MAY 4.
How happy I am that I am gone! My dear friend, what a thing is the heart of man! To leave you, from whom I have been inseparable, whom I love so dearly, and yet to feel happy! I know you will forgive me. Have not other attachments2 been specially3 appointed by fate to torment4 a head like mine? Poor Leonora! and yet I was not to blame. Was it my fault, that, whilst the peculiar5 charms of her sister afforded me an agreeable entertainment, a passion for me was engendered6 in her feeble heart? And yet am I wholly blameless? Did I not encourage her emotions? Did I not feel charmed at those truly genuine expressions of nature, which, though but little mirthful in reality, so often amused us? Did I not -- but oh! what is man, that he dares so to accuse himself? My dear friend I promise you I will improve; I will no longer, as has ever been my habit, continue to ruminate7 on every petty vexation which fortune may dispense8; I will enjoy the present, and the past shall be for me the past. No doubt you are right, my best of friends, there would be far less suffering amongst mankind, if men -- and God knows why they are so fashioned -- did not employ their imaginations so assiduously in recalling the memory of past sorrow, instead of bearing their present lot with equanimity9. Be kind enough to inform my mother that I shall attend to her business to the best of my ability, and shall give her the earliest information about it. I have seen my aunt, and find that she is very far from being the disagreeable person our friends allege10 her to be. She is a lively, cheerful woman, with the best of hearts. I explained to her my mother's wrongs with regard to that part of her portion which has been withheld11 from her. She told me the motives12 and reasons of her own conduct, and the terms on which she is willing to give up the whole, and to do more than we have asked. In short, I cannot write further upon this subject at present; only assure my mother that all will go on well. And I have again observed, my dear friend, in this trifling13 affair, that misunderstandings and neglect occasion more mischief14 in the world than even malice15 and wickedness. At all events, the two latter are of less frequent occurrence.
In other respects I am very well off here. Solitude16 in this terrestrial paradise is a genial17 balm to my mind, and the young spring cheers with its bounteous18 promises my oftentimes misgiving19 heart. Every tree, every bush, is full of flowers; and one might wish himself transformed into a butterfly, to float about in this ocean of perfume, and find his whole existence in it.
The town itself is disagreeable; but then, all around, you find an inexpressible beauty of nature. This induced the late Count M to lay out a garden on one of the sloping hills which here intersect each other with the most charming variety, and form the most lovely valleys. The garden is simple; and it is easy to perceive, even upon your first entrance, that the plan was not designed by a scientific gardener, but by a man who wished to give himself up here to the enjoyment20 of his own sensitive heart. Many a tear have I already shed to the memory of its departed master in a summer-house which is now reduced to ruins, but was his favourite resort, and now is mine. I shall soon be master of the place. The gardener has become attached to me within the last few days, and he will lose nothing thereby21.
MAY 10.
A wonderful serenity22 has taken possession of my entire soul, like these sweet mornings of spring which I enjoy with my whole heart. I am alone, and feel the charm of existence in this spot, which was created for the bliss23 of souls like mine. I am so happy, my dear friend, so absorbed in the exquisite24 sense of mere25 tranquil26 existence, that I neglect my talents. I should be incapable27 of drawing a single stroke at the present moment; and yet I feel that I never was a greater artist than now. When, while the lovely valley teems28 with vapour around me, and the meridian29 sun strikes the upper surface of the impenetrable foliage30 of my trees, and but a few stray gleams steal into the inner sanctuary31, I throw myself down among the tall grass by the trickling32 stream; and, as I lie close to the earth, a thousand unknown plants are noticed by me: when I hear the buzz of the little world among the stalks, and grow familiar with the countless33 indescribable forms of the insects and flies, then I feel the presence of the Almighty34, who formed us in his own image, and the breath of that universal love which bears and sustains us, as it floats around us in an eternity35 of bliss; and then, my friend, when darkness overspreads my eyes, and heaven and earth seem to dwell in my soul and absorb its power, like the form of a beloved mistress, then I often think with longing36, Oh, would I could describe these conceptions, could impress upon paper all that is living so full and warm within me, that it might be the mirror of my soul, as my soul is the mirror of the infinite God! O my friend -- but it is too much for my strength -- I sink under the weight of the splendour of these visions!
