In the last chapter have been exhibited specimens1 of gentility, so considered by different classes; by one class, power, youth, and epaulets are considered the ne plus ultra of gentility; by another class, pride, stateliness, and title; by another, wealth and flaming tawdriness. But what constitutes a gentleman? It is easy to say at once what constitutes a gentleman, and there are no distinctions in what is gentlemanly, 195 as there are in what is genteel. The characteristics of a gentleman are high feeling, a determination never to take a cowardly advantage of another, a liberal education, absence of narrow views, generosity2 and courage, propriety3 of behaviour. Now a person may be genteel according to one or another of the three standards described above, and not possess one of the characteristics of a gentleman. Is the Emperor a gentleman, with spatters of blood on his clothes, scourged4 from the backs of noble Hungarian women? Are the aristocracy gentlefolks, who admire him? Is Mr. Flamson a gentleman, although he has a million pounds? No! cowardly miscreants5, admirers of cowardly miscreants, and people who make a million pounds by means compared with which those employed to make fortunes by the getters-up of the South Sea Bubble might be called honest dealing7, are decidedly not gentle-folks. Now, as it is clearly demonstrable that a person may be perfectly9 genteel according to some standard or other and yet be no gentleman, so is it demonstrable that a person may have no pretensions10 to gentility and yet be a gentleman. For example there is Lavengro! Would the admirers of the Emperor, or the admirers of those who admire the Emperor, or the admirers of Mr. Flamson, call him genteel? — and gentility with them is everything! Assuredly they would not; and assuredly they would consider him respectively as a being to be shunned11, despised, or hooted12. Genteel! Why, at one time he is a hack13 author — writes reviewals for eighteenpence a page — edits a Newgate chronicle. At another he wanders the country with a face grimy from occasionally mending kettles; and there is no evidence that his clothes are not seedy and torn, and his shoes down at the heel; but by what process of reasoning will they prove that he is no gentleman! Is he not learned? Has he not generosity and courage? Whilst a hack author does he pawn14 the books entrusted15 to him to review? Does he break his word to his publisher? Does he write begging letters? Does he get clothes or lodgings16 without paying for them? Again, whilst a wanderer, does he insult helpless women on the road with loose proposals or ribald discourse17? Does he take what is not his own from the hedges? Does he play on the fiddle18, or make faces in public-houses, in order to obtain pence or beer? or does he call for liquor, swallow it, and then say to a widowed landlady19, ‘Mistress, I have no brass’? In a word, what vice20 and crime does he perpetrate — what low acts does he commit? Therefore, with his endowments, who will venture to say that he is no gentleman? — unless it be an admirer of Mr. Flamson — a clown — who will, perhaps, shout: ‘I say he is no gentleman; for who can be a gentleman who keeps no gig?’ 196
The indifference21 exhibited by Lavengro for what is merely genteel, compared with his solicitude23 never to infringe24 the strict laws of honour, should read a salutary lesson. The generality of his countrymen are far more careful not to transgress25 the customs of what they call gentility than to violate the laws of honour or morality. They will shrink from carrying their own carpet-bag, and from speaking to a person in seedy raiment, whilst to matters of much higher importance they are shamelessly indifferent. Not so Lavengro; he will do anything that he deems convenient, or which strikes his fancy, provided it does not outrage27 decency28, or is unallied to profligacy29; is not ashamed to speak to a beggar in rags, and will associate with anybody, provided he can gratify a laudable curiosity. He has no abstract love for what is low, or what the world calls low. He sees that many things which the world looks down upon are valuable, so he prizes much which the world contemns31; he sees that many things which the world admires are contemptible32, so he despises much which the world does not; but when the world prizes what is really excellent, he does not contemn30 it, because the world regards it. If he learns Irish, which all the world scoffs33 at, he likewise learns Italian, which all the world melts at. If he learns Gypsy, the language of the tattered34 tent, he likewise learns Greek, the language of the college hall. If he learns smithery, he also learns — ah! what does he learn to set against smithery? — the law? No; he does not learn the law, which, by the way, is not very genteel. Swimming! Yes, he learns to swim. Swimming, however, is not genteel; and the world — at least the genteel part of it — acts very wisely in setting its face against it; for to swim you must be naked, and how would many a genteel person look without his clothes? Come, he learns horsemanship; a very genteel accomplishment35, which every genteel person would gladly possess, though not all genteel people do.
