PROBABLY the man who has had the most far-reaching influence on modern drama is Henrik Ibsen. Half the dramatic world of Europe admire his work as warmly as the other half deplore2 it.
Ibsen has a strange personality. The Norwegian is not tall, on the contrary, rather short and thick-set—one might almost say stout—in build, broad-shouldered, and with a stooping gait. His head is splendid, the long white hair is a glistening3 mass of tangled4 locks. He has an unusually high forehead, and in true Norse fashion wears his plentiful5 hair brushed straight back, so that, being long, it forms a complete frame for the face. He has whiskers, which, meeting in the middle, beneath his chin, leave the chin and mouth bare. Under the upper lip one sees by the indentation the decision of the mouth,[Pg 75] and the determination of those thin lips, which through age are slightly drawn6 to one side. He has a pleasant smile when talking; but in repose7 the mouth is so firmly set that the upper lip almost disappears.
The great dramatist has lived for many years in Christiania, and it was in that town, on a cold snowy morning in 1895 I first met him. The streets were completely buried in snow; even the tram-lines, despite all the care bestowed8 upon them, were embedded9 six or seven inches below the surface of the frozen mass. It can be very cold during winter in Christiania, and frost-bite is not unknown, for the thermometer runs down many degrees below zero. That is the time to see Norway. Then everything is at its best. The sky clear, the sun shining—all Nature bright, crisp, and beautiful. Icicles many feet long hung like a sparkling fringe in the sunlight as I walked—or rather stumbled—over the snow to the Victorian Terrasse to see the celebrated10 man. Tall posts leaning from the street gutters11 to the houses reminded pedestrians12 that deep snow from the roofs might fall upon them.
The name of Dr. Henrik Ibsen was written in golden letters at the entrance to the house, with the further information that he lived on the first floor. There was nothing grand about his home, just an ordinary Norwegian flat, containing eight or ten good rooms; and yet Ibsen is a rich man. His books have been translated into every tongue, his plays performed on every stage. His work has undoubtedly13 revolutionised the drama. He started the idea of a[Pg 76] play without plot, a character-sketch14 in fact, a psychological study, and introduced the “no-ending” system. Much he left to the imagination, and the imagination of various nationalities has run in such dissimilar lines that he himself became surprised at the thoughts he was supposed to have suggested.
Brilliant as much of his work undoubtedly is, there is quite as much which is repellent and certainly has not added to the betterment of mankind. His characters are seldom happy, for they too often strive after the impossible.
The hall of his home looked bare, the maid was capless and apronless, according to Norwegian fashion, while rows of goloshes stood upon the floor. The girl ushered15 me along a passage, at the end of which was the great man’s study. He rose, warmly shook me by the hand, and finding I spoke16 German, at once became affable and communicative. He is of Teutonic descent, and in many ways has inherited German characteristics. When he left Norway in 1864—when, in fact, Norway ceased to be a happy home for him—he wandered to Berlin, Dresden, Paris, and Rome, remaining many years in the Fatherland.
“The happiest summer I ever spent in my life was at Berchtesgaden in 1880,” he exclaimed. “But to me Norway is the most lovely country in the world.”
DR. HENRIK IBSEN.
Ibsen’s writing-table, which is placed in the window so that the dramatist may look out upon the street, was strewn with letters, all the envelopes of which [Pg 77]had been neatly17 cut, for he is faddy and tidy almost to the point of old-maidism. He has no secretary, it worries him to dictate18, and consequently all communications requiring answers have to be written by the Doctor himself. His calligraphy19 is the neatest, smallest, roundest imaginable. It is representative of the man. The signature is almost like a schoolboy’s—or rather, like what a schoolboy’s is supposed to be—it is so carefully lettered; the modern schoolboy’s writing is, alas20! ruined by copying “lines” for punishment, time which could be more profitably employed learning thought-inspiring verses.
On the table beside the inkstand was a small tray. Its contents were extraordinary—some little wooden carved Swiss bears, a diminutive21 black devil, small cats, dogs, and rabbits made of copper22, one of which was playing a violin.