MAY 12.
I know not whether some deceitful spirits haunt this spot, or whether it be the warm, celestial37 fancy in my own heart which makes everything around me seem like paradise. In front of the house is a fountain, -- a fountain to which I am bound by a charm like Melusina and her sisters. Descending38 a gentle slope, you come to an arch, where, some twenty steps lower down, water of the clearest crystal gushes40 from the marble rock. The narrow wall which encloses it above, the tall trees which encircle the spot, and the coolness of the place itself, -- everything imparts a pleasant but sublime41 impression. Not a day passes on which I do not spend an hour there. The young maidens42 come from the town to fetch water, -- innocent and necessary employment, and formerly44 the occupation of the daughters of kings. As I take my rest there, the idea of the old patriarchal life is awakened45 around me. I see them, our old ancestors, how they formed their friendships and contracted alliances at the fountain-side; and I feel how fountains and streams were guarded by beneficent spirits. He who is a stranger to these sensations has never really enjoyed cool repose46 at the side of a fountain after the fatigue47 of a weary summer day.
MAY 13.
You ask if you shall send me books. My dear friend, I beseech48 you, for the love of God, relieve me from such a yoke49! I need no more to be guided, agitated50, heated. My heart ferments51 sufficiently52 of itself. I want strains to lull53 me, and I find them to perfection in my Homer. Often do I strive to allay54 the burning fever of my blood; and you have never witnessed anything so unsteady, so uncertain, as my heart. But need I confess this to you, my dear friend, who have so often endured the anguish55 of witnessing my sudden transitions from sorrow to immoderate joy, and from sweet melancholy56 to violent passions? I treat my poor heart like a sick child, and gratify its every fancy. Do not mention this again: there are people who would censure57 me for it.
MAY 15.
The common people of the place know me already, and love me, particularly the children. When at first I associated with them, and inquired in a friendly tone about their various trifles, some fancied that I wished to ridicule58 them, and turned from me in exceeding ill-humour. I did not allow that circumstance to grieve me: I only felt most keenly what I have often before observed. Persons who can claim a certain rank keep themselves coldly aloof59 from the common people, as though they feared to lose their importance by the contact; whilst wanton idlers, and such as are prone60 to bad joking, affect to descend39 to their level, only to make the poor people feel their impertinence all the more keenly.
I know very well that we are not all equal, nor can be so; but it is my opinion that he who avoids the common people, in order not to lose their respect, is as much to blame as a coward who hides himself from his enemy because he fears defeat.
The other day I went to the fountain, and found a young servant-girl, who had set her pitcher61 on the lowest step, and looked around to see if one of her companions was approaching to place it on her head. I ran down, and looked at her. "Shall I help you, pretty lass?" said I. She blushed deeply. "Oh, sir!" she exclaimed. "No ceremony!" I replied. She adjusted her head-gear, and I helped her. She thanked me, and ascended62 the steps.
MAY 17.
I have made all sorts of acquaintances, but have as yet found no society. I know not what attraction I possess for the people, so many of them like me, and attach themselves to me; and then I feel sorry when the road we pursue together goes only a short distance. If you inquire what the people are like here, I must answer, "The same as everywhere." The human race is but a monotonous63 affair. Most of them labour the greater part of their time for mere subsistence; and the scanty64 portion of freedom which remains65 to them so troubles them that they use every exertion66 to get rid of it. Oh, the destiny of man!
But they are a right good sort of people. If I occasionally forget myself, and take part in the innocent pleasures which are not yet forbidden to the peasantry, and enjoy myself, for instance, with genuine freedom and sincerity67, round a well-covered table, or arrange an excursion or a dance opportunely68, and so forth69, all this produces a good effect upon my disposition70; only I must forget that there lie dormant71 within me so many other qualities which moulder72 uselessly, and which I am obliged to keep carefully concealed73. Ah! this thought affects my spirits fearfully. And yet to be misunderstood is the fate of the like of us.
