with which memory plays no tricks. If a thing has appeared before us in a vital form, nothing can really destroy it; it is because things are often given in a blurred7, faint light that they gradually fade out of our memory. A very keen scientist was deploring8 to me, on one occasion, the fact that stories were told so much in the schools, to the detriment9 of science, for which she claimed the same indestructible element that I
90
recognise in the best-told stories. Being very much interested in her point of view, I asked her to tell me, looking back on her school days, what she could remember as standing10 out from other less clear information. After thinking some little time over the matter, she said with some embarrassment11, but with a candour that did her much honour:
“Well, now I come to think of it, it was the story of Cinderella.”
Now, I am not holding any brief for this story in particular. I think the reason it was remembered was because of the dramatic form in which it was presented to her, which fired her imagination and kept the memory alight. I quite realise that a scientific fact might also have been easily remembered if it was presented in the form of a successful chemical experiment: but this also has something of the dramatic appeal and will be remembered on that account.
Sully says: “We cannot understand the fascination12 of a story for children save in remembering that for their young minds, quick to imagine, and unversed in abstract reflection, words are not dead things but winged, as the old Greeks called them.”[37]
The Red Queen (in “Through the Looking-Glass”) was more psychological than she knew when she made the memorable13 statement: “When once you've said a thing that fixes it, and you must take the consequences.”
In Curtin's Introduction to “Myths and Folk Tales of the Russians,” he says:
91
“I remember well the feeling roused in my mind at the mention or sight of the name Lucifer during the early years of my life. It stood for me as the name of a being stupendous, dreadful in moral deformity, lurid14, hideous15 and mighty16. I remember the surprise which, when I had grown somewhat older and began to study Latin, I came upon the name in Virgil where it means light-bringer—the herald17 of the Sun.”
Plato has said: “That the End of Education should be the training by suitable habits of the Instincts of Virtue18 in the Child.”
About two thousand years later, Sir Philip Sidney, in his “Defence of Poesy,” says: “The final end of learning is to draw and lead us to so high a perfection as our degenerate19 souls, made worse by their clay lodgings20, can be capable of.”
And yet it is neither the Greek philosopher nor the Elizabethan poet that makes the every-day application of these principles; but we have a hint of this application from the Pueblo21 tribe of Indians, of whom Lummis tells us the following:
“There is no duty to which a Pueblo child is trained in which he has to be content with a bare command: Do this. For each he learns a fairy-tale designed to explain how children first came to know that it was right to ‘do this,’ and detailing the sad results that befell those who did otherwise. Some tribes have regular story-tellers, men who have devoted23 a great deal of time to learning the myths and stories of their people and who possess, in addition to a good memory, a vivid imagination. The mother sends for one of these, and having prepared a feast for him, she and her little brood, who are curled up near her, await the Fairy Stories of the dreamer, who after his feast and smoke entertains the company for hours.”
In modern times, the nurse, who is now receiving such complete training for her duties with the children, should be ready to imitate the “dreamer” of the Indian tribe. I rejoice to find that regular instruction
92
in Story-telling is being given in many of the institutions where the nurses are trained.
Some years ago there appeared a book by Dion Calthrop called “King Peter,” which illustrates24 very fully25 the effect of story-telling. It is the account of the education of a young prince which is carried on at first by means of stories, and later he is taken out into the arena26 of Life to be shown what is happening there—the dramatic appeal being always the means used to awaken27 his imagination. The fact that only one story a year is told him prevents our seeing the effect from day to day, but the time matters little. We only need faith to believe that the growth, though slow, was very sure.
There is something of the same idea in the “Adventures of Telemachus,” written by Fénélon for his royal pupil, the young Duke of Burgundy; but whereas Calthrop trusts to the results of indirect teaching by means of dramatic stories, Fénélon, on the contrary, makes use of the somewhat heavy, didactic method, so that one would think the attention of the young prince must have wandered at times; and I imagine Telemachus was in the same condition when he was addressed at some length by Mentor29, who, being Minerva (though in disguise), should occasionally have displayed that sense of humour which must always temper true wisdom:
Take, for instance, the heavy reproof30 conveyed in the following passage:
“Death and shipwreck31 are less dreadful than the pleasures that attack Virtue.... Youth is full of presumption32 and arrogance33, though nothing in the world is so frail34: it fears nothing, and vainly relies on its own strength, believing everything with the utmost levity35 and without any precaution.”
93
And on another occasion, when Calypso hospitably36 provides clothes for the shipwrecked men, and Telemachus is handling a tunic37 of the finest wool and white as snow, with a vest of purple embroidered39 with gold, and displaying much pleasure in the magnificence of the clothes, Mentor addresses him in a severe voice, saying: “Are these, O Telemachus, the thoughts that ought to occupy the heart of the son of Ulysses? A young man who loves to dress vainly, as a woman does, is unworthy of wisdom or glory.”
I remember, as a schoolgirl of thirteen, having to commit to memory several books of these adventures, so as to become familiar with the style. Far from being impressed by the wisdom of Mentor, I was simply bored, and wondered why Telemachus did not escape from him. The only part in the book that really interested me was Calypso's unrequited love for Telemachus, but this was always the point where we ceased to learn by heart, which surprised me greatly, for it was here that the real human interest seemed to begin.
Of all the effects which I hope for from the telling of stories in the schools, personally I place first the dramatic joy we bring to the children and to ourselves. But there are many who would consider this result as fantastic, if not frivolous41, and not to be classed among the educational values concocted42 with the introduction of stories into the school curriculum. I therefore propose to speak of other effects of story-telling which may seem of more practical value.
The first, which is of a purely43 negative character, is that through means of a dramatic story we can counteract44 some of the sights and sounds of the streets which appeal to the melodramatic instinct in children. I am sure that all teachers whose work lies in the crowded
94
cities must have realised the effect produced on children by what they see and hear on their way to and from school. If we merely consider the hoardings, with their realistic representations, quite apart from the actual dramatic happenings in the street, we at once perceive that the ordinary school interests pale before such lurid appeals as these. How can we expect the child who has stood open-mouthed before a poster representing a woman chloroformed by a burglar, whilst that hero escapes in safety with her jewels, to display any interest in the arid45 monotony of the multiplication-table? The illegitimate excitement created by the sight of the depraved burglar can only be counteracted47 by something equally exciting along the realistic but legitimate46 side; and this is where the story of the right kind becomes so valuable, and why the teacher who is artistic48 enough to undertake the task can find the short path to results which theorists seek for so long in vain. It is not even necessary to have an exceedingly exciting story; sometimes one which will bring about pure reaction may be just as suitable.