“What are those funny little things?” I ventured to ask.
“I never write a single line of any of my dramas unless that tray and its occupants are before me on the table. I could not write without them. It may seem strange—perhaps it is—but I cannot write without them,” he repeated. “Why I use them is my own secret.” And he laughed quietly.
Are these little toys, these fetishes, and their strange fascination23, the origin of those much-discussed dolls in The Master Builder? Who can tell? They are Ibsen’s secret.
In manner Henrik Ibsen is quiet and reserved; he speaks slowly and deliberately24, so slowly as to[Pg 78] remind one of the late Mr. Bayard, the former American Minister to the Court of St. James, when he was making a speech. Mr. Bayard appeared to pause between each word, and yet the report in the papers the following day read admirably. This slowness may with Ibsen be owing to age, for he was born in 1828 (although in manner and gait he appears at least ten years older), or it may be from shyness, for he is certainly shy. How men vary. Ibsen at seventy seemed an old man; General Diaz, the famous President of Mexico, young at the same age. The one drags his feet and totters25 along; the other walks briskly with head erect26. Ibsen was never a society man in any sense of the word, a mug of beer and a paper at the club being his idea of amusement. Indeed, in Christiania, until 1902, he could be seen any afternoon at the chief hotel employed in this way, for after his dinner at two o’clock he strolled down town past the University to spend a few hours in the fashion which pleased him.
Norwegian life is much more simple than ours. The inhabitants dine early and have supper about eight o’clock. Entertainments are hospitable27 and friendly, but not as a rule costly28, and although Ibsen is a rich man, the only hobby on which he appears to have spent much money is pictures. He loves them, and wherever he has wandered his little gallery has always gone with him.
Ibsen began to earn his own living at the age of sixteen, and for five or six years worked in an apothecary’s shop, amusing himself during the time by[Pg 79] reading curious books and writing weird29 verses. Only twenty-three copies of his first book were sold, the rest were disposed of as waste paper to buy him food. Those long years of struggle doubtless embittered30 his life, but relief came when he was made manager of the Bergen Theatre with a salary of ￡67 a year. For seven years he kept the post, and learnt the stage craft which he later utilised in his dramas.
A strange comedy and tragedy was woven into the lives of Ibsen and Bj?rnson. As young men they were great friends; then politics drove them apart; they quarrelled, and never met for years and years. Strange fate brought the children of these two great writers together, and Bj?rnson’s daughter married Ibsen’s only child. The fathers met after years of separation at the wedding of their children.
Verily a real comedy and tragedy, woven into the lives of Scandinavia’s two foremost writers of tragedy and comedy.
I spent part of two winters in Norway, wandering about on snow-shoes (ski) or in sledges31, and during various visits to Christiania tried hard to see some plays by Ibsen or Bj?rnson acted; but, strange as it may seem, plays by a certain Mr. Shakespeare were generally in the bill, or else amusing doggerel32 such as The Private Secretary.
At last, however, there came a day when Peer Gynt was put on the stage. This play has never been produced in England, and yet it is one of Ibsen’s best, at all events one of his most poetic33. The hero is supposed to represent the Norwegian character,[Pg 80] vacillating, amusing, weak, bound by superstition34, and lacking worldly balance. The author told me he himself thought it was his best work, though The Master Builder gave him individually most satisfaction.
In 1898 Ibsen declared, “My life seems to me to have slipped by like one long, long, quiet week”; adding that “all who claimed him as a teacher had been wrong—all he had done or tried to do was faithfully, closely, objectively to paint human nature as he saw it, leaving deductions35 and dogmatism to others.” He declared he had never posed as a reformer or as a philosopher; all he had attempted was to try and work out that vein36 of poetry which had been born in him. “Poetry has served me as a bath, from which I have emerged cleaner, healthier, freer.” Thus spoke of himself the man who practically revolutionised modern drama.
