1
Margaret had already taken a little house in Radnor Square, Westminster, before our marriage, a house that seemed particularly adaptable1 to our needs as public-spirited efficients; it had been very pleasantly painted and papered under Margaret's instructions, white paint and clean open purples and green predominating, and now we set to work at once upon the interesting business of arranging and--with our Venetian glass as a beginning--furnishing it. We had been fairly fortunate with our wedding presents, and for the most part it was open to us to choose just exactly what we would have and just precisely2 where we would put it.
Margaret had a sense of form and colour altogether superior to mine, and so quite apart from the fact that it was her money equipped us, I stood aside from all these matters and obeyed her summons to a consultation3 only to endorse4 her judgment5 very readily. Until everything was settled I went every day to my old rooms in Vincent Square and worked at a series of papers that were originally intended for the FORTNIGHTLY REVIEW, the papers that afterwards became my fourth book, "New Aspects of Liberalism."
I still remember as delightful6 most of the circumstances of getting into 79, Radnor Square. The thin flavour of indecision about Margaret disappeared altogether in a shop; she had the precisest ideas of what she wanted, and the devices of the salesman did not sway her. It was very pleasant to find her taking things out of my hands with a certain masterfulness, and showing the distinctest determination to make a house in which I should be able to work in that great project of "doing something for the world."
"And I do want to make things pretty about us," she said. "You don't think it wrong to have things pretty?"
"I want them so."
"Altiora has things hard."
"Altiora," I answered, "takes a pride in standing7 ugly and uncomfortable things. But I don't see that they help her. Anyhow they won't help me."
So Margaret went to the best shops and got everything very simple and very good. She bought some pictures very well indeed; there was a little Sussex landscape, full of wind and sunshine, by Nicholson, for my study, that hit my taste far better than if I had gone out to get some such expression for myself.
"We will buy a picture just now and then," she said, "sometimes--when we see one."
I would come back through the January mire8 or fog from Vincent Square to the door of 79, and reach it at last with a quite childish appreciation9 of the fact that its solid Georgian proportions and its fine brass10 furnishings belonged to MY home; I would use my latchkey and discover Margaret in the warm-lit, spacious11 hall with a partially12 opened packing-case, fatigued14 but happy, or go up to have tea with her out of the right tea things, "come at last," or be told to notice what was fresh there. It wasn't simply that I had never had a house before, but I had really never been, except in the most transitory way, in any house that was nearly so delightful as mine promised to be. Everything was fresh and bright, and softly and harmoniously15 toned. Downstairs we had a green dining-room with gleaming silver, dark oak, and English colour-prints; above was a large drawing-room that could be made still larger by throwing open folding doors, and it was all carefully done in greys and blues17, for the most part with real Sheraton supplemented by Sheraton so skilfully18 imitated by an expert Margaret had discovered as to be indistinguishable except to a minute scrutiny19. And for me, above this and next to my bedroom, there was a roomy study, with specially20 thick stair-carpet outside and thick carpets in the bedroom overhead and a big old desk for me to sit at and work between fire and window, and another desk specially made for me by that expert if I chose to stand and write, and open bookshelves and bookcases and every sort of convenient fitting. There were electric heaters beside the open fire, and everything was put for me to make tea at any time--electric kettle, infuser, biscuits and fresh butter, so that I could get up and work at any hour of the day or night. I could do no work in this apartment for a long time, I was so interested in the perfection of its arrangements. And when I brought in my books and papers from Vincent Square, Margaret seized upon all the really shabby volumes and had them re-bound in a fine official-looking leather.
I can remember sitting down at that desk and looking round me and feeling with a queer effect of surprise that after all even a place in the Cabinet, though infinitely21 remote, was nevertheless in the same large world with these fine and quietly expensive things.
On the same floor Margaret had a "den22," a very neat and pretty den with good colour-prints of Botticellis and Carpaccios, and there was a third apartment for sectarial purposes should the necessity for them arise, with a severe-looking desk equipped with patent files. And Margaret would come flitting into the room to me, or appear noiselessly standing, a tall gracefully24 drooping25 form, in the wide open doorway26. "Is everything right, dear?" she would ask.
"Come in," I would say, "I'm sorting out papers."
She would come to the hearthrug.
"I mustn't disturb you," she would remark.
"I'm not busy yet."
"Things are getting into order. Then we must make out a time-table as the Baileys do, and BEGIN!"
Altiora came in to see us once or twice, and a number of serious young wives known to Altiora called and were shown over the house, and discussed its arrangements with Margaret. They were all tremendously keen on efficient arrangements.
"A little pretty," said Altiora, with the faintest disapproval27, "still--"
It was clear she thought we should grow out of that. From the day of our return we found other people's houses open to us and eager for us. We went out of London for week-ends and dined out, and began discussing our projects for reciprocating28 these hospitalities. As a single man unattached, I had had a wide and miscellaneous social range, but now I found myself falling into place in a set. For a time I acquiesced29 in this. I went very little to my clubs, the Climax30 and the National Liberal, and participated in no bachelor dinners at all. For a time, too, I dropped out of the garrulous31 literary and journalistic circles I had frequented. I put up for the Reform, not so much for the use of the club as a sign of serious and substantial political standing. I didn't go up to Cambridge, I remember, for nearly a year, so occupied was I with my new adjustments.
The people we found ourselves among at this time were people, to put it roughly, of the Parliamentary candidate class, or people already actually placed in the political world. They ranged between very considerable wealth and such a hard, bare independence as old Willersley and the sister who kept house for him possessed32. There were quite a number of young couples like ourselves, a little younger and more artless, or a little older and more established. Among the younger men I had a sort of distinction because of my Cambridge reputation and my writing, and because, unlike them, I was an adventurer and had won and married my way into their circles instead of being naturally there. They couldn't quite reckon upon what I should do; they felt I had reserves of experience and incalculable traditions. Close to us were the Cramptons, Willie Crampton, who has since been Postmaster-General, rich and very important in Rockshire, and his younger brother Edward, who has specialised in history and become one of those unimaginative men of letters who are the glory of latter-day England. Then there was Lewis, further towards Kensington, where his cousins the Solomons and the Hartsteins lived, a brilliant representative of his race, able, industrious33 and invariably uninspired, with a wife a little in revolt against the racial tradition of feminine servitude and inclined to the suffragette point of view, and Bunting Harblow, an old blue, and with an erratic34 disposition35 well under the control of the able little cousin he had married. I had known all these men, but now (with Altiora floating angelically in benediction) they opened their hearts to me and took me into their order. They were all like myself, prospective36 Liberal candidates, with a feeling that the period of wandering in the wilderness38 of opposition39 was drawing near its close. They were all tremendously keen upon social and political service, and all greatly under the sway of the ideal of a simple, strenuous40 life, a life finding its satisfactions in political achievements and distinctions. The young wives were as keen about it as the young husbands, Margaret most of all, and I--whatever elements in me didn't march with the attitudes and habits of this set were very much in the background during that time.
We would give little dinners and have evening gatherings42 at which everything was very simple and very good, with a slight but perceptible austerity, and there was more good fruit and flowers and less perhaps in the way of savouries, patties and entrees43 than was customary. Sherry we banished44, and Marsala and liqueurs, and there was always good home-made lemonade available. No men waited, but very expert parlourmaids. Our meat was usually Welsh mutton--I don't know why, unless that mountains have ever been the last refuge of the severer virtues45. And we talked politics and books and ideas and Bernard Shaw (who was a department by himself and supposed in those days to be ethically46 sound at bottom), and mingled47 with the intellectuals--I myself was, as it were, a promoted intellectual.
The Cramptons had a tendency to read good things aloud on their less frequented receptions, but I have never been able to participate submissively in this hyper-digestion of written matter, and generally managed to provoke a disruptive debate. We were all very earnest to make the most of ourselves and to be and do, and I wonder still at times, with an unassuaged perplexity, how it is that in that phase of utmost earnestness I have always seemed to myself to be most remote from reality.
2
I look back now across the detaching intervention48 of sixteen crowded years, critically and I fancy almost impartially49, to those beginnings of my married life. I try to recall something near to their proper order the developing phases of relationship. I am struck most of all by the immense unpremeditated, generous-spirited insincerities upon which Margaret and I were building.
It seems to me that here I have to tell perhaps the commonest experience of all among married educated people, the deliberate, shy, complex effort to fill the yawning gaps in temperament50 as they appear, the sustained, failing attempt to bridge abysses, level barriers, evade51 violent pressures. I have come these latter years of my life to believe that it is possible for a man and woman to be absolutely real with one another, to stand naked souled to each other, unashamed and unafraid, because of the natural all-glorifying love between them. It is possible to love and be loved untroubling, as a bird flies through the air. But it is a rare and intricate chance that brings two people within sight of that essential union, and for the majority marriage must adjust itself on other terms. Most coupled people never really look at one another. They look a little away to preconceived ideas. And each from the first days of love-making HIDES from the other, is afraid of disappointing, afraid of offending, afraid of discoveries in either sense. They build not solidly upon the rock of truth, but upon arches and pillars and queer provisional supports that are needed to make a common foundation, and below in the imprisoned52 darknesses, below the fine fabric53 they sustain together begins for each of them a cavernous hidden life. Down there things may be prowling that scarce ever peep out to consciousness except in the grey half-light of sleepless54 nights, passions that flash out for an instant in an angry glance and are seen no more, starved victims and beautiful dreams bricked up to die. For the most of us there is no jail delivery of those inner depths, and the life above goes on to its honourable55 end.
I have told how I loved Margaret and how I came to marry her. Perhaps already unintentionally I have indicated the quality of the injustice56 our marriage did us both. There was no kindred between us and no understanding. We were drawn57 to one another by the unlikeness of our quality, by the things we misunderstood in each other. I know a score of couples who have married in that fashion.
Modern conditions and modern ideas, and in particular the intenser and subtler perceptions of modern life, press more and more heavily upon a marriage tie whose fashion comes from an earlier and less discriminating58 time. When the wife was her husband's subordinate, meeting him simply and uncritically for simple ends, when marriage was a purely59 domestic relationship, leaving thought and the vivid things of life almost entirely60 to the unencumbered man, mental and temperamental incompatibilities mattered comparatively little. But now the wife, and particularly the loving childless wife, unpremeditatedly makes a relentless62 demand for a complete association, and the husband exacts unthought of delicacies63 of understanding and co-operation. These are stupendous demands. People not only think more fully16 and elaborately about life than they ever did before, but marriage obliges us to make that ever more accidented progress a three-legged race of carelessly assorted64 couples....
Our very mental texture65 was different. I was rough-minded, to use the phrase of William James, primary and intuitive and illogical; she was tender-minded, logical, refined and secondary. She was loyal to pledge and persons, sentimental66 and faithful; I am loyal to ideas and instincts, emotional and scheming. My imagination moves in broad gestures; her's was delicate with a real dread67 of extravagance. My quality is sensuous68 and ruled by warm impulses; hers was discriminating and essentially69 inhibitory. I like the facts of the case and to mention everything; I like naked bodies and the jolly smells of things. She abounded70 in reservations, in circumlocutions and evasions71, in keenly appreciated secondary points. Perhaps the reader knows that Tintoretto in the National Gallery, the Origin of the Milky73 Way. It is an admirable test of temperamental quality. In spite of my early training I have come to regard that picture as altogether delightful; to Margaret it has always been "needlessly offensive." In that you have our fundamental breach74. She had a habit, by no means rare, of damning what she did not like or find sympathetic in me on the score that it was not my "true self," and she did not so much accept the universe as select from it and do her best to ignore the rest. And also I had far more initiative than had she. This is no catalogue of rights and wrongs, or superiorities and inferiorities; it is a catalogue of differences between two people linked in a relationship that constantly becomes more intolerant of differences.
This is how we stood to each other, and none of it was clear to either of us at the outset. To begin with, I found myself reserving myself from her, then slowly apprehending75 a jarring between our minds and what seemed to me at first a queer little habit of misunderstanding in her....
It did not hinder my being very fond of her....
Where our system of reservation became at once most usual and most astounding76 was in our personal relations. It is not too much to say that in that regard we never for a moment achieved sincerity77 with one another during the first six years of our life together. It goes even deeper than that, for in my effort to realise the ideal of my marriage I ceased even to attempt to be sincere with myself. I would not admit my own perceptions and interpretations78. I tried to fit myself to her thinner and finer determinations. There are people who will say with a note of approval that I was learning to conquer myself. I record that much without any note of approval....
For some years I never deceived Margaret about any concrete fact nor, except for the silence about my earlier life that she had almost forced upon me, did I hide any concrete fact that seemed to affect her, but from the outset I was guilty of immense spiritual concealments, my very marriage was based, I see now, on a spiritual subterfuge79; I hid moods from her, pretended feelings....
3
The interest and excitement of setting-up a house, of walking about it from room to room and from floor to floor, or sitting at one's own dinner table and watching one's wife control conversation with a pretty, timid resolution, of taking a place among the secure and free people of our world, passed almost insensibly into the interest and excitement of my Parliamentary candidature for the Kinghamstead Division, that shapeless chunk80 of agricultural midland between the Great Western and the North Western railways. I was going to "take hold" at last, the Kinghamstead Division was my appointed handle. I was to find my place in the rather indistinctly sketched81 constructions that were implicit82 in the minds of all our circle. The precise place I had to fill and the precise functions I had to discharge were not as yet very clear, but all that, we felt sure, would become plain as things developed.
A few brief months of vague activities of "nursing" gave place to the excitements of the contest that followed the return of Mr. Camphell-Bannerman to power in 1905. So far as the Kinghamstead Division was concerned it was a depressed83 and tepid84 battle. I went about the constituency making three speeches that were soon threadbare, and an odd little collection of people worked for me; two solicitors85, a cheap photographer, a democratic parson, a number of dissenting86 ministers, the Mayor of Kinghamstead, a Mrs. Bulger, the widow of an old Chartist who had grown rich through electric traction87 patents, Sir Roderick Newton, a Jew who had bought Calersham Castle, and old Sir Graham Rivers, that sturdy old soldier, were among my chief supporters. We had headquarters in each town and village, mostly there were empty shops we leased temporarily, and there at least a sort of fuss and a coming and going were maintained. The rest of the population stared in a state of suspended judgment as we went about the business. The country was supposed to be in a state of intellectual conflict and deliberate decision, in history it will no doubt figure as a momentous88 conflict. Yet except for an occasional flare89 of bill-sticking or a bill in a window or a placard-plastered motor-car or an argumentative group of people outside a public-house or a sluggish90 movement towards the schoolroom or village hall, there was scarcely a sign that a great empire was revising its destinies. Now and then one saw a canvasser91 on a doorstep. For the most part people went about their business with an entirely irresponsible confidence in the stability of the universe. At times one felt a little absurd with one's flutter of colours and one's air of saving the country.
My opponent was a quite undistinguished Major-General who relied upon his advocacy of Protection, and was particularly anxious we should avoid "personalities92" and fight the constituency in a gentlemanly spirit. He was always writing me notes, apologising for excesses on the part of his supporters, or pointing out the undesirability93 of some course taken by mine.
My speeches had been planned upon broad lines, but they lost touch with these as the polling approached. To begin with I made a real attempt to put what was in my mind before the people I was to supply with a political voice. I spoke94 of the greatness of our empire and its destinies, of the splendid projects and possibilities of life and order that lay before the world, of all that a resolute95 and constructive96 effort might do at the present time. "We are building a state," I said, "secure and splendid, we are in the dawn of the great age of mankind." Sometimes that would get a solitary97 "'Ear! 'ear!" Then having created, as I imagined, a fine atmosphere, I turned upon the history of the last Conservative administration and brought it into contrast with the wide occasions of the age; discussed its failure to control the grasping financiers in South Africa, its failure to release public education from sectarian squabbles, its misconduct of the Boer War, its waste of the world's resources....
It soon became manifest that my opening and my general spaciousness98 of method bored my audiences a good deal. The richer and wider my phrases the thinner sounded my voice in these non-resonating gatherings. Even the platform supporters grew restive99 unconsciously, and stirred and coughed. They did not recognise themselves as mankind. Building an empire, preparing a fresh stage in the history of humanity, had no appeal for them. They were mostly everyday, toiling101 people, full of small personal solicitudes102, and they came to my meetings, I think, very largely as a relaxation103. This stuff was not relaxing. They did not think politics was a great constructive process, they thought it was a kind of dog-fight. They wanted fun, they wanted spice, they wanted hits, they wanted also a chance to say "'Ear', 'ear!" in an intelligent and honourable manner and clap their hands and drum with their feet. The great constructive process in history gives so little scope for clapping and drumming and saying "'Ear, 'ear!" One might as well think of hounding on the solar system.
So after one or two attempts to lift my audiences to the level of the issues involved, I began to adapt myself to them. I cut down my review of our imperial outlook and destinies more and more, and developed a series of hits and anecdotes104 and--what shall I call them?--"crudifications" of the issue. My helper's congratulated me on the rapid improvement of my platform style. I ceased to speak of the late Prime Minister with the respect I bore him, and began to fall in with the popular caricature of him as an artful rabbit-witted person intent only on keeping his leadership, in spite of the vigorous attempts of Mr. Joseph Chamberlain to oust105 him therefrom. I ceased to qualify my statement that Protection would make food dearer for the agricultural labourer. I began to speak of Mr. Alfred Lyttelton as an influence at once insane and diabolical106, as a man inspired by a passionate107 desire to substitute manacled but still criminal Chinese for honest British labourers throughout the world. And when it came to the mention of our own kindly108 leader, of Mr. John Burns or any one else of any prominence109 at all on our side I fell more and more into the intonation110 of one who mentions the high gods. And I had my reward in brighter meetings and readier and readier applause.
One goes on from phase to phase in these things.
"After all," I told myself, "if one wants to get to Westminster one must follow the road that leads there," but I found the road nevertheless rather unexpectedly distasteful. "When one gets there," I said, "then it is one begins."
But I would lie awake at nights with that sore throat and headache and fatigue13 which come from speaking in ill-ventilated rooms, and wondering how far it was possible to educate a whole people to great political ideals. Why should political work always rot down to personalities and personal appeals in this way? Life is, I suppose, to begin with and end with a matter of personalities, from personalities all our broader interests arise and to personalities they return. All our social and political effort, all of it, is like trying to make a crowd of people fall into formation. The broader lines appear, but then come a rush and excitement and irrelevancy111, and forthwith the incipient112 order has vanished and the marshals must begin the work over again!
My memory of all that time is essentially confusion. There was a frightful113 lot of tiresome114 locomotion115 in it; for the Kinghamstead Division is extensive, abounding116 in ill-graded and badly metalled cross-roads and vicious little hills, and singularly unpleasing to the eye in a muddy winter. It is sufficiently117 near to London to have undergone the same process of ill-regulated expansion that made Bromstead the place it is. Several of its overgrown villages have developed strings118 of factories and sidings along the railway lines, and there is an abundance of petty villas119. There seemed to be no place at which one could take hold of more than this or that element of the population. Now we met in a meeting-house, now in a Masonic Hall or Drill Hall; I also did a certain amount of open-air speaking in the dinner hour outside gas-works and groups of factories. Some special sort of people was, as it were, secreted120 in response to each special appeal. One said things carefully adjusted to the distinctive121 limitations of each gathering41. Jokes of an incredible silliness and shallowness drifted about us. Our advisers122 made us declare that if we were elected we would live in the district, and one hasty agent had bills printed, "If Mr. Remington is elected he will live here." The enemy obtained a number of these bills and stuck them on outhouses, pigstyes, dog-kennels; you cannot imagine how irksome the repetition of that jest became. The vast drifting indifference123 in between my meetings impressed me more and more. I realised the vagueness of my own plans as I had never done before I brought them to the test of this experience. I was perplexed124 by the riddle125 of just how far I was, in any sense of the word, taking hold at all, how far I wasn't myself flowing into an accepted groove126.
Margaret was troubled by no such doubts. She was clear I had to go into Parliament on the side of Liberalism and the light, as against the late Government and darkness. Essential to the memory of my first contest, is the memory of her clear bright face, very resolute and grave, helping127 me consciously, steadfastly128, with all her strength. Her quiet confidence, while I was so dissatisfied, worked curiously129 towards the alienation130 of my sympathies. I felt she had no business to be so sure of me. I had moments of vivid resentment131 at being thus marched towards Parliament.
I seemed now always to be discovering alien forces of character in her. Her way of taking life diverged132 from me more and more. She sounded amazing, independent notes. She bought some particularly costly133 furs for the campaign that roused enthusiasm whenever she appeared. She also made me a birthday present in November of a heavily fur-trimmed coat and this she would make me remove as I went on to the platform, and hold over her arm until I was ready to resume it. It was fearfully heavy for her and she liked it to be heavy for her. That act of servitude was in essence a towering self-assertion. I would glance sideways while some chairman floundered through his introduction and see the clear blue eye with which she regarded the audience, which existed so far as she was concerned merely to return me to Parliament. It was a friendly eye, provided they were not silly or troublesome. But it kindled135 a little at the hint of a hostile question. After we had come so far and taken so much trouble!
She constituted herself the dragoman of our political travels. In hotels she was serenely136 resolute for the quietest and the best, she rejected all their proposals for meals and substituted a severely137 nourishing dietary of her own, and even in private houses she astonished me by her tranquil138 insistence139 upon special comforts and sustenance140. I can see her face now as it would confront a hostess, a little intent, but sweetly resolute and assured.
Since our marriage she had read a number of political memoirs141, and she had been particularly impressed by the career of Mrs. Gladstone. I don't think it occurred to her to compare and contrast my quality with that of Mrs. Gladstone's husband. I suspect her of a deliberate intention of achieving parallel results by parallel methods. I was to be Gladstonised. Gladstone it appeared used to lubricate his speeches with a mixture--if my memory serves me right--of egg beaten up in sherry, and Margaret was very anxious I should take a leaf from that celebrated142 book. She wanted, I know, to hold the glass in her hand while I was speaking.
But here I was firm. "No," I said, very decisively, "simply I won't stand that. It's a matter of conscience. I shouldn't feel--democratic. I'll take my chance of the common water in the carafe143 on the chairman's table."
"I DO wish you wouldn't," she said, distressed144.
It was absurd to feel irritated; it was so admirable of her, a little childish, infinitely womanly and devoted145 and fine--and I see now how pathetic. But I could not afford to succumb146 to her. I wanted to follow my own leading, to see things clearly, and this reassuring147 pose of a high destiny, of an almost terribly efficient pursuit of a fixed148 end when as a matter of fact I had a very doubtful end and an aim as yet by no means fixed, was all too seductive for dalliance....
4
And into all these things with the manner of a trifling149 and casual incident comes the figure of Isabel Rivers. My first impressions of her were of a rather ugly and ungainly, extraordinarily150 interesting schoolgirl with a beautiful quick flush under her warm brown skin, who said and did amusing and surprising things. When first I saw her she was riding a very old bicycle downhill with her feet on the fork of the frame--it seemed to me to the public danger, but afterwards I came to understand the quality of her nerve better--and on the third occasion she was for her own private satisfaction climbing a tree. On the intervening occasion we had what seems now to have been a long sustained conversation about the political situation and the books and papers I had written.
I wonder if it was.
What a delightful mixture of child and grave woman she was at that time, and how little I reckoned on the part she would play in my life! And since she has played that part, how impossible it is to tell now of those early days! Since I wrote that opening paragraph to this section my idle pen has been, as it were, playing by itself and sketching151 faces on the blotting152 pad--one impish wizened153 visage is oddly like little Bailey--and I have been thinking cheek on fist amidst a limitless wealth of memories. She sits below me on the low wall under the olive trees with our little child in her arms. She is now the central fact in my life. It still seems a little incredible that that should be so. She has destroyed me as a politician, brought me to this belated rebeginning of life. When I sit down and try to make her a girl again, I feel like the Arabian fisherman who tried to put the genius back into the pot from which it had spread gigantic across the skies....
I have a very clear vision of her rush downhill past our labouring ascendant car--my colours fluttered from handle-bar and shoulder-knot--and her waving hand and the sharp note of her voice. She cried out something, I don't know what, some greeting.
"What a pretty girl!" said Margaret.
Parvill, the cheap photographer, that industrious organiser for whom by way of repayment155 I got those magic letters, that knighthood of the underlings, "J. P." was in the car with us and explained her to us. "One of the best workers you have," he said....
And then after a toilsome troubled morning we came, rather cross from the strain of sustained amiability156, to Sir Graham Rivers' house. It seemed all softness and quiet--I recall dead white panelling and oval mirrors horizontally set and a marble fireplace between white marble-blind Homer and marble-blind Virgil, very grave and fine--and how Isabel came in to lunch in a shapeless thing like a blue smock that made her bright quick-changing face seem yellow under her cloud of black hair. Her step-sister was there, Miss Gamer, to whom the house was to descend158, a well-dressed lady of thirty, amiably159 disavowing responsibility for Isabel in every phrase and gesture. And there was a very pleasant doctor, an Oxford160 man, who seemed on excellent terms with every one. It was manifest that he was in the habit of sparring with the girl, but on this occasion she wasn't sparring and refused to be teased into a display in spite of the taunts161 of either him or her father. She was, they discovered with rising eyebrows162, shy. It seemed an opportunity too rare for them to miss. They proclaimed her enthusiasm for me in a way that brought a flush to her cheek and a look into her eye between appeal and defiance163. They declared she had read my books, which I thought at the time was exaggeration, their dry political quality was so distinctly not what one was accustomed to regard as schoolgirl reading. Miss Gamer protested to protect her, "When once in a blue moon Isabel is well-behaved....!"
Except for these attacks I do not remember much of the conversation at table; it was, I know, discursive164 and concerned with the sort of topographical and social and electioneering fact natural to such a visit. Old Rivers struck me as a delightful person, modestly unconscious of his doubly-earned V. C. and the plucky165 defence of Kardin-Bergat that won his baronetcy. He was that excellent type, the soldier radical166, and we began that day a friendship that was only ended by his death in the hunting-field three years later. He interested Margaret into a disregard of my plate and the fact that I had secured the illegal indulgence of Moselle. After lunch we went for coffee into another low room, this time brown panelled and looking through French windows on a red-walled garden, graceful23 even in its winter desolation. And there the conversation suddenly picked up and became good. It had fallen to a pause, and the doctor, with an air of definitely throwing off a mask and wrecking167 an established tranquillity168, remarked: "Very probably you Liberals will come in, though I'm not sure you'll come in so mightily169 as you think, but what you do when you do come in passes my comprehension."
"There's good work sometimes," said Sir Graham, "in undoing170."
"You can't govern a great empire by amending171 and repealing172 the Acts of your predecessors," said the doctor.
There came that kind of pause that happens when a subject is broached173 too big and difficult for the gathering. Margaret's blue eyes regarded the speaker with quiet disapproval for a moment, and then came to me in the not too confident hope that I would snub him out of existence with some prompt rhetorical stroke. A voice spoke out of the big armchair.
"We'll do things," said Isabel.
The doctor's eye lit with the joy of the fisherman who strikes his fish at last. "What will you do?" he asked her.
"Every one knows we're a mixed lot," said Isabel.
"Poor old chaps like me!" interjected the general.
"But that's not a programme," said the doctor.
"But Mr. Remington has published a programme," said Isabel.
The doctor cocked half an eye at me.
"In some review," the girl went on. "After all, we're not going to elect the whole Liberal party in the Kinghamstead Division. I'm a Remington-ite!"
"But the programme," said the doctor, "the programme--"
"In front of Mr. Remington!"
"Scandal always comes home at last," said the doctor. "Let him hear the worst."
"I'd like to hear," I said. "Electioneering shatters convictions and enfeebles the mind."
"Not mine," said Isabel stoutly174. "I mean--Well, anyhow I take it Mr. Remington stands for constructing a civilised state out of this muddle175."
"THIS muddle," protested the doctor with an appeal of the eye to the beautiful long room and the ordered garden outside the bright clean windows.
"Well, THAT muddle, if you like! There's a slum within a mile of us already. The dust and blacks get worse and worse, Sissie?"
"They do," agreed Miss Gamer.
"Mr. Remington stands for construction, order, education, discipline."
"And you?" said the doctor.
"I'm a good Remington-ite."
"Discipline!" said the doctor.
"Oh!" said Isabel. "At times one has to be--Napoleonic. They want to libel me, Mr. Remington. A political worker can't always be in time for meals, can she? At times one has to make--splendid cuts."
Miss Gamer said something indistinctly.
"Order, education, discipline," said Sir Graham. "Excellent things! But I've a sort of memory--in my young days--we talked about something called liberty."
"Liberty under the law," I said, with an unexpected approving murmur176 from Margaret, and took up the defence. "The old Liberal definition of liberty was a trifle uncritical. Privilege and legal restrictions177 are not the only enemies of liberty. An uneducated, underbred, and underfed propertyless man is a man who has lost the possibility of liberty. There's no liberty worth a rap for him. A man who is swimming hopelessly for life wants nothing but the liberty to get out of the water; he'll give every other liberty for it--until he gets out."
Sir Graham took me up and we fell into a discussion of the changing qualities of Liberalism. It was a good give-and-take talk, extraordinarily refreshing178 after the nonsense and crowding secondary issues of the electioneering outside. We all contributed more or less except Miss Gamer; Margaret followed with knitted brows and occasional interjections. "People won't SEE that," for example, and "It all seems so plain to me." The doctor showed himself clever but unsubstantial and inconsistent. Isabel sat back with her black mop of hair buried deep in the chair looking quickly from face to face. Her colour came and went with her vivid intellectual excitement; occasionally she would dart179 a word, usually a very apt word, like a lizard's tongue into the discussion. I remember chiefly that a chance illustration betrayed that she had read Bishop180 Burnet....
After that it was not surprising that Isabel should ask for a lift in our car as far as the Lurky Committee Room, and that she should offer me quite sound advice EN ROUTE upon the intellectual temperament of the Lurky gasworkers.
On the third occasion that I saw Isabel she was, as I have said, climbing a tree--and a very creditable tree--for her own private satisfaction. It was a lapse181 from the high seriousness of politics, and I perceived she felt that I might regard it as such and attach too much importance to it. I had some difficulty in reassuring her. And it's odd to note now--it has never occurred to me before--that from that day to this I do not think I have ever reminded Isabel of that encounter.
And after that memory she seems to be flickering182 about always in the election, an inextinguishable flame; now she flew by on her bicycle, now she dashed into committee rooms, now she appeared on doorsteps in animated183 conversation with dubious184 voters; I took every chance I could to talk to her--I had never met anything like her before in the world, and she interested me immensely--and before the polling day she and I had become, in the frankest simplicity185, fast friends....
That, I think, sets out very fairly the facts of our early relationship. But it is hard to get it true, either in form or texture, because of the bright, translucent186, coloured, and refracting memories that come between. One forgets not only the tint72 and quality of thoughts and impressions through that intervening haze187, one forgets them altogether. I don't remember now that I ever thought in those days of passionate love or the possibility of such love between us. I may have done so again and again. But I doubt it very strongly. I don't think I ever thought of such aspects. I had no more sense of any danger between us, seeing the years and things that separated us, than I could have had if she had been an intelligent bright-eyed bird. Isabel came into my life as a new sort of thing; she didn't join on at all to my previous experiences of womanhood. They were not, as I have laboured to explain, either very wide or very penetrating188 experiences, on the whole, "strangled dinginess189" expresses them, but I do not believe they were narrower or shallower than those of many other men of my class. I thought of women as pretty things and beautiful things, pretty rather than beautiful, attractive and at times disconcertingly attractive, often bright and witty190, but, because of the vast reservations that hid them from me, wanting, subtly and inevitably191 wanting, in understanding. My idealisation of Margaret had evaporated insensibly after our marriage. The shrine192 I had made for her in my private thoughts stood at last undisguisedly empty. But Isabel did not for a moment admit of either idealisation or interested contempt. She opened a new sphere of womanhood to me. With her steady amber-brown eyes, her unaffected interest in impersonal193 things, her upstanding waistless blue body, her energy, decision and courage, she seemed rather some new and infinitely finer form of boyhood than a feminine creature, as I had come to measure femininity. She was my perfect friend. Could I have foreseen, had my world been more wisely planned, to this day we might have been such friends.
She seemed at that time unconscious of sex, though she has told me since how full she was of protesting curiosities and restrained emotions. She spoke, as indeed she has always spoken, simply, clearly, and vividly194; schoolgirl slang mingled with words that marked ample voracious195 reading, and she moved quickly with the free directness of some graceful young animal. She took many of the easy freedoms a man or a sister might have done with me. She would touch my arm, lay a hand on my shoulder as I sat, adjust the lapel of a breast-pocket as she talked to me. She says now she loved me always from the beginning. I doubt if there was a suspicion of that in her mind those days. I used to find her regarding me with the clearest, steadiest gaze in the world, exactly like the gaze of some nice healthy innocent animal in a forest, interested, inquiring, speculative196, but singularly untroubled....
5
Polling day came after a last hoarse197 and dingy198 crescendo199. The excitement was not of the sort that makes one forget one is tired out. The waiting for the end of the count has left a long blank mark on my memory, and then everyone was shaking my hand and repeating: "Nine hundred and seventy-six."
My success had been a foregone conclusion since the afternoon, but we all behaved as though we had not been anticipating this result for hours, as though any other figures but nine hundred and seventy-six would have meant something entirely different. "Nine hundred and seventy-six!" said Margaret. "They didn't expect three hundred."
"Nine hundred and seventy-six," said a little short man with a paper. "It means a big turnover200. Two dozen short of a thousand, you know."
A tremendous hullaboo began outside, and a lot of fresh people came into the room.
Isabel, flushed but not out of breath, Heaven knows where she had sprung from at that time of night! was running her hand down my sleeve almost caressingly201, with the innocent bold affection of a girl. "Got you in!" she said. "It's been no end of a lark202."
"And now," said I, "I must go and be constructive."
"Now you must go and be constructive," she said.
"You've got to live here," she added.
"By Jove! yes," I said. "We'll have to house hunt."
"I shall read all your speeches."
She hesitated.
"I wish I was you," she said, and said it as though it was not exactly the thing she was meaning to say.
"They want you to speak," said Margaret, with something unsaid in her face.
"You must come out with me," I answered, putting my arm through hers, and felt someone urging me to the French windows that gave on the balcony.
"If you think--" she said, yielding gladly
"Oh, RATHER!" said I.
The Mayor of Kinghamstead, a managing little man with no great belief in my oratorical203 powers, was sticking his face up to mine.
"It's all over," he said, "and you've won. Say all the nice things you can and say them plainly."
I turned and handed Margaret out through the window and stood looking over the Market-place, which was more than half filled with swaying people. The crowd set up a roar of approval at the sight of us, tempered by a little booing. Down in one corner of the square a fight was going on for a flag, a fight that even the prospect37 of a speech could not instantly check. "Speech!" cried voices, "Speech!" and then a brief "boo-oo-oo" that was drowned in a cascade204 of shouts and cheers. The conflict round the flag culminated205 in the smashing of a pane157 of glass in the chemist's window and instantly sank to peace.
"Gentlemen voters of the Kinghamstead Division," I began.
"Votes for Women!" yelled a voice, amidst laughter--the first time I remember hearing that memorable206 war-cry.
"Three cheers for Mrs. Remington!"
"Mrs. Remington asks me to thank you," I said, amidst further uproar207 and reiterated208 cries of "Speech!"
Then silence came with a startling swiftness.
Isabel was still in my mind, I suppose. "I shall go to Westminster," I began. I sought for some compelling phrase and could not find one. "To do my share," I went on, "in building up a great and splendid civilisation209."
I paused, and there was a weak gust210 of cheering, and then a renewal211 of booing.
"This election," I said, "has been the end and the beginning of much. New ideas are abroad--"
"Chinese labour," yelled a voice, and across the square swept a wildfire of booting and bawling212.
It is one of the few occasions when I quite lost my hold on a speech. I glanced sideways and saw the Mayor of Kinghamstead speaking behind his hand to Parvill. By a happy chance Parvill caught my eye.
"What do they want?" I asked.
"Eh?"
"What do they want?"
"Say something about general fairness--the other side," prompted Parvill, flattered but a little surprised by my appeal. I pulled myself hastily into a more popular strain with a gross eulogy213 of my opponent's good taste.
"Chinese labour!" cried the voice again.
"You've given that notice to quit," I answered.
The Market-place roared delight, but whether that delight expressed hostility214 to Chinamen or hostility to their practical enslavement no student of the General Election of 1906 has ever been able to determine. Certainly one of the most effective posters on our side displayed a hideous215 yellow face, just that and nothing more. There was not even a legend to it. How it impressed the electorate216 we did not know, but that it impressed the electorate profoundly there can be no disputing.
6
Kinghamstead was one of the earliest constituencies fought, and we came back--it must have been Saturday--triumphant but very tired, to our house in Radnor Square. In the train we read the first intimations that the victory of our party was likely to be a sweeping217 one.
Then came a period when one was going about receiving and giving congratulations and watching the other men arrive, very like a boy who has returned to school with the first batch218 after the holidays. The London world reeked219 with the General Election; it had invaded the nurseries. All the children of one's friends had got big maps of England cut up into squares to represent constituencies and were busy sticking gummed blue labels over the conquered red of Unionism that had hitherto submerged the country. And there were also orange labels, if I remember rightly, to represent the new Labour party, and green for the Irish. I engaged myself to speak at one or two London meetings, and lunched at the Reform, which was fairly tepid, and dined and spent one or two tumultuous evenings at the National Liberal Club, which was in active eruption222. The National Liberal became feverishly223 congested towards midnight as the results of the counting came dropping in. A big green-baize screen had been fixed up at one end of the large smoking-room with the names of the constituencies that were voting that day, and directly the figures came to hand, up they went, amidst cheers that at last lost their energy through sheer repetition, whenever there was record of a Liberal gain. I don't remember what happened when there was a Liberal loss; I don't think that any were announced while I was there.
How packed and noisy the place was, and what a reek220 of tobacco and whisky fumes224 we made! Everybody was excited and talking, making waves of harsh confused sound that beat upon one's ears, and every now and then hoarse voices would shout for someone to speak. Our little set was much in evidence. Both the Cramptons were in, Lewis, Bunting Harblow. We gave brief addresses attuned225 to this excitement and the late hour, amidst much enthusiasm.
"Now we can DO things!" I said amidst a rapture226 of applause. Men I did not know from Adam held up glasses and nodded to me in solemn fuddled approval as I came down past them into the crowd again.
Men were betting whether the Unionists would lose more or less than two hundred seats.
"I wonder just what we shall do with it all," I heard one sceptic speculating....
After these orgies I would get home very tired and excited, and find it difficult to get to sleep. I would lie and speculate about what it was we WERE going to do. One hadn't anticipated quite such a tremendous accession to power for one's party. Liberalism was swirling228 in like a flood....
I found the next few weeks very unsatisfactory and distressing229. I don't clearly remember what it was I had expected; I suppose the fuss and strain of the General Election had built up a feeling that my return would in some way put power into my hands, and instead I found myself a mere134 undistinguished unit in a vast but rather vague majority. There were moments when I felt very distinctly that a majority could be too big a crowd altogether. I had all my work still before me, I had achieved nothing as yet but opportunity, and a very crowded opportunity it was at that. Everyone about me was chatting Parliament and appointments; one breathed distracting and irritating speculations231 as to what would be done and who would be asked to do it. I was chiefly impressed by what was unlikely to be done and by the absence of any general plan of legislation to hold us all together. I found the talk about Parliamentary procedure and etiquette232 particularly trying. We dined with the elder Cramptons one evening, and old Sir Edward was lengthily233 sage154 about what the House liked, what it didn't like, what made a good impression and what a bad one. "A man shouldn't speak more than twice in his first session, and not at first on too contentious234 a topic," said Sir Edward. "No."
"Very much depends on manner. The House hates a lecturer. There's a sort of airy earnestness--"
He waved his cigar to eke221 out his words.
"Little peculiarities235 of costume count for a great deal. I could name one man who spent three years living down a pair of spatterdashers. On the other hand--a thing like that--if it catches the eye of the PUNCH man, for example, may be your making."
He went off into a lengthy237 speculation230 of why the House had come to like an originally unpopular Irishman named Biggar....
The opening of Parliament gave me some peculiar236 moods. I began to feel more and more like a branded sheep. We were sworn in in batches238, dozens and scores of fresh men, trying not to look too fresh under the inspection239 of policemen and messengers, all of us carrying new silk hats and wearing magisterial240 coats. It is one of my vivid memories from this period, the sudden outbreak of silk hats in the smoking-room of the National Liberal Club. At first I thought there must have been a funeral. Familiar faces that one had grown to know under soft felt hats, under bowlers241, under liberal-minded wide brims, and above artistic242 ties and tweed jackets, suddenly met one, staring with the stern gaze of self-consciousness, from under silk hats of incredible glossiness243. There was a disposition to wear the hat much too forward, I thought, for a good Parliamentary style.
There was much play with the hats all through; a tremendous competition to get in first and put hats on coveted244 seats. A memory hangs about me of the House in the early afternoon, an inhumane desolation inhabited almost entirely by silk hats. The current use of cards to secure seats came later. There were yards and yards of empty green benches with hats and hats and hats distributed along them, resolute-looking top hats, lax top hats with a kind of shadowy grin under them, sensible top bats brim upward, and one scandalous incontinent that had rolled from the front Opposition bench right to the middle of the floor. A headless hat is surely the most soulless thing in the world, far worse even than a skull246....
At last, in a leisurely247 muddled248 manner we got to the Address; and I found myself packed in a dense249 elbowing crowd to the right of the Speaker's chair; while the attenuated250 Opposition, nearly leaderless after the massacre251, tilted252 its brim to its nose and sprawled254 at its ease amidst its empty benches.
There was a tremendous hullaboo about something, and I craned to see over the shoulder of the man in front. "Order, order, order!"
"What's it about?" I asked.
The man in front of me was clearly no better informed, and then I gathered from a slightly contemptuous Scotchman beside me that it was Chris Robinson had walked between the honourable member in possession of the house and the Speaker. I caught a glimpse of him blushingly whispering about his misadventure to a colleague. He was just that same little figure I had once assisted to entertain at Cambridge, but grey-haired now, and still it seemed with the same knitted muffler he had discarded for a reckless half-hour while he talked to us in Hatherleigh's rooms.
It dawned upon me that I wasn't particularly wanted in the House, and that I should get all I needed of the opening speeches next day from the TIMES.
I made my way out and was presently walking rather aimlessly through the outer lobby.
I caught myself regarding the shadow that spread itself out before me, multiplied itself in blue tints255 of various intensity256, shuffled257 itself like a pack of cards under the many lights, the square shoulders, the silk hat, already worn with a parliamentary tilt253 backward; I found I was surveying this statesmanlike outline with a weak approval. "A MEMBER!" I felt the little cluster of people that were scattered258 about the lobby must be saying.
"Good God!" I said in hot reaction, "what am I doing here?"
It was one of those moments infinitely trivial in themselves, that yet are cardinal259 in a man's life. It came to me with extreme vividness that it wasn't so much that I had got hold of something as that something had got hold of me. I distinctly recall the rebound260 of my mind. Whatever happened in this Parliament, I at least would attempt something. "By God!" I said, "I won't be overwhelmed. I am here to do something, and do something I will!"
But I felt that for the moment I could not remain in the House.
I went out by myself with my thoughts into the night. It was a chilling night, and rare spots of rain were falling. I glanced over my shoulder at the lit windows of the Lords. I walked, I remember, westward261, and presently came to the Grosvenar Embankment and followed it, watching the glittering black rush of the river and the dark, dimly lit barges262 round which the water swirled263. Across the river was the hunched264 sky-line of Doulton's potteries265, and a kiln266 flared267 redly. Dimly luminous268 trams were gliding269 amidst a dotted line of lamps, and two little trains crawled into Waterloo station. Mysterious black figures came by me and were suddenly changed to the commonplace at the touch of the nearer lamps. It was a big confused world, I felt, for a man to lay his hands upon.
I remember I crossed Vauxhall Bridge and stood for a time watching the huge black shapes in the darkness under the gas-works. A shoal of coal barges lay indistinctly on the darkly shining mud and water below, and a colossal270 crane was perpetually hauling up coal into mysterious blacknesses above, and dropping the empty clutch back to the barges. Just one or two minute black featureless figures of men toiled271 amidst these monster shapes. They did not seem to be controlling them but only moving about among them. These gas-works have a big chimney that belches272 a lurid273 flame into the night, a livid shivering bluish flame, shot with strange crimson274 streaks275....
On the other side of Lambeth Bridge broad stairs go down to the lapping water of the river; the lower steps are luminous under the lamps and one treads unwarned into thick soft Thames mud. They seem to be purely architectural steps, they lead nowhere, they have an air of absolute indifference to mortal ends.
Those shapes and large inhuman245 places--for all of mankind that one sees at night about Lambeth is minute and pitiful beside the industrial monsters that snort and toil100 there--mix up inextricably with my memories of my first days as a legislator. Black figures drift by me, heavy vans clatter276, a newspaper rough tears by on a motor bicycle, and presently, on the Albert Embankment, every seat has its one or two outcasts huddled277 together and slumbering278.
"These things come, these things go," a whispering voice urged upon me, "as once those vast unmeaning Saurians whose bones encumber61 museums came and went rejoicing noisily in fruitless lives."...
Fruitless lives!--was that the truth of it all?...
Later I stood within sight of the Houses of Parliament in front of the colonnades279 of St Thomas's Hospital. I leant on the parapet close by a lamp-stand of twisted dolphins--and I prayed!
I remember the swirl227 of the tide upon the water, and how a string of barges presently came swinging and bumping round as high-water turned to ebb280. That sudden change of position and my brief perplexity at it, sticks like a paper pin through the substance of my thoughts. It was then I was moved to prayer. I prayed that night that life might not be in vain, that in particular I might not live in vain. I prayed for strength and faith, that the monstrous281 blundering forces in life might not overwhelm me, might not beat me back to futility282 and a meaningless acquiescence283 in existent things. I knew myself for the weakling I was, I knew that nevertheless it was set for me to make such order as I could out of these disorders284, and my task cowed me, gave me at the thought of it a sense of yielding feebleness.
"Break me, O God," I prayed at last, "disgrace me, torment285 me, destroy me as you will, but save me from self-complacency and little interests and little successes and the life that passes like the shadow of a dream."
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adaptable
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precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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consultation
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| n.咨询；商量；商议；会议 | |
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endorse
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| vt.(支票、汇票等)背书，背署；批注；同意 | |
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judgment
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delightful
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standing
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mire
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appreciation
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brass
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spacious
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partially
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fatigue
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fatigued
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harmoniously
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fully
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blues
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skilfully
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scrutiny
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specially
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infinitely
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graceful
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gracefully
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drooping
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doorway
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disapproval
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reciprocating
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climax
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garrulous
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possessed
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industrious
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erratic
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disposition
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prospective
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prospect
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wilderness
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opposition
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strenuous
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gathering
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gatherings
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entrees
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banished
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virtues
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ethically
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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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48
intervention
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| n.介入，干涉，干预 | |
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49
impartially
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| adv.公平地，无私地 | |
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50
temperament
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| n.气质，性格，性情 | |
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51
evade
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| vt.逃避，回避；避开，躲避 | |
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52
imprisoned
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| 下狱，监禁( imprison的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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53
fabric
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| n.织物，织品，布；构造，结构，组织 | |
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54
sleepless
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| adj.不睡眠的，睡不著的，不休息的 | |
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55
honourable
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| adj.可敬的；荣誉的，光荣的 | |
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56
injustice
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| n.非正义，不公正，不公平，侵犯（别人的）权利 | |
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57
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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58
discriminating
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| a.有辨别能力的 | |
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59
purely
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| adv.纯粹地，完全地 | |
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60
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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61
encumber
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| v.阻碍行动，妨碍，堆满 | |
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62
relentless
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| adj.残酷的，不留情的，无怜悯心的 | |
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63
delicacies
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| n.棘手( delicacy的名词复数 )；精致；精美的食物；周到 | |
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64
assorted
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| adj.各种各样的，各色俱备的 | |
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65
texture
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| n.(织物)质地；(材料)构造；结构；肌理 | |
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66
sentimental
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| adj.多愁善感的，感伤的 | |
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67
dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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68
sensuous
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| adj.激发美感的；感官的，感觉上的 | |
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69
essentially
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| adv.本质上，实质上，基本上 | |
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70
abounded
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| v.大量存在，充满，富于( abound的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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71
evasions
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| 逃避( evasion的名词复数 )； 回避； 遁辞； 借口 | |
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72
tint
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| n.淡色，浅色；染发剂；vt.着以淡淡的颜色 | |
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73
milky
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| adj.牛奶的，多奶的；乳白色的 | |
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74
breach
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| n.违反，不履行；破裂；vt.冲破，攻破 | |
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75
apprehending
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| 逮捕，拘押( apprehend的现在分词 )； 理解 | |
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76
astounding
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| adj.使人震惊的vt.使震惊，使大吃一惊astound的现在分词) | |
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77
sincerity
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| n.真诚，诚意；真实 | |
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78
interpretations
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| n.解释( interpretation的名词复数 )；表演；演绎；理解 | |
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79
subterfuge
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| n.诡计；藉口 | |
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80
chunk
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|
| n.厚片，大块，相当大的部分（数量） | |
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81
sketched
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| v.草拟（sketch的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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82
implicit
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| a.暗示的，含蓄的，不明晰的，绝对的 | |
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83
depressed
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| adj.沮丧的，抑郁的，不景气的，萧条的 | |
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84
tepid
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| adj.微温的，温热的，不太热心的 | |
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85
solicitors
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| 初级律师( solicitor的名词复数 ) | |
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86
dissenting
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| adj.不同意的 | |
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87
traction
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| n.牵引；附着摩擦力 | |
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88
momentous
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| adj.重要的，重大的 | |
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89
flare
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| v.闪耀，闪烁；n.潮红；突发 | |
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90
sluggish
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|
| adj.懒惰的，迟钝的，无精打采的 | |
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91
canvasser
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| n.挨户推销商品的推销员 | |
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92
personalities
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| n. 诽谤，（对某人容貌、性格等所进行的）人身攻击； 人身攻击；人格, 个性, 名人( personality的名词复数 ) | |
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93
undesirability
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| n.不受欢迎 | |
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94
spoke
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| 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 | |
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95
resolute
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|
| adj.坚决的，果敢的 | |
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96
constructive
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|
| adj.建设的，建设性的 | |
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97
solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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98
spaciousness
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| n.宽敞 | |
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99
restive
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| adj.不安宁的，不安静的 | |
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100
toil
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| vi.辛劳工作，艰难地行动；n.苦工，难事 | |
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101
toiling
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| 长时间或辛苦地工作( toil的现在分词 )； 艰难缓慢地移动，跋涉 | |
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102
solicitudes
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| n.关心，挂念，渴望( solicitude的名词复数 ) | |
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103
relaxation
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| n.松弛，放松；休息；消遣；娱乐 | |
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104
anecdotes
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|
| n.掌故，趣闻，轶事( anecdote的名词复数 ) | |
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105
oust
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|
| vt.剥夺，取代，驱逐 | |
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106
diabolical
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|
| adj.恶魔似的，凶暴的 | |
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107
passionate
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|
| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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108
kindly
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|
| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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109
prominence
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|
| n.突出；显著；杰出；重要 | |
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110
intonation
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| n.语调，声调；发声 | |
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111
irrelevancy
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|
| n.不恰当，离题，不相干的事物 | |
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112
incipient
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|
| adj.起初的，发端的，初期的 | |
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113
frightful
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|
| adj.可怕的；讨厌的 | |
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114
tiresome
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|
| adj.令人疲劳的，令人厌倦的 | |
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115
locomotion
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| n.运动，移动 | |
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116
abounding
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|
| adj.丰富的，大量的v.大量存在，充满，富于( abound的现在分词 ) | |
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117
sufficiently
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|
| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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118
strings
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| n.弦 | |
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119
villas
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| 别墅，公馆( villa的名词复数 )； （城郊）住宅 | |
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120
secreted
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| v.（尤指动物或植物器官）分泌( secrete的过去式和过去分词 )；隐匿，隐藏 | |
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121
distinctive
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|
| adj.特别的，有特色的，与众不同的 | |
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122
advisers
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| 顾问，劝告者( adviser的名词复数 )； （指导大学新生学科问题等的）指导教授 | |
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123
indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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124
perplexed
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| adj.不知所措的 | |
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125
riddle
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|
| n.谜，谜语，粗筛；vt.解谜，给…出谜，筛，检查，鉴定，非难，充满于；vi.出谜 | |
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126
groove
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| n.沟，槽；凹线，（刻出的）线条，习惯 | |
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127
helping
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| n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的，辅助的 | |
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128
steadfastly
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| adv.踏实地，不变地；岿然；坚定不渝 | |
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129
curiously
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|
| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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130
alienation
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| n.疏远；离间；异化 | |
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131
resentment
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| n.怨愤，忿恨 | |
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132
diverged
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| 分开( diverge的过去式和过去分词 )； 偏离； 分歧； 分道扬镳 | |
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133
costly
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| adj.昂贵的，价值高的，豪华的 | |
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134
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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135
kindled
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| （使某物）燃烧，着火( kindle的过去式和过去分词 )； 激起（感情等）； 发亮，放光 | |
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136
serenely
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| adv.安详地，宁静地，平静地 | |
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137
severely
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| adv.严格地；严厉地；非常恶劣地 | |
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138
tranquil
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| adj. 安静的, 宁静的, 稳定的, 不变的 | |
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139
insistence
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| n.坚持；强调；坚决主张 | |
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140
sustenance
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| n.食物，粮食；生活资料；生计 | |
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141
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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142
celebrated
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| adj.有名的，声誉卓著的 | |
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143
carafe
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| n.玻璃水瓶 | |
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144
distressed
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| 痛苦的 | |
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145
devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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146
succumb
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| v.屈服，屈从；死 | |
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147
reassuring
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| a.使人消除恐惧和疑虑的，使人放心的 | |
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148
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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149
trifling
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| adj.微不足道的；没什么价值的 | |
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150
extraordinarily
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| adv.格外地；极端地 | |
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151
sketching
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| n.草图 | |
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152
blotting
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| 吸墨水纸 | |
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153
wizened
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| adj.凋谢的；枯槁的 | |
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154
sage
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| n.圣人，哲人；adj.贤明的，明智的 | |
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155
repayment
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| n.偿还，偿还款；报酬 | |
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156
amiability
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| n.和蔼可亲的，亲切的，友善的 | |
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157
pane
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| n.窗格玻璃，长方块 | |
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158
descend
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| vt./vi.传下来，下来，下降 | |
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159
amiably
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| adv.和蔼可亲地，亲切地 | |
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160
Oxford
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| n.牛津（英国城市） | |
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161
taunts
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| 嘲弄的言语，嘲笑，奚落( taunt的名词复数 ) | |
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162
eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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163
defiance
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| n.挑战，挑衅，蔑视，违抗 | |
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164
discursive
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| adj.离题的，无层次的 | |
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165
plucky
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| adj.勇敢的 | |
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166
radical
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| n.激进份子，原子团，根号；adj.根本的，激进的，彻底的 | |
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167
wrecking
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| 破坏 | |
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168
tranquillity
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| n. 平静, 安静 | |
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169
mightily
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| ad.强烈地；非常地 | |
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170
undoing
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| n.毁灭的原因，祸根；破坏，毁灭 | |
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171
amending
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| 改良，修改，修订( amend的现在分词 )； 改良，修改，修订( amend的第三人称单数 )( amends的现在分词 ) | |
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172
repealing
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| 撤销，废除( repeal的现在分词 ) | |
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173
broached
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| v.谈起( broach的过去式和过去分词 )；打开并开始用；用凿子扩大（或修光）；（在桶上）钻孔取液体 | |
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174
stoutly
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| adv.牢固地，粗壮的 | |
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175
muddle
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| n.困惑，混浊状态；vt.使混乱，使糊涂，使惊呆；vi.胡乱应付，混乱 | |
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176
murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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177
restrictions
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|
| 约束( restriction的名词复数 )； 管制； 制约因素； 带限制性的条件（或规则） | |
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178
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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179
dart
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| v.猛冲，投掷；n.飞镖，猛冲 | |
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180
bishop
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| n.主教，（国际象棋）象 | |
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181
lapse
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| n.过失，流逝，失效，抛弃信仰，间隔；vi.堕落，停止，失效，流逝；vt.使失效 | |
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182
flickering
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| adj.闪烁的，摇曳的，一闪一闪的 | |
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183
animated
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| adj.生气勃勃的，活跃的，愉快的 | |
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184
dubious
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| adj.怀疑的，无把握的；有问题的，靠不住的 | |
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185
simplicity
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| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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186
translucent
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| adj.半透明的；透明的 | |
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187
haze
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| n.霾，烟雾；懵懂，迷糊；vi.(over)变模糊 | |
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188
penetrating
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| adj.（声音）响亮的，尖锐的adj.（气味）刺激的adj.（思想）敏锐的，有洞察力的 | |
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189
dinginess
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| n.暗淡，肮脏 | |
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190
witty
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| adj.机智的，风趣的 | |
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191
inevitably
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| adv.不可避免地；必然发生地 | |
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192
shrine
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| n.圣地，神龛，庙；v.将...置于神龛内，把...奉为神圣 | |
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193
impersonal
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| adj.无个人感情的，与个人无关的，非人称的 | |
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194
vividly
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| adv.清楚地，鲜明地，生动地 | |
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195
voracious
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| adj.狼吞虎咽的，贪婪的 | |
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196
speculative
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| adj.思索性的，暝想性的，推理的 | |
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197
hoarse
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| adj.嘶哑的，沙哑的 | |
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198
dingy
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| adj.昏暗的，肮脏的 | |
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199
crescendo
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| n.(音乐)渐强，高潮 | |
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200
turnover
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| n.人员流动率，人事变动率；营业额，成交量 | |
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201
caressingly
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| 爱抚地，亲切地 | |
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202
lark
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| n.云雀，百灵鸟；n.嬉戏，玩笑；vi.嬉戏 | |
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203
oratorical
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| adj.演说的，雄辩的 | |
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204
cascade
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| n.小瀑布，喷流；层叠；vi.成瀑布落下 | |
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205
culminated
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| v.达到极点( culminate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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206
memorable
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| adj.值得回忆的，难忘的，特别的，显著的 | |
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207
uproar
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| n.骚动，喧嚣，鼎沸 | |
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208
reiterated
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| 反复地说，重申( reiterate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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209
civilisation
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| n.文明，文化，开化，教化 | |
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210
gust
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| n.阵风，突然一阵（雨、烟等），（感情的）迸发 | |
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211
renewal
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| adj.(契约)延期，续订，更新，复活，重来 | |
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212
bawling
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| v.大叫，大喊( bawl的现在分词 )；放声大哭；大声叫出；叫卖（货物） | |
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213
eulogy
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| n.颂词；颂扬 | |
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214
hostility
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| n.敌对，敌意；抵制［pl.］交战，战争 | |
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215
hideous
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| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
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216
electorate
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| n.全体选民；选区 | |
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217
sweeping
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| adj.范围广大的，一扫无遗的 | |
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218
batch
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| n.一批(组，群)；一批生产量 | |
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219
reeked
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| v.发出浓烈的臭气( reek的过去式和过去分词 )；散发臭气；发出难闻的气味 (of sth)；明显带有（令人不快或生疑的跡象） | |
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220
reek
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| v.发出臭气；n.恶臭 | |
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221
eke
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| v.勉强度日，节约使用 | |
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222
eruption
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| n.火山爆发；（战争等）爆发；（疾病等）发作 | |
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223
feverishly
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| adv. 兴奋地 | |
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224
fumes
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| n.(强烈而刺激的)气味，气体 | |
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225
attuned
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| v.使协调( attune的过去式和过去分词 )；调音 | |
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226
rapture
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| n.狂喜；全神贯注；着迷；v.使狂喜 | |
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227
swirl
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| v.(使)打漩，(使)涡卷；n.漩涡，螺旋形 | |
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228
swirling
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| v.旋转，打旋( swirl的现在分词 ) | |
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229
distressing
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| a.使人痛苦的 | |
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230
speculation
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| n.思索，沉思；猜测；投机 | |
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231
speculations
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| n.投机买卖( speculation的名词复数 )；思考；投机活动；推断 | |
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232
etiquette
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| n.礼仪，礼节；规矩 | |
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233
lengthily
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| adv.长，冗长地 | |
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234
contentious
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| adj.好辩的，善争吵的 | |
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235
peculiarities
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| n. 特质, 特性, 怪癖, 古怪 | |
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236
peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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237
lengthy
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| adj.漫长的，冗长的 | |
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238
batches
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| 一批( batch的名词复数 )； 一炉； （食物、药物等的）一批生产的量； 成批作业 | |
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239
inspection
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| n.检查，审查，检阅 | |
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240
magisterial
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| adj.威风的，有权威的；adv.威严地 | |
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241
bowlers
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| n.（板球）投球手( bowler的名词复数 )；圆顶高帽 | |
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242
artistic
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| adj.艺术(家)的，美术(家)的；善于艺术创作的 | |
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243
glossiness
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| 有光泽的； 光泽度 | |
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244
coveted
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| adj.令人垂涎的；垂涎的，梦寐以求的v.贪求，觊觎(covet的过去分词)；垂涎；贪图 | |
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245
inhuman
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| adj.残忍的，不人道的，无人性的 | |
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246
skull
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| n.头骨；颅骨 | |
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247
leisurely
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| adj.悠闲的；从容的，慢慢的 | |
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248
muddled
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| adj.混乱的；糊涂的；头脑昏昏然的v.弄乱，弄糟( muddle的过去式)；使糊涂；对付，混日子 | |
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249
dense
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| a.密集的，稠密的，浓密的；密度大的 | |
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250
attenuated
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| v.（使）变细( attenuate的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）变薄；（使）变小；减弱 | |
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251
massacre
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| n.残杀，大屠杀；v.残杀，集体屠杀 | |
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252
tilted
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| v. 倾斜的 | |
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253
tilt
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| v.(使)倾侧；(使)倾斜；n.倾侧；倾斜 | |
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254
sprawled
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| v.伸开四肢坐[躺]( sprawl的过去式和过去分词)；蔓延；杂乱无序地拓展；四肢伸展坐着（或躺着） | |
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255
tints
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| 色彩( tint的名词复数 )； 带白的颜色； （淡色）染发剂； 痕迹 | |
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256
intensity
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| n.强烈，剧烈；强度；烈度 | |
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257
shuffled
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| v.洗（纸牌）( shuffle的过去式和过去分词 )；拖着脚步走；粗心地做；摆脱尘世的烦恼 | |
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258
scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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259
cardinal
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| n.(天主教的)红衣主教；adj.首要的，基本的 | |
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260
rebound
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| v.弹回；n.弹回，跳回 | |
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261
westward
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| n.西方，西部；adj.西方的，向西的；adv.向西 | |
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262
barges
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| 驳船( barge的名词复数 ) | |
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263
swirled
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| v.旋转，打旋( swirl的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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264
hunched
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| （常指因寒冷、生病或愁苦）耸肩弓身的，伏首前倾的 | |
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265
potteries
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| n.陶器( pottery的名词复数 )；陶器厂；陶土；陶器制造（术） | |
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266
kiln
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| n.（砖、石灰等）窑，炉；v.烧窑 | |
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267
Flared
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| adj. 端部张开的, 爆发的, 加宽的, 漏斗式的 动词flare的过去式和过去分词 | |
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268
luminous
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| adj.发光的，发亮的；光明的；明白易懂的；有启发的 | |
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269
gliding
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| v. 滑翔 adj. 滑动的 | |
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270
colossal
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| adj.异常的，庞大的 | |
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271
toiled
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| 长时间或辛苦地工作( toil的过去式和过去分词 )； 艰难缓慢地移动，跋涉 | |
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272
belches
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| n.嗳气( belch的名词复数 )；喷吐；喷出物v.打嗝( belch的第三人称单数 )；喷出，吐出；打（嗝）；嗳（气） | |
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273
lurid
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| adj.可怕的；血红的；苍白的 | |
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274
crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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275
streaks
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| n.（与周围有所不同的）条纹( streak的名词复数 )；（通常指不好的）特征（倾向）；（不断经历成功或失败的）一段时期v.快速移动( streak的第三人称单数 )；使布满条纹 | |
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276
clatter
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| v./n.(使)发出连续而清脆的撞击声 | |
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277
huddled
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| 挤在一起（huddle的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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278
slumbering
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| 微睡，睡眠（slumber的现在分词形式） | |
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279
colonnades
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| n.石柱廊( colonnade的名词复数 ) | |
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280
ebb
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| vi.衰退，减退；n.处于低潮，处于衰退状态 | |
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281
monstrous
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| adj.巨大的；恐怖的；可耻的，丢脸的 | |
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282
futility
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| n.无用 | |
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283
acquiescence
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| n.默许；顺从 | |
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284
disorders
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| n.混乱( disorder的名词复数 )；凌乱；骚乱；（身心、机能）失调 | |
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285
torment
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| n.折磨；令人痛苦的东西(人)；vt.折磨；纠缠 | |
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