I remember in my personal experience an instance of this kind. I had been reading with some children of about ten years old the story from Cymbeline, of Imogen in the forest scene, when the brothers strew49 flowers upon her, and sing the funeral dirge50,
“Fear no more the heat of the sun.”
Just as we had all taken on this tender, gentle mood, the door opened and one of the prefects announced in a loud voice the news of the relief of Mafeking. The children were on their feet at once, cheering lustily, and for the moment the joy over the relief of the brave garrison51 was the predominant feeling. Then, before
95
the Jingo spirit had time to assert itself, I took advantage of a momentary52 reaction and said: “Now, children, don't you think we can pay England the tribute of going back to England's greatest poet?” In a few minutes we were back in the heart of the Forest, and I can still hear the delightful53 intonation54 of those subdued55 voices repeating:
Golden lads and girls all must
Like chimney-sweepers come to dust.
It is interesting to note that the same problem that is exercising us to-day was a source of difficulty to people in remote times. The following is taken from an old Chinese document, and has particular interest for us to-day.
“The Philosopher Mentius (born 371 B.C.) was left fatherless at a very tender age and brought up by his mother Changsi. The care of this prudent56 and attentive57 mother has been cited as a model for all virtuous58 parents. The house she occupied was near that of a butcher: she observed at the first cry of the animals that were being slaughtered59, the little Mentius ran to be present at the sight, and that, on his return, he sought to imitate what he had seen. Fearful lest his heart might become hardened, and accustomed to the sights of blood, she removed to another house which was in the neighbourhood of a cemetery60. The relations of those who were buried there came often to weep upon their graves, and make their customary libations. The lad soon took pleasure in their ceremonies and amused himself by imitating them. This was a new subject of uneasiness to his mother: she feared her son might come to consider as a jest what is of all things the most serious, and that he might acquire a habit of performing with levity, and as a matter of routine
96
merely, ceremonies which demand the most exact attention and respect. Again therefore she anxiously changed the dwelling61, and went to live in the city, opposite to a school, where her son found examples the most worthy40 of imitation, and began to profit by them. This anecdote62 has become incorporated by the Chinese into a proverb, which they constantly quote: The Mother of Mentius seeks a neighbourhood.”
Another influence we have to counteract is that of newspaper headings which catch the eye of children in the streets and appeal so powerfully to their imagination.
Shakespeare has said:
Tell me where is Fancy bred,
Or in the heart, or in the head?
How begot63, how nourished?
Reply, reply.
It is engendered64 in the eyes
With gazing fed: and Fancy dies
In the cradle where it lies.
Let us all ring Fancy's knell65.
I'll begin it—ding, dong, bell.
“Merchant of Venice.”
If this be true, it is of importance to decide what our children shall look upon as far as we can control the vision, so that we can form some idea of the effect upon their imagination.
Having alluded66 to the dangerous influence of the street, I should hasten to say that this influence is very far from being altogether bad. There are possibilities of romance in street life which may have just the same kind of effect on children as the telling of exciting stories. I am indebted to Mrs. Arnold Glover (Hon. Sec. of the National Organisation67 of Girls' Clubs), one of the most widely informed people on this subject, for the two following experiences gathered from the
97
streets which bear indirectly68 on the subject of story-telling:
Mrs. Glover was visiting a sick woman in a very poor neighbourhood, and found, sitting on the doorstep of the house, two children, holding something tightly grasped in their little hands, and gazing with much expectancy69 towards the top of the street. She longed to know what they were doing, but not being one of those unimaginative and tactless folk who rush headlong into the mysteries of children's doings, she passed them at first in silence. It was only when she found them still in the same silent and expectant posture70 half-an-hour later that she said tentatively: “I wonder whether you would tell me what you are doing here?” After some hesitation71, one of them said, in a shy voice: “We're waitin' for the barrer.” It then transpired72 that, once a week, a vegetable-and flower-cart was driven through this particular street, on its way to a more prosperous neighbourhood, and on a few red-letter days, a flower, or a sprig, or even a root sometimes fell out of the back of the cart; and those two little children were waiting there in hope, with their hands full of soil, ready to plant anything which might by golden chance fall that way, in their secret garden of oyster-shells.
This seems to me as charming a fairy-tale as any that our books can supply.
Another time Mrs. Glover was collecting the pennies for the Holiday Fund Savings73 Bank from the children who came weekly to her house. She noticed on three consecutive74 Mondays that one little lad deliberately75 helped himself to a new envelope from her table. Not wishing to frighten or startle him, she allowed this to continue for some weeks, and then one day, having dismissed the other children, she asked him quite
98
quietly why he was taking the envelopes. At first he was very sulky, and said: “I need them better than you do.” She quite agreed this might be, but reminded him that, after all, they belonged to her. She promised, however, that if he would tell her for what purpose he wanted the envelopes, she would endeavour to help him in the matter. Then came the astonishing announcement: “I am building a navy.” After a little more gradual questioning, Mrs. Glover drew from the boy the information that the Borough76 Water Carts passed through the side street once a week, flushing the gutter77; that then the Envelope Ships were made to sail on the water and pass under the covered ways which formed bridges for wayfarers78 and tunnels for the “navy.” Great was the excitement when the ships passed out of sight and were recognised as they arrived safely at the other end. Of course the expenses in raw material were greatly diminished by the illicit79 acquisition of Mrs. Glover's property, and in this way she had unconsciously provided the neighbourhood with a navy and a Commander. Her first instinct, after becoming acquainted with the whole story, was to present the boy with a real boat, but on second thought she collected and gave him a number of old envelopes with names and addresses upon them, which added greatly to the excitement of the sailing, because they could be more easily identified as they came out of the other side of the tunnel, and had their respective reputations as to speed.
Here is indeed food for romance, and I give both instances to prove that the advantages of street life are to be taken into consideration as well as the disadvantages; though I think we are bound to admit that the latter outweigh80 the former.