In the early days of the twentieth century Ibsen finished his life’s work—he relinquished37 penmanship. The celebrity38 he had attained39 failed to interest him, just as attack and criticism had failed to arouse him in earlier years. His social and symbolical40 dramas done, his work in dramatic reform ended, he folded his hands to await the epilogue of life. It is a pathetic picture. He who had done so much, aroused such enthusiasm and hatred41, himself played out—he whose works had been read in every Quarter of the globe, living in quiet obscurity, waiting for that end which comes to all.
It is a proud position to stand at the head of English dramatists; a position many critics allot42 to Arthur[Pg 81] Wing Pinero. The Continent has also paid him the compliment of echoing that verdict by translating and producing many of his plays: and if in spite of translation they survive the ordeal43 of different interpretations44 and strange surroundings, may it not be taken as proof that they soar above the ordinary drama?
About the year 1882 Mr. Pinero relinquished acting45 as a profession—like Ibsen, it was in the theatre he learnt his stage craft—and devoted46 himself to writing plays instead. Since that period he has steadily47 and surely climbed the rungs of that fickle48 ladder “Public Opinion” and planted his banner on the top.
Look at him. See the strength of the man’s mind in his face. Those great shaggy eyebrows49 and deep-set, dark, penetrating50 eyes, that round bald head, within which the brain is apparently51 too busy to allow anything outside to grow. Though still young he is bald, so bald that his head looks as if it had been shaven for the priesthood. The long thin lips and firm mouth denote strength of purpose, which, coupled with genius make the man. Under that assumed air of self-possession there is a merry mind. His feelings are well under control—part of the actor’s art—but he is human to the core. Pinero is no ordinary person, his face with its somewhat heavy jaw52 is full of thought and strength. He has a vast fund of imagination, is a keen student of human nature, and above all possesses the infinite capacity for taking pains, no details being too small for him. He and Mr. W. S. Gilbert will,[Pg 82] at rehearsals53, go over a scene again and again. They never get angry, even under the most trying circumstances; but politely and quietly show every movement, every gesture, give every intonation54 of the voice, and in an amiable55 way suggest:
“Don’t you think that so and so might be an improvement?”
They always get what they want, and no plays were ever more successful or better staged.
Mr. Pinero believes in one-part dramas, and women evidently fascinate him. Think of Mrs. Tanqueray and Mrs. Ebbsmith, for instance, both are women’s plays; in both are his best work. He is always individual; individual in his style, and individual in the working out of his characters. During the whole of one August Mr. Pinero remained in his home near Hanover Square finishing a comedy of which he superintended rehearsals in the September following. He must be alone when he works, and apparently barred windows and doors, and a charwoman and her cat, when all London is out of town, give him inspiration.
London is particularly proud of Arthur Pinero, who was born amid her bustle56 in 1855. The only son of a solicitor57 in the City, he was originally intended for the law, but when nineteen he went upon the stage, where he remained for about seven years. One can only presume, however, that he did not like it, or he would not so quickly have turned his attention to other matters. Those who remember his stage life declare he showed great promise as a[Pg 83] young actor. But be this as it may, it is a good thing he turned his back upon that branch of the profession and adopted the r?le of a dramatist, for therein he has excelled. Among his successful plays are The Magistrate58, Dandy Dick, Sweet Lavender, The Cabinet Minister, The Second Mrs. Tanqueray, The Notorious Mrs. Ebbsmith, Trelawny of the Wells, The Gay Lord Quex, and Iris59.
Among other attributes not usually known, Mr. Pinero is an excellent draughtsman, and can make a remarkable60 caricature of himself in a few moments. His is a strong and striking head which lends itself to caricature, and he is one of those people who, while poking61 fun at others, does not mind poking fun at himself.
When asked to what he attributed his success, Mr. Pinero replied:
“Such success as I have obtained I attribute to small powers of observation and great patience and perseverance62.”
His work is always up-to-date, for Mr. Pinero is modern to his finger-tips.
