In you resides my single power.
Of sweet continuance here.
At the infirmary many girls of 14 years of age, and even girls of 13, up to 17 years of age, have been brought in pregnant to be confined here. The girls have acknowledged that their ruin has taken place ... in going or returning from their (agricultural) work. Girls and boys of this age go five, six, or seven miles to work, walking in droves along the roads and by-lanes. I have myself witnessed gross indecencies be-tween boys and girls of 14 to 16 years of age. I saw once a young girl insulted by some five or six boys on the roadside. Other older persons were about 20 or 30 yards off, but they took no notice. The girl was call-ing out, which caused me to stop. I have also seen boys bathing in the brooks2, and girls between 13 and 19 looking on from the bank.
—Children’s Employment Commission Report (1867)
What are we faced with in the nineteenth century? An age where woman was sacred; and where you could buy a thir-teen-year-old girl for a few pounds—a few shillings, if you wanted her for only an hour or two. Where more churches were built than in the whole previous history of the country; and where one in sixty houses in London was a brothel (the modern ratio would be nearer one in six thousand). Where the sanctity of marriage (and chastity before marriage) was proclaimed from every pulpit, in every newspaper editorial and public utterance3; and where never—or hardly ever— have so many great public figures, from the future king down, led scandalous private lives. Where the penal4 system was progressively humanized; and flagellation so rife5 that a Frenchman set out quite seriously to prove that the Marquis de Sade must have had English ancestry6. Where the female body had never been so hidden from view; and where every sculptor7 was judged by his ability to carve naked women. Where there is not a single novel, play or poem of literary distinction that ever goes beyond the sensuality of a kiss, where Dr. Bowdler (the date of whose death, 1825, reminds us that the Victorian ethos was in being long before the strict threshold of the age) was widely considered a public bene-factor; and where the output of pornography has never been exceeded. Where the excretory functions were never referred to; and where the sanitation8 remained—the flushing lavatory9 came late in the age and remained a luxury well up to 1900—so primitive10 that there can have been few houses, and few streets, where one was not constantly reminded of them. Where it was universally maintained that women do not have orgasms; and yet every prostitute was taught to simulate them. Where there was an enormous progress and liberation in every other field of human activity; and nothing but tyranny in the most personal and fundamental.
At first sight the answer seems clear—it is the business of sublimation11. The Victorians poured their libido12 into those other fields; as if some genie13 of evolution, feeling lazy, said to himself: We need some progress, so let us dam and divert this one great canal and see what happens.
While conceding a partial truth to the theory of sublima-tion, I sometimes wonder if this does not lead us into the error of supposing the Victorians were not in fact highly sexed. But they were quite as highly sexed as our own century—and, in spite of the fact that we have sex thrown at us night and day (as the Victorians had religion), far more preoccupied14 with it than we really are. They were certainly preoccupied by love, and devoted15 far more of their arts to it than we do ours. Nor can Malthus and the lack of birth-control appliances* quite account for the fact that they bred like rabbits and worshiped fertility far more ardently16 than we do. Nor does our century fall behind in the matter of prog-ress and liberalization; and yet we can hardly maintain that that is because we have so much sublimated17 energy to spare. I have seen the Naughty Nineties represented as a reaction to many decades of abstinence; I believe it was merely the publication of what had hitherto been private, and I suspect we are in reality dealing19 with a human constant: the differ-ence is a vocabulary, a degree of metaphor20.
[* The first sheaths (of sausage skin) were on sale in the late eigh-teenth century. Malthus, of all people, condemned21 birth-control tech-niques as “improper,” but agitation22 for their use began in the 1820s. The first approach to a modern “sex manual” was Dr. George Drys-dale’s somewhat obliquely23 entitled The Elements of Social Science; or Physical, Sexual and Natural Religion, An Exposition of the true Cause and only Cure of the Three Primary Evils: Poverty, Prostitution and Celibacy24. It appeared in 1854, and was widely read and translated. Here is Drysdale’s practical advice, with its telltale final parenthesis25: “Impregnation is avoided either by the withdrawal26 of the penis im-mediately before ejaculation takes place (which is very frequently practiced by married and unmarried men); by the use of the sheath (which is also very frequent, but more so on the Continent than in this country); by the introduction of a piece of sponge into the va-gina . . . ; or by the injection of tepid27 water into the vagina im-mediately after coition.