Alas74, that the friend of my youth is gone! Alas, that I ever knew her! I might say to myself, "You are a dreamer to seek what is not to be found here below." But she has been mine. I have possessed75 that heart, that noble soul, in whose presence I seemed to be more than I really was, because I was all that I could be. Good heavens! did then a single power of my soul remain unexercised? In her presence could I not display, to its full extent, that mysterious feeling with which my heart embraces nature? Was not our intercourse76 a perpetual web of the finest emotions, of the keenest wit, the varieties of which, even in their very eccentricity77, bore the stamp of genius? Alas! the few years by which she was my senior brought her to the grave before me. Never can I forget her firm mind or her heavenly patience.
A few days ago I met a certain young V--, a frank, open fellow, with a most pleasing countenance78. He has just left the university, does not deem himself overwise, but believes he knows more than other people. He has worked hard, as I can perceive from many circumstances, and, in short, possesses a large stock of information. When he heard that I am drawing a good deal, and that I know Greek (two wonderful things for this part of the country), he came to see me, and displayed his whole store of learning, from Batteaux to Wood, from De Piles to Winkelmann: he assured me he had read through the first part of Sultzer's theory, and also possessed a manuscript of Heyne's work on the study of the antique. I allowed it all to pass. I have become acquainted, also, with a very worthy79 person, the district judge, a frank and open-hearted man. I am told it is a most delightful80 thing to see him in the midst of his children, of whom he has nine. His eldest81 daughter especially is highly spoken of. He has invited me to go and see him, and I intend to do so on the first opportunity. He lives at one of the royal hunting-lodges, which can be reached from here in an hour and a half by walking, and which he obtained leave to inhabit after the loss of his wife, as it is so painful to him to reside in town and at the court.
There have also come in my way a few other originals of a questionable83 sort, who are in all respects undesirable84, and most intolerable in their demonstration85 of friendship. Good-bye. This letter will please you: it is quite historical.
MAY 22.
That the life of man is but a dream, many a man has surmised86 heretofore; and I, too, am everywhere pursued by this feeling. When I consider the narrow limits within which our active and inquiring faculties87 are confined; when I see how all our energies are wasted in providing for mere necessities, which again have no further end than to prolong a wretched existence; and then that all our satisfaction concerning certain subjects of investigation88 ends in nothing better than a passive resignation, whilst we amuse ourselves painting our prison-walls with bright figures and brilliant landscapes, -- when I consider all this, Wilhelm, I am silent. I examine my own being, and find there a world, but a world rather of imagination and dim desires, than of distinctness and living power. Then everything swims before my senses, and I smile and dream while pursuing my way through the world.
All learned professors and doctors are agreed that children do not comprehend the cause of their desires; but that the grown-up should wander about this earth like children, without knowing whence they come, or whither they go, influenced as little by fixed89 motives, but guided like them by biscuits, sugar-plums, and the rod, -- this is what nobody is willing to acknowledge; and yet I think it is palpable.
I know what you will say in reply; for I am ready to admit that they are happiest, who, like children, amuse themselves with their playthings, dress and undress their dolls, and attentively90 watch the cupboard, where mamma has locked up her sweet things, and, when at last they get a delicious morsel91, eat it greedily, and exclaim, "More!" These are certainly happy beings; but others also are objects of envy, who dignify92 their paltry93 employments, and sometimes even their passions, with pompous94 titles, representing them to mankind as gigantic achievements performed for their welfare and glory. But the man who humbly95 acknowledges the vanity of all this, who observes with what pleasure the thriving citizen converts his little garden into a paradise, and how patiently even the poor man pursues his weary way under his burden, and how all wish equally to behold96 the light of the sun a little longer, -- yes, such a man is at peace, and creates his own world within himself; and he is also happy, because he is a man. And then, however limited his sphere, he still preserves in his bosom97 the sweet feeling of liberty, and knows that he can quit his prison whenever he likes.
MAY 26.
You know of old my ways of settling anywhere, of selecting a little cottage in some cosy98 spot, and of putting up in it with every inconvenience. Here, too, I have discovered such a snug99, comfortable place, which possesses peculiar charms for me.