One of the immediate81 results of dramatic stories is
99
the escape from the commonplace, to which I have already alluded in quoting Mr. Goschen's words. The desire for this escape is a healthy one, common to adults and children. When we wish to get away from our own surroundings and interests, we do for ourselves what I maintain we ought to do for children; we step into the land of fiction. It has always been a source of astonishment82 to me that, in trying to escape from our own every-day surroundings, we do not step more boldly into the land of pure romance, which would form a real contrast to our every-day life, but in nine cases out of ten the fiction which is sought after deals with the subjects of our ordinary existence—namely, frenzied83 finance, sordid84 poverty, political corruption85, fast society, and religious doubts.
There is the same danger in the selection of fiction for children: namely, a tendency to choose very utilitarian86 stories, both in form and substance, so that we do not lift the children out of the commonplace. I remember once seeing the titles of two little books, the contents of which were being read or told to small children of the poorer class: one was called “Tom the Boot-black,” the other, “Dan the News-boy.” My chief objection to these stories was the fact that neither of the heroes rejoiced in their work for the work's sake. Had Tom even invented a new kind of blacking, or if Dan had started a splendid newspaper, it might have been encouraging for those among the listeners who were thinking of engaging in similar professions. It is true, both gentlemen amassed87 large fortunes, but surely the school age is not to be limited to such dreams and aspirations88 as these! One wearies of the tales of boys who arrive in a town with one cent in their pockets, and leave it as millionaires, with the added importance of a Mayoralty, not to speak of a
100
Knighthood. It is true that the romantic prototype of these boys is Dick Whittington, for whom we unconsciously cherish the affection which we often bestow2 on a far-off personage. Perhaps—who knows?—it is the picturesque89 adjunct of the cat—lacking to modern millionaires.[38]
I do not think it Utopian to present to children a fair share of stories which deal with the importance of things “untouched by hand.” They too can learn at an early age that “the things which are seen are temporal, but the things which are unseen are spiritual.” To those who wish to try the effect of such stories on children, I present for their encouragement the following lines from Whitcomb Riley:
THE TREASURE OF THE WISE MAN.[39]
Oh, the night was dark and the night was late,
When the robbers came to rob him;
And they picked the lock of his palace-gate,
The robbers who came to rob him—
They picked the lock of the palace-gate,
Seized his jewels and gems90 of State
His coffers of gold and his priceless plate,—
The robbers that came to rob him.
But loud laughed he in the morning red!—
For of what had the robbers robbed him?
Ho! hidden safe, as he slept in bed,
When the robbers came to rob him,—
101
They robbed him not of a golden shred91
Of the childish dreams in his wise old head—
“And they're welcome to all things else,” he said,
When the robbers came to rob him.
There is a great deal of this romantic spirit, combined with a delightful sense of irresponsibility, which I claim above all things for small children, to be found in our old Nursery Rhymes. I quote from the following article written by the Rev28. R. L. Gales92 for the Nation.
After speaking on the subject of Fairy Stories being eliminated from the school curriculum, the writer adds:
102
“This would be lessening93 the joy of the world and taking from generations yet unborn the capacity for wonder, the power to take a large unselfish interest in the spectacle of things, and putting them forever at the mercy of small private cares.
A Nursery Rhyme is the most sane94, the most unselfish thing in the world. It calls up some delightful image,—a little nut-tree with a silver walnut95 and a golden pear; some romantic adventure only for the child's delight and liberation from the bondage96 of unseeing dulness: it brings before the mind the quintessence of some good thing:
'The little dog laughed to see such sport'—there is the soul of good humour, of sanity97, of health in the laughter of that innocently wicked little dog. It is the laughter of pure frolic without unkindness. To have laughed with the little dog as a child is the best preservative98 against mirthless laughter in later years—the horse laughter of brutality99, the ugly laughter of spite, the acrid100 laughter of fanaticism101. The world of Nursery Rhymes, the old world of Mrs. Slipper-Slopper, is the world of natural things, of quick, healthy motion, of the joy of living.
In Nursery Rhymes the child is entertained with all the pageant102 of the world. It walks in Fairy Gardens, and for it the singing birds pass. All the King's horses and all the King's men pass before it in their glorious array. Craftsmen103 of all sorts, bakers104, confectioners, silversmiths, blacksmiths are busy for it with all their arts and mysteries, as at the court of an Eastern King.”
In insisting on the value of this escape from the commonplace, I cannot prove the importance of it more clearly than by showing what may happen to a child who is deprived of his birthright by having none of the Fairy Tale element presented to him. In “Father and Son,” Mr. Edmund Gosse says:
103
“Meanwhile, capable as I was of reading, I found my greatest pleasure in the pages of books. The range of these was limited, for story-books of every description were sternly excluded. No fiction of any kind, religious or secular105, was admitted into the house. In this it was to my Mother, not to my Father, that the prohibition106 was due. She had a remarkable107, I confess, to me somewhat unaccountable impression that to ‘tell a story,’ that is, to compose fictitious108 narrative109 of any kind, was a sin.... Nor would she read the chivalrous110 tales in the verse of Sir Walter Scott, obstinately111 alleging112 that they were not true. She would read nothing but lyrical and subjective113 poetry.... As a child, however, she had possessed114 a passion for making up stories, and so considerable a skill in it, that she was constantly being begged to indulge others with its exercise.... ‘When I was a very little child,’ she says, ‘I used to amuse myself and my brothers with inventing stories such as I had read. Having, as I suppose, naturally a restless mind and busy imagination, this soon became the chief pleasure of my life. Unfortunately, my brothers were always fond of encouraging this propensity115, and I found in Taylor, my maid, a still greater tempter. I had not known there was any harm in it, until Miss Shore (a Calvinistic governess), finding it out, lectured me severely116 and told me it was wicked. From that time forth117 I considered that to invent a story of any kind was a sin.... But the longing118 to invent stories grew with violence. The simplicity119 of Truth was not enough for me. I must needs embroider38 imagination upon it, and the folly120 and wickedness which disgraced my heart are more than I am able to express....’ This (the Author, her son, adds) is surely a very painful instance of the repression121 of an instinct.”
In contrast to the stifling122 of the imagination, it is good to recall the story of the great Hermits123 who, having listened to the discussion of the Monday sitting at the Académie des Sciences (Institut de France) as to the best way to teach the young how to shoot in the direction of mathematical genius, said: “Cultivez l'imagination, messieurs. Tout124 est là. Si vous voulez des mathématiciens, donnez à vos enfants à lire—des Contes de Fées.”
