The name of the father was Pietro Bernardone and he was a substantial citizen of the guild2 {41}of the cloth merchants in the town of Assisi. It is hard to describe the position of such a man without some appreciation3 of the position of such a guild and even of such a town. It did not exactly correspond to anything that is meant in modern times either by a merchant or a man of business or a tradesman, or anything that exists under the conditions of capitalism4. Bernardone may have employed people but he was not an employer; that is, he did not belong to an employing class as distinct from an employed class. The person we definitely hear of his employing is his son Francis; who, one is tempted5 to guess, was about the last person that any man of business would employ if it were convenient to employ anybody else. He was rich, as a peasant may be rich by the work of his own family; but he evidently expected his own family to work in a way almost as plain as a peasant's. He was a prominent citizen, but he belonged to a social order which existed to prevent him being too prominent to be a citizen. It kept all such people on their own simple level, and no prosperity connoted that escape from drudgery7 by which in modern times the lad might have seemed to be a lord or a fine gentleman or something other than the cloth merchant's son. This is a rule that is proved even in the exception. Francis was one of those people who are popular with everybody in any case; and his guileless swagger as a Troubadour and leader of French fashions made him a sort of romantic ringleader among the young men of the town. He threw money about both in extravagance and benevolence8, in a way native to a man who never, all his life, exactly understood what money was. This moved his mother to mingled9 exultation10 and exasperation11 and she said, as any tradesman's wife might say anywhere: "He is more like a prince than our son." But one of the earliest glimpses we have of him shows him as simply selling bales of cloth from a booth in the market; which his mother may or may not have believed to be one of the habits of princes. This first glimpse of the young man in the market is symbolic12 in more ways than one. An incident occurred which is perhaps the shortest and sharpest summary that could be given of certain curious things which were a part of his character, long before it was transfigured by transcendental faith. While he was selling velvet13 and fine embroideries14 to some solid merchant of the town, a beggar came imploring15 alms; evidently in a somewhat tactless manner. It was a rude and simple society and there were no laws to punish a starving man for expressing his need for food, such as have been established in a more humanitarian16 age; and the lack of any organised police permitted such persons to pester17 the wealthy without any great danger. But there was, I believe, in many places a local custom of the guild forbidding outsiders to interrupt a fair bargain; and it is possible that some such thing put the mendicant18 more than normally in the wrong. Francis had all his life a great liking19 for people who had been put hopelessly in the wrong. On this occasion he seems to have dealt with the double interview with rather a divided mind; certainly with distraction20, possibly with irritation21. Perhaps he was all the more uneasy because of the almost fastidious standard of manners that came to him quite naturally. All are agreed that politeness flowed from him from the first, like one of the public fountains in such a sunny Italian market place. He might have written among his own poems as his own motto that verse of Mr. Belloc's poem—
'Of Courtesy, it is much less
Than courage of heart or holiness,
Yet in my walks it seems to me
That the grace of God is in Courtesy.'
Nobody ever doubted that Francis Bernardone had courage of heart, even of the most ordinary manly22 and military sort; and a time was to come when there was quite as little doubt about the holiness and the grace of God. But I think that if there was one thing about which he was punctilious23, it was punctiliousness24. If there was one thing of which so humble25 a man could be said to be proud, he was proud of good manners. Only behind his perfectly26 natural urbanity were wider and even wilder possibilities, of which we get the first flash in this trivial incident. Anyhow {44}Francis was evidently torn two ways with the botheration of two talkers, but finished his business with the merchant somehow; and when he had finished it, found the beggar was gone. Francis leapt from his booth, left all the bales of velvet and embroidery27 behind him apparently28 unprotected, and went racing29 across the market place like an arrow from the bow. Still running, he threaded the labyrinth30 of the narrow and crooked31 streets of the little town, looking for his beggar, whom he eventually discovered; and loaded that astonished mendicant with money. Then he straightened himself, so to speak, and swore before God that he would never all his life refuse help to a poor man. The sweeping32 simplicity33 of this undertaking34 is extremely characteristic. Never was any man so little afraid of his own promises. His life was one riot of rash vows35; of rash vows that turned out right.