About a league from the town is a place called Walheim. (The reader need not take the trouble to look for the place thus designated. We have found it necessary to change the names given in the original.) It is delightfully100 situated101 on the side of a hill; and, by proceeding102 along one of the footpaths103 which lead out of the village, you can have a view of the whole valley. A good old woman lives there, who keeps a small inn. She sells wine, beer, and coffee, and is cheerful and pleasant notwithstanding her age. The chief charm of this spot consists in two linden-trees, spreading their enormous branches over the little green before the church, which is entirely104 surrounded by peasants' cottages, barns, and homesteads. I have seldom seen a place so retired105 and peaceable; and there often have my table and chair brought out from the little inn, and drink my coffee there, and read my Homer. Accident brought me to the spot one fine afternoon, and I found it perfectly106 deserted107. Everybody was in the fields except a little boy about four years of age, who was sitting on the ground, and held between his knees a child about six months old: he pressed it to his bosom with both arms, which thus formed a sort of arm-chair; and, notwithstanding the liveliness which sparkled in its black eyes, it remained perfectly still. The sight charmed me. I sat down upon a plough opposite, and sketched108 with great delight this little picture of brotherly tenderness. I added the neighbouring hedge, the barn-door, and some broken cart-wheels, just as they happened to lie; and I found in about an hour that I had made a very correct and interesting drawing, without putting in the slightest thing of my own. This confirmed me in my resolution of adhering, for the future, entirely to nature. She alone is inexhaustible, and capable of forming the greatest masters. Much may be alleged110 in favour of rules, as much may be likewise advanced in favour of the laws of society: an artist formed upon them will never produce anything absolutely bad or disgusting; as a man who observes the laws, and obeys decorum, can never be an absolutely intolerable neighbour, nor a decided111 villain112: but yet, say what you will of rules, they destroy the genuine feeling of nature, as well as its true expression. Do not tell me "that this is too hard, that they only restrain and prune113 superfluous114 branches, etc." My good friend, I will illustrate115 this by an analogy. These things resemble love. A warmhearted youth becomes strongly attached to a maiden43: he spends every hour of the day in her company, wears out his health, and lavishes116 his fortune, to afford continual proof that he is wholly devoted117 to her. Then comes a man of the world, a man of place and respectability, and addresses him thus: "My good young friend, love is natural; but you must love within bounds. Divide your time: devote a portion to business, and give the hours of recreation to your mistress. Calculate your fortune; and out of the superfluity you may make her a present, only not too often, -- on her birthday, and such occasions." Pursuing this advice, he may become a useful member of society, and I should advise every prince to give him an appointment; but it is all up with his love, and with his genius if he be an artist. O my friend! why is it that the torrent118 of genius so seldom bursts forth, so seldom rolls in full-flowing stream, overwhelming your astounded119 soul? Because, on either side of this stream, cold and respectable persons have taken up their abodes120, and, forsooth, their summer-houses and tulip-beds would suffer from the torrent; wherefore they dig trenches121, and raise embankments betimes, in order to avert122 the impending123 danger.
MAY 27.
I find I have fallen into raptures124, declamation125, and similes126, and have forgotten, in consequence, to tell you what became of the children. Absorbed in my artistic127 contemplations, which I briefly128 described in my letter of yesterday, I continued sitting on the plough for two hours. Toward evening a young woman, with a basket on her arm, came running toward the children, who had not moved all that time. She exclaimed from a distance, "You are a good boy, Philip!" She gave me greeting: I returned it, rose, and approached her. I inquired if she were the mother of those pretty children. "Yes," she said; and, giving the eldest a piece of bread, she took the little one in her arms and kissed it with a mother's tenderness. "I left my child in Philip's care," she said, "whilst I went into the town with my eldest boy to buy some wheaten bread, some sugar, and an earthen pot." I saw the various articles in the basket, from which the cover had fallen. "I shall make some broth109 to-night for my little Hans (which was the name of the youngest): that wild fellow, the big one, broke my pot yesterday, whilst he was scrambling129 with Philip for what remained of the contents." I inquired for the eldest; and she bad scarcely time to tell me that he was driving a couple of geese home from the meadow, when he ran up, and handed Philip an osier-twig. I talked a little longer with the woman, and found that she was the daughter of the schoolmaster, and that her husband was gone on a journey into Switzerland for some money a relation had left him. "They wanted to cheat him," she said, "and would not answer his letters; so he is gone there himself. I hope he has met with no accident, as I have heard nothing of him since his departure." I left the woman, with regret, giving each of the children a kreutzer, with an additional one for the youngest, to buy some wheaten bread for his broth when she went to town next; and so we parted. I assure you, my dear friend, when my thoughts are all in tumult130, the sight of such a creature as this tranquillises my disturbed mind. She moves in a happy thoughtlessness within the confined circle of her existence; she supplies her wants from day to day; and, when she sees the leaves fall, they raise no other idea in her mind than that winter is approaching. Since that time I have gone out there frequently. The children have become quite familiar with me; and each gets a lump of sugar when I drink my coffee, and they share my milk and bread and butter in the evening. They always receive their kreutzer on Sundays, for the good woman has orders to give it to them when I do not go there after evening service. They are quite at home with me, tell me everything; and I am particularly amused with observing their tempers, and the simplicity131 of their behaviour, when some of the other village children are assembled with them.
It has given me a deal of trouble to satisfy the anxiety of the mother, lest (as she says) "they should inconvenience the gentleman."
MAY 30.
What I have lately said of painting is equally true with respect to poetry. It is only necessary for us to know what is really excellent, and venture to give it expression; and that is saying much in few words. To-day I have had a scene, which, if literally132 related, would, make the most beautiful idyl in the world. But why should I talk of poetry and scenes and idyls? Can we never take pleasure in nature without having recourse to art?
If you expect anything grand or magnificent from this introduction, you will be sadly mistaken. It relates merely to a peasant-lad, who has excited in me the warmest interest. As usual, I shall tell my story badly; and you, as usual, will think me extravagant133. It is Walheim once more -- always Walheim -- which produces these wonderful phenomena134.
A party had assembled outside the house under the linden-trees, to drink coffee. The company did not exactly please me; and, under one pretext135 or another, I lingered behind.
A peasant came from an adjoining house, and set to work arranging some part of the same plough which I had lately sketched. His appearance pleased me; and I spoke82 to him, inquired about his circumstances, made his acquaintance, and, as is my wont136 with persons of that class, was soon admitted into his confidence. He said he was in the service of a young widow, who set great store by him. He spoke so much of his mistress, and praised her so extravagantly137, that I could soon see he was desperately138 in love with her. "She is no longer young," he said: "and she was treated so badly by her former husband that she does not mean to marry again." From his account it was so evident what incomparable charms she possessed for him, and how ardently139 he wished she would select him to extinguish the recollection of her first husband's misconduct, that I should have to repeat his own words in order to describe the depth of the poor fellow's attachment1, truth, and devotion. It would, in fact, require the gifts of a great poet to convey the expression of his features, the harmony of his voice, and the heavenly fire of his eye. No words can portray141 the tenderness of his every movement and of every feature: no effort of mine could do justice to the scene. His alarm lest I should misconceive his position with regard to his mistress, or question the propriety142 of her conduct, touched me particularly. The charming manner with which he described her form and person, which, without possessing the graces of youth, won and attached him to her, is inexpressible, and must be left to the imagination. I have never in my life witnessed or fancied or conceived the possibility of such intense devotion, such ardent140 affections, united with so much purity. Do not blame me if I say that the recollection of this innocence143 and truth is deeply impressed upon my very soul; that this picture of fidelity144 and tenderness haunts me everywhere; and that my own heart, as though enkindled by the flame, glows and burns within me.
I mean now to try and see her as soon as I can: or perhaps, on second thoughts, I had better not; it is better I should behold her through the eyes of her lover. To my sight, perhaps, she would not appear as she now stands before me; and why should I destroy so sweet a picture?