“The first of these modes is physically28 injurious, and is apt to produce nervous disorder29 and sexual enfeeblement and congestion30 . . . The second, namely the sheath, dulls the enjoyment31, and frequently pro-duces impotence in the man and disgust in both parties, so that it also is injurious.
“These objections do not, I believe, apply to the third, namely, the introduction of a sponge or some other substance to guard the mouth of the womb. This could easily be done by the woman, and would scarcely, it appears to me, interfere32 at all in the sexual pleasures, nor have any prejudicial effect on the health of either party. (Any pre-ventive means, to be satisfactory, must be used by the woman, as it spoils the passion and impulsiveness33 of the venereal act, if the man has to think of them.)”]
The Victorians chose to be serious about something we treat rather lightly, and the way they expressed their serious-ness was not to talk openly about sex, just as part of our way is the very reverse. But these “ways” of being serious are mere18 conventions. The fact behind them remains34 constant.
I think, too, there is another common error: of equating35 a high degree of sexual ignorance with a low degree of sexual pleasure. I have no doubt that when Charles’s and Sarah’s lips touched, very little amatory skill was shown on either side; but I would not deduce any lack of sexual excitement from that. In any case, a much more interesting ratio is between the desire and the ability to fulfill36 it. Here again we may believe we come off much better than our great-grandparents. But the desire is conditioned by the frequency it is evoked37: our world spends a vast amount of its time inviting38 us to copulate, while our reality is as busy in frustrat-ing us. We are not so frustrated39 as the Victorians? Perhaps. But if you can only enjoy one apple a day, there’s a great deal to be said against living in an orchard40 of the wretched things; you might even find apples sweeter if you were allowed only one a week.
So it seems very far from sure that the Victorians did not experience a much keener, because less frequent, sexual plea-sure than we do; and that they were not dimly aware of this, and so chose a convention of suppression, repression41 and silence to maintain the keenness of the pleasure. In a way, by transferring to the public imagination what they left to the private, we are the more Victorian—in the derogatory sense of the word—century, since we have, in destroying so much of the mystery, the difficulty, the aura of the forbidden, de-stroyed also a great deal of the pleasure. Of course we cannot measure comparative degrees of pleasure; but it may be luckier for us than for the Victorians that we cannot. And in addition their method gave them a bonus of surplus energy. That secrecy42, that gap between the sexes which so troubled Charles when Sarah tried to diminish it, certainly produced a greater force, and very often a greater frankness, in every other field.
All of which appears to have led us a long way from Mary, though I recall now that she was very fond of apples. But what she was not was an innocent country virgin43, for the very simple reason that the two adjectives were incompatible44 in her century. The causes are not hard to find.
The vast majority of witnesses and reporters, in every age, belong to the educated class; and this has produced, through-out history, a kind of minority distortion of reality. The prudish45 puritanity we lend to the Victorians, and rather lazily apply to all classes of Victorian society, is in fact a middle-class view of the middle-class ethos. Dickens’s working-class characters are all very funny (or very pathetic) and an incomparable range of grotesques47, but for the cold reality we need to go elsewhere—to Mayhew, the great Commission Reports and the rest; and nowhere more than in this sexual aspect of their lives, which Dickens (who lacked a certain authenticity48 in his own) and his compeers so totally bowdler-ized. The hard—I would rather call it soft, but no matter— fact of Victorian rural England was that what a simpler age called “tasting before you buy” (premarital intercourse49, in our current jargon) was the rule, not the exception. Listen to this evidence, from a lady still living. She was born in 1883. Her father was Thomas Hardy’s doctor.