The first biographers of Francis, naturally alive with the great religious revolution that he wrought36, equally naturally looked back to his first years chiefly for omens37 and signs of such a spiritual earthquake. But writing at a greater distance, we shall not decrease that dramatic effect, but rather increase it, if we realise that there was not at this time any external sign of anything particularly mystical about the young man. He had not anything of that early sense of his vocation38 that has belonged to some of the saints. Over and above his main ambition to {45}win fame as a French poet, he would seem to have most often thought of winning fame as a soldier. He was born kind; he was brave in the normal boyish fashion; but he drew the line both in kindness and bravery pretty well where most boys would have drawn39 it; for instance, he had the human horror of leprosy of which few normal people felt any need to be ashamed. He had the love of gay and bright apparel which was inherent in the heraldic taste of medieval times and seems altogether to have been rather a festive40 figure. If he did not paint the town red, he would probably have preferred to paint it all the colours of the rainbow, as in a medieval picture. But in this story of the young man in gay garments scampering41 after the vanishing beggar in rags there are certain notes of his natural individuality that must be assumed from first to last.
For instance, there is the spirit of swiftness. In a sense he continued running for the rest of his life, as he ran after the beggar. Because nearly all the errands he ran on were errands of mercy, there appeared in his portraiture42 a mere43 element of mildness which was true in the truest sense, but is easily misunderstood. A certain precipitancy was the very poise44 of his soul. This saint should be represented among the other saints as angels were sometimes represented in pictures of angels; with flying feet or even with feathers; in the spirit of the text that makes {46}angels winds and messengers a flaming fire. It is a curiosity of language that courage actually means running; and some of our sceptics will no doubt demonstrate that courage really means running away. But his courage was running, in the sense of rushing. With all his gentleness, there was originally something of impatience45 in his impetuosity. The psychological truth about it illustrates46 very well the modern muddle47 about the word "practical." If we mean by what is practical what is most immediately practicable, we mean merely what is easiest. In that sense St. Francis was very unpractical, and his ultimate aims were very unworldly. But if we mean by practicality a preference for prompt effort and energy over doubt or delay, he was very practical indeed. Some might call him a madman, but he was the very reverse of a dreamer. Nobody would be likely to call him a man of business; but he was very emphatically a man of action. In some of his early experiments he was rather too much of a man of action; he acted too soon and was too practical to be prudent48. But at every turn of his extraordinary career we shall find him flinging himself round corners in the most unexpected fashion, as when he flew through the crooked streets after the beggar.
Another element implied in the story, which was already partially49 a natural instinct, before it became a supernatural ideal, was something that had never perhaps been wholly lost in those little republics of medieval Italy. It was something very puzzling to some people; something clearer as a rule to Southerners than to Northerners, and I think to Catholics than to Protestants; the quite natural assumption of the equality of men. It has nothing necessarily to do with the Franciscan love for men; on the contrary one of its merely practical tests is the equality of the duel50. Perhaps a gentleman will never be fully51 an egalitarian until he can really quarrel with his servant. But it was an antecedent condition of the Franciscan brotherhood52; and we feel it in this early and secular53 incident. Francis, I fancy, felt a real doubt about which he must attend to, the beggar or the merchant; and having attended to the merchant, he turned to attend to the beggar; he thought of them as two men. This is a thing much more difficult to describe, in a society from which it is absent, but it was the original basis of the whole business; it was why the popular movement arose in that sort of place and that sort of man. His imaginative magnanimity afterwards rose like a tower to starry54 heights that might well seem dizzy and even crazy; but it was founded on this high table-land of human equality.
I have taken this the first among a hundred tales of the youth of St. Francis, and dwelt on its significance a little, because until we have learned to look for the significance there will often seem to be little but a sort of light sentiment in telling the story. St. Francis is not a proper person to be patronised with merely "pretty" stories. There are any number of them; but they are too often used so as to be a sort of sentimental55 sediment56 of the medieval world, instead of being, as the saint emphatically is, a challenge to the modern world. We must take his real human development somewhat more seriously; and the next story in which we get a real glimpse of it is in a very different setting. But in exactly the same way it opens, as if by accident, certain abysses of the mind and perhaps of the unconscious mind. Francis still looks more or less like an ordinary young man; and it is only when we look at him as an ordinary young man, that we realise what an extraordinary young man he must be.