Another important effect of the story is to develop at an early age sympathy for children of other countries where conditions are different from our own. There is a book used in American schools called “Little Citizens of other Lands,” dealing125 with the clothes, the games and occupations of those little citizens. Stories of this kind are particularly necessary to prevent the development of insular126 notions, and are a check on that robust127 form of Philistinism, only too prevalent, alas128! among grown-ups, which looks askance at new
104
suggestions and makes the withering129 remark: “How un-English! How queer!”—the second comment being, it would seem, a natural corollary to the first.[40]
I have so constantly to deal with the question of confusion between Truth and Fiction in the mind of children that it might be useful to offer here an example of the way they make the distinction for themselves.
Mrs. Ewing says on this subject:
“If there are young intellects so imperfect as to be incapable130 of distinguishing between Fancy and Falsehood, it is most desirable to develop in them the power to do so, but, as a rule, in childhood, we appreciate the distinction with a vivacity131 which as elders our care-clogged memories fail to recall.”
Mr. P. A. Barnett, in his book on the “Commonsense of Education,” says, alluding132 to Fairy Tales:
“Children will act them but not act upon them, and they will not accept the incidents as part of their effectual belief. They will imagine, to be sure, grotesque133 worlds, full of admirable and interesting personages to whom strange things might have happened. So much the better; this largeness of imagination is one of the possessions that distinguish the better nurtured134 child from others less fortunate.”
The following passage from Stevenson's essay on Child Play[41] will furnish an instance of children's aptitude135 for creating their own dramatic atmosphere:
105
“When my cousin and I took our porridge of a morning, we had a device to enliven the course of a meal. He ate his with sugar, and explained it to be a country continually buried under snow. I took mine with milk, and explained it to be a country suffering gradual inundation137. You can imagine us exchanging bulletins; how here was an island still unsubmerged, here a valley not yet covered with snow; what inventions were made; how his population lived in cabins on perches138 and travelled on stilts139, and how mine was always in boats; how the interest grew furious as the last corner of safe ground was cut off on all sides and grew smaller every moment; and how, in fine, the food was of altogether secondary importance, and might even have been nauseous, so long as we seasoned it with these dreams. But perhaps the most exciting moments I ever had over a meal, were in the case of calves140' feet jelly. It was hardly possible not to believe, and you may be quite sure, so far from trying it, I did all I could to favour the illusion—that some part of it was hollow, and that sooner or later my spoon would lay open the secret tabernacle of that golden rock. There, might some Red-Beard await this hour; there might one find the treasures of the Forty Thieves. And so I quarried141 on slowly, with bated breath, savouring the interest. Believe me, I had little palate left for the jelly; and though I preferred the taste when I took cream with it, I used often to go without because the cream dimmed the transparent142 fractures.”
In his work on Imagination, Ribot says: “The free initiative of children is always superior to the imitations we pretend to make for them.”
The passage from Robert Stevenson becomes more clear from a scientific point of view when taken in connection with one from Karl Groos' book on the “Psychology143 of Animal Play”:
106
“The Child is wholly absorbed in his play, and yet under the ebb144 and flow of thought and feeling like still water under wind-swept waves, he has the knowledge that it is pretence145 after all. Behind the sham146 ‘I’ that takes part in the game, stands the unchanged ‘I’ which regards the sham ‘I’ with quiet superiority.”
Queyrat speaks of play as one of the distinct phases of a child's imagination; it is “essentially a metamorphosis of reality, a transformation147 of places and things.”
Now to return to the point which Mrs. Ewing makes, namely, that we should develop in normal children the power of distinguishing between Truth and Falsehood.
I should suggest including two or three stories which would test that power in children, and if they fail to realise the difference between romancing and telling lies then it is evident that they need special attention and help along this line. I give the titles of two stories of this kind in the collection at the end of the book.[42]
So far we have dealt only with the negative results of stories, but there are more important effects, and I am persuaded that if we are careful in our choice of stories, and artistic in our presentation (so that the truth is framed, so to speak, in the memory), we can unconsciously correct evil tendencies in children which they only recognise in themselves when they have already criticised them in the characters of the story. I have sometimes been misunderstood on this point, therefore I should like to make it quite clear. I do not mean that stories should take the place entirely148 of moral or direct teaching, but that on many occasions they could supplement and strengthen moral teaching, because the dramatic appeal to the imagination is quicker than the moral appeal to the conscience. A child will often resist the latter lest it should make him
107
uncomfortable or appeal to his personal sense of responsibility: it is often not in his power to resist the former, because it has taken possession of him before he is aware of it.
As a concrete example, I offer three verses from a poem entitled “A Ballad149 for a Boy,” written some twelve years ago by W. Cory, an Eton master. The whole poem is to be found in a book of poems known as “Ionica” (published by George Allen and Co.).
The poem describes a fight between two ships, the French ship Téméraire and the English ship Quebec. The English ship was destroyed by fire. Farmer, the captain, was killed, and the officers taken prisoners:
“They dealt with us as brethren, they mourned for Farmer dead;
And as the wounded captives passed, each Breton bowed the head.
Then spoke150 the French lieutenant151, 'Twas the fire that won, not we:
You never struck your flag to us; you'll go to England free.'[43]
'Twas the sixth day of October, Seventeen-hundred-seventy-nine,
A year when nations ventured against us to combine,
Quebec was burned and Farmer slain152, by us remembered not;
But thanks be to the French book wherein they're not forgot.
And you, if you've to fight the French, my youngster, bear in mind
Those seamen153 of King Louis so chivalrous and kind;
Think of the Breton gentlemen who took our lads to Brest,
And treat some rescued Breton as a comrade and a guest.”
108
This poem is specially to be commended because it is another example of the finer qualities which are developed in war.[44]
Now, such a ballad as this, which, being pure narrative, could easily be introduced into the story-hour, would do as much to foster “L'entente154 cordiale” as any processions or civic155 demonstrations156, or lavish157 international exchange of hospitality. It has also a great practical application now that we are encouraging visits between English and foreign children. Let us hope the entente cordiale will not stop at France. There must be many such instances of magnanimity and generosity158 displayed to us by other nations, and it might be well to collect them and include them among stories for the school curriculum.