The life of the farm laborer50 was very different in the Nine-teenth Century to what it is now. For instance, among the Dorset peasants, conception before marriage was perfectly52 normal, and the marriage did not take place until the pregnancy53 was obvi-ous . . . The reason was the low wages paid to the workers, and the need to ensure extra hands in the family to earn.*
[* An additional economic reason was the diabolical54 system of pay-ing all unmarried men—even though they did a man’s work in every other way—half the married man’s rate. This splendid method of ensuring the labor51 force—at the cost cited below—disappeared only with the general use of farm machinery55. It might be added that Dorset, the scene of the Tolpuddle Martyrdom, was notoriously the most dis-gracefully exploited rural area in England.
Here is the Reverend James Fraser, writing in this same year of 1867: “Modesty must be an unknown virtue56, decency57 an unimaginable thing, where, in one small chamber58, with the beds lying as thickly as they can be packed, father, mother, young men, lads, grown and grow-ing girls—two and sometimes three generations—are herded59 promis-cuously; where every operation of the toilette and of nature, dressings60, undressings, births, deaths—is performed by each within the sight and hearing of all—where the whole atmosphere is sensual and human nature is degraded into something below the level of the swine . . . Cases of incest are anything but uncommon61. We complain of the ante-nuptial unchastity of our women, of the loose talk and conduct of the girls who work in the fields, of the light way in which maidens62 part with their honor, and how seldom either a parent’s or a brother’s blood boils with shame—here, in cottage herding63, is the sufficient account and history of it all .. .”
And behind all this loomed64 even grimmer figures, common to every ghetto65 since time began; scrofula, cholera66, endemic typhoid and tuber-culosis.]
I have now come under the shadow, the very relevant shadow, of the great novelist who towers over this part of England of which I write. When we remember that Hardy was the first to try to break the Victorian middle-class seal over the supposed Pandora’s box of sex, not the least inter-esting (and certainly the most paradoxical) thing about him is his fanatical protection of the seal of his own and his immediate67 ancestors’ sex life. Of course that was, and would still remain, his inalienable right. But few literary secrets— this one was not unearthed68 until the 1950s—have remained so well kept. It, and the reality of Victorian rural England I have tried to suggest in this chapter, answer Edmund Gosse’s famous reproof69: “What has Providence70 done to Mr. Hardy that he should rise up in the arable46 land of Wessex and shake his fist at his Creator?” He might as reasonably have inquired why the Atreids should have shaken their bronze fists sky-wards at Mycenae.
This is not the place to penetrate71 far into the shadows beside Egdon Heath. What is definitely known is that in 1867 Hardy, then twenty-seven years old, returned to Dorset from his architectural studies in London and fell profoundly in love with his sixteen-year-old cousin Tryphena. They became en-gaged. Five years later, and incomprehensibly, the engage-ment was broken. Though not absolutely proven, it now seems clear that the engagement was broken by the revela-tion to Hardy of a very sinister72 skeleton in the family cupboard: Tryphena was not his cousin, but his illegitimate half-sister’s illegitimate daughter. Countless73 poems of Hardy’s hint at it: “At the wicket gate,” “She did not turn,” “Her immortality”* and many others; and that there were several recent illegitimacies on the maternal74 side in his family is proven. Hardy himself was born “five months from the al-tar.” The pious75 have sometimes maintained that he broke his engagement for class reasons—he was too much the rising young master to put up with a simple Dorset girl. It is true he did marry above himself in 1874—to the disastrously76 insensitive Lavinia Gifford. But Tryphena was an exceptional young woman; she became the headmistress of a Plymouth school at the age of twenty, having passed out fifth from her teachers’ training college in London. It is difficult not to accept that some terrible family secret was what really forced them to separate. It was a fortunate secret, of course, in one way, since never was an English genius so devoted and indebted to one muse77 and one muse only. It gives us all his greatest love elegies78. It gave us Sue Bridehead and Tess, who are pure Tryphena in spirit; and Jude the Obscure is even tacitly dedicated79 to her in Hardy’s own preface—“The scheme was laid down in 1890 ... some of the circumstances being suggested by the death of a woman ...” Tryphena, by then married to another man, had died in that year.
[* Not the greatest, but one of the most revealing poems, in this con-text, that Hardy ever wrote. Its first version may be dated to 1897. Gosse’s key question was asked in the course of a review of Jude the Obscure in January 1896.]
This tension, then—between lust80 and renunciation, undying recollection and undying repression, lyrical surrender and tragic81 duty, between the sordid82 facts and their noble use— energizes83 and explains one of the age’s greatest writers; and beyond him, structures the whole age itself. It is this I have digressed to remind you of.
So let us descend84 to our own sheep. You will guess now why Sam and Mary were on their way to the barn; and as it was not the first time they had gone there, you will perhaps understand better Mary’s tears ... and why she knew a little more about sin than one might have suspected at first sight of her nineteen-year-old face; or would have suspected, had one passed through Dorchester later that same year, from the face of a better educated though three years younger girl in the real world; who stands, inscrutable for eternity85 now, beside the pale young architect newly returned from his dreary86 five years in the capital and about to become (“Till the flame had eaten her breasts, and mouth and hair”) the perfect emblem87 of his age’s greatest mystery.
1 hardy | |
adj.勇敢的,果断的,吃苦的;耐寒的 | |
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2 brooks | |
n.小溪( brook的名词复数 ) | |
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3 utterance | |
n.用言语表达,话语,言语 | |
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4 penal | |
adj.刑罚的;刑法上的 | |
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5 rife | |
adj.(指坏事情)充斥的,流行的,普遍的 | |
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6 ancestry | |
n.祖先,家世 | |
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7 sculptor | |
n.雕刻家,雕刻家 | |
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8 sanitation | |
n.公共卫生,环境卫生,卫生设备 | |
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9 lavatory | |
n.盥洗室,厕所 | |
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10 primitive | |
adj.原始的;简单的;n.原(始)人,原始事物 | |
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11 sublimation | |
n.升华,升华物,高尚化 | |
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12 libido | |
n.本能的冲动 | |
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13 genie | |
n.妖怪,神怪 | |
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14 preoccupied | |
adj.全神贯注的,入神的;被抢先占有的;心事重重的v.占据(某人)思想,使对…全神贯注,使专心于( preoccupy的过去式) | |
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15 devoted | |
adj.忠诚的,忠实的,热心的,献身于...的 | |
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16 ardently | |
adv.热心地,热烈地 | |
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17 sublimated | |
v.(使某物质)升华( sublimate的过去式和过去分词 );使净化;纯化 | |
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18 mere | |
adj.纯粹的;仅仅,只不过 | |
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19 dealing | |
n.经商方法,待人态度 | |
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20 metaphor | |
n.隐喻,暗喻 | |
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21 condemned | |
adj. 被责难的, 被宣告有罪的 动词condemn的过去式和过去分词 | |
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22 agitation | |
n.搅动;搅拌;鼓动,煽动 | |
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23 obliquely | |
adv.斜; 倾斜; 间接; 不光明正大 | |
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24 celibacy | |
n.独身(主义) | |
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25 parenthesis | |
n.圆括号,插入语,插曲,间歇,停歇 | |
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26 withdrawal | |
n.取回,提款;撤退,撤军;收回,撤销 | |
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27 tepid | |
adj.微温的,温热的,不太热心的 | |
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28 physically | |
adj.物质上,体格上,身体上,按自然规律 | |
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29 disorder | |
n.紊乱,混乱;骚动,骚乱;疾病,失调 | |
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30 congestion | |
n.阻塞,消化不良 | |
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31 enjoyment | |
n.乐趣;享有;享用 | |
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32 interfere | |
v.(in)干涉,干预;(with)妨碍,打扰 | |
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33 impulsiveness | |
n.冲动 | |
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34 remains | |
n.剩余物,残留物;遗体,遗迹 | |
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35 equating | |
v.认为某事物(与另一事物)相等或相仿( equate的现在分词 );相当于;等于;把(一事物) 和(另一事物)等同看待 | |
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36 fulfill | |
vt.履行,实现,完成;满足,使满意 | |
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37 evoked | |
[医]诱发的 | |
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38 inviting | |
adj.诱人的,引人注目的 | |
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39 frustrated | |
adj.挫败的,失意的,泄气的v.使不成功( frustrate的过去式和过去分词 );挫败;使受挫折;令人沮丧 | |
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40 orchard | |
n.果园,果园里的全部果树,(美俚)棒球场 | |
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41 repression | |
n.镇压,抑制,抑压 | |
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42 secrecy | |
n.秘密,保密,隐蔽 | |
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43 virgin | |
n.处女,未婚女子;adj.未经使用的;未经开发的 | |
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44 incompatible | |
adj.不相容的,不协调的,不相配的 | |
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45 prudish | |
adj.装淑女样子的,装规矩的,过分规矩的;adv.过分拘谨地 | |
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46 arable | |
adj.可耕的,适合种植的 | |
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47 grotesques | |
n.衣着、打扮、五官等古怪,不协调的样子( grotesque的名词复数 ) | |
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48 authenticity | |
n.真实性 | |
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49 intercourse | |
n.性交;交流,交往,交际 | |
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50 laborer | |
n.劳动者,劳工 | |
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51 labor | |
n.劳动,努力,工作,劳工;分娩;vi.劳动,努力,苦干;vt.详细分析;麻烦 | |
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52 perfectly | |
adv.完美地,无可非议地,彻底地 | |
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53 pregnancy | |
n.怀孕,怀孕期 | |
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54 diabolical | |
adj.恶魔似的,凶暴的 | |
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55 machinery | |
n.(总称)机械,机器;机构 | |
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56 virtue | |
n.德行,美德;贞操;优点;功效,效力 | |
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57 decency | |
n.体面,得体,合宜,正派,庄重 | |
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58 chamber | |
n.房间,寝室;会议厅;议院;会所 | |
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59 herded | |
群集,纠结( herd的过去式和过去分词 ); 放牧; (使)向…移动 | |
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60 dressings | |
n.敷料剂;穿衣( dressing的名词复数 );穿戴;(拌制色拉的)调料;(保护伤口的)敷料 | |
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61 uncommon | |
adj.罕见的,非凡的,不平常的 | |
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62 maidens | |
处女( maiden的名词复数 ); 少女; 未婚女子; (板球运动)未得分的一轮投球 | |
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63 herding | |
中畜群 | |
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64 loomed | |
v.隐约出现,阴森地逼近( loom的过去式和过去分词 );隐约出现,阴森地逼近 | |
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65 ghetto | |
n.少数民族聚居区,贫民区 | |
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66 cholera | |
n.霍乱 | |
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67 immediate | |
adj.立即的;直接的,最接近的;紧靠的 | |
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68 unearthed | |
出土的(考古) | |
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69 reproof | |
n.斥责,责备 | |
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70 providence | |
n.深谋远虑,天道,天意;远见;节约;上帝 | |
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71 penetrate | |
v.透(渗)入;刺入,刺穿;洞察,了解 | |
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72 sinister | |
adj.不吉利的,凶恶的,左边的 | |
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73 countless | |
adj.无数的,多得不计其数的 | |
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74 maternal | |
adj.母亲的,母亲般的,母系的,母方的 | |
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75 pious | |
adj.虔诚的;道貌岸然的 | |
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76 disastrously | |
ad.灾难性地 | |
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77 muse | |
n.缪斯(希腊神话中的女神),创作灵感 | |
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78 elegies | |
n.哀歌,挽歌( elegy的名词复数 ) | |
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79 dedicated | |
adj.一心一意的;献身的;热诚的 | |
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80 lust | |
n.性(淫)欲;渴(欲)望;vi.对…有强烈的欲望 | |
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81 tragic | |
adj.悲剧的,悲剧性的,悲惨的 | |
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82 sordid | |
adj.肮脏的,不干净的,卑鄙的,暗淡的 | |
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83 energizes | |
v.给予…精力,能量( energize的第三人称单数 );使通电 | |
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84 descend | |
vt./vi.传下来,下来,下降 | |
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85 eternity | |
n.不朽,来世;永恒,无穷 | |
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86 dreary | |
adj.令人沮丧的,沉闷的,单调乏味的 | |
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87 emblem | |
n.象征,标志;徽章 | |
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