War had broken out between Assisi and Perugia. It is now fashionable to say in a satirical spirit that such wars did not so much break out as go on indefinitely between the city-states of medieval Italy. It will be enough to say here that if one of these medieval wars had really gone on without stopping for a century, it might possibly have come within a remote distance of killing57 as many people as we kill in a year, in one of our great modern scientific wars between our great modern industrial empires. But the citizens of the medieval republic were certainly under the limitation of only being asked to die for the things with which they had always lived, the houses they inhabited, the shrines58 they venerated59 and the rulers and representatives they knew; and had not the larger vision calling them to die for the latest rumours60 about remote colonies as reported in anonymous61 newspapers. And if we infer from our own experience that war paralysed civilisation62, we must at least admit that these warring towns turned out a number of paralytics who go by the names of Dante and Michael Angelo, Ariosto and Titian, Leonardo and Columbus, not to mention Catherine of Siena and the subject of this story. While we lament63 all this local patriotism64 as a hubbub65 of the Dark Ages, it must seem a rather curious fact that about three quarters of the greatest men who ever lived came out of these little towns and were often engaged in these little wars. It remains66 to be seen what will ultimately come out of our large towns; but there has been no sign of anything of this sort since they became large; and I have sometimes been haunted by a fancy of my youth, that these things will not come till there is a city wall round Clapham and the tocsin is rung at night to arm the citizens of Wimbledon.
Anyhow, the tocsin was rung in Assisi and the citizens armed, and among them Francis the son of the cloth merchant. He went out to fight with some company of lancers and in some fight or foray or other he and his little band were taken prisoners. To me it seems most probable that there had been some tale of treason or cowardice67 about the disaster; for we are told that there was one of the captives with whom his fellow-prisoners flatly refused to associate even in prison; and when this happens in such circumstances, it is generally because the military blame for the surrender is thrown on some individual. Anyhow, somebody noted6 a small but curious thing, though it might seem rather negative than positive. Francis, we are told, moved among his captive companions with all his characteristic courtesy and even conviviality68, "liberal and hilarious69" as somebody said of him, resolved to keep up their spirits and his own. And when he came across the mysterious outcast, traitor70 or coward or whatever he was called, he simply treated him exactly like all the rest, neither with coldness nor compassion71, but with the same unaffected gaiety and good fellowship. But if there had been present in that prison someone with a sort of second sight about the truth and trend of spiritual things, he might have known he was in the presence of something new and seemingly almost anarchic; a deep tide driving out to uncharted seas of charity. For in this sense there was really something wanting in Francis of Assisi, something to which he was {51}blind that he might see better and more beautiful things. All those limits in good fellowship and good form, all those landmarks72 of social life that divide the tolerable and the intolerable, all those social scruples73 and conventional conditions that are normal and even noble in ordinary men, all those things that hold many decent societies together, could never hold this man at all. He liked as he liked; he seems to have liked everybody, but especially those whom everybody disliked him for liking. Something very vast and universal was already present in that narrow dungeon74; and such a seer might have seen in its darkness that red halo of caritas caritatum which marks one saint among saints as well as among men. He might have heard the first whisper of that wild blessing75 that afterwards took the form of a blasphemy76; "He listens to those to whom God himself will not listen."
But though such a seer might have seen such a truth, it is exceedingly doubtful if Francis himself saw it. He had acted out of an unconscious largeness, or in the fine medieval phrase largesse77, within himself, something that might almost have been lawless if it had not been reaching out to a more divine law; but it is doubtful whether he yet knew that the law was divine. It is evident that he had not at this time any notion of abandoning the military, still less of adopting the monastic life. It is true that there is not, as pacifists and prigs imagine, the least inconsistency between loving men and fighting them, if we fight them fairly and for a good cause. But it seems to me that there was more than this involved; that the mind of the young man was really running towards a military morality in any case. About this time the first calamity78 crossed his path in the form of a malady79 which was to revisit him many times and hamper80 his headlong career. Sickness made him more serious; but one fancies it would only have made him a more serious soldier, or even more serious about soldiering. And while he was recovering, something rather larger than the little feuds81 and raids of the Italian towns opened an avenue of adventure and ambition. The crown of Sicily, a considerable centre of controversy82 at the time, was apparently claimed by a certain Gauthier de Brienne, and the Papal cause to aid which Gauthier was called in aroused enthusiasm among a number of young Assisians, including Francis, who proposed to march into Apulia on the count's behalf; perhaps his French name had something to do with it. For it must never be forgotten that though that world was in one sense a world of little things, it was a world of little things concerned about great things. There was more internationalism in the lands dotted with tiny republics than in the huge homogeneous impenetrable national divisions of to-day. The legal authority of the Assisian magistrates83 might hardly reach further than a bow-shot from their high embattled city walls. But their sympathies might be with the ride of the Normans through Sicily or the palace of the Troubadours at Toulouse; with the Emperor throned in the German forests or the great Pope dying in the exile of Salerno. Above all, it must be remembered that when the interests of an age are mainly religious they must be universal. Nothing can be more universal than the universe. And there are several things about the religious position at that particular moment which modern people not unnaturally85 fail to realise. For one thing, modern people naturally think of people so remote as ancient people, and even early people. We feel vaguely86 that these things happened in the first ages of the Church. The Church was already a good deal more than a thousand years old. That is, the Church was then rather older than France is now, a great deal older than England is now. And she looked old then; almost as old as she does now; possibly older than she does now. The Church looked like great Charlemagne with the long white beard, who had already fought a hundred wars with the heathen, and in the legend was bidden by an angel to go forth87 and fight once more though he was two hundred years old. The Church had topped her thousand years and turned the corner of the second thousand; she had come through the Dark Ages in which nothing could be done except desperate fighting against the barbarians88 and the stubborn repetition of the creed89. The creed was still being repeated after the victory or escape; but it is not unnatural84 to suppose that there was something a little monotonous90 about the repetition. The Church looked old then as now; and there were some who thought her dying then as now. In truth orthodoxy was not dead but it may have been dull; it is certain that some people began to think it dull. The Troubadours of the Provençal movement had already begun to take that turn or twist towards Oriental fancies and the paradox91 of pessimism92, which always come to Europeans as something fresh when their own sanity93 seems to be something stale. It is likely enough that after all those centuries of hopeless war without and ruthless asceticism94 within, the official orthodoxy seemed to be something stale. The freshness and freedom of the first Christians95 seemed then as much as now a lost and almost prehistoric97 age of gold. Rome was still more rational than anything else; the Church was really wiser but it may well have seemed wearier than the world. There was something more adventurous98 and alluring99, perhaps, about the mad metaphysics that had been blown across out of Asia. Dreams were gathering100 like dark clouds over the Midi to break in a thunder of anathema101 and civil war. {55}Only the light lay on the great plain round Rome; but the light was blank and the plain was flat; and there was no stir in the still air and the immemorial silence about the sacred town.
High in the dark house of Assisi Francesco Bernardone slept and dreamed of arms. There came to him in the darkness a vision splendid with swords, patterned after the cross in the Crusading fashion, of spears and shields and helmets hung in a high armoury, all bearing the sacred sign. When he awoke he accepted the dream as a trumpet102 bidding him to the battlefield, and rushed out to take horse and arms. He delighted in all the exercises of chivalry103; and was evidently an accomplished104 cavalier and fighting man by the tests of the tournament and the camp. He would doubtless at any time have preferred a Christian96 sort of chivalry; but it seems clear that he was also in a mood which thirsted for glory, though in him that glory would always have been identical with honour. He was not without some vision of that wreath of laurel which Cæsar has left for all the Latins. As he rode out to war the great gate in the deep wall of Assisi resounded105 with his last boast, "I shall come back a great prince."
A little way along his road his sickness rose again and threw him. It seems highly probable, in the light of his impetuous temper, that he had ridden away long before he was fit to move. And in the darkness of this second and far more desolating106 interruption, he seems to have had another dream in which a voice said to him, "You have mistaken the meaning of the vision. Return to your own town." And Francis trailed back in his sickness to Assisi, a very dismal107 and disappointed and perhaps even derided108 figure, with nothing to do but to wait for what should happen next. It was his first descent into a dark ravine that is called the valley of humiliation109, which seemed to him very rocky and desolate110, but in which he was afterwards to find many flowers.
But he was not only disappointed and humiliated111; he was also very much puzzled and bewildered. He still firmly believed that his two dreams must have meant something; and he could not imagine what they could possibly mean. It was while he was drifting, one may even say mooning, about the streets of Assisi and the fields outside the city wall, that an incident occurred to him which has not always been immediately connected with the business of the dreams, but which seems to me the obvious culmination112 of them. He was riding listlessly in some wayside place, apparently in the open country, when he saw a figure coming along the road towards him and halted; for he saw it was a leper. And he knew instantly that his courage was challenged, not as the world challenges, but as one would challenge who knew the secrets of the heart of a man. What he saw advancing was not the banner and spears of Perugia, from which it never occurred to him to shrink; not the armies that fought for the crown of Sicily, of which he had always thought as a courageous113 man thinks of mere vulgar danger. Francis Bernardone saw his fear coming up the road towards him; the fear that comes from within and not without; though it stood white and horrible in the sunlight. For once in the long rush of his life his soul must have stood still. Then he sprang from his horse, knowing nothing between stillness and swiftness, and rushed on the leper and threw his arms round him. It was the beginning of a long vocation of ministry114 among many lepers, for whom he did many services; to this man he gave what money he could and mounted and rode on. We do not know how far he rode, or with what sense of the things around him; but it is said that when he looked back, he could see no figure on the road.
点击
收听单词发音
收听单词发音 |
1
akin
|
|
| adj.同族的，类似的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
guild
|
|
| n.行会，同业公会，协会 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
appreciation
|
|
| n.评价；欣赏；感谢；领会，理解；价格上涨 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
capitalism
|
|
| n.资本主义 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
tempted
|
|
| v.怂恿（某人）干不正当的事；冒…的险（tempt的过去分词） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
noted
|
|
| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
drudgery
|
|
| n.苦工，重活，单调乏味的工作 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
benevolence
|
|
| n.慈悲，捐助 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
mingled
|
|
| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
exultation
|
|
| n.狂喜，得意 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
exasperation
|
|
| n.愤慨 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
symbolic
|
|
| adj.象征性的，符号的，象征主义的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
velvet
|
|
| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
embroideries
|
|
| 刺绣( embroidery的名词复数 )； 刺绣品； 刺绣法 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
imploring
|
|
| 恳求的，哀求的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
humanitarian
|
|
| n.人道主义者，博爱者，基督凡人论者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
pester
|
|
| v.纠缠，强求 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
mendicant
|
|
| n.乞丐；adj.行乞的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
liking
|
|
| n.爱好；嗜好；喜欢 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
distraction
|
|
| n.精神涣散，精神不集中，消遣，娱乐 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
irritation
|
|
| n.激怒，恼怒，生气 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
manly
|
|
| adj.有男子气概的；adv.男子般地，果断地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
punctilious
|
|
| adj.谨慎的，谨小慎微的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
punctiliousness
|
|
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
|
25
humble
|
|
| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
perfectly
|
|
| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
embroidery
|
|
| n.绣花，刺绣；绣制品 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
apparently
|
|
| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
racing
|
|
| n.竞赛，赛马；adj.竞赛用的，赛马用的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
labyrinth
|
|
| n.迷宫；难解的事物；迷路 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
crooked
|
|
| adj.弯曲的；不诚实的，狡猾的，不正当的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
sweeping
|
|
| adj.范围广大的，一扫无遗的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
simplicity
|
|
| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
undertaking
|
|
| n.保证，许诺，事业 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
vows
|
|
| 誓言( vow的名词复数 )； 郑重宣布，许愿 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
wrought
|
|
| v.引起；以…原料制作；运转；adj.制造的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
omens
|
|
| n.前兆，预兆( omen的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
vocation
|
|
| n.职业，行业 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
drawn
|
|
| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
festive
|
|
| adj.欢宴的，节日的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
scampering
|
|
| v.蹦蹦跳跳地跑，惊惶奔跑( scamper的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
portraiture
|
|
| n.肖像画法 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
mere
|
|
| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
poise
|
|
| vt./vi. 平衡，保持平衡；n.泰然自若，自信 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
impatience
|
|
| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
illustrates
|
|
| 给…加插图( illustrate的第三人称单数 )； 说明； 表明； （用示例、图画等）说明 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
muddle
|
|
| n.困惑，混浊状态；vt.使混乱，使糊涂，使惊呆；vi.胡乱应付，混乱 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
prudent
|
|
| adj.谨慎的，有远见的，精打细算的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
partially
|
|
| adv.部分地，从某些方面讲 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
duel
|
|
| n./v.决斗；(双方的)斗争 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
51
fully
|
|
| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
52
brotherhood
|
|
| n.兄弟般的关系，手中情谊 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
53
secular
|
|
| n.牧师，凡人；adj.世俗的，现世的，不朽的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
54
starry
|
|
| adj.星光照耀的, 闪亮的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
55
sentimental
|
|
| adj.多愁善感的，感伤的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
56
sediment
|
|
| n.沉淀，沉渣，沉积(物) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
57
killing
|
|
| n.巨额利润；突然赚大钱，发大财 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
58
shrines
|
|
| 圣地，圣坛，神圣场所( shrine的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
59
venerated
|
|
| 敬重（某人或某事物），崇敬( venerate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
60
rumours
|
|
| n.传闻( rumour的名词复数 )；风闻；谣言；谣传 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
61
anonymous
|
|
| adj.无名的；匿名的；无特色的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
62
civilisation
|
|
| n.文明，文化，开化，教化 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
63
lament
|
|
| n.悲叹，悔恨，恸哭；v.哀悼，悔恨，悲叹 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
64
patriotism
|
|
| n.爱国精神，爱国心，爱国主义 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
65
hubbub
|
|
| n.嘈杂；骚乱 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
66
remains
|
|
| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
67
cowardice
|
|
| n.胆小，怯懦 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
68
conviviality
|
|
| n.欢宴，高兴，欢乐 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
69
hilarious
|
|
| adj.充满笑声的，欢闹的；[反]depressed | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
70
traitor
|
|
| n.叛徒，卖国贼 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
71
compassion
|
|
| n.同情，怜悯 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
72
landmarks
|
|
| n.陆标( landmark的名词复数 )；目标；（标志重要阶段的）里程碑 ~ (in sth)；有历史意义的建筑物（或遗址） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
73
scruples
|
|
| n.良心上的不安( scruple的名词复数 )；顾虑，顾忌v.感到于心不安，有顾忌( scruple的第三人称单数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
74
dungeon
|
|
| n.地牢，土牢 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
75
blessing
|
|
| n.祈神赐福；祷告；祝福，祝愿 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
76
blasphemy
|
|
| n.亵渎，渎神 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
77
largesse
|
|
| n.慷慨援助，施舍 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
78
calamity
|
|
| n.灾害，祸患，不幸事件 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
79
malady
|
|
| n.病，疾病(通常做比喻) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
80
hamper
|
|
| vt.妨碍，束缚，限制；n.(有盖的)大篮子 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
81
feuds
|
|
| n.长期不和，世仇( feud的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
82
controversy
|
|
| n.争论，辩论，争吵 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
83
magistrates
|
|
| 地方法官，治安官( magistrate的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
84
unnatural
|
|
| adj.不自然的；反常的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
85
unnaturally
|
|
| adv.违反习俗地；不自然地；勉强地；不近人情地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
86
vaguely
|
|
| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
87
forth
|
|
| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
88
barbarians
|
|
| n.野蛮人( barbarian的名词复数 )；外国人；粗野的人；无教养的人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
89
creed
|
|
| n.信条；信念，纲领 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
90
monotonous
|
|
| adj.单调的，一成不变的，使人厌倦的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
91
paradox
|
|
| n.似乎矛盾却正确的说法；自相矛盾的人(物) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
92
pessimism
|
|
| n.悲观者，悲观主义者，厌世者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
93
sanity
|
|
| n.心智健全，神智正常，判断正确 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
94
asceticism
|
|
| n.禁欲主义 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
95
Christians
|
|
| n.基督教徒( Christian的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
96
Christian
|
|
| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
97
prehistoric
|
|
| adj.（有记载的）历史以前的，史前的，古老的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
98
adventurous
|
|
| adj.爱冒险的；惊心动魄的，惊险的，刺激的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
99
alluring
|
|
| adj.吸引人的，迷人的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
100
gathering
|
|
| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
101
anathema
|
|
| n.诅咒；被诅咒的人(物)，十分讨厌的人(物) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
102
trumpet
|
|
| n.喇叭，喇叭声；v.吹喇叭，吹嘘 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
103
chivalry
|
|
| n.骑士气概，侠义；（男人）对女人彬彬有礼，献殷勤 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
104
accomplished
|
|
| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
105
resounded
|
|
| v.（指声音等）回荡于某处( resound的过去式和过去分词 )；产生回响；（指某处）回荡着声音 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
106
desolating
|
|
| 毁坏( desolate的现在分词 )； 极大地破坏； 使沮丧； 使痛苦 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
107
dismal
|
|
| adj.阴沉的，凄凉的，令人忧郁的，差劲的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
108
derided
|
|
| v.取笑，嘲笑( deride的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
109
humiliation
|
|
| n.羞辱 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
110
desolate
|
|
| adj.荒凉的，荒芜的；孤独的，凄凉的；v.使荒芜，使孤寂 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
111
humiliated
|
|
| 感到羞愧的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
112
culmination
|
|
| n.顶点；最高潮 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
113
courageous
|
|
| adj.勇敢的，有胆量的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
114
ministry
|
|
| n.(政府的)部；牧师 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |