Humor is of earlier growth than Wit, and it is in accordance with this earlier growth that it has more affinity20 with the poetic tendencies, while Wit is more nearly allied21 to the ratiocinative intellect. Humor draws its materials from situations and characteristics; Wit seizes on unexpected and complex relations. Humor is chiefly representative and descriptive; it is diffuse22, and flows along without any other law than its own fantastic will; or it flits about like a will-of-the-wisp, amazing us by its whimsical transitions. Wit is brief and sudden, and sharply defined as a crystal; it does not make pictures, it is not fantastic; but it detects an unsuspected analogy or suggests a startling or confounding inference. Every one who has had the opportunity of making the comparison will remember that the effect produced on him by some witticisms24 is closely akin23 to the effect produced on him by subtle reasoning which lays open a fallacy or absurdity25, and there are persons whose delight in p. 101such reasoning always manifests itself in laughter. This affinity of wit with ratiocination26 is the more obvious in proportion as the species of wit is higher and deals less with less words and with superficialities than with the essential qualities of things. Some of Johnson’s most admirable witticisms consist in the suggestion of an analogy which immediately exposes the absurdity of an action or proposition; and it is only their ingenuity27, condensation28, and instantaneousness which lift them from reasoning into Wit—they are reasoning raised to a higher power. On the other hand, Humor, in its higher forms, and in proportion as it associates itself with the sympathetic emotions, continually passes into poetry: nearly all great modern humorists may be called prose poets.
Some confusion as to the nature of Humor has been created by the fact that those who have written most eloquently29 on it have dwelt almost exclusively on its higher forms, and have defined humor in general as the sympathetic presentation of incongruous elements in human nature and life—a definition which only applies to its later development. A great deal of humor may coexist with a great deal of barbarism, as we see in the Middle Ages; but the strongest flavor of the humor in such cases will come, not from sympathy, but more probably from triumphant30 egoism or intolerance; at best it will be the love of the ludicrous exhibiting itself in illustrations of successful cunning and of the lex talionis as in Reineke Fuchs, or shaking off in a holiday mood the yoke31 of a too exacting32 faith, as in the old Mysteries. Again, it is impossible to deny a high degree of humor to many practical jokes, but no sympathetic nature can enjoy them. Strange as the genealogy33 may seem, the original parentage of that wonderful and delicious mixture of fun, fancy, philosophy, and feeling, which constitutes modern humor, was probably the cruel mockery of a savage35 at the writhings of a suffering enemy—such is the tendency of things toward the good and beautiful on this earth! Probably the reason why high culture demands more complete harmony with its moral sympathies in humor than in wit, is p. 102that humor is in its nature more prolix—that it has not the direct and irresistible36 force of wit. Wit is an electric shock, which takes us by violence, quite independently of our predominant mental disposition37; but humor approaches us more deliberately38 and leaves us masters of ourselves. Hence it is, that while coarse and cruel humor has almost disappeared from contemporary literature, coarse and cruel wit abounds39; even refined men cannot help laughing at a coarse bon mot or a lacerating personality, if the “shock” of the witticism is a powerful one; while mere40 fun will have no power over them if it jar on their moral taste. Hence, too, it is, that while wit is perennial41, humor is liable to become superannuated42.
As is usual with definitions and classifications, however, this distinction between wit and humor does not exactly represent the actual fact. Like all other species, Wit and Humor overlap43 and blend with each other. There are bon mots, like many of Charles Lamb’s, which are a sort of facetious hybrids44, we hardly know whether to call them witty or humorous; there are rather lengthy45 descriptions or narratives46, which, like Voltaire’s “Micromégas,” would be more humorous if they were not so sparkling and antithetic, so pregnant with suggestion and satire47, that we are obliged to call them witty. We rarely find wit untempered by humor, or humor without a spice of wit; and sometimes we find them both united in the highest degree in the same mind, as in Shakespeare and Molière. A happy conjunction this, for wit is apt to be cold, and thin-lipped, and Mephistophelean in men who have no relish48 for humor, whose lungs do never crow like Chanticleer at fun and drollery49; and broad-faced, rollicking humor needs the refining influence of wit. Indeed, it may be said that there is no really fine writing in which wit has not an implicit51, if not an explicit52, action. The wit may never rise to the surface, it may never flame out into a witticism; but it helps to give brightness and transparency, it warns off from flights and exaggerations which verge53 on the ridiculous—in every genre54 of writing it preserves a man from sinking into the genre ennuyeux. And it is eminently55 p. 103needed for this office in humorous writing; for as humor has no limits imposed on it by its material, no law but its own exuberance56, it is apt to become preposterous57 and wearisome unless checked by wit, which is the enemy of all monotony, of all lengthiness58, of all exaggeration.
Perhaps the nearest approach Nature has given us to a complete analysis, in which wit is as thoroughly59 exhausted60 of humor as possible, and humor as bare as possible of wit, is in the typical Frenchman and the typical German. Voltaire, the intensest example of pure wit, fails in most of his fictions from his lack of humor. “Micromégas” is a perfect tale, because, as it deals chiefly with philosophic61 ideas and does not touch the marrow62 of human feeling and life, the writer’s wit and wisdom were all-sufficient for his purpose. Not so with “Candide.” Here Voltaire had to give pictures of life as well as to convey philosophic truth and satire, and here we feel the want of humor. The sense of the ludicrous is continually defeated by disgust, and the scenes, instead of presenting us with an amusing or agreeable picture, are only the frame for a witticism. On the other hand, German humor generally shows no sense of measure, no instinctive63 tact64; it is either floundering and clumsy as the antics of a leviathan, or laborious65 and interminable as a Lapland day, in which one loses all hope that the stars and quiet will ever come. For this reason, Jean Paul, the greatest of German humorists, is unendurable to many readers, and frequently tiresome66 to all. Here, as elsewhere, the German shows the absence of that delicate perception, that sensibility to gradation, which is the essence of tact and taste, and the necessary concomitant of wit. All his subtlety67 is reserved for the region of metaphysics. For Identit?t in the abstract no one can have an acuter vision, but in the concrete he is satisfied with a very loose approximation. He has the finest nose for Empirismus in philosophical68 doctrine69, but the presence of more or less tobacco smoke in the air he breathes is imperceptible to him. To the typical German—Vetter Michel—it is indifferent whether his door-lock will catch, whether his teacup be more p. 104or less than an inch thick; whether or not his book have every other leaf unstitched; whether his neighbor’s conversation be more or less of a shout; whether he pronounce b or p, t or d; whether or not his adored one’s teeth be few and far between. He has the same sort of insensibility to gradations in time. A German comedy is like a German sentence: you see no reason in its structure why it should ever come to an end, and you accept the conclusion as an arrangement of Providence70 rather than of the author. We have heard Germans use the word Langeweile, the equivalent for ennui71, and we have secretly wondered what it can be that produces ennui in a German. Not the longest of long tragedies, for we have known him to pronounce that h?chst fesselnd (so enchaining!); not the heaviest of heavy books, for he delights in that as gründlich (deep, Sir, deep!); not the slowest of journeys in a Postwagen, for the slower the horses, the more cigars he can smoke before he reaches his journey’s end. German ennui must be something as superlative as Barclay’s treble X, which, we suppose, implies an extremely unknown quantity of stupefaction.
It is easy to see that this national deficiency in nicety of perception must have its effect on the national appreciation73 and exhibition of Humor. You find in Germany ardent74 admirers of Shakespeare, who tell you that what they think most admirable in him is his Wortspiel, his verbal quibbles; and one of these, a man of no slight culture and refinement75, once cited to a friend of ours Proteus’s joke in “The Two Gentlemen of Verona”—“Nod I? why that’s Noddy,” as a transcendant specimen76 of Shakespearian wit. German facetiousness77 is seldom comic to foreigners, and an Englishman with a swelled78 cheek might take up Kladderadatsch, the German Punch, without any danger of agitating79 his facial muscles. Indeed, it is a remarkable80 fact that, among the five great races concerned in modern civilization, the German race is the only one which, up to the present century, had contributed nothing classic to the common stock of European wit and humor; for Reineke Fuchs cannot be regarded as a peculiarly Teutonic p. 105product. Italy was the birthplace of Pantomime and the immortal81 Pulcinello; Spain had produced Cervantes; France had produced Rabelais and Molière, and classic wits innumerable; England had yielded Shakspeare and a host of humorists. But Germany had borne no great comic dramatist, no great satirist82, and she has not yet repaired the omission83; she had not even produced any humorist of a high order. Among her great writers, Lessing is the one who is the most specifically witty. We feel the implicit influence of wit—the “flavor of mind”—throughout his writings; and it is often concentrated into pungent84 satire, as every reader of the Hamburgische Dramaturgie remembers. Still Lessing’s name has not become European through his wit, and his charming comedy, Minna von Barnhelm, has won no place on a foreign stage. Of course we do not pretend to an exhaustive acquaintance with German literature; we not only admit—we are sure that it includes much comic writing of which we know nothing. We simply state the fact, that no German production of that kind, before the present century, ranked as European; a fact which does not, indeed, determine the amount of the national facetiousness, but which is quite decisive as to its quality. Whatever may be the stock of fun which Germany yields for home consumption, she has provided little for the palate of other lands. All honor to her for the still greater things she has done for us! She has fought the hardest fight for freedom of thought, has produced the grandest inventions, has made magnificent contributions to science, has given us some of the divinest poetry, and quite the divinest music in the world. No one reveres86 and treasures the products of the German mind more than we do. To say that that mind is not fertile in wit is only like saying that excellent wheat land is not rich pasture; to say that we do not enjoy German facetiousness is no more than to say that, though the horse is the finest of quadrupeds, we do not like him to lay his hoof87 playfully on our shoulder. Still, as we have noticed that the pointless puns and stupid jocularity of the boy may ultimately be developed into the epigrammatic p. 106brilliancy and polished playfulness of the man; as we believe that racy wit and chastened delicate humor are inevitably89 the results of invigorated and refined mental activity, we can also believe that Germany will, one day, yield a crop of wits and humorists.
Perhaps there is already an earnest of that future crop in the existence of Heinrich Heine, a German born with the present century, who, to Teutonic imagination, sensibility, and humor, adds an amount of esprit that would make him brilliant among the most brilliant of Frenchmen. True, this unique German wit is half a Hebrew; but he and his ancestors spent their youth in German air, and were reared on Wurst and Sauerkraut, so that he is as much a German as a pheasant is an English bird, or a potato an Irish vegetable. But whatever else he may be, Heine is one of the most remarkable men of this age: no echo, but a real voice, and therefore, like all genuine things in this world, worth studying; a surpassing lyric91 poet, who has uttered our feelings for us in delicious song; a humorist, who touches leaden folly92 with the magic wand of his fancy, and transmutes93 it into the fine gold of art—who sheds his sunny smile on human tears, and makes them a beauteous rainbow on the cloudy background of life; a wit, who holds in his mighty94 hand the most scorching95 lightnings of satire; an artist in prose literature, who has shown even more completely than Goethe the possibilities of German prose; and—in spite of all charges against him, true as well as false—a lover of freedom, who has spoken wise and brave words on behalf of his fellow-men. He is, moreover, a suffering man, who, with all the highly-wrought sensibility of genius, has to endure terrible physical ills; and as such he calls forth97 more than an intellectual interest. It is true, alas98! that there is a heavy weight in the other scale—that Heine’s magnificent powers have often served only to give electric force to the expression of debased feeling, so that his works are no Phidian statue of gold, and ivory, and gems99, but have not a little brass100, and iron, and miry clay mingled101 with the precious metal. The audacity102 of his occasional coarseness p. 107and personality is unparalleled in contemporary literature, and has hardly been exceeded by the license103 of former days. Hence, before his volumes are put within the reach of immature104 minds, there is need of a friendly penknife to exercise a strict censorship. Yet, when all coarseness, all scurrility106, all Mephistophelean contempt for the reverent107 feelings of other men, is removed, there will be a plenteous remainder of exquisite108 poetry, of wit, humor, and just thought. It is apparently109 too often a congenial task to write severe words about the transgressions111 committed by men of genius, especially when the censor105 has the advantage of being himself a man of no genius, so that those transgressions seem to him quite gratuitous112; he, forsooth, never lacerated any one by his wit, or gave irresistible piquancy113 to a coarse allusion114, and his indignation is not mitigated115 by any knowledge of the temptation that lies in transcendent power. We are also apt to measure what a gifted man has done by our arbitrary conception of what he might have done, rather than by a comparison of his actual doings with our own or those of other ordinary men. We make ourselves overzealous agents of heaven, and demand that our brother should bring usurious interest for his five Talents, forgetting that it is less easy to manage five Talents than two. Whatever benefit there may be in denouncing the evil, it is after all more edifying117, and certainly more cheering, to appreciate the good. Hence, in endeavoring to give our readers some account of Heine and his works, we shall not dwell lengthily118 on his failings; we shall not hold the candle up to dusty, vermin-haunted corners, but let the light fall as much as possible on the nobler and more attractive details. Our sketch119 of Heine’s life, which has been drawn120 from various sources, will be free from everything like intrusive121 gossip, and will derive2 its coloring chiefly from the autobiographical hints and descriptions scattered123 through his own writings. Those of our readers who happen to know nothing of Heine will in this way be making their acquaintance with the writer while they are learning the outline of his career.