How delightful63 it is to see people who have worked together for years remaining staunch friends. One Sunday I was invited to a luncheon the Pineros gave at Claridge’s. The room was marked “Private” for the occasion, and there the hospitable couple received twenty guests, while beyond was a large dining-room, to which we afterwards adjourned64. That amusing actor and charming man, John Hare, with whom Pinero has been associated for many years,[Pg 84] was present; Miss Irene Vanbrugh, his Sophy Fullgarney in the Gay Lord Quex, and Letty, in the play of that name, that dainty and fascinating American actress, Miss Fay Davis, and Mr. Dion Boucicault. There they were, all these people who had worked so long together, and were still such good friends as to form a merry, happy little family party.
Gillette, the American hero of the hour, was also present, and charming indeed he proved to be; but he was an outsider, so to speak, for most of the party had acted in Pinero’s plays, and that was what seemed so wonderful; because just as a secretary sees the worst side of his employer’s character, the irritability65, the moments of anxious thought and worry, so the actor generally finds out the angles and corners of a dramatist. Only those who live in the profession can realise what such a meeting as that party at Claridge’s really meant, what a fund of good temper it proclaimed, what strength of character it represented, what forbearance on all sides it proved.
That party was representative of friendship, which, like health, is seldom valued until lost.
Photo by Langfier, 23a, Old Bond Street, London, W.
MR. ARTHUR W. PINERO.
There are as many ways of writing a play as there are of trimming a hat. Some people, probably most people, begin at the end, that is to say, they evolve some grand climax66 in their minds and work backwards67, or they get hold of the chief situations as a nucleus68, from which they work out the whole. Some writers let the play write itself, that is to say, they [Pg 85]start with some sort of idea which develops as they go on, but the most satisfactory mode appears to be for the writer to decide everything even to the minutest detail, and then sketch out each situation. In a word, he ought to know exactly what he means to do before putting pen to paper.
The plots of Mr. Pinero’s plays are all conceived and born in movement. He walks up and down the room. He strolls round Regent’s Park, or bicycles further afield, but the dramas are always evolved while his limbs are in action, mere69 exercise seeming to inspire him with ideas.
It is long before he actually settles down to write his play. He thinks and ponders, plans and arranges, makes and remakes his plots, and never puts pen to paper until he has thoroughly70 realised, not only his characters, but the very scenes amid which these characters are to move and have their being.
He knows every room in which they are to enact71 their parts, he sees in his mind’s eye every one of his personalities72, he dresses them according to his own individual taste, and so careful is he of the minutest details that he draws a little plan of the stage for each act, on which he notifies the position of every chair, and with this before him he moves his characters in his mind’s eye as the scene progresses. His play is finished before it is begun, that is to say, before a line of it is really written.
His mastery of stage craft is so great that he can definitely arrange every position for the actor, every gesture, every movement, and thus is able to give[Pg 86] those minute details of stage direction which are so well known in his printed plays.
In his early days he wrote Two Hundred a Year in an afternoon; Dandy Dick occupied him three weeks; but as time went on and he became more critical of his own work, he spent fifteen months in completing The Notorious Mrs. Ebbsmith, nine months over The Second Mrs. Tanqueray, and six months over The Gay Lord Quex, helped in the latter drama, as he said, “by the invigorating influence of his bicycle.”
He is one of the most painstaking73 men alive, and over Letty he spent two years.
“I think I have done a good day’s work if I can finish a single speech right,” he remarked, and that sums up the whole situation.
Each morning he sees his secretary from eleven to twelve, dictates74 his letters, and arranges his business; takes a walk or a ride till luncheon, after which he enjoys a pipe and a book, and in the afternoon lies down for a couple of hours’ quiet.
When he is writing a play he never dines out, but after his afternoon rest enjoys a good tea (is it a high tea?), shuts the baize doors of that delightful study overlooking Hanover Square, and works until quite late, when he partakes of a light supper.
No one dare disturb him during those precious hours, when he smokes incessantly75, walks about continually, and rarely puts a line on paper until he feels absolutely certain he has phrased that line as he wishes it to remain.
Pinero’s writing-table is as tidy as Ibsen’s; but[Pg 87] while Ibsen’s study is small and simply furnished, Pinero’s is large, contains handsome furniture, interesting books, sumptuous76 éditions de luxe, charming sketches77, portraits, caricatures, handsome carpets, and breathes an air of the owner’s luxurious78 taste.