Again as to associates: if he holds communion when a boy with Murtagh, the scarecrow of an Irish academy, he associates in after life with Francis Ardry, a rich and talented young Irish gentleman about town. If he accepts an invitation from Mr. Petulengro to his tent, he has no objection to go home with a rich genius to dinner; who then will say that he prizes a thing or a person because they are ungenteel? That he is not ready to take up with everything that is ungenteel he gives a proof, when he refuses, though on the brink36 of starvation, to become bonnet37 to the thimble-man, an office which, though profitable, is positively38 ungenteel. Ah! but some sticker-up for gentility will exclaim, ‘The hero did not refuse this office from an insurmountable dislike to its ungentility, but merely from a feeling of principle.’ Well! the writer is not fond of argument, and he will admit that such was the case; he admits that it was a love of principle, rather than an over-regard for gentility, which prevented the hero from accepting, when on the brink of starvation, an ungenteel though lucrative39 office, an office which, the writer begs leave to observe, many a person with a great regard for gentility, and no particular regard for principle, would in a similar strait have accepted; for when did a mere22 love for gentility keep a person from being a dirty scoundrel, when the alternatives apparently40 were ‘either be a dirty scoundrel or starve’? One thing, however, is certain, which is, that Lavengro did not accept the office, which if a love for what is low had been his ruling passion he certainly would have done; consequently, he refuses to do one thing which no genteel person would willingly do, even as he does many things which every genteel person would gladly do, for example speaks Italian, rides on horseback, associates with a fashionable young man, dines with a rich genius, et cetera. Yet — and it cannot be minced41 — he and gentility with regard to many things are at strange divergency; he shrinks from many things at which gentility placidly42 hums a tune6, or approvingly simpers, and does some things at which gentility positively sinks. He will not run into debt for clothes or lodgings, which he might do without any scandal to gentility; he will not receive money from Francis Ardry, and go to Brighton with the sister of Annette Le Noir, though there is nothing ungenteel in borrowing money from a friend, even when you never intend to repay him, and something poignantly43 genteel in going to a watering-place with a gay young Frenchwoman; but he has no objection, after raising twenty pounds by the sale of that extraordinary work ‘Joseph Sell,’ to set off into the country, mend kettles under hedgerows, and make pony44 and donkey shoes in a dingle. Here, perhaps, some plain, well-meaning person will cry — and with much apparent justice — how can the writer justify45 him in this act? What motive46, save a love for what is low, could induce him to do such things? Would the writer have everybody who is in need of recreation go into the country, mend kettles under hedges, and make pony shoes in dingles? To such an observation the writer would answer that Lavengro had an excellent motive in doing what he did, but that the writer is not so unreasonable47 as to wish everybody to do the same. It is not everybody who can mend kettles. It is not everybody who is in similar circumstances to those in which Lavengro was. Lavengro flies from London and hack authorship, and takes to the roads from fear of consumption; it is expensive to put up at inns, and even at public-houses, and Lavengro has not much money; so he buys a tinker’s cart and apparatus48, and sets up as tinker, and subsequently as blacksmith; a person living in a tent, or in anything else, must do something or go mad; Lavengro had a mind, as he himself well knew, with some slight tendency to madness, and had he not employed himself, he must have gone wild; so to employ himself he drew upon one of his resources, the only one available at the time. Authorship had nearly killed him, he was sick of reading, and had besides no books; but he possessed49 the rudiments50 of an art akin26 to tinkering; he knew something of smithery, having served a kind of apprenticeship51 in Ireland to a fairy smith; so he draws upon his smithery to enable him to acquire tinkering, and through the help which it affords him, owing to its connection with tinkering, he speedily acquires that craft, even as he had speedily acquired Welsh, owing to its connection with Irish, which language he possessed; and with tinkering he amuses himself until he lays it aside to resume smithery. A man who has any innocent resource, has quite as much right to draw upon it in need, as he has upon a banker in whose hands he has placed a sum; Lavengro turns to advantage, under particular circumstances, a certain resource which he has, but people who are not so forlorn as Lavengro, and have not served the same apprenticeship which he had, are not advised to follow his example. Surely he was better employed in plying52 the trades of tinker and smith than in having recourse to vice, in running after milk-maids for example. Running after milk-maids is by no means an ungenteel rural diversion; but let any one ask some respectable casuist (the Bishop53 of London for example), whether Lavengro was not far better employed, when in the country, at tinkering and smithery than he would have been in running after all the milkmaids in Cheshire, though tinkering is in general considered a very ungenteel employment, and smithery little better, notwithstanding that an Orcadian poet, who wrote in Norse about eight hundred years ago, reckons the latter amongst nine noble arts which he possessed, naming it along with playing at chess, on the harp55, and ravelling runes, or as the original has it ‘treading runes’— that is compressing them into a small compass by mingling56 one letter with another, even as the Turkish caligraphists ravel the Arabic letters, more especially those who write talismans57.
‘Nine arts have I, all noble;
I play at chess so free,
At ravelling runes I’m ready,
At books and smithery;
I’m skill’d o’er ice at skimming
On skates, I shoot and row,
And few at harping58 match me,
Or minstrelsy, I trow.’
But though Lavengro takes up smithery, which, though the Orcadian ranks it with chess-playing and harping, is certainly somewhat of a grimy art, there can be no doubt that, had he been wealthy and not so forlorn as he was, he would have turned to many things, honourable59, of course, in preference. He has no objection to ride a fine horse when he has the opportunity: he has his day-dream of making a fortune of two hundred thousand pounds by becoming a merchant and doing business after the Armenian fashion; and there can be no doubt that he would have been glad to wear fine clothes, provided he had had sufficient funds to authorize60 him in wearing them. For the sake of wandering the country and plying the hammer and tongs61 he would not have refused a commission in the service of that illustrious monarch62 George the Fourth, provided he had thought that he could live on his pay, and not be forced to run in debt to tradesmen, without any hope of paying them, for clothes and luxuries, as many highly genteel officers in that honourable service were in the habit of doing. For the sake of tinkering he would certainly not have refused a secretaryship of an embassy to Persia, in which he might have turned his acquaintance with Persian, Arabic, and the Lord only knows what other languages, to account. He took to tinkering and smithery, because no better employments were at his command. No war is waged in the book against rank, wealth, fine clothes, or dignified63 employments; it is shown, however, that a person may be a gentleman and a scholar without them. Rank, wealth, fine clothes, and dignified employments, are no doubt very fine things, but they are merely externals, they do not make a gentleman, they add external grace and dignity to the gentleman and scholar, but they make neither; and is it not better to be a gentleman without them than not a gentleman with them? Is not Lavengro, when he leaves London on foot with twenty pounds in his pocket, entitled to more respect than Mr. Flamson flaming in his coach with a million? And is not even the honest jockey at Horncastle, who offers a fair price to Lavengro for his horse, entitled to more than the scoundrel lord, who attempts to cheat him of one-fourth of its value.
Millions, however, seem to think otherwise, by their servile adoration65 of people whom, without rank, wealth, and fine clothes, they would consider infamous66; but whom, possessed of rank, wealth, and glittering habiliments, they seem to admire all the more for their profligacy and crimes. Does not a blood-spot or a lust-spot on the clothes of a blooming emperor give a kind of zest67 to the genteel young god? Do not the pride, superciliousness68, and selfishness of a certain aristocracy make it all the more regarded by its worshippers? And do not the clownish and gutter-blood admirers of Mr. Flamson like him all the more because they are conscious that he is a knave69? If such is the case — and, alas70! is it not the case? — they cannot be too frequently told that fine clothes, wealth, and titles adorn71 a person in proportion as he adorns72 them; that if worn by the magnanimous and good they are ornaments73 indeed, but if by the vile64 and profligate74 they are merely san benitos, and only serve to make their infamy75 doubly apparent; and that a person in seedy raiment and tattered hat, possessed of courage, kindness, and virtue76, is entitled to more respect from those to whom his virtues77 are manifested than any cruel profligate emperor, selfish aristocrat78, or knavish79 millionaire in the world.