p. 108We have said that Heine was born with the present century; but this statement is not precise, for we learn that, according to his certificate of baptism, he was born December 12th, 1799. However, as he himself says, the important point is that he was born, and born on the banks of the Rhine, at Düsseldorf, where his father was a merchant. In his “Reisebilder” he gives us some recollections, in his wild poetic way, of the dear old town where he spent his childhood, and of his schoolboy troubles there. We shall quote from these in butterfly fashion, sipping124 a little nectar here and there, without regard to any strict order:
“I first saw the light on the banks of that lovely stream, where Folly grows on the green hills, and in autumn is plucked, pressed, poured into casks, and sent into foreign lands. Believe me, I yesterday heard some one utter folly which, in anno 1811, lay in a bunch of grapes I then saw growing on the Johannisberg. . . . Mon Dieu! if I had only such faith in me that I could remove mountains, the Johannisberg would be the very mountain I should send for wherever I might be; but as my faith is not so strong, imagination must help me, and it transports me at once to the lovely Rhine. . . . I am again a child, and playing with other children on the Schlossplatz, at Düsseldorf on the Rhine. Yes, madam, there was I born; and I note this expressly, in case, after my death, seven cities—Schilda, Kr?hwinkel, Polkwitz, Bockum, Dülken, G?ttingen, and Sch?ppenst?dt—should contend for the honor of being my birthplace. Düsseldorf is a town on the Rhine; sixteen thousand men live there, and many hundred thousand men besides lie buried there. . . . . Among them, many of whom my mother says, that it would be better if they were still living; for example, my grandfather and my uncle, the old Herr von Geldern and the young Herr von Geldern, both such celebrated125 doctors, who saved so many men from death, and yet must die themselves. And the pious126 Ursula, who carried me in her arms when I was a child, also lies buried there and a rosebush grows on her grave; she loved the scent127 of roses so well in life, and her heart was pure rose-incense128 and goodness. The knowing old Canon, too, lies buried there. Heavens, what an object he looked when I last saw him! He was made up of nothing but mind and plasters, and nevertheless studied day and night, as if he were alarmed lest the worms should find an idea too little in his head. And the little William lies there, and for this I am to p. 109blame. We were schoolfellows in the Franciscan monastery129, and were playing on that side of it where the Düssel flows between stone walls, and I said, ‘William, fetch out the kitten that has just fallen in’—and merrily he went down on to the plank130 which lay across the brook131, snatched the kitten out of the water, but fell in himself, and was dragged out dripping and dead. The kitten lived to a good old age. . . . Princes in that day were not the tormented132 race as they are now; the crown grew firmly on their heads, and at night they drew a nightcap over it, and slept peacefully, and peacefully slept the people at their feet; and when the people waked in the morning, they said, ‘Good morning, father!’ and the princes answered, ‘Good morning, dear children!’ But it was suddenly quite otherwise; for when we awoke one morning at Düsseldorf, and were ready to say, ‘Good morning, father!’ lo! the father was gone away; and in the whole town there was nothing but dumb sorrow, everywhere a sort of funeral disposition; and people glided133 along silently to the market, and read the long placard placed on the door of the Town Hall. It was dismal135 weather; yet the lean tailor, Kilian, stood in his nankeen jacket which he usually wore only in the house, and his blue worsted stockings hung down so that his naked legs peeped out mournfully, and his thin lips trembled while he muttered the announcement to himself. And an old soldier read rather louder, and at many a word a crystal tear trickled136 down to his brave old mustache. I stood near him and wept in company, and asked him, ‘Why we wept?’ He answered, ‘The Elector has abdicated137.’ And then he read again, and at the words, ‘for the long-manifested fidelity138 of my subjects,’ and ‘hereby set you free from your allegiance,’ he wept more than ever. It is strangely touching139 to see an old man like that, with faded uniform and scarred face, weep so bitterly all of a sudden. While we were reading, the electoral arms were taken down from the Town Hall; everything had such a desolate140 air, that it was as if an eclipse of the sun were expected. . . . I went home and wept, and wailed141 out, ‘The Elector has abdicated!’ In vain my mother took a world of trouble to explain the thing to me. I knew what I knew; I was not to be persuaded, but went crying to bed, and in the night dreamed that the world was at an end.”
The next morning, however, the sun rises as usual, and Joachim Murat is proclaimed Grand Duke, whereupon there is a holiday at the public school, and Heinrich (or Harry142, for that was his baptismal name, which he afterward143 had the p. 110good taste to change), perched on the bronze horse of the Electoral statue, sees quite a different scene from yesterday’s:
“The next day the world was again all in order, and we had school as before, and things were got by heart as before—the Roman emperors, chronology, the nouns in im, the verba irregularia, Greek, Hebrew, geography, mental arithmetic!—heavens! my head is still dizzy with it—all must be learned by heart! And a great deal of this came very conveniently for me in after life. For if I had not known the Roman kings by heart, it would subsequently have been quite indifferent to me whether Niebuhr had proved or had not proved that they never really existed. . . . But oh! the trouble I had at school with the endless dates. And with arithmetic it was still worse. What I understood best was subtraction144, for that has a very practical rule: ‘Four can’t be taken from three, therefore I must borrow one.’ But I advise every one in such a case to borrow a few extra pence, for no one can tell what may happen. . . . As for Latin, you have no idea, madam, what a complicated affair it is. The Romans would never have found time to conquer the world if they had first had to learn Latin. Luckily for them, they already knew in their cradles what nouns have their accusative in im. I, on the contrary, had to learn them by heart in the sweat of my brow; nevertheless, it is fortunate for me that I know them . . . and the fact that I have them at my finger-ends if I should ever happen to want them suddenly, affords me much inward repose145 and consolation146 in many troubled hours of life. . . . Of Greek I will not say a word, I should get too much irritated. The monks147 in the Middle Ages were not so far wrong when they maintained that Greek was an invention of the devil. God knows the suffering I endured over it. . . . With Hebrew it went somewhat better, for I had always a great liking148 for the Jews, though to this very hour they crucify my good name; but I could never get on so far in Hebrew as my watch, which had much familiar intercourse149 with pawnbrokers150, and in this way contracted many Jewish habits—for example, it wouldn’t go on Saturdays.”
Heine’s parents were apparently not wealthy, but his education was cared for by his uncle, Solomon Heine, a great banker in Hamburg, so that he had no early pecuniary151 disadvantages to struggle with. He seems to have been very happy in his mother, who was not of Hebrew but of Teutonic blood; he often mentions her with reverence152 and affection, and in the p. 111“Buch der Lieder” there are two exquisite sonnets153 addressed to her, which tell how his proud spirit was always subdued154 by the charm of her presence, and how her love was the home of his heart after restless weary ramblings:
“Wie m?chtig auch mein stolzer Muth sich bl?he,
In deiner selig süssen, trauten Nahe
Ergreift mich oft ein demuthvolles Zagen.
* * * * *
Und immer irrte ich nach Liebe, immer
Nach Liebe, doch die Liebe fand ich nimmer,
Und kehrte um nach Hause, krank und trübe.
Doch da bist du entgegen mir gekommen,
Und ach! was da in deinem Aug’ geschwommen,
Das war die süsse, langgesuchte Liebe.”
He was at first destined155 for a mercantile life, but Nature declared too strongly against this plan. “God knows,” he has lately said in conversation with his brother, “I would willingly have become a banker, but I could never bring myself to that pass. I very early discerned that bankers would one day be the rulers of the world.” So commerce was at length given up for law, the study of which he began in 1819 at the University of Bonn. He had already published some poems in the corner of a newspaper, and among them was one on Napoleon, the object of his youthful enthusiasm. This poem, he says in a letter to St. Réné Taillandier, was written when he was only sixteen. It is still to be found in the “Buch der Lieder” under the title “Die Grenadiere,” and it proves that even in its earliest efforts his genius showed a strongly specific character.
It will be easily imagined that the germs of poetry sprouted156 too vigorously in Heine’s brain for jurisprudence to find much room there. Lectures on history and literature, we are told, were more diligently157 attended than lectures on law. He had taken care, too, to furnish his trunk with abundant editions of the poets, and the poet he especially studied at that time was Byron. At a later period, we find his taste taking another direction, for he writes, “Of all authors, Byron is precisely159 p. 112the one who excites in me the most intolerable emotion; whereas Scott, in every one of his works, gladdens my heart, soothes160, and invigorates me.” Another indication of his bent161 in these Bonn days was a newspaper essay, in which he attacked the Romantic school; and here also he went through that chicken-pox of authorship—the production of a tragedy. Heine’s tragedy—Almansor—is, as might be expected, better than the majority of these youthful mistakes. The tragic162 collision lies in the conflict between natural affection and the deadly hatred163 of religion and of race—in the sacrifice of youthful lovers to the strife164 between Moor165 and Spaniard, Moslem166 and Christian167. Some of the situations are striking, and there are passages of considerable poetic merit; but the characters are little more than shadowy vehicles for the poetry, and there is a want of clearness and probability in the structure. It was published two years later, in company with another tragedy, in one act, called William Ratcliffe, in which there is rather a feeble use of the Scotch168 second-sight after the manner of the Fate in the Greek tragedy. We smile to find Heine saying of his tragedies, in a letter to a friend soon after their publication: “I know they will be terribly cut up, but I will confess to you in confidence that they are very good, better than my collection of poems, which are not worth a shot.” Elsewhere he tells us, that when, after one of Paganini’s concerts, he was passionately169 complimenting the great master on his violin-playing. Paganini interrupted him thus: “But how were you pleased with my bows?”
In 1820 Heine left Bonn for G?ttingen. He there pursued his omission of law studies, and at the end of three months he was rusticated170 for a breach171 of the laws against duelling. While there, he had attempted a negotiation173 with Brockhaus for the printing of a volume of poems, and had endured the first ordeal174 of lovers and poets—a refusal. It was not until a year after that he found a Berlin publisher for his first volume of poems, subsequently transformed, with additions, into the “Buch der Lieder.” He remained between two and three p. 113years at Berlin, and the society he found there seems to have made these years an important epoch175 in his culture. He was one of the youngest members of a circle which assembled at the house of the poetess Elise von Hohenhausen, the translator of Byron—a circle which included Chamisso, Varnhagen, and Rahel (Varnhagen’s wife). For Rahel, Heine had a profound admiration176 and regard; he afterward dedicated177 to her the poems included under the tide “Heimkehr;” and he frequently refers to her or quotes her in a way that indicates how he valued her influence. According to his friend F. von Hohenhausen, the opinions concerning Heine’s talent were very various among his Berlin friends, and it was only a small minority that had any presentiment178 of his future fame. In this minority was Elise von Hohenhausen, who proclaimed Heine as the Byron of Germany; but her opinion was met with much head-shaking and opposition179. We can imagine how precious was such a recognition as hers to the young poet, then only two or three and twenty, and with by no means an impressive personality for superficial eyes. Perhaps even the deep-sighted were far from detecting in that small, blonde, pale young man, with quiet, gentle manners, the latent powers of ridicule180 and sarcasm181—the terrible talons182 that were one day to be thrust out from the velvet183 paw of the young leopard184.
It was apparently during this residence in Berlin that Heine united himself with the Lutheran Church. He would willingly, like many of his friends, he tells us, have remained free from all ecclesiastical ties if the authorities there had not forbidden residence in Prussia, and especially in Berlin, to every one who did not belong to one of the positive religions recognized by the State.
“As Henry IV. once laughingly said, ‘Paris vaut bien une messe,’ so I might with reason say, ‘Berlin vaut bien une prêche;’ and I could afterward, as before, accommodate myself to the very enlightened Christianity, filtrated from all superstition185, which could then be had in the churches of Berlin, and which was even free from the divinity of Christ, like turtle-soup without turtle.”
p. 114At the same period, too, Heine became acquainted with Hegel. In his lately published “Gest?ndnisse” (Confessions) he throws on Hegel’s influence over him the blue light of demoniacal wit, and confounds us by the most bewildering double-edged sarcasms187; but that influence seems to have been at least more wholesome188 than the one which produced the mocking retractations of the “Gest?ndnisse.” Through all his self-satire, we discern that in those days he had something like real earnestness and enthusiasm, which are certainly not apparent in his present theistic confession186 of faith.
“On the whole, I never felt a strong enthusiasm for this philosophy, and conviction on the subject was out of question. I never was an abstract thinker, and I accepted the synthesis of the Hegelian doctrine without demanding any proof; since its consequences flattered my vanity. I was young and proud, and it pleased my vainglory when I learned from Hegel that the true God was not, as my grandmother believed, the God who lives in heaven, but myself here upon earth. This foolish pride had not in the least a pernicious influence on my feelings; on the contrary, it heightened these to the pitch of heroism189. I was at that time so lavish190 in generosity191 and self-sacrifice that I must assuredly have eclipsed the most brilliant deeds of those good bourgeois192 of virtue193 who acted merely from a sense of duty, and simply obeyed the laws of morality.”
His sketch of Hegel is irresistibly194 amusing; but we must warn the reader that Heine’s anecdotes195 are often mere devices of style by which he conveys his satire or opinions. The reader will see that he does not neglect an opportunity of giving a sarcastic196 lash197 or two, in passing, to Meyerbeer, for whose music he has a great contempt. The sarcasm conveyed in the substitution of reputation for music and journalists for musicians, might perhaps escape any one unfamiliar198 with the sly and unexpected turns of Heine’s ridicule.
“To speak frankly199, I seldom understood him, and only arrived at the meaning of his words by subsequent reflection. I believe he wished not to be understood; and hence his practice of sprinkling his discourse200 with modifying parentheses201; hence, perhaps, his preference for persons of whom he knew that they did not understand p. 115him, and to whom he all the more willingly granted the honor of his familiar acquaintance. Thus every one in Berlin wondered at the intimate companionship of the profound Hegel with the late Heinrich Beer, a brother of Giacomo Meyerbeer, who is universally known by his reputation, and who has been celebrated by the cleverest journalists. This Beer, namely Heinrich, was a thoroughly stupid fellow, and indeed was afterward actually declared imbecile by his family, and placed under guardianship202, because instead of making a name for himself in art or in science by means of his great fortune, he squandered203 his money on childish trifles; and, for example, one day bought six thousand thalers’ worth of walking-sticks. This poor man, who had no wish to pass either for a great tragic dramatist, or for a great star-gazer, or for a laurel-crowned musical genius, a rival of Mozart and Rossini, and preferred giving his money for walking-sticks—this degenerate204 Beer enjoyed Hegel’s most confidential205 society; he was the philosopher’s bosom206 friend, his Pylades, and accompanied him everywhere like his shadow. The equally witty and gifted Felix Mendelssohn once sought to explain this phenomenon, by maintaining that Hegel did not understand Heinrich Beer. I now believe, however, that the real ground of that intimacy207 consisted in this—Hegel was convinced that no word of what he said was understood by Heinrich Beer; and he could therefore, in his presence, give himself up to all the intellectual outpourings of the moment. In general, Hegel’s conversation was a sort of monologue208, sighed forth by starts in a noiseless voice; the odd roughness of his expressions often struck me, and many of them have remained in my memory. One beautiful starlight evening we stood together at the window, and I, a young man of one-and-twenty, having just had a good dinner and finished my coffee, spoke96 with enthusiasm of the stars, and called them the habitations of the departed. But the master muttered to himself, ‘The stars! hum! hum! The stars are only a brilliant leprosy on the face of the heavens.’ ‘For God’s sake,’ I cried, ‘is there, then, no happy place above, where virtue is rewarded after death?’ But he, staring at me with his pale eyes, said, cuttingly, ‘So you want a bonus for having taken care of your sick mother, and refrained from poisoning your worthy209 brother?’ At these words he looked anxiously round, but appeared immediately set at rest when he observed that it was only Heinrich Beer, who had approached to invite him to a game at whist.”
In 1823 Heine returned to G?ttingen to complete his career as a law-student, and this time he gave evidence of advanced p. 116mental maturity210, not only by producing many of the charming poems subsequently included in the “Reisebilder,” but also by prosecuting211 his professional studies diligently enough to leave G?ttingen, in 1825, as Doctor juris. Hereupon he settled at Hamburg as an advocate, but his profession seems to have been the least pressing of his occupations. In those days a small blonde young man, with the brim of his hat drawn over his nose, his coat flying open, and his hands stuck in his trousers pockets, might be seen stumbling along the streets of Hamburg, staring from side to side, and appearing to have small regard to the figure he made in the eyes of the good citizens. Occasionally an inhabitant more literary than usual would point out this young man to his companion as Heinrich Heine; but in general the young poet had not to endure the inconveniences of being a lion. His poems were devoured213, but he was not asked to devour212 flattery in return. Whether because the fair Hamburgers acted in the spirit of Johnson’s advice to Hannah More—to “consider what her flattery was worth before she choked him with it”—or for some other reason, Heine, according to the testimony214 of August Lewald, to whom we owe these particulars of his Hamburg life, was left free from the persecution215 of tea-parties. Not, however, from another persecution of Genius—nervous headaches, which some persons, we are told, regarded as an improbable fiction, intended as a pretext216 for raising a delicate white hand to his forehead. It is probable that the sceptical persons alluded217 to were themselves untroubled with nervous headaches, and that their hands were not delicate. Slight details, these, but worth telling about a man of genius, because they help us to keep in mind that he is, after all, our brother, having to endure the petty every-day ills of life as we have; with this difference, that his heightened sensibility converts what are mere insect stings for us into scorpion218 stings for him.
It was, perhaps, in these Hamburg days that Heine paid the visit to Goethe, of which he gives us this charming little picture:
p. 117“When I visited him in Weimar, and stood before him, I involuntarily glanced at his side to see whether the eagle was not there with the lightning in his beak219. I was nearly speaking Greek to him; but, as I observed that he understood German, I stated to him in German that the plums on the road between Jena and Weimar were very good. I had for so many long winter nights thought over what lofty and profound things I would say to Goethe, if ever I saw him. And when I saw him at last, I said to him, that the Saxon plums were very good! And Goethe smiled.”
During the next few years Heine produced the most popular of all his works—those which have won him his place as the greatest of living German poets and humorists. Between 1826 and 1829 appeared the four volumes of the “Reisebilder” (Pictures of Travel) and the “Buch der Lieder” (Book of Songs), a volume of lyrics220, of which it is hard to say whether their greatest charm is the lightness and finish of their style, their vivid and original imaginativeness, or their simple, pure sensibility. In his “Reisebilder” Heine carries us with him to the Hartz, to the isle221 of Norderney, to his native town Düsseldorf, to Italy, and to England, sketching222 scenery and character, now with the wildest, most fantastic humor, now with the finest idyllic223 sensibility—letting his thoughts wander from poetry to politics, from criticism to dreamy reverie, and blending fun, imagination, reflection, and satire in a sort of exquisite, ever-varying shimmer224, like the hues225 of the opal.
Heine’s journey to England did not at all heighten his regard for the English. He calls our language the “hiss of egoism (Zischlaute des Egoismus); and his ridicule of English awkwardness is as merciless as—English ridicule of German awkwardness. His antipathy227 toward us seems to have grown in intensity228, like many of his other antipathies229; and in his “Vermischte Schriften” he is more bitter than ever. Let us quote one of his philippics, since bitters are understood to be wholesome:
“It is certainly a frightful230 injustice231 to pronounce sentence of condemnation232 on an entire people. But with regard to the English, momentary234 disgust might betray me into this injustice; and on p. 118looking at the mass I easily forget the many brave and noble men who distinguished235 themselves by intellect and love of freedom. But these, especially the British poets, were always all the more glaringly in contrast with the rest of the nation; they were isolated236 martyrs238 to their national relations; and, besides, great geniuses do not belong to the particular land of their birth: they scarcely belong to this earth, the Golgotha of their sufferings. The mass—the English blockheads, God forgive me!—are hateful to me in my inmost soul; and I often regard them not at all as my fellow-men, but as miserable239 automata—machines, whose motive240 power is egoism. In these moods, it seems to me as if I heard the whizzing wheelwork by which they think, feel, reckon, digest, and pray: their praying, their mechanical Anglican church-going, with the gilt241 Prayer-book under their arms, their stupid, tiresome Sunday, their awkward piety242, is most of all odious243 to me. I am firmly convinced that a blaspheming Frenchman is a more pleasing sight for the Divinity than a praying Englishman.”
On his return from England Heine was employed at Munich in editing the Allgemeinen Politischen Annalen, but in 1830 he was again in the north, and the news of the July Revolution surprised him on the island of Heligoland. He has given us a graphic122 picture of his democratic enthusiasm in those days in some letters, apparently written from Heligoland, which he has inserted in his book on B?rne. We quote some passages, not only for their biographic interest as showing a phase of Heine’s mental history, but because they are a specimen of his power in that kind of dithyrambic writing which, in less masterly hands, easily becomes ridiculous:
“The thick packet of newspapers arrived from the Continent with these warm, glowing-hot tidings. They were sunbeams wrapped up in packing-paper, and they inflamed245 my soul till it burst into the wildest conflagration246. . . . It is all like a dream to me; especially the name Lafayette sounds to me like a legend out of my earliest childhood. Does he really sit again on horseback, commanding the National Guard? I almost fear it may not be true, for it is in print. I will myself go to Paris, to be convinced of it with my bodily eyes. . . . It must be splendid, when he rides through the street, the citizen of two worlds, the godlike old man, with his silver locks streaming down his sacred shoulder. . . . He greets, p. 119with his dear old eyes, the grandchildren of those who once fought with him for freedom and equality. . . . It is now sixty years since he returned from America with the Declaration of Human Rights, the decalogue of the world’s new creed247, which was revealed to him amid the thunders and lightnings of cannon248. . . . And the tricolored flag waves again on the towers of Paris, and its streets resound249 with the Marseillaise! . . . It is all over with my yearning250 for repose. I now know again what I will do, what I ought to do, what I must do. . . . I am the son of the Revolution, and seize again the hallowed weapons on which my mother pronounced her magic benediction251. . . . Flowers! flowers! I will crown my head for the death-fight. And the lyre too, reach me the lyre, that I may sing a battle-song. . . . Words like flaming stars, that shoot down from the heavens, and burn up the palaces, and illuminate252 the huts. . . . Words like bright javelins253, that whirr up to the seventh heaven and strike the pious hypocrites who have skulked254 into the Holy of Holies. . . . I am all joy and song, all sword and flame! Perhaps, too, all delirium255. . . . One of those sunbeams wrapped in brown paper has flown to my brain, and set my thoughts aglow256. In vain I dip my head into the sea. No water extinguishes this Greek fire: . . . Even the poor Heligolanders shout for joy, although they have only a sort of dim instinct of what has occurred. The fisherman who yesterday took me over to the little sand island, which is the bathing-place here, said to me smilingly, ‘The poor people have won!’ Yes; instinctively257 the people comprehend such events, perhaps, better than we, with all our means of knowledge. Thus Frau von Varnhagen once told me that when the issue of the Battle of Leipzig was not yet known, the maid-servant suddenly rushed into the room with the sorrowful cry, ‘The nobles have won!’ . . . This morning another packet of newspapers is come, I devour them like manna. Child that I am, affecting details touch me yet more than the momentous258 whole. Oh, if I could but see the dog Medor. . . . The dog Medor brought his master his gun and cartridge-box, and when his master fell, and was buried with his fellow-heroes in the Court of the Louvre, there stayed the poor dog like a monument of faithfulness, sitting motionless on the grave, day and night, eating but little of the food that was offered him—burying the greater part of it in the earth, perhaps as nourishment259 for his buried master!”
The enthusiasm which was kept thus at boiling heat by imagination, cooled down rapidly when brought into contact p. 120with reality. In the same book he indicates, in his caustic260 way, the commencement of that change in his political temperature—for it cannot be called a change in opinion—which has drawn down on him immense vituperation from some of the patriotic261 party, but which seems to have resulted simply from the essential antagonism263 between keen wit and fanaticism264.
“On the very first days of my arrival in Paris I observed that things wore, in reality, quite different colors from those which had been shed on them, when in perspective, by the light of my enthusiasm. The silver locks which I saw fluttering so majestically265 on the shoulders of Lafayette, the hero of two worlds, were metamorphosed into a brown perruque, which made a pitiable covering for a narrow skull266. And even the dog Medor, which I visited in the Court of the Louvre, and which, encamped under tricolored flags and trophies267, very quietly allowed himself to be fed—he was not at all the right dog, but quite an ordinary brute268, who assumed to himself merits not his own, as often happens with the French; and, like many others, he made a profit out of the glory of the Revolution. . . . He was pampered269 and patronized, perhaps promoted to the highest posts, while the true Medor, some days after the battle, modestly slunk out of sight, like the true people who created the Revolution.”
That it was not merely interest in French politics which sent Heine to Paris in 1831, but also a perception that German air was not friendly to sympathizers in July revolutions, is humorously intimated in the “Gest?ndnisse.”
“I had done much and suffered much, and when the sun of the July Revolution arose in France, I had become very weary, and needed some recreation. Also, my native air was every day more unhealthy for me, and it was time I should seriously think of a change of climate. I had visions: the clouds terrified me, and made all sorts of ugly faces at me. It often seemed to me as if the sun were a Prussian cockade; at night I dreamed of a hideous270 black eagle, which gnawed271 my liver; and I was very melancholy272. Add to this, I had become acquainted with an old Berlin Justizrath, who had spent many years in the fortress273 of Spandau, and he related to me how unpleasant it is when one is obliged to wear irons in winter. For myself I thought it very unchristian that the irons were not warmed a trifle. If the irons were warmed a little for us they would not make p. 121so unpleasant an impression, and even chilly274 natures might then bear them very well; it would be only proper consideration, too, if the fetters275 were perfumed with essence of roses and laurels276, as is the case in this country (France). I asked my Justizrath whether he often got oysters277 to eat at Spandau? He said, No; Spandau was too far from the sea. Moreover, he said meat was very scarce there, and there was no kind of volaille except flies, which fell into one’s soup. . . . Now, as I really needed some recreation, and as Spandau is too far from the sea for oysters to be got there, and the Spandau fly-soup did not seem very appetizing to me, as, besides all this, the Prussian chains are very cold in winter, and could not be conducive278 to my health, I resolved to visit Paris.”
Since this time Paris has been Heine’s home, and his best prose works have been written either to inform the Germans on French affairs or to inform the French on German philosophy and literature. He became a correspondent of the Allgemeine Zeitung, and his correspondence, which extends, with an interruption of several years, from 1831 to 1844, forms the volume entitled “Franz?sische Zust?nde” (French Affairs), and the second and third volume of his “Vermischte Schriften.” It is a witty and often wise commentary on public men and public events: Louis Philippe, Casimir Périer, Thiers, Guizot, Rothschild, the Catholic party, the Socialist279 party, have their turn of satire and appreciation, for Heine deals out both with an impartiality280 which made his less favorable critics—B?rne, for example—charge him with the rather incompatible281 sins of reckless caprice and venality282. Literature and art alternate with politics: we have now a sketch of George Sand or a description of one of Horace Vernet’s pictures; now a criticism of Victor Hugo or of Liszt; now an irresistible caricature of Spontini or Kalkbrenner; and occasionally the predominant satire is relieved by a fine saying or a genial110 word of admiration. And all is done with that airy lightness, yet precision of touch, which distinguishes Heine beyond any living writer. The charge of venality was loudly made against Heine in Germany: first, it was said that he was paid to write; then, that he was paid to abstain284 from writing; p. 122and the accusations285 were supposed to have an irrefragable basis in the fact that he accepted a stipend287 from the French government. He has never attempted to conceal288 the reception of that stipend, and we think his statement (in the “Vermischte Schriften”) of the circumstances under which it was offered and received, is a sufficient vindication289 of himself and M. Guizot from any dishonor in the matter.
It may be readily imagined that Heine, with so large a share of the Gallic element as he has in his composition, was soon at his ease in Parisian society, and the years here were bright with intellectual activity and social enjoyment. “His wit,” wrote August Lewald, “is a perpetual gushing291 fountain; he throws off the most delicious descriptions with amazing facility, and sketches292 the most comic characters in conversations.” Such a man could not be neglected in Paris, and Heine was sought on all sides—as a guest in distinguished salons293, as a possible proselyte in the circle of the Saint Simonians. His literary productiveness seems to have been furthered by his congenial life, which, however, was soon to some extent embittered294 by the sense of exile; for since 1835 both his works and his person have been the object of denunciation by the German governments. Between 1833 and 1845 appeared the four volumes of the “Salon,” “Die Romantische Schule” (both written, in the first instance, in French), the book on B?rne, “Atta Troll,” a romantic poem, “Deutschland,” an exquisitely295 humorous poem, describing his last visit to Germany, and containing some grand passages of serious writing; and the “Neue Gedichte,” a collection of lyrical poems. Among the most interesting of his prose works are the second volume of the “Salon,” which contains a survey of religion and philosophy in Germany, and the “Romantische Schule,” a delightful296 introduction to that phase of German literature known as the Romantic school. The book on B?rne, which appeared in 1840, two years after the death of that writer, excited great indignation in Germany, as a wreaking297 of vengeance298 on the dead, an insult to the memory of a man who p. 123had worked and suffered in the cause of freedom—a cause which was Heine’s own. B?rne, we may observe parenthetically for the information of those who are not familiar with recent German literature, was a remarkable political writer of the ultra-liberal party in Germany, who resided in Paris at the same time with Heine: a man of stern, uncompromising partisanship300 and bitter humor. Without justifying302 Heine’s production of this book, we see excuses for him which should temper the condemnation passed on it. There was a radical303 opposition of nature between him and B?rne; to use his own distinction, Heine is a Hellene—sensuous, realistic, exquisitely alive to the beautiful; while B?rne was a Nazarene—ascetic, spiritualistic, despising the pure artist as destitute304 of earnestness. Heine has too keen a perception of practical absurdities305 and damaging exaggerations ever to become a thoroughgoing partisan299; and with a love of freedom, a faith in the ultimate triumph of democratic principles, of which we see no just reason to doubt the genuineness and consistency306, he has been unable to satisfy more zealous116 and one-sided liberals by giving his adhesion to their views and measures, or by adopting a denunciatory tone against those in the opposite ranks. B?rne could not forgive what he regarded as Heine’s epicurean indifference307 and artistic308 dalliance, and he at length gave vent85 to his antipathy in savage attacks on him through the press, accusing him of utterly309 lacking character and principle, and even of writing under the influence of venal283 motives310. To these attacks Heine remained absolutely mute—from contempt according to his own account; but the retort, which he resolutely311 refrained from making during B?rne’s life, comes in this volume published after his death with the concentrated force of long-gathering thunder. The utterly inexcusable part of the book is the caricature of B?rne’s friend, Madame Wohl, and the scurrilous312 insinuations concerning B?rne’s domestic life. It is said, we know not with how much truth, that Heine had to answer for these in a duel172 with Madame Wohl’s husband, and that, after receiving a serious wound, he promised p. 124to withdraw the offensive matter from a future edition. That edition, however, has not been called for. Whatever else we may think of the book, it is impossible to deny its transcendent talent—the dramatic vigor90 with which B?rne is made present to us, the critical acumen313 with which he is characterized, and the wonderful play of wit, pathos314, and thought which runs through the whole. But we will let Heine speak for himself, and first we will give part of his graphic description of the way in which B?rne’s mind and manners grated on his taste:
“To the disgust which, in intercourse with B?rne, I was in danger of feeling toward those who surrounded him, was added the annoyance315 I felt from his perpetual talk about politics. Nothing but political argument, and again political argument, even at table, where he managed to hunt me out. At dinner, when I so gladly forget all the vexations of the world, he spoiled the best dishes for me by his patriotic gall290, which he poured as a bitter sauce over everything. Calf’s feet, à la ma?tre d’h?tel, then my innocent bonne bouche, he completely spoiled for me by Job’s tidings from Germany, which he scraped together out of the most unreliable newspapers. And then his accursed remarks, which spoiled one’s appetite! . . . This was a sort of table-talk which did not greatly exhilarate me, and I avenged316 myself by affecting an excessive, almost impassioned indifference for the object of B?rne’s enthusiasm. For example, B?rne was indignant that immediately on my arrival in Paris I had nothing better to do than to write for German papers a long account of the Exhibition of Pictures. I omit all discussion as to whether that interest in Art which induced me to undertake this work was so utterly irreconcilable317 with the revolutionary interests of the day; but B?rne saw in it a proof of my indifference toward the sacred cause of humanity, and I could in my turn spoil the taste of his patriotic sauerkraut for him by talking all dinner-time of nothing but pictures, of Robert’s ‘Reapers,’ Horace Vernet’s ‘Judith,’ and Scheffer’s ‘Faust.’ . . . That I never thought it worth while to discuss my political principles with him it is needless to say; and once when he declared that he had found a contradiction in my writings, I satisfied myself with the ironical318 answer, ‘You are mistaken, mon cher; such contradictions never occur in my works, for always before I begin to write, I read over the statement of my political principles in my previous writings, that I may not contradict myself, and that no one may be able to reproach me with apostasy319 from my liberal principles.’”
p. 125And here is his own account of the spirit in which the book was written:
“I was never B?rne’s friend, nor was I ever his enemy. The displeasure which he could often excite in me was never very important, and he atoned320 for it sufficiently321 by the cold silence which I opposed to all his accusations and raillery. While he lived I wrote not a line against him, I never thought about him, I ignored him completely; and that enraged322 him beyond measure. If I now speak of him, I do so neither out of enthusiasm nor out of uneasiness; I am conscious of the coolest impartiality. I write here neither an apology nor a critique, and as in painting the man I go on my own observation, the image I present of him ought perhaps to be regarded as a real portrait. And such a monument is due to him—to the great wrestler323 who, in the arena324 of our political games, wrestled325 so courageously326, and earned, if not the laurel, certainly the crown of oak leaves. I give an image with his true features, without idealization—the more like him the more honorable for his memory. He was neither a genius nor a hero; he was no Olympian god. He was a man, a denizen327 of this earth; he was a good writer and a great patriot262. . . . Beautiful, delicious peace, which I feel at this moment in the depths of my soul! Thou rewardest me sufficiently for everything I have done and for everything I have despised. . . . I shall defend myself neither from the reproach of indifference nor from the suspicion of venality. I have for years, during the life of the insinuator328, held such self-justification unworthy of me; now even decency329 demands silence. That would be a frightful spectacle!—polemics between Death and Exile! Dost thou stretch out to me a beseeching330 hand from the grave? Without rancor331 I reach mine toward thee. . . . See how noble it is and pure! It was never soiled by pressing the hands of the mob, any more than by the impure332 gold of the people’s enemy. In reality thou hast never injured me. . . . In all thy insinuations there is not a louis d’or’s worth of truth.”
In one of these years Heine was married, and, in deference333 to the sentiments of his wife, married according to the rites158 of the Catholic Church. On this fact busy rumor334 afterward founded the story of his conversion335 to Catholicism, and could of course name the day and spot on which he abjured336 Protestanism. In his “Gest?ndnisse” Heine publishes a denial of this rumor; less, he says, for the sake of depriving the Catholics p. 126of the solace337 they may derive from their belief in a new convert, than in order to cut off from another party the more spiteful satisfaction of bewailing his instability:
“That statement of time and place was entirely338 correct. I was actually on the specified339 day in the specified church, which was, moreover, a Jesuit church, namely, St. Sulpice; and I then went through a religious act. But this act was no odious abjuration340, but a very innocent conjugation; that is to say, my marriage, already performed, according to the civil law there received the ecclesiastical consecration341, because my wife, whose family are staunch Catholics, would not have thought her marriage sacred enough without such a ceremony. And I would on no account cause this beloved being any uneasiness or disturbance342 in her religious views.”
For sixteen years—from 1831 to 1847—Heine lived that rapid concentrated life which is known only in Paris; but then, alas! stole on the “days of darkness,” and they were to be many. In 1847 he felt the approach of the terrible spinal343 disease which has for seven years chained him to his bed in acute suffering. The last time he went out of doors, he tells us, was in May, 1848:
“With difficulty I dragged myself to the Louvre, and I almost sank down as I entered the magnificent hall where the ever-blessed goddess of beauty, our beloved Lady of Milo, stands on her pedestal. At her feet I lay long, and wept so bitterly that a stone must have pitied me. The goddess looked compassionately344 on me, but at the same time disconsolately345, as if she would say, Dost thou not see, then, that I have no arms, and thus cannot help thee?”
Since 1848, then, this poet, whom the lovely objects of Nature have always “haunted like a passion,” has not descended346 from the second story of a Parisian house; this man of hungry intellect has been shut out from all direct observation of life, all contact with society, except such as is derived from visitors to his sick-room. The terrible nervous disease has affected347 his eyes; the sight of one is utterly gone, and he can only raise the lid of the other by lifting it with his finger. Opium alone is the beneficent genius that stills his pain. We hardly know p. 127whether to call it an alleviation348 or an intensification349 of the torture that Heine retains his mental vigor, his poetic imagination, and his incisive350 wit; for if this intellectual activity fills up a blank, it widens the sphere of suffering. His brother described him in 1851 as still, in moments when the hand of pain was not too heavy on him, the same Heinrich Heine, poet and satirist by turns. In such moments he would narrate351 the strangest things in the gravest manner. But when he came to an end, he would roguishly lift up the lid of his right eye with his finger to see the impression he had produced; and if his audience had been listening with a serious face, he would break into Homeric laughter. We have other proof than personal testimony that Heine’s disease allows his genius to retain much of its energy, in the “Romanzero,” a volume of poems published in 1851, and written chiefly during the three first years of his illness; and in the first volume of the “Vermischte Schriften,” also the product of recent years. Very plaintive352 is the poet’s own description of his condition, in the epilogue to the “Romanzero:”
“Do I really exist? My body is so shrunken that I am hardly anything but a voice; and my bed reminds me of the singing grave of the magician Merlin, which lies in the forest of Brozeliand, in Brittany, under tall oaks whose tops soar like green flames toward heaven. Alas! I envy thee those trees and the fresh breeze that moves their branches, brother Merlin, for no green leaf rustles353 about my mattress-grave in Paris, where early and late I hear nothing but the rolling of vehicles, hammering, quarrelling, and piano-strumming. A grave without repose, death without the privileges of the dead, who have no debts to pay, and need write neither letters nor books—that is a piteous condition. Long ago the measure has been taken for my coffin354 and for my necrology, but I die so slowly that the process is tedious for me as well as my friends. But patience: everything has an end. You will one day find the booth closed where the puppet-show of my humor has so often delighted you.”
As early as 1850 it was rumored355 that since Heine’s illness a change had taken place in his religious views; and as rumor seldom stops short of extremes, it was soon said that he had p. 128become a thorough pietist, Catholics and Protestants by turns claiming him as a convert. Such a change in so uncompromising an iconoclast356, in a man who had been so zealous in his negations as Heine, naturally excited considerable sensation in the camp he was supposed to have quitted, as well as in that he was supposed to have joined. In the second volume of the “Salon,” and in the “Romantische Schule,” written in 1834 and ’35, the doctrine of Pantheism is dwelt on with a fervor357 and unmixed seriousness which show that Pantheism was then an animating358 faith to Heine, and he attacks what he considers the false spiritualism and asceticism359 of Christianity as the enemy of true beauty in Art, and of social well-being360. Now, however, it was said that Heine had recanted all his heresies361; but from the fact that visitors to his sick-room brought away very various impressions as to his actual religious views, it seemed probable that his love of mystification had found a tempting362 opportunity for exercise on this subject, and that, as one of his friends said, he was not inclined to pour out unmixed wine to those who asked for a sample out of mere curiosity. At length, in the epilogue to the “Romanzero,” dated 1851, there appeared, amid much mystifying banter363, a declaration that he had embraced Theism and the belief in a future life, and what chiefly lent an air of seriousness and reliability364 to this affirmation was the fact that he took care to accompany it with certain negations:
“As concerns myself, I can boast of no particular progress in politics; I adhered (after 1848) to the same democratic principles which had the homage365 of my youth, and for which I have ever since glowed with increasing fervor. In theology, on the contrary, I must accuse myself of retrogression, since, as I have already confessed, I returned to the old superstition—to a personal God. This fact is, once for all, not to be stifled366, as many enlightened and well-meaning friends would fain have had it. But I must expressly contradict the report that my retrograde movement has carried me as far as to the threshold of a Church, and that I have even been received into her lap. No: my religious convictions and views have remained free from any tincture of ecclesiasticism; no chiming of bells has allured367 me, no p. 129altar candles have dazzled me. I have dallied368 with no dogmas, and have not utterly renounced369 my reason.”
This sounds like a serious statement. But what shall we say to a convert who plays with his newly-acquired belief in a future life, as Heine does in the very next page? He says to his reader:
“Console thyself; we shall meet again in a better world, where I also mean to write thee better books. I take for granted that my health will there be improved, and that Swedenborg has not deceived me. He relates, namely, with great confidence, that we shall peacefully carry on our old occupations in the other world, just as we have done in this; that we shall there preserve our individuality unaltered, and that death will produce no particular change in our organic development. Swedenborg is a thoroughly honorable fellow, and quite worthy of credit in what he tells us about the other world, where he saw with his own eyes the persons who had played a great part on our earth. Most of them, he says, remained unchanged, and busied themselves with the same things as formerly370; they remained stationary371, were old-fashioned, rococo—which now and then produced a ludicrous effect. For example, our dear Dr. Martin Luther kept fast by his doctrine of Grace, about which he had for three hundred years daily written down the same mouldy arguments—just in the same way as the late Baron372 Ekstein, who during twenty years printed in the Allgemeine Zeitung one and the same article, perpetually chewing over again the old cud of Jesuitical doctrine. But, as we have said, all persons who once figured here below were not found by Swedenborg in such a state of fossil immutability373: many had considerably374 developed their character, both for good and evil, in the other world; and this gave rise to some singular results. Some who had been heroes and saints on earth had there sunk into scamps and good-for-nothings; and there were examples, too, of a contrary transformation375. For instance, the fumes376 of self-conceit mounted to Saint Anthony’s head when he learned what immense veneration377 and adoration378 had been paid to him by all Christendom; and he who here below withstood the most terrible temptations was now quite an impertinent rascal379 and dissolute gallows-bird, who vied with his pig in rolling himself in the mud. The chaste88 Susanna, from having been excessively vain of her virtue, which she thought indomitable, came to a shameful380 fall, and she who once so gloriously resisted the two old men, was a victim to the seductions of the young Absalom, the son of David. On the contrary, Lot’s daughters had in the lapse381 of time become p. 130very virtuous382, and passed in the other world for models of propriety383: the old man, alas! had stuck to the wine-flask.”
In his “Gest?ndnisse,” the retractation of former opinions and profession of Theism are renewed, but in a strain of irony384 that repels385 our sympathy and baffles our psychology386. Yet what strange, deep pathos is mingled with the audacity of the following passage!
“What avails it me, that enthusiastic youths and maidens387 crown my marble bust388 with laurel, when the withered389 hands of an aged72 nurse are pressing Spanish flies behind my ears? What avails it me, that all the roses of Shiraz glow and waft390 incense for me? Alas! Shiraz is two thousand miles from the Rue34 d’Amsterdam, where, in the wearisome loneliness of my sick-room, I get no scent, except it be, perhaps, the perfume of warmed towels. Alas! God’s satire weighs heavily on me. The great Author of the universe, the Aristophanes of Heaven, was bent on demonstrating, with crushing force, to me, the little, earthly, German Aristophanes, how my wittiest391 sarcasms are only pitiful attempts at jesting in comparison with His, and how miserably392 I am beneath him in humor, in colossal393 mockery.”
For our own part, we regard the paradoxical irreverence394 with which Heine professes395 his theoretical reverence as pathological, as the diseased exhibition of a predominant tendency urged into anomalous396 action by the pressure of pain and mental privation—as a delirium of wit starved of its proper nourishment. It is not for us to condemn233, who have never had the same burden laid on us; it is not for pigmies at their ease to criticise397 the writhings of the Titan chained to the rock.
On one other point we must touch before quitting Heine’s personal history. There is a standing398 accusation286 against him in some quarters of wanting political principle, of wishing to denationalize himself, and of indulging in insults against his native country. Whatever ground may exist for these accusations, that ground is not, so far as we see, to be found in his writings. He may not have much faith in German revolutions and revolutionists; experience, in his case as in that of others, may have thrown his millennial399 anticipations400 into more distant p. 131perspective; but we see no evidence that he has ever swerved401 from his attachment402 to the principles of freedom, or written anything which to a philosophic mind is incompatible with true patriotism403. He has expressly denied the report that he wished to become naturalized in France; and his yearning toward his native land and the accents of his native language is expressed with a pathos the more reliable from the fact that he is sparing in such effusions. We do not see why Heine’s satire of the blunders and foibles of his fellow-countrymen should be denounced as a crime of lèse-patrie, any more than the political caricatures of any other satirist. The real offences of Heine are his occasional coarseness and his unscrupulous personalities404, which are reprehensible405, not because they are directed against his fellow-countrymen, but because they are personalities. That these offences have their precedents406 in men whose memory the world delights to honor does not remove their turpitude407, but it is a fact which should modify our condemnation in a particular case; unless, indeed, we are to deliver our judgments408 on a principle of compensation—making up for our indulgence in one direction by our severity in another. On this ground of coarseness and personality, a true bill may be found against Heine; not, we think, on the ground that he has laughed at what is laughable in his compatriots. Here is a specimen of the satire under which we suppose German patriots409 wince410:
“Rhenish Bavaria was to be the starting-point of the German revolution. Zweibrücken was the Bethlehem in which the infant Saviour—Freedom—lay in the cradle, and gave whimpering promise of redeeming411 the world. Near his cradle bellowed412 many an ox, who afterward, when his horns were reckoned on, showed himself a very harmless brute. It was confidently believed that the German revolution would begin in Zweibrücken, and everything was there ripe for an outbreak. But, as has been hinted, the tender-heartedness of some persons frustrated413 that illegal undertaking414. For example, among the Bipontine conspirators415 there was a tremendous braggart416, who was always loudest in his rage, who boiled over with the hatred of tyranny, and this man was fixed417 on to strike the first blow, by p. 132cutting down a sentinel who kept an important post. . . . . ‘What!’ cried the man, when this order was given him—‘What!—me! Can you expect so horrible, so bloodthirsty an act of me? I—I, kill an innocent sentinel? I, who am the father of a family! And this sentinel is perhaps also father of a family. One father of a family kill another father of a family? Yes. Kill—murder!’”
In political matters Heine, like all men whose intellect and taste predominate too far over their impulses to allow of their becoming partisans301, is offensive alike to the aristocrat418 and the democrat244. By the one he is denounced as a man who holds incendiary principles, by the other as a half-hearted “trimmer.” He has no sympathy, as he says, with “that vague, barren pathos, that useless effervescence of enthusiasm, which plunges419, with the spirit of a martyr237, into an ocean of generalities, and which always reminds me of the American sailor, who had so fervent420 an enthusiasm for General Jackson, that he at last sprang from the top of a mast into the sea, crying, “I die for General Jackson!”
“But thou liest, Brutus, thou liest, Cassius, and thou, too, liest, Asinius, in maintaining that my ridicule attacks those ideas which are the precious acquisition of Humanity, and for which I myself have so striven and suffered. No! for the very reason that those ideas constantly hover421 before the poet in glorious splendor422 and majesty423, he is the more irresistibly overcome by laughter when he sees how rudely, awkwardly, and clumsily those ideas are seized and mirrored in the contracted minds of contemporaries. . . . There are mirrors which have so rough a surface that even an Apollo reflected in them becomes a caricature, and excites our laughter. But we laugh then only at the caricature, not at the god.”
For the rest, why should we demand of Heine that he should be a hero, a patriot, a solemn prophet, any more than we should demand of a gazelle that it should draw well in harness? Nature has not made him of her sterner stuff—not of iron and adamant424, but of pollen425 of flowers, the juice of the grape, and Puck’s mischievous426 brain, plenteously mixing also the dews of kindly427 affection and the gold-dust of noble thoughts. It is, after all, a tribute which his enemies pay him when they utter p. 133their bitterest dictum, namely, that he is “nur Dichter”—only a poet. Let us accept this point of view for the present, and, leaving all consideration of him as a man, look at him simply as a poet and literary artist.
Heine is essentially428 a lyric poet. The finest products of his genius are
“Short swallow flights of song that dip
Their wings in tears, and skim away;”
and they are so emphatically songs that, in reading them, we feel as if each must have a twin melody born in the same moment and by the same inspiration. Heine is too impressible and mercurial429 for any sustained production; even in his short lyrics his tears sometimes pass into laughter and his laughter into tears; and his longer poems, “Atta Troll” and “Deutschland,” are full of Ariosto-like transitions. His song has a wide compass of notes; he can take us to the shores of the Northern Sea and thrill us by the sombre sublimity430 of his pictures and dreamy fancies; he can draw forth our tears by the voice he gives to our own sorrows, or to the sorrows of “Poor Peter;” he can throw a cold shudder431 over us by a mysterious legend, a ghost story, or a still more ghastly rendering432 of hard reality; he can charm us by a quiet idyl, shake us with laughter at his overflowing433 fun, or give us a piquant434 sensation of surprise by the ingenuity of his transitions from the lofty to the ludicrous. This last power is not, indeed, essentially poetical435; but only a poet can use it with the same success as Heine, for only a poet can poise436 our emotion and expectation at such a height as to give effect to the sudden fall. Heine’s greatest power as a poet lies in his simple pathos, in the ever-varied437 but always natural expression he has given to the tender emotions. We may perhaps indicate this phase of his genius by referring to Wordsworth’s beautiful little poem, “She dwelt among the untrodden ways;” the conclusion—
“She dwelt alone, and few could know
When Lucy ceased to be;
But she is in her grave, and, oh!
The difference to me”—
p. 134is entirely in Heine’s manner; and so is Tennyson’s poem of a dozen lines, called “Circumstance.” Both these poems have Heine’s pregnant simplicity438. But, lest this comparison should mislead, we must say that there is no general resemblance between either Wordsworth, or Tennyson, and Heine. Their greatest qualities lie quite a way from the light, delicate lucidity439, the easy, rippling440 music, of Heine’s style. The distinctive441 charm of his lyrics may best be seen by comparing them with Goethe’s. Both have the same masterly, finished simplicity and rhythmic442 grace; but there is more thought mingled with Goethe’s feeling—his lyrical genius is a vessel443 that draws more water than Heine’s, and, though it seems to glide134 along with equal ease, we have a sense of greater weight and force, accompanying the grace of its movements.
But for this very reason Heine touches our hearts more strongly; his songs are all music and feeling—they are like birds that not only enchant444 us with their delicious notes, but nestle against us with their soft breasts, and make us feel the agitated445 beating of their hearts. He indicates a whole sad history in a single quatrain; there is not an image in it, not a thought; but it is beautiful, simple, and perfect as a “big round tear”—it is pure feeling, breathed in pure music:
“Anfangs wollt’ ich fast verzagen
Und ich glaubt’ ich trug es nie,
Und ich hab’ es doch getragen—
Aber fragt mich nur nicht, wie.” [134]
He excels equally in the more imaginative expression of feeling: he represents it by a brief image, like a finely cut cameo; he expands it into a mysterious dream, or dramatizes it in a little story, half ballad446, half idyl; and in all these forms his art is so perfect that we never have a sense of artificiality or of unsuccessful effort; but all seems to have developed itself by the same beautiful necessity that brings forth vine-leaves and p. 135grapes and the natural curls of childhood. Of Heine’s humorous poetry, “Deutschland” is the most charming specimen—charming, especially, because its wit and humor grow out of a rich loam447 of thought. “Atta Troll” is more original, more various, more fantastic; but it is too great a strain on the imagination to be a general favorite. We have said that feeling is the element in which Heine’s poetic genius habitually448 floats; but he can occasionally soar to a higher region, and impart deep significance to picturesque449 symbolism; he can flash a sublime450 thought over the past and into the future; he can pour forth a lofty strain of hope or indignation. Few could forget, after once hearing them, the stanzas451 at the close of “Deutschland,” in which he warns the King of Prussia not to incur452 the irredeemable hell which the injured poet can create for him—the singing flames of a Dante’s terza rima!
“Kennst du die H?lle des Dante nicht,
Die schrecklichen Terzetten?
Wen da der Dichter hineingesperrt
“Kein Gott, kein Heiland, erl?st ihn je
Aus diesen singenden Flammen!
Nimm dich in Acht, das wir dich nicht
Zu solcher H?lle verdammen.” [135]
As a prosaist, Heine is, in one point of view, even more distinguished than as a poet. The German language easily lends itself to all the purposes of poetry; like the ladies of the Middle Ages, it is gracious and compliant453 to the Troubadours. But as these same ladies were often crusty and repulsive454 to their p. 136unmusical mates, so the German language generally appears awkward and unmanageable in the hands of prose writers. Indeed, the number of really fine German prosaists before Heine would hardly have exceeded the numerating455 powers of a New Hollander, who can count three and no more. Persons the most familiar with German prose testify that there is an extra fatigue456 in reading it, just as we feel an extra fatigue from our walk when it takes us over ploughed clay. But in Heine’s hands German prose, usually so heavy, so clumsy, so dull, becomes, like clay in the hands of the chemist, compact, metallic457, brilliant; it is German in an allotropic condition. No dreary458 labyrinthine459 sentences in which you find “no end in wandering mazes460 lost;” no chains of adjectives in linked harshness long drawn out; no digressions thrown in as parentheses; but crystalline definiteness and clearness, fine and varied rhythm, and all that delicate precision, all those felicities of word and cadence461, which belong to the highest order of prose. And Heine has proved—what Madame de St?el seems to have doubted—that it is possible to be witty in German; indeed, in reading him, you might imagine that German was pre-eminently the language of wit, so flexible, so subtle, so piquant does it become under his management. He is far more an artist in prose than Goethe. He has not the breadth and repose, and the calm development which belong to Goethe’s style, for they are foreign to his mental character; but he excels Goethe in susceptibility to the manifold qualities of prose, and in mastery over its effects. Heine is full of variety, of light and shadow: he alternates between epigrammatic pith, imaginative grace, sly allusion, and daring piquancy; and athwart all these there runs a vein462 of sadness, tenderness, and grandeur463 which reveals the poet. He continually throws out those finely chiselled464 sayings which stamp themselves on the memory, and become familiar by quotation465. For example: “The People have time enough, they are immortal; kings only are mortal.”—“Wherever a great soul utters its thoughts, there is Golgotha.”—“Nature wanted to see how she looked, and she p. 137created Goethe.”—“Only the man who has known bodily suffering is truly a man; his limbs have their Passion history, they are spiritualized.” He calls Rubens “this Flemish Titan, the wings of whose genius were so strong that he soared as high as the sun, in spite of the hundred-weight of Dutch cheeses that hung on his legs.” Speaking of B?rne’s dislike to the calm creations of the true artist, he says, “He was like a child which, insensible to the glowing significance of a Greek statue, only touches the marble and complains of cold.”
The most poetic and specifically humorous of Heine’s prose writings are the “Reisebilder.” The comparison with Sterne is inevitable466 here; but Heine does not suffer from it, for if he falls below Sterne in raciness of humor, he is far above him in poetic sensibility and in reach and variety of thought. Heine’s humor is never persistent467, it never flows on long in easy gayety and drollery; where it is not swelled by the tide of poetic feeling, it is continually dashing down the precipice468 of a witticism. It is not broad and unctuous469; it is a?rial and sprite-like, a momentary resting-place between his poetry and his wit. In the “Reisebilder” he runs through the whole gamut470 of his powers, and gives us every hue226 of thought, from the wildly droll50 and fantastic to the sombre and the terrible. Here is a passage almost Dantesque in conception:
“Alas! one ought in truth to write against no one in this world. Each of us is sick enough in this great lazaretto, and many a polemical writing reminds me involuntarily of a revolting quarrel, in a little hospital at Cracow, of which I chanced to be a witness, and where it was horrible to hear how the patients mockingly reproached each other with their infirmities: how one who was wasted by consumption jeered471 at another who was bloated by dropsy; how one laughed at another’s cancer in the nose, and this one again at his neighbor’s locked-jaw or squint472, until at last the delirious473 fever-patient sprang out of bed and tore away the coverings from the wounded bodies of his companions, and nothing was to be seen but hideous misery474 and mutilation.”
And how fine is the transition in the very next chapter, p. 138where, after quoting the Homeric description of the feasting gods, he says:
“Then suddenly approached, panting, a pale Jew, with drops of blood on his brow, with a crown of thorns on his head, and a great cross laid on his shoulders; and he threw the cross on the high table of the gods, so that the golden cups tottered475, and the gods became dumb and pale, and grew ever paler, till they at last melted away into vapor476.”
The richest specimens477 of Heine’s wit are perhaps to be found in the works which have appeared since the “Reisebilder.” The years, if they have intensified478 his satirical bitterness, have also given his wit a finer edge and polish. His sarcasms are so subtly prepared and so slily allusive479, that they may often escape readers whose sense of wit is not very acute; but for those who delight in the subtle and delicate flavors of style, there can hardly be any wit more irresistible than Heine’s. We may measure its force by the degree in which it has subdued the German language to its purposes, and made that language brilliant in spite of a long hereditary480 transmission of dulness. As one of the most harmless examples of his satire, take this on a man who has certainly had his share of adulation:
“Assuredly it is far from my purpose to depreciate481 M. Victor Cousin. The titles of this celebrated philosopher even lay me under an obligation to praise him. He belongs to that living pantheon of France which we call the peerage, and his intelligent legs rest on the velvet benches of the Luxembourg. I must indeed sternly repress all private feelings which might seduce482 me into an excessive enthusiasm. Otherwise I might be suspected of servility; for M. Cousin is very influential483 in the State by means of his position and his tongue. This consideration might even move me to speak of his faults as frankly as of his virtues484. Will he himself disapprove485 of this? Assuredly not. I know that we cannot do higher honor to great minds than when we throw as strong a light on their demerits as on their merits. When we sing the praises of a Hercules, we must also mention that he once laid aside the lion’s skin and sat down to the distaff: what then? he remains486 notwithstanding a Hercules! So when we relate similar circumstances concerning M. Cousin, we p. 139must nevertheless add, with discriminating487 eulogy488: M. Cousin, if he has sometimes sat twaddling at the distaff, has never laid aside the lion’s skin. . . . It is true that, having been suspected of demagogy, he spent some time in a German prison, just as Lafayette and Richard C?ur de Lion. But that M. Cousin there in his leisure hours studied Kant’s ‘Critique of Pure Reason’ is to be doubted on three grounds. First, this book is written in German. Secondly, in order to read this book, a man must understand German. Thirdly, M. Cousin does not understand German. . . . I fear I am passing unawares from the sweet waters of praise into the bitter ocean of blame. Yes, on one account I cannot refrain from bitterly blaming M. Cousin—namely, that he who loves truth far more than he loves Plato and Tenneman is unjust to himself when he wants to persuade us that he has borrowed something from the philosophy of Schelling and Hegel. Against this self-accusation I must take M. Cousin under my protection. On my word and conscience! this honorable man has not stolen a jot489 from Schelling and Hegel, and if he brought home anything of theirs, it was merely their friendship. That does honor to his heart. But there are many instances of such false self-accusation in psychology. I knew a man who declared that he had stolen silver spoons at the king’s table; and yet we all knew that the poor devil had never been presented at court, and accused himself of stealing these spoons to make us believe that he had been a guest at the palace. No! In German philosophy M. Cousin has always kept the sixth commandment; here he has never pocketed a single idea, not so much as a salt-spoon of an idea. All witnesses agree in attesting490 that in this respect M. Cousin is honor itself. . . . I prophesy491 to you that the renown492 of M. Cousin, like the French Revolution, will go round the world! I hear some one wickedly add: Undeniably the renown of M. Cousin is going round the world, and it has already taken its departure from France.”
The following “symbolical myth” about Louis Philippe is very characteristic of Heine’s manner:
“I remember very well that immediately on my arrival (in Paris) I hastened to the Palais Royal to see Louis Philippe. The friend who conducted me told me that the king now appeared on the terrace only at stated hours, but that formerly he was to be seen at any time for five francs. ‘For five francs!’ I cried with amazement493; ‘does he then show himself for money?’ ‘No, but he is shown for money, and it happens in this way: There is a society of claqueurs, marchands de contremarques, and such riff-raff, who offered every p. 140foreigner to show him the king for five francs: if he would give ten francs, he might see the king raise his eyes to heaven, and lay his hand protestingly on his heart; if he would give twenty francs, the king would sing the Marseillaise. If the foreigner gave five francs, they raised a loud cheering under the king’s windows, and His Majesty appeared on the terrace, bowed, and retired494. If ten francs, they shouted still louder, and gesticulated as if they had been possessed495, when the king appeared, who then, as a sign of silent emotion, raised his eyes to heaven and laid his hand on his heart. English visitors, however, would sometimes spend as much as twenty francs, and then the enthusiasm mounted to the highest pitch; no sooner did the king appear on the terrace than the Marseillaise was struck up and roared out frightfully, until Louis Philippe, perhaps only for the sake of putting an end to the singing, bowed, laid his hand on his heart, and joined in the Marseillaise. Whether, as is asserted, he beat time with his foot, I cannot say.’”
One more quotation, and it must be our last:
“Oh the women! We must forgive them much, for they love much—and many. Their hate is properly only love turned inside out. Sometimes they attribute some delinquency to us, because they think they can in this way gratify another man. When they write, they have always one eye on the paper and the other on a man; and this is true of all authoresses, except the Countess Hahn-Hahn, who has only one eye.”
点击收听单词发音
1 gulf | |
n.海湾;深渊,鸿沟;分歧,隔阂 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
2 derive | |
v.取得;导出;引申;来自;源自;出自 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
3 derived | |
vi.起源;由来;衍生;导出v.得到( derive的过去式和过去分词 );(从…中)得到获得;源于;(从…中)提取 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
4 witticism | |
n.谐语,妙语 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
5 den | |
n.兽穴;秘密地方;安静的小房间,私室 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
6 manifestation | |
n.表现形式;表明;现象 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
7 aspire | |
vi.(to,after)渴望,追求,有志于 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
8 poetic | |
adj.富有诗意的,有诗人气质的,善于抒情的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
9 witty | |
adj.机智的,风趣的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
10 beavers | |
海狸( beaver的名词复数 ); 海狸皮毛; 棕灰色; 拼命工作的人 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
11 metaphorically | |
adv. 用比喻地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
12 facetious | |
adj.轻浮的,好开玩笑的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
13 lurks | |
n.潜在,潜伏;(lurk的复数形式)vi.潜伏,埋伏(lurk的第三人称单数形式) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
14 gastronomic | |
adj.美食(烹饪)法的,烹任学的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
15 enjoyment | |
n.乐趣;享有;享用 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
16 acorns | |
n.橡子,栎实( acorn的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
17 effigy | |
n.肖像 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
18 perfectly | |
adv.完美地,无可非议地,彻底地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
19 grotesque | |
adj.怪诞的,丑陋的;n.怪诞的图案,怪人(物) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
20 affinity | |
n.亲和力,密切关系 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
21 allied | |
adj.协约国的;同盟国的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
22 diffuse | |
v.扩散;传播;adj.冗长的;四散的,弥漫的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
23 akin | |
adj.同族的,类似的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
24 witticisms | |
n.妙语,俏皮话( witticism的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
25 absurdity | |
n.荒谬,愚蠢;谬论 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
26 ratiocination | |
n.推理;推断 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
27 ingenuity | |
n.别出心裁;善于发明创造 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
28 condensation | |
n.压缩,浓缩;凝结的水珠 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
29 eloquently | |
adv. 雄辩地(有口才地, 富于表情地) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
30 triumphant | |
adj.胜利的,成功的;狂欢的,喜悦的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
31 yoke | |
n.轭;支配;v.给...上轭,连接,使成配偶 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
32 exacting | |
adj.苛求的,要求严格的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
33 genealogy | |
n.家系,宗谱 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
34 rue | |
n.懊悔,芸香,后悔;v.后悔,悲伤,懊悔 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
35 savage | |
adj.野蛮的;凶恶的,残暴的;n.未开化的人 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
36 irresistible | |
adj.非常诱人的,无法拒绝的,无法抗拒的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
37 disposition | |
n.性情,性格;意向,倾向;排列,部署 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
38 deliberately | |
adv.审慎地;蓄意地;故意地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
39 abounds | |
v.大量存在,充满,富于( abound的第三人称单数 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
40 mere | |
adj.纯粹的;仅仅,只不过 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
41 perennial | |
adj.终年的;长久的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
42 superannuated | |
adj.老朽的,退休的;v.因落后于时代而废除,勒令退学 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
43 overlap | |
v.重叠,与…交叠;n.重叠 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
44 hybrids | |
n.杂交生成的生物体( hybrid的名词复数 );杂交植物(或动物);杂种;(不同事物的)混合物 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
45 lengthy | |
adj.漫长的,冗长的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
46 narratives | |
记叙文( narrative的名词复数 ); 故事; 叙述; 叙述部分 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
47 satire | |
n.讽刺,讽刺文学,讽刺作品 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
48 relish | |
n.滋味,享受,爱好,调味品;vt.加调味料,享受,品味;vi.有滋味 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
49 drollery | |
n.开玩笑,说笑话;滑稽可笑的图画(或故事、小戏等) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
50 droll | |
adj.古怪的,好笑的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
51 implicit | |
a.暗示的,含蓄的,不明晰的,绝对的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
52 explicit | |
adj.详述的,明确的;坦率的;显然的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
53 verge | |
n.边,边缘;v.接近,濒临 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
54 genre | |
n.(文学、艺术等的)类型,体裁,风格 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
55 eminently | |
adv.突出地;显著地;不寻常地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
56 exuberance | |
n.丰富;繁荣 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
57 preposterous | |
adj.荒谬的,可笑的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
58 lengthiness | |
n.冗长 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
59 thoroughly | |
adv.完全地,彻底地,十足地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
60 exhausted | |
adj.极其疲惫的,精疲力尽的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
61 philosophic | |
adj.哲学的,贤明的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
62 marrow | |
n.骨髓;精华;活力 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
63 instinctive | |
adj.(出于)本能的;直觉的;(出于)天性的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
64 tact | |
n.机敏,圆滑,得体 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
65 laborious | |
adj.吃力的,努力的,不流畅 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
66 tiresome | |
adj.令人疲劳的,令人厌倦的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
67 subtlety | |
n.微妙,敏锐,精巧;微妙之处,细微的区别 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
68 philosophical | |
adj.哲学家的,哲学上的,达观的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
69 doctrine | |
n.教义;主义;学说 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
70 providence | |
n.深谋远虑,天道,天意;远见;节约;上帝 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
71 ennui | |
n.怠倦,无聊 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
72 aged | |
adj.年老的,陈年的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
73 appreciation | |
n.评价;欣赏;感谢;领会,理解;价格上涨 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
74 ardent | |
adj.热情的,热烈的,强烈的,烈性的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
75 refinement | |
n.文雅;高尚;精美;精制;精炼 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
76 specimen | |
n.样本,标本 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
77 facetiousness | |
n.滑稽 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
78 swelled | |
增强( swell的过去式和过去分词 ); 肿胀; (使)凸出; 充满(激情) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
79 agitating | |
搅动( agitate的现在分词 ); 激怒; 使焦虑不安; (尤指为法律、社会状况的改变而)激烈争论 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
80 remarkable | |
adj.显著的,异常的,非凡的,值得注意的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
81 immortal | |
adj.不朽的;永生的,不死的;神的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
82 satirist | |
n.讽刺诗作者,讽刺家,爱挖苦别人的人 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
83 omission | |
n.省略,删节;遗漏或省略的事物,冗长 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
84 pungent | |
adj.(气味、味道)刺激性的,辛辣的;尖锐的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
85 vent | |
n.通风口,排放口;开衩;vt.表达,发泄 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
86 reveres | |
v.崇敬,尊崇,敬畏( revere的第三人称单数 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
87 hoof | |
n.(马,牛等的)蹄 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
88 chaste | |
adj.贞洁的;有道德的;善良的;简朴的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
89 inevitably | |
adv.不可避免地;必然发生地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
90 vigor | |
n.活力,精力,元气 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
91 lyric | |
n.抒情诗,歌词;adj.抒情的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
92 folly | |
n.愚笨,愚蠢,蠢事,蠢行,傻话 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
93 transmutes | |
v.使变形,使变质,把…变成…( transmute的第三人称单数 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
94 mighty | |
adj.强有力的;巨大的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
95 scorching | |
adj. 灼热的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
96 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 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
97 forth | |
adv.向前;向外,往外 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
98 alas | |
int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
99 gems | |
growth; economy; management; and customer satisfaction 增长 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
100 brass | |
n.黄铜;黄铜器,铜管乐器 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
101 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: |
|
|
102 audacity | |
n.大胆,卤莽,无礼 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
103 license | |
n.执照,许可证,特许;v.许可,特许 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
104 immature | |
adj.未成熟的,发育未全的,未充分发展的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
105 censor | |
n./vt.审查,审查员;删改 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
106 scurrility | |
n.粗俗下流;辱骂的言语 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
107 reverent | |
adj.恭敬的,虔诚的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
108 exquisite | |
adj.精美的;敏锐的;剧烈的,感觉强烈的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
109 apparently | |
adv.显然地;表面上,似乎 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
110 genial | |
adj.亲切的,和蔼的,愉快的,脾气好的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
111 transgressions | |
n.违反,违法,罪过( transgression的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
112 gratuitous | |
adj.无偿的,免费的;无缘无故的,不必要的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
113 piquancy | |
n.辛辣,辣味,痛快 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
114 allusion | |
n.暗示,间接提示 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
115 mitigated | |
v.减轻,缓和( mitigate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
116 zealous | |
adj.狂热的,热心的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
117 edifying | |
adj.有教训意味的,教训性的,有益的v.开导,启发( edify的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
118 lengthily | |
adv.长,冗长地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
119 sketch | |
n.草图;梗概;素描;v.素描;概述 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
120 drawn | |
v.拖,拉,拔出;adj.憔悴的,紧张的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
121 intrusive | |
adj.打搅的;侵扰的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
122 graphic | |
adj.生动的,形象的,绘画的,文字的,图表的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
123 scattered | |
adj.分散的,稀疏的;散步的;疏疏落落的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
124 sipping | |
v.小口喝,呷,抿( sip的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
125 celebrated | |
adj.有名的,声誉卓著的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
126 pious | |
adj.虔诚的;道貌岸然的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
127 scent | |
n.气味,香味,香水,线索,嗅觉;v.嗅,发觉 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
128 incense | |
v.激怒;n.香,焚香时的烟,香气 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
129 monastery | |
n.修道院,僧院,寺院 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
130 plank | |
n.板条,木板,政策要点,政纲条目 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
131 brook | |
n.小河,溪;v.忍受,容让 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
132 tormented | |
饱受折磨的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
133 glided | |
v.滑动( glide的过去式和过去分词 );掠过;(鸟或飞机 ) 滑翔 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
134 glide | |
n./v.溜,滑行;(时间)消逝 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
135 dismal | |
adj.阴沉的,凄凉的,令人忧郁的,差劲的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
136 trickled | |
v.滴( trickle的过去式和过去分词 );淌;使)慢慢走;缓慢移动 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
137 abdicated | |
放弃(职责、权力等)( abdicate的过去式和过去分词 ); 退位,逊位 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
138 fidelity | |
n.忠诚,忠实;精确 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
139 touching | |
adj.动人的,使人感伤的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
140 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: |
|
|
141 wailed | |
v.哭叫,哀号( wail的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
142 harry | |
vt.掠夺,蹂躏,使苦恼 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
143 afterward | |
adv.后来;以后 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
144 subtraction | |
n.减法,减去 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
145 repose | |
v.(使)休息;n.安息 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
146 consolation | |
n.安慰,慰问 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
147 monks | |
n.修道士,僧侣( monk的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
148 liking | |
n.爱好;嗜好;喜欢 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
149 intercourse | |
n.性交;交流,交往,交际 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
150 pawnbrokers | |
n.当铺老板( pawnbroker的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
151 pecuniary | |
adj.金钱的;金钱上的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
152 reverence | |
n.敬畏,尊敬,尊严;Reverence:对某些基督教神职人员的尊称;v.尊敬,敬畏,崇敬 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
153 sonnets | |
n.十四行诗( sonnet的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
154 subdued | |
adj. 屈服的,柔和的,减弱的 动词subdue的过去式和过去分词 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
155 destined | |
adj.命中注定的;(for)以…为目的地的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
156 sprouted | |
v.发芽( sprout的过去式和过去分词 );抽芽;出现;(使)涌现出 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
157 diligently | |
ad.industriously;carefully | |
参考例句: |
|
|
158 rites | |
仪式,典礼( rite的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
159 precisely | |
adv.恰好,正好,精确地,细致地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
160 soothes | |
v.安慰( soothe的第三人称单数 );抚慰;使舒服;减轻痛苦 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
161 bent | |
n.爱好,癖好;adj.弯的;决心的,一心的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
162 tragic | |
adj.悲剧的,悲剧性的,悲惨的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
163 hatred | |
n.憎恶,憎恨,仇恨 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
164 strife | |
n.争吵,冲突,倾轧,竞争 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
165 moor | |
n.荒野,沼泽;vt.(使)停泊;vi.停泊 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
166 Moslem | |
n.回教徒,穆罕默德信徒;adj.回教徒的,回教的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
167 Christian | |
adj.基督教徒的;n.基督教徒 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
168 scotch | |
n.伤口,刻痕;苏格兰威士忌酒;v.粉碎,消灭,阻止;adj.苏格兰(人)的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
169 passionately | |
ad.热烈地,激烈地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
170 rusticated | |
v.罚(大学生)暂时停学离校( rusticate的过去式和过去分词 );在农村定居 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
171 breach | |
n.违反,不履行;破裂;vt.冲破,攻破 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
172 duel | |
n./v.决斗;(双方的)斗争 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
173 negotiation | |
n.谈判,协商 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
174 ordeal | |
n.苦难经历,(尤指对品格、耐力的)严峻考验 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
175 epoch | |
n.(新)时代;历元 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
176 admiration | |
n.钦佩,赞美,羡慕 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
177 dedicated | |
adj.一心一意的;献身的;热诚的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
178 presentiment | |
n.预感,预觉 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
179 opposition | |
n.反对,敌对 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
180 ridicule | |
v.讥讽,挖苦;n.嘲弄 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
181 sarcasm | |
n.讥讽,讽刺,嘲弄,反话 (adj.sarcastic) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
182 talons | |
n.(尤指猛禽的)爪( talon的名词复数 );(如爪般的)手指;爪状物;锁簧尖状突出部 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
183 velvet | |
n.丝绒,天鹅绒;adj.丝绒制的,柔软的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
184 leopard | |
n.豹 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
185 superstition | |
n.迷信,迷信行为 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
186 confession | |
n.自白,供认,承认 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
187 sarcasms | |
n.讥讽,讽刺,挖苦( sarcasm的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
188 wholesome | |
adj.适合;卫生的;有益健康的;显示身心健康的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
189 heroism | |
n.大无畏精神,英勇 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
190 lavish | |
adj.无节制的;浪费的;vt.慷慨地给予,挥霍 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
191 generosity | |
n.大度,慷慨,慷慨的行为 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
192 bourgeois | |
adj./n.追求物质享受的(人);中产阶级分子 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
193 virtue | |
n.德行,美德;贞操;优点;功效,效力 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
194 irresistibly | |
adv.无法抵抗地,不能自持地;极为诱惑人地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
195 anecdotes | |
n.掌故,趣闻,轶事( anecdote的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
196 sarcastic | |
adj.讥讽的,讽刺的,嘲弄的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
197 lash | |
v.系牢;鞭打;猛烈抨击;n.鞭打;眼睫毛 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
198 unfamiliar | |
adj.陌生的,不熟悉的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
199 frankly | |
adv.坦白地,直率地;坦率地说 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
200 discourse | |
n.论文,演说;谈话;话语;vi.讲述,著述 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
201 parentheses | |
n.圆括号,插入语,插曲( parenthesis的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
202 guardianship | |
n. 监护, 保护, 守护 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
203 squandered | |
v.(指钱,财产等)浪费,乱花( squander的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
204 degenerate | |
v.退步,堕落;adj.退步的,堕落的;n.堕落者 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
205 confidential | |
adj.秘(机)密的,表示信任的,担任机密工作的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
206 bosom | |
n.胸,胸部;胸怀;内心;adj.亲密的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
207 intimacy | |
n.熟悉,亲密,密切关系,亲昵的言行 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
208 monologue | |
n.长篇大论,(戏剧等中的)独白 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
209 worthy | |
adj.(of)值得的,配得上的;有价值的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
210 maturity | |
n.成熟;完成;(支票、债券等)到期 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
211 prosecuting | |
检举、告发某人( prosecute的现在分词 ); 对某人提起公诉; 继续从事(某事物); 担任控方律师 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
212 devour | |
v.吞没;贪婪地注视或谛听,贪读;使着迷 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
213 devoured | |
吞没( devour的过去式和过去分词 ); 耗尽; 津津有味地看; 狼吞虎咽地吃光 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
214 testimony | |
n.证词;见证,证明 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
215 persecution | |
n. 迫害,烦扰 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
216 pretext | |
n.借口,托词 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
217 alluded | |
提及,暗指( allude的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
218 scorpion | |
n.蝎子,心黑的人,蝎子鞭 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
219 beak | |
n.鸟嘴,茶壶嘴,钩形鼻 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
220 lyrics | |
n.歌词 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
221 isle | |
n.小岛,岛 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
222 sketching | |
n.草图 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
223 idyllic | |
adj.质朴宜人的,田园风光的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
224 shimmer | |
v./n.发微光,发闪光;微光 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
225 hues | |
色彩( hue的名词复数 ); 色调; 信仰; 观点 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
226 hue | |
n.色度;色调;样子 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
227 antipathy | |
n.憎恶;反感,引起反感的人或事物 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
228 intensity | |
n.强烈,剧烈;强度;烈度 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
229 antipathies | |
反感( antipathy的名词复数 ); 引起反感的事物; 憎恶的对象; (在本性、倾向等方面的)不相容 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
230 frightful | |
adj.可怕的;讨厌的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
231 injustice | |
n.非正义,不公正,不公平,侵犯(别人的)权利 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
232 condemnation | |
n.谴责; 定罪 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
233 condemn | |
vt.谴责,指责;宣判(罪犯),判刑 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
234 momentary | |
adj.片刻的,瞬息的;短暂的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
235 distinguished | |
adj.卓越的,杰出的,著名的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
236 isolated | |
adj.与世隔绝的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
237 martyr | |
n.烈士,殉难者;vt.杀害,折磨,牺牲 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
238 martyrs | |
n.martyr的复数形式;烈士( martyr的名词复数 );殉道者;殉教者;乞怜者(向人诉苦以博取同情) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
239 miserable | |
adj.悲惨的,痛苦的;可怜的,糟糕的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
240 motive | |
n.动机,目的;adv.发动的,运动的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
241 gilt | |
adj.镀金的;n.金边证券 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
242 piety | |
n.虔诚,虔敬 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
243 odious | |
adj.可憎的,讨厌的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
244 democrat | |
n.民主主义者,民主人士;民主党党员 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
245 inflamed | |
adj.发炎的,红肿的v.(使)变红,发怒,过热( inflame的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
246 conflagration | |
n.建筑物或森林大火 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
247 creed | |
n.信条;信念,纲领 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
248 cannon | |
n.大炮,火炮;飞机上的机关炮 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
249 resound | |
v.回响 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
250 yearning | |
a.渴望的;向往的;怀念的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
251 benediction | |
n.祝福;恩赐 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
252 illuminate | |
vt.照亮,照明;用灯光装饰;说明,阐释 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
253 javelins | |
n.标枪( javelin的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
254 skulked | |
v.潜伏,偷偷摸摸地走动,鬼鬼祟祟地活动( skulk的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
255 delirium | |
n. 神智昏迷,说胡话;极度兴奋 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
256 aglow | |
adj.发亮的;发红的;adv.发亮地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
257 instinctively | |
adv.本能地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
258 momentous | |
adj.重要的,重大的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
259 nourishment | |
n.食物,营养品;营养情况 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
260 caustic | |
adj.刻薄的,腐蚀性的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
261 patriotic | |
adj.爱国的,有爱国心的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
262 patriot | |
n.爱国者,爱国主义者 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
263 antagonism | |
n.对抗,敌对,对立 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
264 fanaticism | |
n.狂热,盲信 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
265 majestically | |
雄伟地; 庄重地; 威严地; 崇高地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
266 skull | |
n.头骨;颅骨 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
267 trophies | |
n.(为竞赛获胜者颁发的)奖品( trophy的名词复数 );奖杯;(尤指狩猎或战争中获得的)纪念品;(用于比赛或赛跑名称)奖 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
268 brute | |
n.野兽,兽性 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
269 pampered | |
adj.饮食过量的,饮食奢侈的v.纵容,宠,娇养( pamper的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
270 hideous | |
adj.丑陋的,可憎的,可怕的,恐怖的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
271 gnawed | |
咬( gnaw的过去式和过去分词 ); (长时间) 折磨某人; (使)苦恼; (长时间)危害某事物 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
272 melancholy | |
n.忧郁,愁思;adj.令人感伤(沮丧)的,忧郁的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
273 fortress | |
n.堡垒,防御工事 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
274 chilly | |
adj.凉快的,寒冷的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
275 fetters | |
n.脚镣( fetter的名词复数 );束缚v.给…上脚镣,束缚( fetter的第三人称单数 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
276 laurels | |
n.桂冠,荣誉 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
277 oysters | |
牡蛎( oyster的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
278 conducive | |
adj.有益的,有助的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
279 socialist | |
n.社会主义者;adj.社会主义的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
280 impartiality | |
n. 公平, 无私, 不偏 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
281 incompatible | |
adj.不相容的,不协调的,不相配的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
282 venality | |
n.贪赃枉法,腐败 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
283 venal | |
adj.唯利是图的,贪脏枉法的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
284 abstain | |
v.自制,戒绝,弃权,避免 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
285 accusations | |
n.指责( accusation的名词复数 );指控;控告;(被告发、控告的)罪名 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
286 accusation | |
n.控告,指责,谴责 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
287 stipend | |
n.薪贴;奖学金;养老金 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
288 conceal | |
v.隐藏,隐瞒,隐蔽 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
289 vindication | |
n.洗冤,证实 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
290 gall | |
v.使烦恼,使焦躁,难堪;n.磨难 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
291 gushing | |
adj.迸出的;涌出的;喷出的;过分热情的v.喷,涌( gush的现在分词 );滔滔不绝地说话 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
292 sketches | |
n.草图( sketch的名词复数 );素描;速写;梗概 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
293 salons | |
n.(营业性质的)店( salon的名词复数 );厅;沙龙(旧时在上流社会女主人家的例行聚会或聚会场所);(大宅中的)客厅 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
294 embittered | |
v.使怨恨,激怒( embitter的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
295 exquisitely | |
adv.精致地;强烈地;剧烈地;异常地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
296 delightful | |
adj.令人高兴的,使人快乐的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
297 wreaking | |
诉诸(武力),施行(暴力),发(脾气)( wreak的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
298 vengeance | |
n.报复,报仇,复仇 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
299 partisan | |
adj.党派性的;游击队的;n.游击队员;党徒 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
300 Partisanship | |
n. 党派性, 党派偏见 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
301 partisans | |
游击队员( partisan的名词复数 ); 党人; 党羽; 帮伙 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
302 justifying | |
证明…有理( justify的现在分词 ); 为…辩护; 对…作出解释; 为…辩解(或辩护) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
303 radical | |
n.激进份子,原子团,根号;adj.根本的,激进的,彻底的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
304 destitute | |
adj.缺乏的;穷困的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
305 absurdities | |
n.极端无理性( absurdity的名词复数 );荒谬;谬论;荒谬的行为 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
306 consistency | |
n.一贯性,前后一致,稳定性;(液体的)浓度 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
307 indifference | |
n.不感兴趣,不关心,冷淡,不在乎 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
308 artistic | |
adj.艺术(家)的,美术(家)的;善于艺术创作的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
309 utterly | |
adv.完全地,绝对地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
310 motives | |
n.动机,目的( motive的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
311 resolutely | |
adj.坚决地,果断地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
312 scurrilous | |
adj.下流的,恶意诽谤的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
313 acumen | |
n.敏锐,聪明 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
314 pathos | |
n.哀婉,悲怆 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
315 annoyance | |
n.恼怒,生气,烦恼 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
316 avenged | |
v.为…复仇,报…之仇( avenge的过去式和过去分词 );为…报复 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
317 irreconcilable | |
adj.(指人)难和解的,势不两立的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
318 ironical | |
adj.讽刺的,冷嘲的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
319 apostasy | |
n.背教,脱党 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
320 atoned | |
v.补偿,赎(罪)( atone的过去式和过去分词 );补偿,弥补,赎回 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
321 sufficiently | |
adv.足够地,充分地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
322 enraged | |
使暴怒( enrage的过去式和过去分词 ); 歜; 激愤 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
323 wrestler | |
n.摔角选手,扭 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
324 arena | |
n.竞技场,运动场所;竞争场所,舞台 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
325 wrestled | |
v.(与某人)搏斗( wrestle的过去式和过去分词 );扭成一团;扭打;(与…)摔跤 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
326 courageously | |
ad.勇敢地,无畏地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
327 denizen | |
n.居民,外籍居民 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
328 insinuator | |
n.献媚者,暗示着,暗讽者 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
329 decency | |
n.体面,得体,合宜,正派,庄重 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
330 beseeching | |
adj.恳求似的v.恳求,乞求(某事物)( beseech的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
331 rancor | |
n.深仇,积怨 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
332 impure | |
adj.不纯净的,不洁的;不道德的,下流的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
333 deference | |
n.尊重,顺从;敬意 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
334 rumor | |
n.谣言,谣传,传说 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
335 conversion | |
n.转化,转换,转变 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
336 abjured | |
v.发誓放弃( abjure的过去式和过去分词 );郑重放弃(意见);宣布撤回(声明等);避免 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
337 solace | |
n.安慰;v.使快乐;vt.安慰(物),缓和 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
338 entirely | |
ad.全部地,完整地;完全地,彻底地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
339 specified | |
adj.特定的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
340 abjuration | |
n.发誓弃绝 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
341 consecration | |
n.供献,奉献,献祭仪式 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
342 disturbance | |
n.动乱,骚动;打扰,干扰;(身心)失调 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
343 spinal | |
adj.针的,尖刺的,尖刺状突起的;adj.脊骨的,脊髓的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
344 compassionately | |
adv.表示怜悯地,有同情心地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
345 disconsolately | |
adv.悲伤地,愁闷地;哭丧着脸 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
346 descended | |
a.为...后裔的,出身于...的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
347 affected | |
adj.不自然的,假装的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
348 alleviation | |
n. 减轻,缓和,解痛物 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
349 intensification | |
n.激烈化,增强明暗度;加厚 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
350 incisive | |
adj.敏锐的,机敏的,锋利的,切入的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
351 narrate | |
v.讲,叙述 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
352 plaintive | |
adj.可怜的,伤心的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
353 rustles | |
n.发出沙沙的声音( rustle的名词复数 )v.发出沙沙的声音( rustle的第三人称单数 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
354 coffin | |
n.棺材,灵柩 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
355 rumored | |
adj.传说的,谣传的v.传闻( rumor的过去式和过去分词 );[古]名誉;咕哝;[古]喧嚷 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
356 iconoclast | |
n.反对崇拜偶像者 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
357 fervor | |
n.热诚;热心;炽热 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
358 animating | |
v.使有生气( animate的现在分词 );驱动;使栩栩如生地动作;赋予…以生命 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
359 asceticism | |
n.禁欲主义 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
360 well-being | |
n.安康,安乐,幸福 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
361 heresies | |
n.异端邪说,异教( heresy的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
362 tempting | |
a.诱人的, 吸引人的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
363 banter | |
n.嘲弄,戏谑;v.取笑,逗弄,开玩笑 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
364 reliability | |
n.可靠性,确实性 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
365 homage | |
n.尊敬,敬意,崇敬 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
366 stifled | |
(使)窒息, (使)窒闷( stifle的过去式和过去分词 ); 镇压,遏制; 堵 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
367 allured | |
诱引,吸引( allure的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
368 dallied | |
v.随随便便地对待( dally的过去式和过去分词 );不很认真地考虑;浪费时间;调情 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
369 renounced | |
v.声明放弃( renounce的过去式和过去分词 );宣布放弃;宣布与…决裂;宣布摒弃 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
370 formerly | |
adv.从前,以前 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
371 stationary | |
adj.固定的,静止不动的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
372 baron | |
n.男爵;(商业界等)巨头,大王 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
373 immutability | |
n.不变(性) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
374 considerably | |
adv.极大地;相当大地;在很大程度上 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
375 transformation | |
n.变化;改造;转变 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
376 fumes | |
n.(强烈而刺激的)气味,气体 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
377 veneration | |
n.尊敬,崇拜 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
378 adoration | |
n.爱慕,崇拜 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
379 rascal | |
n.流氓;不诚实的人 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
380 shameful | |
adj.可耻的,不道德的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
381 lapse | |
n.过失,流逝,失效,抛弃信仰,间隔;vi.堕落,停止,失效,流逝;vt.使失效 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
382 virtuous | |
adj.有品德的,善良的,贞洁的,有效力的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
383 propriety | |
n.正当行为;正当;适当 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
384 irony | |
n.反语,冷嘲;具有讽刺意味的事,嘲弄 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
385 repels | |
v.击退( repel的第三人称单数 );使厌恶;排斥;推开 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
386 psychology | |
n.心理,心理学,心理状态 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
387 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 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
388 bust | |
vt.打破;vi.爆裂;n.半身像;胸部 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
389 withered | |
adj. 枯萎的,干瘪的,(人身体的部分器官)因病萎缩的或未发育良好的 动词wither的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
390 waft | |
v.飘浮,飘荡;n.一股;一阵微风;飘荡 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
391 wittiest | |
机智的,言辞巧妙的,情趣横生的( witty的最高级 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
392 miserably | |
adv.痛苦地;悲惨地;糟糕地;极度地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
393 colossal | |
adj.异常的,庞大的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
394 irreverence | |
n.不尊敬 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
395 professes | |
声称( profess的第三人称单数 ); 宣称; 公开表明; 信奉 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
396 anomalous | |
adj.反常的;不规则的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
397 criticise | |
v.批评,评论;非难 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
398 standing | |
n.持续,地位;adj.永久的,不动的,直立的,不流动的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
399 millennial | |
一千年的,千福年的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
400 anticipations | |
预期( anticipation的名词复数 ); 预测; (信托财产收益的)预支; 预期的事物 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
401 swerved | |
v.(使)改变方向,改变目的( swerve的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
402 attachment | |
n.附属物,附件;依恋;依附 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
403 patriotism | |
n.爱国精神,爱国心,爱国主义 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
404 personalities | |
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 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
405 reprehensible | |
adj.该受责备的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
406 precedents | |
引用单元; 范例( precedent的名词复数 ); 先前出现的事例; 前例; 先例 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
407 turpitude | |
n.可耻;邪恶 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
408 judgments | |
判断( judgment的名词复数 ); 鉴定; 评价; 审判 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
409 patriots | |
爱国者,爱国主义者( patriot的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
410 wince | |
n.畏缩,退避,(因痛苦,苦恼等)面部肌肉抽动;v.畏缩,退缩,退避 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
411 redeeming | |
补偿的,弥补的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
412 bellowed | |
v.发出吼叫声,咆哮(尤指因痛苦)( bellow的过去式和过去分词 );(愤怒地)说出(某事),大叫 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
413 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 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
414 undertaking | |
n.保证,许诺,事业 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
415 conspirators | |
n.共谋者,阴谋家( conspirator的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
416 braggart | |
n.吹牛者;adj.吹牛的,自夸的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
417 fixed | |
adj.固定的,不变的,准备好的;(计算机)固定的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
418 aristocrat | |
n.贵族,有贵族气派的人,上层人物 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
419 plunges | |
n.跳进,投入vt.使投入,使插入,使陷入vi.投入,跳进,陷入v.颠簸( plunge的第三人称单数 );暴跌;骤降;突降 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
420 fervent | |
adj.热的,热烈的,热情的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
421 hover | |
vi.翱翔,盘旋;徘徊;彷徨,犹豫 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
422 splendor | |
n.光彩;壮丽,华丽;显赫,辉煌 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
423 majesty | |
n.雄伟,壮丽,庄严,威严;最高权威,王权 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
424 adamant | |
adj.坚硬的,固执的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
425 pollen | |
n.[植]花粉 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
426 mischievous | |
adj.调皮的,恶作剧的,有害的,伤人的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
427 kindly | |
adj.和蔼的,温和的,爽快的;adv.温和地,亲切地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
428 essentially | |
adv.本质上,实质上,基本上 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
429 mercurial | |
adj.善变的,活泼的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
430 sublimity | |
崇高,庄严,气质高尚 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
431 shudder | |
v.战粟,震动,剧烈地摇晃;n.战粟,抖动 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
432 rendering | |
n.表现,描写 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
433 overflowing | |
n. 溢出物,溢流 adj. 充沛的,充满的 动词overflow的现在分词形式 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
434 piquant | |
adj.辛辣的,开胃的,令人兴奋的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
435 poetical | |
adj.似诗人的;诗一般的;韵文的;富有诗意的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
436 poise | |
vt./vi. 平衡,保持平衡;n.泰然自若,自信 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
437 varied | |
adj.多样的,多变化的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
438 simplicity | |
n.简单,简易;朴素;直率,单纯 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
439 lucidity | |
n.明朗,清晰,透明 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
440 rippling | |
起涟漪的,潺潺流水般声音的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
441 distinctive | |
adj.特别的,有特色的,与众不同的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
442 rhythmic | |
adj.有节奏的,有韵律的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
443 vessel | |
n.船舶;容器,器皿;管,导管,血管 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
444 enchant | |
vt.使陶醉,使入迷;使着魔,用妖术迷惑 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
445 agitated | |
adj.被鼓动的,不安的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
446 ballad | |
n.歌谣,民谣,流行爱情歌曲 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
447 loam | |
n.沃土 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
448 habitually | |
ad.习惯地,通常地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
449 picturesque | |
adj.美丽如画的,(语言)生动的,绘声绘色的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
450 sublime | |
adj.崇高的,伟大的;极度的,不顾后果的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
451 stanzas | |
节,段( stanza的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
452 incur | |
vt.招致,蒙受,遭遇 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
453 compliant | |
adj.服从的,顺从的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
454 repulsive | |
adj.排斥的,使人反感的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
455 numerating | |
v.识数的,有计算能力的( numerate的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
456 fatigue | |
n.疲劳,劳累 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
457 metallic | |
adj.金属的;金属制的;含金属的;产金属的;像金属的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
458 dreary | |
adj.令人沮丧的,沉闷的,单调乏味的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
459 labyrinthine | |
adj.如迷宫的;复杂的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
460 mazes | |
迷宫( maze的名词复数 ); 纷繁复杂的规则; 复杂难懂的细节; 迷宫图 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
461 cadence | |
n.(说话声调的)抑扬顿挫 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
462 vein | |
n.血管,静脉;叶脉,纹理;情绪;vt.使成脉络 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
463 grandeur | |
n.伟大,崇高,宏伟,庄严,豪华 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
464 chiselled | |
adj.凿过的,凿光的; (文章等)精心雕琢的v.凿,雕,镌( chisel的过去式 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
465 quotation | |
n.引文,引语,语录;报价,牌价,行情 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
466 inevitable | |
adj.不可避免的,必然发生的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
467 persistent | |
adj.坚持不懈的,执意的;持续的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
468 precipice | |
n.悬崖,危急的处境 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
469 unctuous | |
adj.油腔滑调的,大胆的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
470 gamut | |
n.全音阶,(一领域的)全部知识 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
471 jeered | |
v.嘲笑( jeer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
472 squint | |
v. 使变斜视眼, 斜视, 眯眼看, 偏移, 窥视; n. 斜视, 斜孔小窗; adj. 斜视的, 斜的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
473 delirious | |
adj.不省人事的,神智昏迷的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
474 misery | |
n.痛苦,苦恼,苦难;悲惨的境遇,贫苦 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
475 tottered | |
v.走得或动得不稳( totter的过去式和过去分词 );踉跄;蹒跚;摇摇欲坠 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
476 vapor | |
n.蒸汽,雾气 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
477 specimens | |
n.样品( specimen的名词复数 );范例;(化验的)抽样;某种类型的人 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
478 intensified | |
v.(使)增强, (使)加剧( intensify的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
479 allusive | |
adj.暗示的;引用典故的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
480 hereditary | |
adj.遗传的,遗传性的,可继承的,世袭的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
481 depreciate | |
v.降价,贬值,折旧 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
482 seduce | |
vt.勾引,诱奸,诱惑,引诱 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
483 influential | |
adj.有影响的,有权势的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
484 virtues | |
美德( virtue的名词复数 ); 德行; 优点; 长处 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
485 disapprove | |
v.不赞成,不同意,不批准 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
486 remains | |
n.剩余物,残留物;遗体,遗迹 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
487 discriminating | |
a.有辨别能力的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
488 eulogy | |
n.颂词;颂扬 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
489 jot | |
n.少量;vi.草草记下;vt.匆匆写下 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
490 attesting | |
v.证明( attest的现在分词 );证实;声称…属实;使宣誓 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
491 prophesy | |
v.预言;预示 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
492 renown | |
n.声誉,名望 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
493 amazement | |
n.惊奇,惊讶 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
494 retired | |
adj.隐退的,退休的,退役的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
495 possessed | |
adj.疯狂的;拥有的,占有的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
欢迎访问英文小说网 |