Like his writing-table, his orthography79 is a model of neatness. When he has completed an act he carefully copies it himself in a handwriting worthy80 of any clerk, and sends it off at once to the printers. But few revisions are made in the proof, so sure is the dramatist when he has perfected his scheme.
Mr. Pinero keeps a sort of “day-book,” in which he jots81 down characters, speeches, and plots likely to prove of use in his work. It is much the same sort of day-book as that kept by Mr. Frankfort Moore, the novelist, who has the nucleus of a hundred novels ever in his waistcoat pocket.
Formerly82 men jotted83 down notes on their shirt-cuffs, from which the laundress learned the wicked ways of society. The figures now covering wristbands are merely the winnings or losings at Bridge.
The dramatist loves ease and luxury, and his plays represent such surroundings.
“Wealth and leisure,” he remarked, “are more productive of dramatic complications than poverty and hard work. My characters force me in spite of myself to lift them up in the world. The lower classes do not analyse or meditate84, do not give utterance85 either to their thoughts or their emotions, and yet it is easier to get a low life part well played than one of high society[Pg 88].”
Mr. Pinero is a delightful companion and he has the keenest sense of humour. He tells a good story in a truly dramatic way, and his greatest characteristic is his simple modesty86. He never boasts, never talks big; but is always a genial87, kindly88, English gentleman. He rarely enters a theatre; in fact, he could count on his fingers the times he has done so during the last twenty years. Life is his stage, men and women its characters, his surroundings the scenes. He does not wish a State theatre, and thinks Irving has done more for the stage than any man in any time. He has the greatest love for his old master, and considers Irving’s Hamlet the “most intelligent performance of the age.” He waxes warm on the subject of Irving’s “magnetic touch,” which influences all that great actor’s work. Pinero’s love for, and belief in, the powers of the stage for good or ill are deep-seated, and each year finds him more given to careful psychological study, the only drawback to which is the fear that in over-elaboration freshness somewhat vanishes. Ibsen always took two years over a play, and Pinero seems to be acquiring the same habit.
A Pinero first night is looked upon as a great theatrical89 event, and rightly so. It was on a wet October evening (1903) that the long-anticipated Letty saw the light.
Opposite is the programme.
[Pg 89]
Duke of York’s Theatre,
ST. MARTIN’S LANE, W.C.
Proprietors90 Mr. & Mrs. Frank Wyatt.
Sole Lessee91 and Manager CHARLES FROHMAN.
EVERY EVENING at a Quarter to Eight
CHARLES FROHMAN
Presents
A Drama, in Four Acts and an Epilogue, entitled
letty
By ARTHUR W. PINERO.
Nevill Letchmere Mr. H. B. Irving
Ivor Crosbie Mr. Ivo Dawson
Coppinger Drake Mr. Dorrington Grimston
Bernard Mandeville Mr. Fred Kerr
Richard Perry Mr. Dion Boucicault
Neale (A Commercial Traveller)Mr. Charles Troode
Ordish (Agent for an Insurance Company)Mr. Jerrold Robertshaw
Rugg (Mr. Letchmere’s Servant) Mr. Clayton Greene
Frédéric (A Ma?tre d’H?tel) M. Edouard Garceau
Waiters Mr. W. H. Haigh & Mr. Walter Hack92
Mrs. Ivor Crosbie Miss Sarah Brooke
Letty Shell } Clerks at { Miss Irene Vanbrugh
Marion Allardyce Dugdale’s Miss Beatrice Forbes Robertson
Hilda Gunning { An Assistant at Madame } Miss Nancy Price
Watkins’s
A Lady’s-maid Miss May Onslow
The Scene is laid in London:—the First and Fourth Acts at Mr. Letchmere’s Flat in Grafton Street, New Bond Street; the Second at a house in Langham Street; the Third in a private room at the Café Régence; and the Epilogue at a photographer’s in Baker93 Street. The events of the four acts of the drama, commencing on a Saturday in June, take place within the space of a few hours. Between the Fourth Act and the Epilogue two years and six months are supposed to elapse.