1 attachment | |
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3 specially | |
adv.特定地;特殊地;明确地 | |
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5 peculiar | |
adj.古怪的,异常的;特殊的,特有的 | |
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6 engendered | |
v.产生(某形势或状况),造成,引起( engender的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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7 ruminate | |
v.反刍;沉思 | |
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8 dispense | |
vt.分配,分发;配(药),发(药);实施 | |
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9 equanimity | |
n.沉着,镇定 | |
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10 allege | |
vt.宣称,申述,主张,断言 | |
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withhold过去式及过去分词 | |
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13 trifling | |
adj.微不足道的;没什么价值的 | |
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14 mischief | |
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15 malice | |
n.恶意,怨恨,蓄意;[律]预谋 | |
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n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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17 genial | |
adj.亲切的,和蔼的,愉快的,脾气好的 | |
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18 bounteous | |
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19 misgiving | |
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20 enjoyment | |
n.乐趣;享有;享用 | |
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21 thereby | |
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22 serenity | |
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23 bliss | |
n.狂喜,福佑,天赐的福 | |
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27 incapable | |
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29 meridian | |
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33 countless | |
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34 almighty | |
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35 eternity | |
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36 longing | |
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37 celestial | |
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38 descending | |
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40 gushes | |
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41 sublime | |
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42 maidens | |
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44 formerly | |
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46 repose | |
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47 fatigue | |
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48 beseech | |
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49 yoke | |
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51 ferments | |
n.酵素( ferment的名词复数 );激动;骚动;动荡v.(使)发酵( ferment的第三人称单数 );(使)激动;骚动;骚扰 | |
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52 sufficiently | |
adv.足够地,充分地 | |
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53 lull | |
v.使安静,使入睡,缓和,哄骗;n.暂停,间歇 | |
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54 allay | |
v.消除,减轻(恐惧、怀疑等) | |
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55 anguish | |
n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦,烦恼 | |
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56 melancholy | |
n.忧郁,愁思;adj.令人感伤(沮丧)的,忧郁的 | |
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57 censure | |
v./n.责备;非难;责难 | |
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58 ridicule | |
v.讥讽,挖苦;n.嘲弄 | |
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59 aloof | |
adj.远离的;冷淡的,漠不关心的 | |
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60 prone | |
adj.(to)易于…的,很可能…的;俯卧的 | |
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61 pitcher | |
n.(有嘴和柄的)大水罐;(棒球)投手 | |
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62 ascended | |
v.上升,攀登( ascend的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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63 monotonous | |
adj.单调的,一成不变的,使人厌倦的 | |
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64 scanty | |
adj.缺乏的,仅有的,节省的,狭小的,不够的 | |
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65 remains | |
n.剩余物,残留物;遗体,遗迹 | |
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66 exertion | |
n.尽力,努力 | |
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67 sincerity | |
n.真诚,诚意;真实 | |
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68 opportunely | |
adv.恰好地,适时地 | |
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69 forth | |
adv.向前;向外,往外 | |
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70 disposition | |
n.性情,性格;意向,倾向;排列,部署 | |
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71 dormant | |
adj.暂停活动的;休眠的;潜伏的 | |
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72 moulder | |
v.腐朽,崩碎 | |
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73 concealed | |
a.隐藏的,隐蔽的 | |
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74 alas | |
int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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75 possessed | |
adj.疯狂的;拥有的,占有的 | |
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76 intercourse | |
n.性交;交流,交往,交际 | |
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77 eccentricity | |
n.古怪,反常,怪癖 | |
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78 countenance | |
n.脸色,面容;面部表情;vt.支持,赞同 | |
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79 worthy | |
adj.(of)值得的,配得上的;有价值的 | |
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80 delightful | |
adj.令人高兴的,使人快乐的 | |
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81 eldest | |
adj.最年长的,最年老的 | |
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82 spoke | |
n.(车轮的)辐条;轮辐;破坏某人的计划;阻挠某人的行动 v.讲,谈(speak的过去式);说;演说;从某种观点来说 | |