The writer has no intention of saying that all in England are affected80 with the absurd mania81 for gentility; nor is such a statement made in the book; it is shown therein that individuals of various classes can prize a gentleman, notwithstanding seedy raiment, dusty shoes, or tattered hat — for example, the young Irishman, the rich genius, the postillion, and his employer. Again, when the life of the hero is given to the world, amidst the howl about its lowness and vulgarity, raised by the servile crew whom its independence of sentiment has stung, more than one powerful voice has been heard testifying approbation82 of its learning and the purity of its morality. That there is some salt in England — minds not swayed by mere externals — he is fully83 convinced; if he were not, he would spare himself the trouble of writing; but to the fact that the generality of his countrymen are basely grovelling84 before the shrine85 of what they are pleased to call gentility he cannot shut his eyes.
Oh! what a clever person that Cockney was, who, travelling in the Aberdeen railroad carriage, after edifying86 the company with his remarks on various subjects, gave it as his opinion that Lieutenant87 P—— 197 would, in future, be shunned by all respectable society! And what a simple person that elderly gentleman was, who, abruptly88 starting, asked, in rather an authoritative89 voice, ‘And why should Lieutenant P—— be shunned by respectable society?’ and who, after entering into what was said to be a masterly analysis of the entire evidence of the case, concluded by stating, ‘that having been accustomed to all kinds of evidence all his life, he had never known a case in which the accused had obtained a more complete and triumphant90 justification91 than Lieutenant P—— had done in the late trial.’
Now, the Cockney, who is said to have been a very foppish92 Cockney, was perfectly right in what he said, and therein manifested a knowledge of the English mind and character, and likewise of the modern English language, to which his catechist, who, it seems, was a distinguished93 member of the Scottish Bar, could lay no pretensions. The Cockney knew what the Lord of Session knew not — that the British public is gentility crazy — and he knew, moreover, that gentility and respectability are synonymous. No one in England is genteel or respectable that is ‘looked at,’ who is the victim of oppression. He may be pitied for a time, but when did not pity terminate in contempt? A poor, harmless young officer! — but why enter into the details of the infamous case? They are but too well known, and if ever, cruelty, pride, and cowardice94, and things much worse than even cruelty, cowardice, and pride, were brought to light, and at the same time countenanced95, they were in that case. What availed the triumphant justification of the poor victim? There was at first a roar of indignation against his oppressors, but how long did it last? He had been turned out of the service, they remained in it with their red coats and epaulets; he was merely the son of a man who had rendered good service to his country, they were, for the most part, highly connected; they were in the extremest degree genteel, he quite the reverse. So the nation wavered, considered, thought the genteel side was the safest after all, and then, with the cry of, ‘Oh, there is nothing like gentility,’ ratted bodily. Newspaper and public turned against the victim, scouted96 him, apologized for the — what should they be called? — who were not only admitted into the most respectable society, but courted to come, the spots, not merely of wine, on their military clothes giving them a kind of poignancy97. But there is a God in heaven; the British glories are tarnished98 — Providence99 has never smiled on British arms since that case — oh, Balaklava! thy name interpreted is net of fishes, and well dost thou deserve that name. How many a scarlet100 golden fish has of late perished in the mud amidst thee, cursing the genteel service and the genteel leader which brought him to such a doom101!
Whether the rage for gentility is most prevalent amongst the upper, middle, or lower classes it is difficult to say; the priest, in the text, seems to think that it is exhibited in the most decided8 manner in the middle class; it is the writer’s opinion, however, that in no class is it more strongly developed than in the lower; what they call being well born goes a great way amongst them, but the possession of money much farther, whence Mr. Flamson’s influence over them. Their rage against, and scorn for, any person who by his courage and talents has advanced himself in life, and still remains102 poor, are indescribable: ‘He is no better than ourselves,’ they say; ‘why should he be above us?’ For they have no conception that anybody has a right to ascendancy103 over themselves except by birth or money. This feeling amongst the vulgar has been, to a certain extent, the bane of the two services, naval104 and military. The writer does not make this assertion rashly; he observed this feeling at work in the army when a child, and he has good reason for believing that it was as strongly at work in the navy at the same time, and is still as prevalent in both. Why are not brave men raised from the ranks? is frequently the cry; why are not brave sailors promoted? The Lord help brave soldiers and sailors who are promoted! They have less to undergo from the high airs of their brother-officers, and those are hard enough to endure, than from the insolence105 of the men. Soldiers and sailors promoted to command are said to be in general tyrants106; in nine cases out of ten, when they are tyrants, they have been obliged to have recourse to extreme severity in order to protect themselves from the insolence and mutinous107 spirit of the men: ‘He is no better than ourselves; shoot him, bayonet him, or fling him overboard!’ they say of some obnoxious108 individual raised above them by his merit. Soldiers and sailors, in general, will bear any amount of tyranny from a lordly sot, or the son of a man who has ‘plenty of brass’— their own term — but will mutiny against the just orders of a skilful109 and brave officer who ‘is no better than themselves.’ There was the affair of the Bounty110, for example: Bligh was one of the best seamen111 that ever trod deck, and one of the bravest of men; proofs of his seamanship he gave by steering113, amidst dreadful weather, a deeply-laden boat for nearly four thousand miles over an almost unknown ocean; of his bravery at the fight of Copenhagen, one of the most desperate ever fought, of which, after Nelson, he was the hero; he was, moreover, not an unkind man; but the crew of the Bounty mutinied against him, and set him, half-naked, in an open boat, with certain of his men who remained faithful to him, and ran away with the ship. Their principal motive for doing so was an idea, whether true or groundless the writer cannot say, that Bligh was ‘no better than themselves’; he was certainly neither a lord’s illegitimate, nor possessed of twenty thousand pounds. The writer knows what he is writing about, having been acquainted in his early years with an individual who was turned adrift with Bligh, and who died about the year ‘22, a lieutenant in the navy, in a provincial114 town in which the writer was brought up. The ringleaders in the mutiny were two scoundrels, Christian115 and Young, who had great influence with the crew, because they were genteelly connected. Bligh, after leaving the Bounty, had considerable difficulty in managing the men who had shared his fate, because they considered themselves ‘as good men as he,’ notwithstanding that to his conduct and seamanship they had alone to look, under heaven, for salvation116 from the ghastly perils117 that surrounded them. Bligh himself, in his journal, alludes118 to this feeling. Once, when he and his companions landed on a desert island, one of them said, with a mutinous look, that he considered himself ‘as good a man as he’; Bligh, seizing a cutlass, called upon him to take another and defend himself, whereupon the man said that Bligh was going to kill him, and made all manner of concessions119. Now, why did this fellow consider himself as good a man as Bligh? Was he as good a seaman112? No, nor a tenth part as good. As brave a man? No, nor a tenth part as brave; and of these facts he was perfectly well aware, but bravery and seamanship stood for nothing with him, as they still stand with thousands of his class. Bligh was not genteel by birth or money, therefore Bligh was no better than himself. Had Bligh, before he sailed, got a twenty thousand pound prize in the lottery120, he would have experienced no insolence from this fellow, for there would have been no mutiny in the Bounty. ‘He is our betters,’ the crew would have said, ‘and it is our duty to obey him.’
The wonderful power of gentility in England is exemplified in nothing more than in what it is producing amongst Jews, gypsies, and Quakers. It is breaking up their venerable communities. All the better, someone will say. Alas! alas! It is making the wealthy Jews forsake121 the synagogue for the opera-house, or the gentility chapel122, in which a disciple123 of Mr. Platitude124, in a white surplice, preaches a sermon at noon-day from a desk, on each side of which is a flaming taper125. It is making them abandon their ancient literature, their ‘Mischna,’ their ‘Gemara,’ their ‘Zohar,’ for gentility novels, ‘The Young Duke,’ the most unexceptionably genteel book ever written, being the principal favourite. It makes the young Jew ashamed of the young Jewess; it makes her ashamed of the young Jew. The young Jew marries an opera dancer, or if the dancer will not have him, as is frequently the case, the cast-off Miss of the Honourable Spencer So-and-so. It makes the young Jewess accept the honourable offer of a cashiered lieutenant of the Bengal Native Infantry126; or if such a person does not come forward, the dishonourable offer of a cornet of a regiment127 of crack hussars. It makes poor Jews, male and female, forsake the synagogue for the sixpenny theatre or penny hop54; the Jew to take up with an Irish female of loose character, and the Jewess with a musician of the Guards, or the Tipperary servant of Captain Mulligan. With respect to the gypsies, it is making the women what they never were before — harlots; and the men what they never were before — careless fathers and husbands. It has made the daughter of Ursula the chaste128 take up with the base-drummer of a wild-beast show. It makes Gorgiko Brown, 198 the gypsy man, leave his tent and his old wife of an evening, and thrust himself into society which could well dispense129 with him. ‘Brother,’ said Mr. Petulengro the other day to the Romany Rye, after telling him many things connected with the decadence130 of gypsyism, ‘there is one Gorgiko Brown, who, with a face as black as a tea-kettle, wishes to be mistaken for a Christian tradesman; he goes into the parlour of a third-rate inn of an evening, calls for rum-and-water, and attempts to enter into conversation with the company about politics and business. The company flout131 him or give him the cold shoulder, or perhaps complain to the landlord, who comes and asks him what business he has in the parlour, telling him if he wants to drink to go into the tap-room, and perhaps collars him and kicks him out, provided he refuses to move.’ With respect to the Quakers, it makes the young people, like the young Jews, crazy after gentility diversions, worship, marriages, or connections, and makes old Pease do what it makes Gorgiko Brown do — thrust himself into society which could well dispense with him, and out of which he is not kicked, because, unlike the gypsy, he is not poor. The writer would say much more on these points, but want of room prevents him; he must therefore request the reader to have patience until he can lay before the world a pamphlet, which he has been long meditating132, to be entitled ‘Remarks on the strikingly similar Effects which a Love for Gentility has produced, and is producing, amongst Jews, Gypsies, and Quakers.’
The Priest in the book has much to say on the subject of this gentility nonsense; no person can possibly despise it more thoroughly133 than that very remarkable134 individual seems to do, yet he hails its prevalence with pleasure, knowing the benefits which will result from it to the church of which he is the sneering135 slave. ‘The English are mad after gentility,’ says he; ‘well, all the better for us. Their religion for a long time past has been a plain and simple one, and consequently by no means genteel; they’ll quit it for ours, which is the perfection of what they admire; with which Templars, Hospitalers, mitred abbots, Gothic abbeys, long-drawn aisles136, golden censers, incense137, et cetera, are connected; nothing, or next to nothing, of Christ, it is true, but weighed in the balance against gentility, where will Christianity be? why, kicking against the beam — ho! ho!’ And in connection with the gentility nonsense he expatiates138 largely, and with much contempt, on a species of literature by which the interests of his church in England have been very much advanced — all genuine priests have a thorough contempt for everything which tends to advance the interests of their church — this literature is made up of pseudo-Jacobitism, Charlie o’er the waterism, or nonsense about Charlie o’er the water. And the writer will now take the liberty of saying a few words about it on his own account.
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specimens
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| n.样品( specimen的名词复数 )；范例；（化验的）抽样；某种类型的人 | |
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generosity
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| n.大度，慷慨，慷慨的行为 | |
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propriety
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| n.正当行为；正当；适当 | |
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scourged
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| 鞭打( scourge的过去式和过去分词 )； 惩罚，压迫 | |
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miscreants
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| n.恶棍，歹徒( miscreant的名词复数 ) | |
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tune
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| n.调子；和谐，协调；v.调音，调节，调整 | |
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dealing
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| n.经商方法，待人态度 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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pretensions
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| 自称( pretension的名词复数 )； 自命不凡； 要求； 权力 | |
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shunned
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| v.避开，回避，避免( shun的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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hooted
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| （使）作汽笛声响，作汽车喇叭声( hoot的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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hack
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| n.劈，砍，出租马车；v.劈，砍，干咳 | |
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pawn
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| n.典当，抵押，小人物，走卒；v.典当，抵押 | |
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entrusted
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| v.委托，托付( entrust的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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lodgings
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| n. 出租的房舍, 寄宿舍 | |
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discourse
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| n.论文，演说；谈话；话语；vi.讲述，著述 | |
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fiddle
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| n.小提琴；vi.拉提琴；不停拨弄，乱动 | |
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landlady
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| n.女房东，女地主 | |
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vice
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| n.坏事；恶习；[pl.]台钳，老虎钳；adj.副的 | |
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indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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23
solicitude
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| n.焦虑 | |
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24
infringe
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| v.违反，触犯，侵害 | |
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25
transgress
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| vt.违反，逾越 | |
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26
akin
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| adj.同族的，类似的 | |
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27
outrage
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| n.暴行，侮辱，愤怒；vt.凌辱，激怒 | |
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28
decency
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| n.体面，得体，合宜，正派，庄重 | |
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29
profligacy
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| n.放荡，不检点，肆意挥霍 | |
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30
contemn
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| v.蔑视 | |
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31
contemns
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| v.侮辱，蔑视( contemn的第三人称单数 ) | |
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32
contemptible
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| adj.可鄙的，可轻视的，卑劣的 | |
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33
scoffs
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| 嘲笑，嘲弄( scoff的第三人称单数 ) | |
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34
tattered
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| adj.破旧的，衣衫破的 | |
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35
accomplishment
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| n.完成，成就，（pl.）造诣，技能 | |
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36
brink
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| n.(悬崖、河流等的)边缘，边沿 | |
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37
bonnet
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| n.无边女帽；童帽 | |
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38
positively
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| adv.明确地，断然，坚决地；实在，确实 | |
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39
lucrative
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| adj.赚钱的，可获利的 | |
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40
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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41
minced
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| v.切碎( mince的过去式和过去分词 )；剁碎；绞碎；用绞肉机绞（食物，尤指肉） | |
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42
placidly
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| adv.平稳地，平静地 | |
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43
poignantly
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44
pony
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| adj.小型的；n.小马 | |
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45
justify
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| vt.证明…正当(或有理)，为…辩护 | |
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46
motive
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| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
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47
unreasonable
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| adj.不讲道理的，不合情理的，过度的 | |
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48
apparatus
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| n.装置，器械；器具，设备 | |
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49
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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50
rudiments
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| n.基础知识，入门 | |
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51
apprenticeship
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| n.学徒身份；学徒期 | |
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52
plying
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| v.使用（工具）( ply的现在分词 )；经常供应（食物、饮料）；固定往来；经营生意 | |
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53
bishop
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| n.主教，（国际象棋）象 | |
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54
hop
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| n.单脚跳，跳跃；vi.单脚跳，跳跃；着手做某事；vt.跳跃，跃过 | |
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55
harp
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| n.竖琴；天琴座 | |
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56
mingling
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| adj.混合的 | |
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57
talismans
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| n.护身符( talisman的名词复数 )；驱邪物；有不可思议的力量之物；法宝 | |
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58
harping
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| n.反复述说 | |
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59
honourable
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| adj.可敬的；荣誉的，光荣的 | |
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60
authorize
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| v.授权，委任；批准，认可 | |
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61
tongs
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| n.钳；夹子 | |
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62
monarch
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| n.帝王，君主，最高统治者 | |
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63
dignified
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| a.可敬的，高贵的 | |
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64
vile
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| adj.卑鄙的，可耻的，邪恶的；坏透的 | |
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65
adoration
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| n.爱慕，崇拜 | |
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66
infamous
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| adj.声名狼藉的，臭名昭著的，邪恶的 | |
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67
zest
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| n.乐趣；滋味，风味；兴趣 | |
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68
superciliousness
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| n.高傲，傲慢 | |
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69
knave
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| n.流氓；（纸牌中的）杰克 | |
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70
alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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71
adorn
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| vt.使美化，装饰 | |
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72
adorns
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| 装饰，佩带( adorn的第三人称单数 ) | |
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73
ornaments
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| n.装饰( ornament的名词复数 )；点缀；装饰品；首饰v.装饰，点缀，美化( ornament的第三人称单数 ) | |
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74
profligate
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| adj.行为不检的；n.放荡的人，浪子，肆意挥霍者 | |
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75
infamy
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| n.声名狼藉，出丑，恶行 | |
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76
virtue
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| n.德行，美德；贞操；优点；功效，效力 | |
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77
virtues
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| 美德( virtue的名词复数 )； 德行； 优点； 长处 | |
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78
aristocrat
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| n.贵族，有贵族气派的人，上层人物 | |
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79
knavish
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| adj.无赖（似）的，不正的；刁诈 | |
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80
affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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81
mania
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| n.疯狂；躁狂症，狂热，癖好 | |
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82
approbation
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| n.称赞；认可 | |
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83
fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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84
grovelling
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| adj.卑下的，奴颜婢膝的v.卑躬屈节，奴颜婢膝( grovel的现在分词 )；趴 | |
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85
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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86
edifying
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| adj.有教训意味的，教训性的，有益的v.开导，启发( edify的现在分词 ) | |
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87
lieutenant
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| n.陆军中尉，海军上尉；代理官员，副职官员 | |
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88
abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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89
authoritative
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| adj.有权威的，可相信的；命令式的；官方的 | |
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90
triumphant
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| adj.胜利的，成功的；狂欢的，喜悦的 | |
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91
justification
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| n.正当的理由；辩解的理由 | |
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92
foppish
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| adj.矫饰的，浮华的 | |
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93
distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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94
cowardice
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| n.胆小，怯懦 | |
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95
countenanced
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| v.支持，赞同，批准( countenance的过去式 ) | |
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96
scouted
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| 寻找，侦察( scout的过去式和过去分词 )； 物色（优秀运动员、演员、音乐家等） | |
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97
poignancy
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| n.辛酸事，尖锐 | |
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98
tarnished
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| （通常指金属）（使）失去光泽，（使）变灰暗( tarnish的过去式和过去分词 )； 玷污，败坏 | |
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99
providence
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| n.深谋远虑，天道，天意；远见；节约；上帝 | |
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100
scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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101
doom
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| n.厄运，劫数；v.注定，命定 | |
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102
remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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103
ascendancy
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| n.统治权，支配力量 | |
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104
naval
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| adj.海军的，军舰的，船的 | |
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105
insolence
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| n.傲慢；无礼；厚颜；傲慢的态度 | |
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106
tyrants
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| 专制统治者( tyrant的名词复数 )； 暴君似的人； （古希腊的）僭主； 严酷的事物 | |
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107
mutinous
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| adj.叛变的，反抗的；adv.反抗地，叛变地；n.反抗，叛变 | |
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108
obnoxious
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| adj.极恼人的，讨人厌的，可憎的 | |
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109
skilful
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| (=skillful)adj.灵巧的，熟练的 | |
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110
bounty
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| n.慷慨的赠予物，奖金；慷慨，大方；施与 | |
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111
seamen
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| n.海员 | |
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112
seaman
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| n.海员，水手，水兵 | |
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113
steering
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| n.操舵装置 | |
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114
provincial
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| adj.省的，地方的；n．外省人，乡下人 | |
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115
Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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116
salvation
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| n.（尤指基督）救世，超度，拯救，解困 | |
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117
perils
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| 极大危险( peril的名词复数 )； 危险的事（或环境） | |
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118
alludes
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| 提及，暗指( allude的第三人称单数 ) | |
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119
concessions
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| n.（尤指由政府或雇主给予的）特许权( concession的名词复数 )；承认；减价；（在某地的）特许经营权 | |
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120
lottery
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| n.抽彩；碰运气的事，难于算计的事 | |
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121
forsake
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| vt.遗弃，抛弃；舍弃，放弃 | |
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122
chapel
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| n.小教堂，殡仪馆 | |
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123
disciple
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| n.信徒，门徒，追随者 | |
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124
platitude
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| n.老生常谈，陈词滥调 | |
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125
taper
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| n.小蜡烛，尖细，渐弱；adj.尖细的；v.逐渐变小 | |
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126
infantry
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| n.[总称]步兵(部队) | |
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127
regiment
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| n.团，多数，管理；v.组织，编成团，统制 | |
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128
chaste
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| adj.贞洁的；有道德的；善良的；简朴的 | |
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129
dispense
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| vt.分配，分发；配(药)，发(药)；实施 | |
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130
decadence
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| n.衰落，颓废 | |
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131
flout
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| v./n.嘲弄，愚弄，轻视 | |
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132
meditating
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| a.沉思的，冥想的 | |
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133
thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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134
remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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135
sneering
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| 嘲笑的，轻蔑的 | |
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136
aisles
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| n. (席位间的)通道, 侧廊 | |
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137
incense
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| v.激怒；n.香，焚香时的烟，香气 | |
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138
expatiates
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| v.详述，细说( expatiate的第三人称单数 ) | |
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