THE PLAY PRODUCED UNDER THE PERSONAL DIRECTION OF THE AUTHOR.
The Scenery Painted by Mr. W. Hann.
FIRST MATINéE SATURDAY, OCTOBER 17th, at 2.
General Manager (for Charles Frohman) W. LESTOCQ.
[Pg 90]
For once the famous dramatist descended94 from dukes and duchesses to a typewriter girl and a Bond Street swell95. For once he left those high-class folk he finds so full of interest, moods, whims96, ideas, self-analysis, and the rest of it, and cajoled a lower stratum97 of life to his pen.
Almost the first actor to appear was H. B. Irving—what a reception he received, and, brilliant cynic-actor though he be, his nervousness overpowered him to the point of ashen98 paleness and unrestrained twitching99 of the fingers. His methods, his tact100, his cynicism were wonderful, and as Nevill Letchmere his resemblance to his father was remarkable.
What strikes one most in a Pinero play is the harmony of the whole. Every character is a living being. One remembers them all. The limelight is turned on each in turn, and not as at so many theatres on the actor-manager only. The play is a complete picture—not a frame with the actor-manager as the dominant101 person. He is so often the only figure on the canvas, his colleagues mere side-show puppets, that it is a real joy to see a play in England where every one is given a chance. Mr. Pinero does that. He not only creates living breathing studies of humanity, but he sees that they are played in a lifelike way. What is the result? A perfect whole. A fine piece of mosaic102 work well fitted together. We may not altogether care for the design or the colour, but we all admire its aims, its completeness, and feel the touch of genius that permeates103 the whole.
[Pg 91]
No more discriminating104 audience than that at the first night of Letty could possibly have been brought together. Every critic of worth was there. William Archer105 sat in the stalls immediately behind me, W. L. Courtney and Malcolm Watson beyond, J. Knight106, A. B. Walkley, and A. E. T. Watson near by. Actors and actresses, artists, writers, men and women of note in every walk of life were there, and the enthusiasm was intense. Mr. Pinero was not in the house, no call of “author” brought him before the footlights, but his handsome wife—a prey107 to nervousness—was hidden behind the curtains in the stage box.
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luncheon
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deplore
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glistening
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tangled
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plentiful
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drawn
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repose
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bestowed
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embedded
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celebrated
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gutters
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pedestrians
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undoubtedly
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sketch
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ushered
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spoke
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neatly
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dictate
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calligraphy
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alas
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diminutive
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copper
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fascination
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deliberately
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erect
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hospitable
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costly
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weird
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embittered
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| v.使怨恨，激怒( embitter的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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31
sledges
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| n.雪橇，雪车( sledge的名词复数 )v.乘雪橇( sledge的第三人称单数 )；用雪橇运载 | |
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32
doggerel
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| n.拙劣的诗，打油诗 | |
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33
poetic
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| adj.富有诗意的，有诗人气质的，善于抒情的 | |
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34
superstition
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| n.迷信，迷信行为 | |
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35
deductions
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| 扣除( deduction的名词复数 )； 结论； 扣除的量； 推演 | |
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36
vein
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| n.血管，静脉；叶脉，纹理；情绪；vt.使成脉络 | |
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37
relinquished
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| 交出，让给( relinquish的过去式和过去分词 )； 放弃 | |
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38
celebrity
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| n.名人，名流；著名，名声，名望 | |
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39
attained
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| （通常经过努力）实现( attain的过去式和过去分词 )； 达到； 获得； 达到（某年龄、水平、状况） | |
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40
symbolical
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| a.象征性的 | |
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41
hatred
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| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
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42
allot
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| v.分配；拨给；n.部分；小块菜地 | |
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43
ordeal
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| n.苦难经历，（尤指对品格、耐力的）严峻考验 | |
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44
interpretations
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| n.解释( interpretation的名词复数 )；表演；演绎；理解 | |
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acting
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| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
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46
devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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48
fickle
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| adj.(爱情或友谊上)易变的，不坚定的 | |
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49
eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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50
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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51
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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52
jaw
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| n.颚，颌，说教，流言蜚语；v.喋喋不休，教训 | |
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53
rehearsals
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| n.练习( rehearsal的名词复数 )；排练；复述；重复 | |
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54
intonation
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| n.语调，声调；发声 | |
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amiable
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| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
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56
bustle
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| v.喧扰地忙乱，匆忙，奔忙；n.忙碌；喧闹 | |
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57
solicitor
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| n.初级律师，事务律师 | |
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58
magistrate
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| n.地方行政官，地方法官，治安官 | |
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59
iris
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| n.虹膜，彩虹 | |
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remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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61
poking
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| n. 刺，戳，袋 vt. 拨开，刺，戳 vi. 戳，刺，捅，搜索，伸出，行动散慢 | |
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62
perseverance
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| n.坚持不懈，不屈不挠 | |
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delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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adjourned
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| （使）休会， （使）休庭( adjourn的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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irritability
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| n.易怒 | |
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66
climax
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| n.顶点；高潮；v.(使)达到顶点 | |
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backwards
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| adv.往回地，向原处，倒，相反，前后倒置地 | |
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nucleus
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| n.核，核心，原子核 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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71
enact
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| vt.制定(法律)；上演，扮演 | |
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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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painstaking
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| adj.苦干的；艰苦的，费力的，刻苦的 | |
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74
dictates
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| n.命令，规定，要求( dictate的名词复数 )v.大声讲或读( dictate的第三人称单数 )；口授；支配；摆布 | |
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75
incessantly
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| ad.不停地 | |
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76
sumptuous
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| adj.豪华的，奢侈的，华丽的 | |
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77
sketches
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| n.草图( sketch的名词复数 )；素描；速写；梗概 | |
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78
luxurious
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| adj.精美而昂贵的；豪华的 | |
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79
orthography
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| n.拼字法，拼字式 | |
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80
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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81
jots
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| v.匆忙记下( jot的第三人称单数 )；草草记下，匆匆记下 | |
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82
formerly
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| adv.从前，以前 | |
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83
jotted
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| v.匆忙记下( jot的过去式和过去分词 )；草草记下，匆匆记下 | |
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84
meditate
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| v.想，考虑，（尤指宗教上的）沉思，冥想 | |
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85
utterance
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| n.用言语表达，话语，言语 | |
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86
modesty
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| n.谦逊，虚心，端庄，稳重，羞怯，朴素 | |
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87
genial
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| adj.亲切的，和蔼的，愉快的，脾气好的 | |
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88
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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89
theatrical
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| adj.剧场的，演戏的；做戏似的，做作的 | |
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90
proprietors
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| n.所有人，业主( proprietor的名词复数 ) | |
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91
lessee
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| n.（房地产的）租户 | |
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92
hack
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| n.劈，砍，出租马车；v.劈，砍，干咳 | |
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93
baker
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| n.面包师 | |
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94
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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95
swell
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| vi.膨胀，肿胀；增长，增强 | |
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96
WHIMS
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| 虚妄，禅病 | |
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97
stratum
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| n.地层，社会阶层 | |
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98
ashen
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| adj.灰的 | |
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99
twitching
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| n.颤搐 | |
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100
tact
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| n.机敏，圆滑，得体 | |
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101
dominant
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| adj.支配的，统治的；占优势的；显性的；n.主因，要素，主要的人(或物)；显性基因 | |
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102
mosaic
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| n./adj.镶嵌细工的，镶嵌工艺品的，嵌花式的 | |
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103
permeates
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| 弥漫( permeate的第三人称单数 )； 遍布； 渗入； 渗透 | |
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104
discriminating
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| a.有辨别能力的 | |
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105
archer
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| n.射手，弓箭手 | |
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106
knight
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| n.骑士，武士；爵士 | |
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107
prey
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| n.被掠食者，牺牲者，掠食；v.捕食，掠夺，折磨 | |
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