But in all our stories, in order to produce desired effects we must refrain from holding, as Burroughs says, “a brief for either side,” and we must leave the decision of the children free in this matter.[45]
In a review of Ladd's Psychology in the “Academy,” we find a passage which refers as much to the story as to the novel:
109
“The psychological novelist girds up his loins and sets himself to write little essays on each of his characters. If he have the gift of the thing he may analyse motives159 with a subtlety160 which is more than their desert, and exhibit simple folk passing through the most dazzling rotations161. If he be a novice162, he is reduced to mere crude invention—the result in both cases is quite beyond the true purpose of Art. Art—when all is said and done—is a suggestion, and it refuses to be explained. Make it obvious, unfold it in detail, and you reduce it to a dead letter.”
Again there is a sentence by Schopenhauer applied163 to novels which would apply equally well to stories:
“Skill consists in setting the inner life in motion with the smallest possible array of circumstances, for it is this inner life that excites our interest.”
Now, in order to produce an encouraging and lasting164 effect by means of our stories, we should be careful to introduce a certain number from fiction where virtue is rewarded and vice136 punished, because to appreciate the fact that “virtue is its own reward” calls for a developed and philosophic165 mind, or a born saint, of whom there will not, I think, be many among normal children: a comforting fact, on the whole, as the normal teacher is apt to confuse them with prigs.
A grande dame166 visiting an elementary school listened to the telling of an exciting story from fiction, and was impressed by the thrill of delight which passed through the children. But when the story was finished, she said: “But oh! what a pity the story was not taken from actual history!”
Now, not only was this comment quite beside the mark, but the lady in question did not realise that pure fiction has one quality which history cannot have. The historian, bound by fact and accuracy, must often let his hero come to grief. The poet (or, in this case, we may call him, in the Greek sense, the “maker” of stories) strives to show ideal justice.
What encouragement to virtue (except for the abnormal child) can be offered by the stories of good men coming to grief, such as we find in Miltiades, Phocion, Socrates, Severus, Cicero, Cato and Cæsar?
110
Sir Philip Sidney says in his “Defence of Poesy”:
“Only the Poet declining to be held by the limitations of the lawyer, the historian, the grammarian, the rhetorician, the logician167, the physician, the metaphysician, if lifted up with the vigour168 of his own imagination; doth grow in effect into another nature in making things either better than Nature bringeth forth or quite anew, as the Heroes, Demi-gods, Cyclops, Furies and such like, so as he goeth hand in hand with Nature not enclosed in the narrow range of her gifts but freely ranging within the Zodiac of his own art—her world is brazen169; the poet only delivers a golden one.”
The effect of the story need not stop at the negative task of correcting evil tendencies. There is the positive effect of translating the abstract ideal of the story into concrete action.
I was told by Lady Henry Somerset that when the first set of slum children came down for a fortnight's holiday in the country, she was much startled and shocked by the obscenity of the games they played amongst themselves. Being a sound psychologist, Lady Henry wisely refrained from appearing surprised or from attempting any direct method of reproof. “I saw,” she said, “that the ‘goody’ element would have no effect, so I changed the whole atmosphere by reading to them or telling them the most thrilling mediæval tales without any commentary. By the end of the fortnight the activities had all changed. The boys were performing astonishing deeds of prowess, and the girls were allowing themselves to be rescued from burning towers and fetid dungeons170.” Now, if these deeds of chivalry171 appear somewhat stilted172 to us, we can at least realise that, having changed the whole atmosphere of the filthy173 games, it is easier to translate
111
the deeds into something a little more in accordance with the spirit of the age, and boys will more readily wish later on to save their sisters from dangers more sordid and commonplace than fiery174 towers and dark dungeons, if they have once performed the deeds in which they had to court danger and self-sacrifice for themselves.
And now we come to the question as to how these effects are to be maintained. In what has already been stated about the danger of introducing the dogmatic and direct appeal into the story, it is evident that the avoidance of this element is the first means of preserving the story in all its artistic force in the memory of the child, and we must be careful, as I point out in the chapter on Questions, not to interfere175 by comment or question with the atmosphere we have made round the story, or else, in the future, that story will become blurred and overlaid with the remembrance, not of the artistic whole, as presented by the teller22 of the story, but by some unimportant small side issue raised by an irrelevant176 question or a superfluous177 comment.
Many people think that the dramatisation of the story by the children themselves helps to maintain the effect produced. Personally, I fear there is the same danger as in the immediate reproduction of the story, namely, that the general dramatic effect may be weakened.
If, however, there is to be dramatisation (and I do not wish to dogmatise on the subject), I think it should be confined to facts and not fancies, and this is why I realise the futility178 of the dramatisation of Fairy Tales.
Horace Scudder says on this subject:
“Nothing has done more to vulgarise the Fairy than its introduction on the stage. The charm of
112
the Fairy Tale is its divorce from human experience; the charm of the stage is its realisation in miniature of Human Life. If a frog is heard to speak, if a dog is changed before our eyes into a prince by having cold water dashed over it, the charm of the Fairy Tale has fled, and, in its place, we have the perplexing pleasure of leger de main. Since the real life of a Fairy is in the imagination, a wrong is committed when it is dragged from its shadowy hiding-place and made to turn into ashes under the calcium179 light of the understanding.”[46]
I am bound to confess that the teachers have a case when they plead for this re-producing of the story, and there are three arguments they use whose validity I admit, but which have nevertheless not converted me, because the loss, to my mind, would exceed the gain.
The first argument they put forward is that the reproduction of the story enables the child to enlarge and improve his vocabulary. Now I greatly sympathise with this point of view, only, as I regard the story-hour as a very precious and special one, which I think may have a lasting effect on the character of a child, I do not think it important that, during this hour, a child should be called upon to improve his vocabulary at the expense of the dramatic whole, and at the expense of the literary form in which the story has been presented. It would be like using the Bible for parsing180 or paraphrase181 or pronunciation. So far, I believe, the line has been drawn182 here, though there are blasphemers who have laid impious hands on Milton or Shakespeare for this purpose.
There are surely other lessons (as I have already said in dealing with the reproduction of the story
113
quite apart from the dramatisation), lessons more utilitarian in character, which can be used for this purpose: the facts of history (I mean the mere facts as compared with the deep truths) and those of geography, above all, the grammar lessons are those in which the vocabulary can be enlarged and improved. But I am anxious to keep the story-hour apart as dedicated183 to something higher than these excellent but utilitarian considerations.
The second argument used by the teachers is the joy felt by the children in being allowed to dramatise the stories. This, too, appeals very strongly to me, but there is a means of satisfying their desire and yet protecting the dramatic whole, and that is occasionally to allow children to act out their own dramatic inventions; this, to my mind, has great educational significance: it is original and creative work and, apart from the joy of the immediate performance, there is the interesting process of comparison which can be presented to the children, showing them the difference between their elementary attempts and the finished product of the experienced artist, which they can be led to recognise by their own powers of observation if the teachers are not in too great a hurry to point it out themselves.
Here is a short original story (quoted by the French psychologist, Queyrat, in his “Jeux de l'enfance”) written by a child of five:
“One day I went to sea in a life-boat—all at once I saw an enormous whale, and I jumped out of the boat to catch him, but he was so big that I climbed on his back and rode astride, and all the little fishes laughed to see.”
Here is a complete and exciting drama, making a wonderful picture and teeming184 with adventure. We
114
could scarcely offer anything to so small a child for reproduction that would be a greater stimulus185 to the imagination.
Here is another, offered by Loti, but the age of the child is not given:
“Once upon a time, a little girl out in the Colonies cut open a huge melon, and out popped a green beast and stung her, and the little child died.”
Loti adds: “The phrases ‘out in the Colonies’ and ‘a huge melon’ were enough to plunge186 me suddenly into a dream. As by an apparition187, I beheld188 tropical trees, forests alive with marvellous birds. Oh! the simple magic of the words 'the Colonies'! In my childhood they stood for a multitude of distant sun-scorched countries, with their palm-trees, their enormous flowers, their black natives, their wild beasts, their endless possibilities of adventure.”
I quote this in full because it shows so clearly the magic force of words to evoke189 pictures, without any material representation. It is just the opposite effect of the pictures presented to the bodily eye without the splendid educational opportunity for the child to form his own mental image.
I am more and more convinced that the rare power of visualization190 is accounted for by the lack of mental practice afforded along these lines.
The third argument used by the teachers in favour of the dramatisation of the stories is that it is a means of discovering how much the child has really learnt from the story. Now this argument makes absolutely no appeal to me.
My experience, in the first place, has taught me that a child very seldom gives out any account of a deep impression made upon him: it is too sacred and personal. But he very soon learns to know what is
115
expected of him, and he keeps a set of stock sentences which he has found out are acceptable to the teacher. How can we possibly gauge191 the deep effects of a story in this way, or how can a child, by acting192 out a story, describe the subtle elements which you have tried to introduce? You might as well try to show with a pint193 measure how the sun and rain have affected194 a plant, instead of rejoicing in the beauty of the sure, if slow, growth.
Then, again, why are we in such a hurry to find out what effects have been produced by our stories? Does it matter whether we know to-day or to-morrow how much a child has understood? For my part, so sure do I feel of the effect that I am willing to wait indefinitely. Only I must make sure that the first presentation is truly dramatic and artistic.
The teachers of general subjects have a much easier and more simple task. Those who teach science, mathematics, even, to a certain extent, history and literature, are able to gauge with a fair amount of accuracy, by means of examination, what their pupils have learnt. The teaching carried on by means of stories can never be gauged195 in the same manner. We must be content, though we have nothing to place in our “shop window,” content to know of the possessions behind, and make up our mind that we can show the education authorities little or no results from our teaching, but that the real fruit will be seen by the next generation; and we can take courage, for, if our story be “a thing of beauty,” it will never “pass into nothingness.”
Carlyle has said:[47]
116
“Of this thing be certain: wouldst thou plant for Eternity196, then plant into the deep infinite faculties197 of man, his Fantasy and Heart. Wouldst thou plant for Year and Day, then plant into his shallow superficial faculties, his self-love and arithmetical understanding, what will grow there.”
If we use this marvellous Art of Story-Telling in the way I have tried to show, then the children who have been confided198 to our care will one day be able to bring to us the tribute which Björnson brought to Hans C. Andersen:
Wings you give to my Imagination,
Me uplifting to the strange and great;
Gave my heart the poet's revelation,
Glorifying199 things of low estate.
When my child-soul hungered all-unknowing,
With great truths its needs you satisfied:
Now, a world-worn man, to you is owing
That the child in me has never died.
(Translated from the Danish by Emilie Poulson.)
点击
收听单词发音
收听单词发音 |
1
justify
|
|
| vt.证明…正当(或有理)，为…辩护 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
bestow
|
|
| v.把…赠与，把…授予；花费 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
bestowing
|
|
| 砖窑中砖堆上层已烧透的砖 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
mere
|
|
| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
enjoyment
|
|
| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
specially
|
|
| adv.特定地；特殊地；明确地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
blurred
|
|
| v.（使）变模糊( blur的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）难以区分；模模糊糊；迷离 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
deploring
|
|
| v.悲叹，痛惜，强烈反对( deplore的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
|
9
detriment
|
|
| n.损害；损害物，造成损害的根源 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
standing
|
|
| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
embarrassment
|
|
| n.尴尬；使人为难的人(事物)；障碍；窘迫 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
fascination
|
|
| n.令人着迷的事物，魅力，迷恋 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
memorable
|
|
| adj.值得回忆的，难忘的，特别的，显著的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
lurid
|
|
| adj.可怕的；血红的；苍白的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
hideous
|
|
| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
mighty
|
|
| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
herald
|
|
| vt.预示...的来临，预告，宣布，欢迎 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
virtue
|
|
| n.德行，美德；贞操；优点；功效，效力 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
degenerate
|
|
| v.退步，堕落；adj.退步的，堕落的；n.堕落者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
lodgings
|
|
| n. 出租的房舍, 寄宿舍 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
pueblo
|
|
| n.（美国西南部或墨西哥等）印第安人的村庄 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
teller
|
|
| n.银行出纳员；(选举)计票员 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
devoted
|
|
| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
illustrates
|
|
| 给…加插图( illustrate的第三人称单数 )； 说明； 表明； （用示例、图画等）说明 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
fully
|
|
| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
arena
|
|
| n.竞技场，运动场所；竞争场所，舞台 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
awaken
|
|