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83 questionable | |
adj.可疑的,有问题的 | |
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84 undesirable | |
adj.不受欢迎的,不良的,不合意的,讨厌的;n.不受欢迎的人,不良分子 | |
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85 demonstration | |
n.表明,示范,论证,示威 | |
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86 surmised | |
v.臆测,推断( surmise的过去式和过去分词 );揣测;猜想 | |
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87 faculties | |
n.能力( faculty的名词复数 );全体教职员;技巧;院 | |
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88 investigation | |
n.调查,调查研究 | |
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89 fixed | |
adj.固定的,不变的,准备好的;(计算机)固定的 | |
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90 attentively | |
adv.聚精会神地;周到地;谛;凝神 | |
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91 morsel | |
n.一口,一点点 | |
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92 dignify | |
vt.使有尊严;使崇高;给增光 | |
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93 paltry | |
adj.无价值的,微不足道的 | |
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94 pompous | |
adj.傲慢的,自大的;夸大的;豪华的 | |
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95 humbly | |
adv. 恭顺地,谦卑地 | |
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96 behold | |
v.看,注视,看到 | |
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97 bosom | |
n.胸,胸部;胸怀;内心;adj.亲密的 | |
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98 cosy | |
adj.温暖而舒适的,安逸的 | |
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99 snug | |
adj.温暖舒适的,合身的,安全的;v.使整洁干净,舒适地依靠,紧贴;n.(英)酒吧里的私房 | |
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100 delightfully | |
大喜,欣然 | |
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101 situated | |
adj.坐落在...的,处于某种境地的 | |
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102 proceeding | |
n.行动,进行,(pl.)会议录,学报 | |
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103 footpaths | |
人行小径,人行道( footpath的名词复数 ) | |
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104 entirely | |
ad.全部地,完整地;完全地,彻底地 | |
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105 retired | |
adj.隐退的,退休的,退役的 | |
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106 perfectly | |
adv.完美地,无可非议地,彻底地 | |
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107 deserted | |
adj.荒芜的,荒废的,无人的,被遗弃的 | |
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108 sketched | |
v.草拟(sketch的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
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109 broth | |
n.原(汁)汤(鱼汤、肉汤、菜汤等) | |
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110 alleged | |
a.被指控的,嫌疑的 | |
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111 decided | |
adj.决定了的,坚决的;明显的,明确的 | |
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112 villain | |
n.反派演员,反面人物;恶棍;问题的起因 | |
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113 prune | |
n.酶干;vt.修剪,砍掉,削减;vi.删除 | |
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114 superfluous | |
adj.过多的,过剩的,多余的 | |
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115 illustrate | |
v.举例说明,阐明;图解,加插图 | |
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116 lavishes | |
v.过分给予,滥施( lavish的第三人称单数 ) | |
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117 devoted | |
adj.忠诚的,忠实的,热心的,献身于...的 | |
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118 torrent | |
n.激流,洪流;爆发,(话语等的)连发 | |
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119 astounded | |
v.使震惊(astound的过去式和过去分词);愕然;愕;惊讶 | |
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120 abodes | |
住所( abode的名词复数 ); 公寓; (在某地的)暂住; 逗留 | |
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121 trenches | |
深沟,地沟( trench的名词复数 ); 战壕 | |
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122 avert | |
v.防止,避免;转移(目光、注意力等) | |
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123 impending | |
a.imminent, about to come or happen | |
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124 raptures | |
极度欢喜( rapture的名词复数 ) | |
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125 declamation | |
n. 雄辩,高调 | |
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126 similes | |
(使用like或as等词语的)明喻( simile的名词复数 ) | |
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127 artistic | |
adj.艺术(家)的,美术(家)的;善于艺术创作的 | |
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128 briefly | |
adv.简单地,简短地 | |
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129 scrambling | |
v.快速爬行( scramble的现在分词 );攀登;争夺;(军事飞机)紧急起飞 | |
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130 tumult | |
n.喧哗;激动,混乱;吵闹 | |
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131 simplicity | |
n.简单,简易;朴素;直率,单纯 | |
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132 literally | |
adv.照字面意义,逐字地;确实 | |
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133 extravagant | |
adj.奢侈的;过分的;(言行等)放肆的 | |
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134 phenomena | |
n.现象 | |
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135 pretext | |
n.借口,托词 | |
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136 wont | |
adj.习惯于;v.习惯;n.习惯 | |
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137 extravagantly | |
adv.挥霍无度地 | |
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138 desperately | |
adv.极度渴望地,绝望地,孤注一掷地 | |
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139 ardently | |
adv.热心地,热烈地 | |
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140 ardent | |
adj.热情的,热烈的,强烈的,烈性的 | |
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141 portray | |
v.描写,描述;画(人物、景象等) | |
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142 propriety | |
n.正当行为;正当;适当 | |
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143 innocence | |
n.无罪;天真;无害 | |
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144 fidelity | |
n.忠诚,忠实;精确 | |
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