| vi.醒，觉醒；vt.唤醒，使觉醒，唤起，激起 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
rev
|
|
| v.发动机旋转，加快速度 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
mentor
|
|
| n.指导者，良师益友；v.指导 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
reproof
|
|
| n.斥责，责备 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
shipwreck
|
|
| n.船舶失事，海难 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
presumption
|
|
| n.推测，可能性，冒昧，放肆，[法律]推定 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
arrogance
|
|
| n.傲慢，自大 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
frail
|
|
| adj.身体虚弱的；易损坏的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
levity
|
|
| n.轻率，轻浮，不稳定，多变 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
hospitably
|
|
| 亲切地，招待周到地，善于款待地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
tunic
|
|
| n.束腰外衣 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
embroider
|
|
| v.刺绣于(布)上；给…添枝加叶，润饰 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
embroidered
|
|
| adj．绣花的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
worthy
|
|
| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
frivolous
|
|
| adj.轻薄的；轻率的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
concocted
|
|
| v.将（尤指通常不相配合的）成分混合成某物( concoct的过去式和过去分词 )；调制；编造；捏造 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
purely
|
|
| adv.纯粹地，完全地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
counteract
|
|
| vt.对…起反作用，对抗，抵消 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
arid
|
|
| adj.干旱的；(土地)贫瘠的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
legitimate
|
|
| adj.合法的，合理的，合乎逻辑的；v.使合法 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
counteracted
|
|
| 对抗，抵消( counteract的过去式 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
artistic
|
|
| adj.艺术(家)的，美术(家)的；善于艺术创作的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
strew
|
|
| vt.撒；使散落；撒在…上，散布于 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
dirge
|
|
| n.哀乐，挽歌，庄重悲哀的乐曲 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
51
garrison
|
|
| n.卫戍部队；驻地，卫戍区；vt.派(兵)驻防 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
52
momentary
|
|
| adj.片刻的，瞬息的；短暂的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
53
delightful
|
|
| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
54
intonation
|
|
| n.语调，声调；发声 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
55
subdued
|
|
| adj. 屈服的，柔和的，减弱的 动词subdue的过去式和过去分词 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
56
prudent
|
|
| adj.谨慎的，有远见的，精打细算的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
57
attentive
|
|
| adj.注意的，专心的；关心(别人)的，殷勤的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
58
virtuous
|
|
| adj.有品德的，善良的，贞洁的，有效力的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
59
slaughtered
|
|
| v.屠杀，杀戮，屠宰( slaughter的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
60
cemetery
|
|
| n.坟墓，墓地，坟场 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
61
dwelling
|
|
| n.住宅，住所，寓所 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
62
anecdote
|
|
| n.轶事，趣闻，短故事 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
63
begot
|
|
| v.为…之生父( beget的过去式 )；产生，引起 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
64
engendered
|
|
| v.产生（某形势或状况），造成，引起( engender的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
65
knell
|
|
| n.丧钟声；v.敲丧钟 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
66
alluded
|
|
| 提及，暗指( allude的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
67
organisation
|
|
| n.组织，安排，团体，有机休 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
68
indirectly
|
|
| adv.间接地，不直接了当地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
69
expectancy
|
|
| n.期望，预期，（根据概率统计求得）预期数额 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
70
posture
|
|
| n.姿势，姿态，心态，态度；v.作出某种姿势 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
71
hesitation
|
|
| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
72
transpired
|
|
| （事实，秘密等）被人知道( transpire的过去式和过去分词 )； 泄露； 显露； 发生 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
73
savings
|
|
| n.存款，储蓄 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
74
consecutive
|
|
| adj.连续的，联贯的，始终一贯的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
75
deliberately
|
|
| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
76
borough
|
|
| n.享有自治权的市镇；(英)自治市镇 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
77
gutter
|
|
| n.沟，街沟，水槽，檐槽，贫民窟 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
78
wayfarers
|
|
| n.旅人，（尤指）徒步旅行者( wayfarer的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
79
illicit
|
|
| adj.非法的，禁止的，不正当的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
80
outweigh
|
|
| vt.比...更重，...更重要 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
81
immediate
|
|
| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
82
astonishment
|
|
| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
83
frenzied
|
|
| a.激怒的；疯狂的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
84
sordid
|
|
| adj.肮脏的，不干净的，卑鄙的，暗淡的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
85
corruption
|
|
| n.腐败，堕落，贪污 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
86
utilitarian
|
|
| adj.实用的，功利的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
87
amassed
|
|
| v.积累，积聚( amass的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
88
aspirations
|
|
| 强烈的愿望( aspiration的名词复数 )； 志向； 发送气音； 发 h 音 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
89
picturesque
|
|
| adj.美丽如画的，（语言）生动的，绘声绘色的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
90
gems
|
|
| growth； economy； management； and customer satisfaction 增长 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
91
shred
|
|
| v.撕成碎片，变成碎片；n.碎布条，细片，些少 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
92
gales
|
|
| 龙猫 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
93
lessening
|
|
| 减轻，减少，变小 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
94
sane
|
|
| adj.心智健全的，神志清醒的，明智的，稳健的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
95
walnut
|
|
| n.胡桃，胡桃木，胡桃色，茶色 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
96
bondage
|
|
| n.奴役，束缚 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
97
sanity
|
|
| n.心智健全，神智正常，判断正确 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
98
preservative
|
|
| n.防腐剂；防腐料；保护料；预防药 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
99
brutality
|
|
| n.野蛮的行为，残忍，野蛮 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
100
acrid
|
|
| adj.辛辣的，尖刻的，刻薄的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
101
fanaticism
|
|
| n.狂热，盲信 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
102
pageant
|
|
| n.壮观的游行；露天历史剧 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
103
craftsmen
|
|
| n. 技工 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
104
bakers
|
|
| n.面包师( baker的名词复数 )；面包店；面包店店主；十三 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
105
secular
|
|
| n.牧师，凡人；adj.世俗的，现世的，不朽的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
106
prohibition
|
|
| n.禁止；禁令，禁律 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
107
remarkable
|
|
| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
108
fictitious
|
|
| adj.虚构的，假设的；空头的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
109
narrative
|
|
| n.叙述，故事；adj.叙事的，故事体的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
110
chivalrous
|
|
| adj.武士精神的；对女人彬彬有礼的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
111
obstinately
|
|
| ad.固执地，顽固地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
112
alleging
|
|
| 断言，宣称，辩解( allege的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
113
subjective
|
|
| a.主观(上)的，个人的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
114
possessed
|
|
| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
115
propensity
|
|
| n.倾向；习性 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
116
severely
|
|
| adv.严格地；严厉地；非常恶劣地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
117
forth
|
|
| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
118
longing
|
|
| n.（for）渴望 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
119
simplicity
|
|
| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
120
folly
|
|
| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
121
repression
|
|
| n.镇压，抑制，抑压 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
122
stifling
|
|
| a.令人窒息的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
123
hermits
|
|
| （尤指早期基督教的）隐居修道士，隐士，遁世者( hermit的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
124
tout
|
|
| v.推销，招徕；兜售；吹捧，劝诱 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
125
dealing
|
|
| n.经商方法，待人态度 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
126
insular
|
|
| adj.岛屿的，心胸狭窄的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
127
robust
|
|
| adj.强壮的，强健的，粗野的，需要体力的，浓的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
128
alas
|
|
| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
129
withering
|
|
| 使人畏缩的，使人害羞的，使人难堪的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
130
incapable
|
|
| adj.无能力的，不能做某事的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
131
vivacity
|
|
| n.快活，活泼，精神充沛 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
132
alluding
|
|
| 提及，暗指( allude的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
133
grotesque
|
|
| adj.怪诞的，丑陋的；n.怪诞的图案，怪人（物） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
134
nurtured
|
|
| 养育( nurture的过去式和过去分词 )； 培育； 滋长； 助长 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
135
aptitude
|
|
| n.(学习方面的)才能，资质，天资 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
136
vice
|
|
| n.坏事；恶习；[pl.]台钳，老虎钳；adj.副的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
137
inundation
|
|
| n.the act or fact of overflowing | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
138
perches
|
|
| 栖息处( perch的名词复数 )； 栖枝； 高处； 鲈鱼 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
139
stilts
|
|
| n.（支撑建筑物高出地面或水面的）桩子，支柱( stilt的名词复数 )；高跷 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
140
calves
|
|
| 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 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
141
quarried
|
|
| v.从采石场采得( quarry的过去式和过去分词 )；从（书本等中）努力发掘（资料等）；在采石场采石 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
142
transparent
|
|
| adj.明显的，无疑的；透明的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
143
psychology
|
|
| n.心理，心理学，心理状态 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
144
ebb
|
|
| vi.衰退，减退；n.处于低潮，处于衰退状态 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
145
pretence
|
|
| n.假装，作假；借口，口实；虚伪；虚饰 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
146
sham
|
|
| n./adj.假冒(的)，虚伪(的) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
147
transformation
|
|
| n.变化；改造；转变 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
148
entirely
|
|
| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
149
ballad
|
|
| n.歌谣，民谣，流行爱情歌曲 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
150
spoke
|
|
| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
151
lieutenant
|
|
| n.陆军中尉，海军上尉；代理官员，副职官员 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
152
slain
|
|
| 杀死，宰杀，杀戮( slay的过去分词 )； (slay的过去分词) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
153
seamen
|
|
| n.海员 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
154
entente
|
|
| n.协定；有协定关系的各国 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
155
civic
|
|
| adj.城市的，都市的，市民的，公民的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
156
demonstrations
|
|
| 证明( demonstration的名词复数 )； 表明； 表达； 游行示威 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
157
lavish
|
|
| adj.无节制的；浪费的；vt.慷慨地给予，挥霍 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
158
generosity
|
|
| n.大度，慷慨，慷慨的行为 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
159
motives
|
|
| n.动机，目的( motive的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
160
subtlety
|
|
| n.微妙，敏锐，精巧；微妙之处，细微的区别 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
161
rotations
|
|
| 旋转( rotation的名词复数 )； 转动； 轮流； 轮换 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
162
novice
|
|
| adj.新手的，生手的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
163
applied
|
|
| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
164
lasting
|
|
| adj.永久的，永恒的；vbl.持续，维持 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
165
philosophic
|
|
| adj.哲学的，贤明的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
166
dame
|
|
| n.女士 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
167
logician
|
|
| n.逻辑学家 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
168
vigour
|
|
| （=vigor）n.智力，体力，精力 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
169
brazen
|
|
| adj.厚脸皮的，无耻的，坚硬的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
170
dungeons
|
|
| n.地牢( dungeon的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
171
chivalry
|
|
| n.骑士气概，侠义；（男人）对女人彬彬有礼，献殷勤 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
172
stilted
|
|
| adj.虚饰的；夸张的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
173
filthy
|
|
| adj.卑劣的；恶劣的，肮脏的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
174
fiery
|
|
| adj.燃烧着的，火红的；暴躁的；激烈的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
175
interfere
|
|
| v.(in)干涉，干预；(with)妨碍，打扰 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
176
irrelevant
|
|
| adj.不恰当的，无关系的，不相干的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
177
superfluous
|
|
| adj.过多的，过剩的，多余的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
178
futility
|
|
| n.无用 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
179
calcium
|
|
| n.钙(化学符号Ca) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
180
parsing
|
|
| n.分[剖]析，分解v.从语法上描述或分析（词句等）( parse的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
181
paraphrase
|
|
| vt.将…释义，改写；n.释义，意义 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
182
drawn
|
|
| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
183
dedicated
|
|
| adj.一心一意的；献身的；热诚的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
184
teeming
|
|
| adj.丰富的v.充满( teem的现在分词 )；到处都是；（指水、雨等）暴降；倾注 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
185
stimulus
|
|
| n.刺激，刺激物，促进因素，引起兴奋的事物 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
186
plunge
|
|
| v.跳入，(使)投入，(使)陷入；猛冲 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
187
apparition
|
|
| n.幽灵，神奇的现象 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
188
beheld
|
|
| v.看，注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
189
evoke
|
|
| vt.唤起，引起，使人想起 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
190
visualization
|
|
| n.想像，设想 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
191
gauge
|
|
| v.精确计量；估计；n.标准度量；计量器 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
192
acting
|
|
| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
193
pint
|
|
| n.品脱 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
194
affected
|
|
| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
195
gauged
|
|
| adj.校准的；标准的；量规的；量计的v.（用仪器）测量( gauge的过去式和过去分词 )；估计；计量；划分 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
196
eternity
|
|
| n.不朽，来世；永恒，无穷 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
197
faculties
|
|
| n.能力( faculty的名词复数 )；全体教职员；技巧；院 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
198
confided
|
|
| v.吐露（秘密，心事等）( confide的过去式和过去分词 )；（向某人）吐露（隐私、秘密等） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
199
glorifying
|
|
| 赞美( glorify的现在分词 )； 颂扬； 美化； 使光荣 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |