Probably, if we could ascertain10 the images called up by the terms “the people,” “the masses,” “the proletariat,” “the peasantry,” by many who theorize on those bodies with eloquence11, or who legislate12 without eloquence, we should find that they indicate almost as small an amount of concrete knowledge—that they are as far from completely representing the complex facts summed up in the collective term, as the railway images of our non-locomotive gentleman. How little the real characteristics of the working-classes are known to those who are outside them, how little their natural history has been studied, is sufficiently13 disclosed by our Art as well as by our political and social theories. Where, in our picture exhibitions, shall we find a group of true peasantry? What English artist even attempts to rival in truthfulness14 such studies of popular life as the pictures of Teniers or the ragged15 boys of Murillo? Even one of the greatest painters of the pre-eminently16 realistic school, while, in his picture of “The Hireling Shepherd,” he gave us a landscape of marvellous truthfulness, placed a pair of peasants in the foreground who were not much more real than the idyllic17 swains and damsels of our chimney ornaments18. Only a total absence of acquaintance and sympathy with our peasantry could give a moment’s popularity to such a picture as “Cross Purposes,” where we have a peasant girl who looks as if she knew L. E. L.’s poems by heart, and English rustics20, whose costume seems to indicate that they are meant for ploughmen, with exotic features that remind us of a handsome primo tenore. Rather than such cockney sentimentality as this, as an education for the taste and sympathies, we p. 143prefer the most crapulous group of boors22 that Teniers ever painted. But even those among our painters who aim at giving the rustic19 type of features, who are far above the effeminate feebleness of the “Keepsake” style, treat their subjects under the influence of traditions and prepossessions rather than of direct observation. The notion that peasants are joyous23, that the typical moment to represent a man in a smock-frock is when he is cracking a joke and showing a row of sound teeth, that cottage matrons are usually buxom24, and village children necessarily rosy25 and merry, are prejudices difficult to dislodge from the artistic26 mind, which looks for its subjects into literature instead of life. The painter is still under the influence of idyllic literature, which has always expressed the imagination of the cultivated and town-bred, rather than the truth of rustic life. Idyllic ploughmen are jocund27 when they drive their team afield; idyllic shepherds make bashful love under hawthorn28 bushes; idyllic villagers dance in the checkered29 shade and refresh themselves, not immoderately, with spicy30 nut-brown ale. But no one who has seen much of actual ploughmen thinks them jocund; no one who is well acquainted with the English peasantry can pronounce them merry. The slow gaze, in which no sense of beauty beams, no humor twinkles, the slow utterance31, and the heavy, slouching walk, remind one rather of that melancholy32 animal the camel than of the sturdy countryman, with striped stockings, red waistcoat, and hat aside, who represents the traditional English peasant. Observe a company of haymakers. When you see them at a distance, tossing up the forkfuls of hay in the golden light, while the wagon33 creeps slowly with its increasing burden over the meadow, and the bright green space which tells of work done gets larger and larger, you pronounce the scene “smiling,” and you think these companions in labor34 must be as bright and cheerful as the picture to which they give animation35. Approach nearer, and you will certainly find that haymaking time is a time for joking, especially if there are women among the laborers36; but the coarse laugh that bursts out every now and then, and expresses p. 144the triumphant38 taunt39, is as far as possible from your conception of idyllic merriment. That delicious effervescence of the mind which we call fun has no equivalent for the northern peasant, except tipsy revelry; the only realm of fancy and imagination for the English clown exists at the bottom of the third quart pot.
The conventional countryman of the stage, who picks up pocket-books and never looks into them, and who is too simple even to know that honesty has its opposite, represents the still lingering mistake, that an unintelligible40 dialect is a guarantee for ingenuousness42, and that slouching shoulders indicate an upright disposition43. It is quite true that a thresher is likely to be innocent of any adroit44 arithmetical cheating, but he is not the less likely to carry home his master’s corn in his shoes and pocket; a reaper45 is not given to writing begging-letters, but he is quite capable of cajoling the dairymaid into filling his small-beer bottle with ale. The selfish instincts are not subdued46 by the sight of buttercups, nor is integrity in the least established by that classic rural occupation, sheep-washing. To make men moral something more is requisite47 than to turn them out to grass.
Opera peasants, whose unreality excites Mr. Ruskin’s indignation, are surely too frank an idealization to be misleading; and since popular chorus is one of the most effective elements of the opera, we can hardly object to lyric48 rustics in elegant laced boddices and picturesque49 motley, unless we are prepared to advocate a chorus of colliers in their pit costume, or a ballet of charwomen and stocking-weavers. But our social novels profess51 to represent the people as they are, and the unreality of their representations is a grave evil. The greatest benefit we owe to the artist, whether painter, poet, or novelist, is the extension of our sympathies. Appeals founded on generalizations53 and statistics require a sympathy ready-made, a moral sentiment already in activity; but a picture of human life such as a great artist can give, surprises even the trivial and the selfish into that attention to what is a part from themselves, p. 145which may be called the raw material of moral sentiment. When Scott takes us into Luckie Mucklebackit’s cottage, or tells the story of “The Two Drovers;” when Wordsworth sings to us the reverie of “Poor Susan;” when Kingsley shows us Alton Locke gazing yearningly54 over the gate which leads from the highway into the first wood he ever saw; when Hornung paints a group of chimney-sweepers—more is done toward linking the higher classes with the lower, toward obliterating55 the vulgarity of exclusiveness, than by hundreds of sermons and philosophical56 dissertations57. Art is the nearest thing to life; it is a mode of amplifying58 experience and extending our contact with our fellow-men beyond the bounds of our personal lot. All the more sacred is the task of the artist when he undertakes to paint the life of the People. Falsification here is far more pernicious than in the more artificial aspects of life. It is not so very serious that we should have false ideas about evanescent fashions—about the manners and conversation of beaux and duchesses; but it is serious that our sympathy with the perennial59 joys and struggles, the toil60, the tragedy, and the humor in the life of our more heavily laden61 fellow-men, should be perverted62, and turned toward a false object instead of the true one.
This perversion63 is not the less fatal because the misrepresentation which give rise to it has what the artist considers a moral end. The thing for mankind to know is, not what are the motives64 and influences which the moralist thinks ought to act on the laborer37 or the artisan, but what are the motives and influences which do act on him. We want to be taught to feel, not for the heroic artisan or the sentimental21 peasant, but for the peasant in all his coarse apathy65, and the artisan in all his suspicious selfishness.
We have one great novelist who is gifted with the utmost power of rendering66 the external traits of our town population; and if he could give us their psychological character—their conception of life, and their emotions—with the same truth as their idiom and manners, his books would be the greatest contribution p. 146Art has ever made to the awakening67 of social sympathies. But while he can copy Mrs. Plornish’s colloquial68 style with the delicate accuracy of a sun-picture, while there is the same startling inspiration in his description of the gestures and phrases of “Boots,” as in the speeches of Shakespeare’s mobs or numskulls, he scarcely ever passes from the humorous and external to the emotional and tragic69, without becoming as transcendent in his unreality as he was a moment before in his artistic truthfulness. But for the precious salt of his humor, which compels him to reproduce external traits that serve in some degree as a corrective to his frequently false psychology70, his preternaturally virtuous71 poor children and artisans, his melodramatic boatmen and courtesans, would be as obnoxious72 as Eugène Sue’s idealized proletaires, in encouraging the miserable73 fallacy that high morality and refined sentiment can grow out of harsh social relations, ignorance, and want; or that the working-classes are in a condition to enter at once into a millennial74 state of altruism75, wherein every one is caring for everyone else, and no one for himself.
If we need a true conception of the popular character to guide our sympathies rightly, we need it equally to check our theories, and direct us in their application. The tendency created by the splendid conquests of modern generalization52, to believe that all social questions are merged76 in economical science, and that the relations of men to their neighbors may be settled by algebraic equations—the dream that the uncultured classes are prepared for a condition which appeals principally to their moral sensibilities—the aristocractic dilettantism77 which attempts to restore the “good old times” by a sort of idyllic masquerading, and to grow feudal78 fidelity80 and veneration81 as we grow prize turnips82, by an artificial system of culture—none of these diverging83 mistakes can coexist with a real knowledge of the people, with a thorough study of their habits, their ideas, their motives. The landholder, the clergyman, the mill-owner, the mining-agent, have each an opportunity for making precious observations on different sections p. 147of the working-classes, but unfortunately their experience is too often not registered at all, or its results are too scattered85 to be available as a source of information and stimulus86 to the public mind generally. If any man of sufficient moral and intellectual breadth, whose observations would not be vitiated by a foregone conclusion, or by a professional point of view, would devote himself to studying the natural history of our social classes, especially of the small shopkeepers, artisans, and peasantry—the degree in which they are influenced by local conditions, their maxims87 and habits, the points of view from which they regard their religious teachers, and the degree in which they are influenced by religious doctrines88, the interaction of the various classes on each other, and what are the tendencies in their position toward disintegration90 or toward development—and if, after all this study, he would give us the result of his observation in a book well nourished with specific facts, his work would be a valuable aid to the social and political reformer.
What we are desiring for ourselves has been in some degree done for the Germans by Riehl, the author of the very remarkable91 books, the titles of which are placed at the head of this article; and we wish to make these books known to our readers, not only for the sake of the interesting matter they contain, and the important reflections they suggest, but also as a model for some future or actual student of our own people. By way of introducing Riehl to those who are unacquainted with his writings, we will give a rapid sketch92 from his picture of the German Peasantry, and perhaps this indication of the mode in which he treats a particular branch of his subject may prepare them to follow us with more interest when we enter on the general purpose and contents of his works.
In England, at present, when we speak of the peasantry we mean scarcely more than the class of farm-servants and farm-laborers; and it is only in the most primitive93 districts, as in Wales, for example, that farmers are included under the term. In order to appreciate what Riehl says of the German peasantry, p. 148we must remember what the tenant94-farmers and small proprietors95 were in England half a century ago, when the master helped to milk his own cows, and the daughters got up at one o’clock in the morning to brew—when the family dined in the kitchen with the servants, and sat with them round the kitchen fire, in the evening. In those days, the quarried96 parlor97 was innocent of a carpet, and its only specimens98 of art were a framed sampler and the best tea-board; the daughters even of substantial farmers had often no greater accomplishment99 in writing and spelling than they could procure100 at a dame-school; and, instead of carrying on sentimental correspondence, they were spinning their future table-linen, and looking after every saving in butter and eggs that might enable them to add to the little stock of plate and china which they were laying in against their marriage. In our own day, setting aside the superior order of farmers, whose style of living and mental culture are often equal to that of the professional class in provincial101 towns, we can hardly enter the least imposing102 farm-house without finding a bad piano in the “drawing-room,” and some old annuals, disposed with a symmetrical imitation of negligence103, on the table; though the daughters may still drop their h’s, their vowels104 are studiously narrow; and it is only in very primitive regions that they will consent to sit in a covered vehicle without springs, which was once thought an advance in luxury on the pillion.
The condition of the tenant-farmers and small proprietors in Germany is, we imagine, about on a par50, not, certainly, in material prosperity, but in mental culture and habits, with that of the English farmers who were beginning to be thought old-fashioned nearly fifty years ago, and if we add to these the farm servants and laborers we shall have a class approximating in its characteristics to the Bauernthum, or peasantry, described by Riehl.
In Germany, perhaps more than in any other country, it is among the peasantry that we must look for the historical type of the national physique. In the towns this type has become p. 149so modified to express the personality of the individual that even “family likeness” is often but faintly marked. But the peasants may still be distinguished105 into groups, by their physical peculiarities106. In one part of the country we find a longer-legged, in another a broader-shouldered race, which has inherited these peculiarities for centuries. For example, in certain districts of Hesse are seen long faces, with high foreheads, long, straight noses, and small eyes, with arched eyebrows108 and large eyelids109. On comparing these physiognomies with the sculptures in the church of St. Elizabeth, at Marburg, executed in the thirteenth century, it will be found that the same old Hessian type of face has subsisted110 unchanged, with this distinction only, that the sculptures represent princes and nobles, whose features then bore the stamp of their race, while that stamp is now to be found only among the peasants. A painter who wants to draw medi?val characters with historic truth must seek his models among the peasantry. This explains why the old German painters gave the heads of their subjects a greater uniformity of type than the painters of our day; the race had not attained112 to a high degree of individualization in features and expression. It indicates, too, that the cultured man acts more as an individual, the peasant more as one of a group. Hans drives the plough, lives, and thinks, just as Kunz does; and it is this fact that many thousands of men are as like each other in thoughts and habits as so many sheep or oysters113, which constitutes the weight of the peasantry in the social and political scale.
In the cultivated world each individual has his style of speaking and writing. But among the peasantry it is the race, the district, the province, that has its style—namely, its dialect, its phraseology, its proverbs, and its songs, which belong alike to the entire body of the people. This provincial style of the peasant is again, like his physique, a remnant of history, to which he clings with the utmost tenacity114. In certain parts of Hungary there are still descendants of German colonists115 of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, who go about p. 150the country as reapers117, retaining their old Saxon songs and manners, while the more cultivated German emigrants118 in a very short time forget their own language, and speak Hungarian. Another remarkable case of the same kind is that of the Wends, a Slavonic race settled in Lusatia, whose numbers amount to 200,000, living either scattered among the German population or in separate parishes. They have their own schools and churches, and are taught in the Slavonic tongue. The Catholics among them are rigid119 adherents120 of the Pope; the Protestants not less rigid adherents of Luther, or Doctor Luther, as they are particular in calling him—a custom which a hundred years ago was universal in Protestant Germany. The Wend clings tenaciously121 to the usages of his Church, and perhaps this may contribute not a little to the purity in which he maintains the specific characteristics of his race. German education, German law and government, service in the standing122 army, and many other agencies, are in antagonism123 to his national exclusiveness; but the wives and mothers here, as elsewhere, are a conservative influence, and the habits temporarily laid aside in the outer world are recovered by the fireside. The Wends form several stout124 regiments125 in the Saxon army; they are sought far and wide, as diligent126 and honest servants; and many a weakly Dresden or Leipzig child becomes thriving under the care of a Wendish nurse. In their villages they have the air and habits of genuine sturdy peasants, and all their customs indicate that they have been from the first an agricultural people. For example, they have traditional modes of treating their domestic animals. Each cow has its own name, generally chosen carefully, so as to express the special qualities of the animal; and all important family events are narrated127 to the bees—a custom which is found also in Westphalia. Whether by the help of the bees or not, the Wend farming is especially prosperous; and when a poor Bohemian peasant has a son born to him he binds128 him to the end of a long pole and turns his face toward Lusatia, that he may be as lucky as the Wends, who live there.
p. 151The peculiarity129 of the peasant’s language consists chiefly in his retention130 of historical peculiarities, which gradually disappear under the friction131 of cultivated circles. He prefers any proper name that may be given to a day in the calendar, rather than the abstract date, by which he very rarely reckons. In the baptismal names of his children he is guided by the old custom of the country, not at all by whim132 and fancy. Many old baptismal names, formerly133 common in Germany, would have become extinct but for their preservation134 among the peasantry, especially in North Germany; and so firmly have they adhered to local tradition in this matter that it would be possible to give a sort of topographical statistics of proper names, and distinguish a district by its rustic names as we do by its Flora136 and Fauna137. The continuous inheritance of certain favorite proper names in a family, in some districts, forces the peasant to adopt the princely custom of attaching a numeral to the name, and saying, when three generations are living at once, Hans I., II., and III.; or—in the more antique fashion—Hans the elder, the middle, and the younger. In some of our English counties there is a similar adherence138 to a narrow range of proper names, and a mode of distinguishing collateral139 branches in the same family, you will hear of Jonathan’s Bess, Thomas’s Bess, and Samuel’s Bess—the three Bessies being cousins.
The peasant’s adherence to the traditional has much greater inconvenience than that entailed140 by a paucity141 of proper names. In the Black Forest and in Hüttenberg you will see him in the dog-days wearing a thick fur cap, because it is an historical fur cap—a cap worn by his grandfather. In the Wetterau, that peasant girl is considered the handsomest who wears the most petticoats. To go to field-labor in seven petticoats can be anything but convenient or agreeable, but it is the traditionally correct thing, and a German peasant girl would think herself as unfavorably conspicuous142 in an untraditional costume as an English servant-girl would now think herself in a “linsey-wolsey” apron143 or a thick muslin cap. In p. 152many districts no medical advice would induce the rustic to renounce144 the tight leather belt with which he injures his digestive functions; you could more easily persuade him to smile on a new communal145 system than on the unhistorical invention of braces146. In the eighteenth century, in spite of the philanthropic preachers of potatoes, the peasant for years threw his potatoes to the pigs and the dogs, before he could be persuaded to put them on his own table. However, the unwillingness147 of the peasant to adopt innovations has a not unreasonable148 foundation in the fact that for him experiments are practical, not theoretical, and must be made with expense of money instead of brains—a fact that is not, perhaps, sufficiently taken into account by agricultural theorists, who complain of the farmer’s obstinacy149. The peasant has the smallest possible faith in theoretic knowledge; he thinks it rather dangerous than otherwise, as is well indicated by a Lower Rhenish proverb—“One is never too old to learn, said an old woman; so she learned to be a witch.”
Between many villages an historical feud79, once perhaps the occasion of much bloodshed, is still kept up under the milder form of an occasional round of cudgelling and the launching of traditional nicknames. An historical feud of this kind still exists, for example, among many villages on the Rhine and more inland places in the neighborhood. Rheinschnacke (of which the equivalent is perhaps “water-snake”) is the standing term of ignominy for the inhabitant of the Rhine village, who repays it in kind by the epithet150 “karst” (mattock), or “kukuk” (cuckoo), according as the object of his hereditary151 hatred152 belongs to the field or the forest. If any Romeo among the “mattocks” were to marry a Juliet among the “water-snakes,” there would be no lack of Tybalts and Mercutios to carry the conflict from words to blows, though neither side knows a reason for the enmity.
A droll153 instance of peasant conservatism is told of a village on the Taunus, whose inhabitants, from time immemorial, had been famous for impromptu154 cudgelling. For this historical p. 153offence the magistrates155 of the district had always inflicted157 the equally historical punishment of shutting up the most incorrigible158 offenders159, not in prison, but in their own pig-sty. In recent times, however, the government, wishing to correct the rudeness of these peasants, appointed an “enlightened” man as a magistrate156, who at once abolished the original penalty above mentioned. But this relaxation161 of punishment was so far from being welcome to the villagers that they presented a petition praying that a more energetic man might be given them as a magistrate, who would have the courage to punish according to law and justice, “as had been beforetime.” And the magistrate who abolished incarceration162 in the pig-sty could never obtain the respect of the neighborhood. This happened no longer ago than the beginning of the present century.
But it must not be supposed that the historical piety163 of the German peasant extends to anything not immediately connected with himself. He has the warmest piety toward the old tumble-down house which his grandfather built, and which nothing will induce him to improve, but toward the venerable ruins of the old castle that overlooks his village he has no piety at all, and carries off its stones to make a fence for his garden, or tears down the gothic carving165 of the old monastic church, which is “nothing to him,” to mark off a foot-path through his field. It is the same with historical traditions. The peasant has them fresh in his memory, so far as they relate to himself. In districts where the peasantry are unadulterated, you can discern the remnants of the feudal relations in innumerable customs and phrases, but you will ask in vain for historical traditions concerning the empire, or even concerning the particular princely house to which the peasant is subject. He can tell you what “half people and whole people” mean; in Hesse you will still hear of “four horses making a whole peasant,” or of “four-day and three-day peasants;” but you will ask in vain about Charlemagne and Frederic Barbarossa.
Riehl well observes that the feudal system, which made the peasant the bondman of his lord, was an immense benefit in a p. 154country, the greater part of which had still to be colonized—rescued the peasant from vagabondage, and laid the foundation of persistency166 and endurance in future generations. If a free German peasantry belongs only to modern times, it is to his ancestor who was a serf, and even, in the earliest times, a slave, that the peasant owes the foundation of his independence, namely, his capability167 of a settled existence—nay168, his unreasoning persistency, which has its important function in the development of the race.
Perhaps the very worst result of that unreasoning persistency is the peasant’s inveterate169 habit of litigation. Every one remembers the immortal170 description of Dandle Dinmont’s importunate171 application to Lawyer Pleydell to manage his “bit lawsuit172,” till at length Pleydell consents to help him to ruin himself, on the ground that Dandle may fall into worse hands. It seems this is a scene which has many parallels in Germany. The farmer’s lawsuit is his point of honor; and he will carry it through, though he knows from the very first day that he shall get nothing by it. The litigious peasant piques173 himself, like Mr. Saddletree, on his knowledge of the law, and this vanity is the chief impulse to many a lawsuit. To the mind of the peasant, law presents itself as the “custom of the country,” and it is his pride to be versed174 in all customs. Custom with him holds the place of sentiment, of theory, and in many cases of affection. Riehl justly urges the importance of simplifying law proceedings175, so as to cut off this vanity at its source, and also of encouraging, by every possible means, the practice of arbitration176.
The peasant never begins his lawsuit in summer, for the same reason that he does not make love and marry in summer—because he has no time for that sort of thing. Anything is easier to him than to move out of his habitual1 course, and he is attached even to his privations. Some years ago a peasant youth, out of the poorest and remotest region of the Westerwald, was enlisted177 as a recruit, at Weilburg in Nassau. The lad, having never in his life slept in a bed, when he had got p. 155into one for the first time began to cry like a child; and he deserted178 twice because he could not reconcile himself to sleeping in a bed, and to the “fine” life of the barracks: he was homesick at the thought of his accustomed poverty and his thatched hut. A strong contrast, this, with the feeling of the poor in towns, who would be far enough from deserting because their condition was too much improved! The genuine peasant is never ashamed of his rank and calling; he is rather inclined to look down on every one who does not wear a smock frock, and thinks a man who has the manners of the gentry180 is likely to be rather windy and unsubstantial. In some places, even in French districts, this feeling is strongly symbolized181 by the practice of the peasantry, on certain festival days, to dress the images of the saints in peasant’s clothing. History tells us of all kinds of peasant insurrections, the object of which was to obtain relief for the peasants from some of their many oppressions; but of an effort on their part to step out of their hereditary rank and calling, to become gentry, to leave the plough and carry on the easier business of capitalists or government functionaries182, there is no example.
The German novelists who undertake to give pictures of peasant-life fall into the same mistake as our English novelists: they transfer their own feelings to ploughmen and woodcutters, and give them both joys and sorrows of which they know nothing. The peasant never questions the obligation of family ties—he questions no custom—but tender affection, as it exists among the refined part of mankind, is almost as foreign to him as white hands and filbert-shaped nails. That the aged9 father who has given up his property to his children on condition of their maintaining him for the remainder of his life, is very far from meeting with delicate attentions, is indicated by the proverb current among the peasantry—“Don’t take your clothes off before you go to bed.” Among rustic moral tales and parables183, not one is more universal than the story of the ungrateful children, who made their gray-headed father, dependent on them for a maintenance, eat at a wooden trough p. 156because he shook the food out of his trembling hands. Then these same ungrateful children observed one day that their own little boy was making a tiny wooden trough; and when they asked him what it was for, he answered—that his father and mother might eat out of it, when he was a man and had to keep them.
Marriage is a very prudential affair, especially among the peasants who have the largest share of property. Politic marriages are as common among them as among princes; and when a peasant-heiress in Westphalia marries, her husband adopts her name, and places his own after it with the prefix184 geborner (née). The girls marry young, and the rapidity with which they get old and ugly is one among the many proofs that the early years of marriage are fuller of hardships than of conjugal185 tenderness. “When our writers of village stories,” says Riehl, “transferred their own emotional life to the peasant, they obliterated186 what is precisely187 his most predominant characteristic, namely, that with him general custom holds the place of individual feeling.”
We pay for greater emotional susceptibility too often by nervous diseases of which the peasant knows nothing. To him headache is the least of physical evils, because he thinks head-work the easiest and least indispensable of all labor. Happily, many of the younger sons in peasant families, by going to seek their living in the towns, carry their hardy188 nervous system to amalgamate189 with the overwrought nerves of our town population, and refresh them with a little rude vigor190. And a return to the habits of peasant life is the best remedy for many moral as well as physical diseases induced by perverted civilization. Riehl points to colonization191 as presenting the true field for this regenerative process. On the other side of the ocean a man will have the courage to begin life again as a peasant, while at home, perhaps, opportunity as well as courage will fail him. Apropos of this subject of emigration, he remarks the striking fact, that the native shrewdness and mother-wit of the German peasant seem to forsake192 him entirely193 when he has to apply p. 157them under new circumstances, and on relations foreign to his experience. Hence it is that the German peasant who emigrates, so constantly falls a victim to unprincipled adventurers in the preliminaries to emigration; but if once he gets his foot on the American soil he exhibits all the first-rate qualities of an agricultural colonist116; and among all German emigrants the peasant class are the most successful.
But many disintegrating194 forces have been at work on the peasant character, and degeneration is unhappily going on at a greater pace than development. In the wine districts especially, the inability of the small proprietors to bear up under the vicissitudes195 of the market, or to insure a high quality of wine by running the risks of a late vintage and the competition of beer and cider with the inferior wines, have tended to produce that uncertainty196 of gain which, with the peasant, is the inevitable197 cause of demoralization. The small peasant proprietors are not a new class in Germany, but many of the evils of their position are new. They are more dependent on ready money than formerly; thus, where a peasant used to get his wood for building and firing from the common forest, he has now to pay for it with hard cash; he used to thatch179 his own house, with the help perhaps of a neighbor, but now he pays a man to do it for him; he used to pay taxes in kind, he now pays them in money. The chances of the market have to be discounted, and the peasant falls into the hands of money-lenders. Here is one of the cases in which social policy clashes with a purely198 economical policy.
Political vicissitudes have added their influence to that of economical changes in disturbing that dim instinct, that reverence199 for traditional custom, which is the peasant’s principle of action. He is in the midst of novelties for which he knows no reason—changes in political geography, changes of the government to which he owes fealty200, changes in bureaucratic201 management and police regulations. He finds himself in a new element before an apparatus202 for breathing in it is developed in him. His only knowledge of modern history is p. 158in some of its results—for instance, that he has to pay heavier taxes from year to year. His chief idea of a government is of a power that raises his taxes, opposes his harmless customs, and torments203 him with new formalities. The source of all this is the false system of “enlightening” the peasant which has been adopted by the bureaucratic governments. A system which disregards the traditions and hereditary attachments204 of the peasant, and appeals only to a logical understanding which is not yet developed in him, is simply disintegrating and ruinous to the peasant character. The interference with the communal regulations has been of this fatal character. Instead of endeavoring to promote to the utmost the healthy life of the Commune, as an organism the conditions of which are bound up with the historical characteristics of the peasant, the bureaucratic plan of government is bent205 on improvement by its patent machinery206 of state-appointed functionaries and off-hand regulations in accordance with modern enlightenment. The spirit of communal exclusiveness—the resistance to the indiscriminate establishment of strangers, is an intense traditional feeling in the peasant. “This gallows207 is for us and our children,” is the typical motto of this spirit. But such exclusiveness is highly irrational208 and repugnant to modern liberalism; therefore a bureaucratic government at once opposes it, and encourages to the utmost the introduction of new inhabitants in the provincial communes. Instead of allowing the peasants to manage their own affairs, and, if they happen to believe that five and four make eleven, to unlearn the prejudice by their own experience in calculation, so that they may gradually understand processes, and not merely see results, bureaucracy comes with its “Ready Reckoner” and works all the peasant’s sums for him—the surest way of maintaining him in his stupidity, however it may shake his prejudice.
Another questionable209 plan for elevating the peasant is the supposed elevation210 of the clerical character by preventing the clergyman from cultivating more than a trifling211 part of the land attached to his benefice; that he may be as much as possible of p. 159a scientific theologian, and as little as possible of a peasant. In this, Riehl observes, lies one great source of weakness to the Protestant Church as compared with the Catholic, which finds the great majority of its priests among the lower orders; and we have had the opportunity of making an analogous212 comparison in England, where many of us can remember country districts in which the great mass of the people were christianized by illiterate213 Methodist and Independent ministers, while the influence of the parish clergyman among the poor did not extend much beyond a few old women in scarlet214 cloaks and a few exceptional church-going laborers.
Bearing in mind the general characteristics of the German peasant, it is easy to understand his relation to the revolutionary ideas and revolutionary movements of modern times. The peasant, in Germany as elsewhere, is a born grumbler215. He has always plenty of grievances216 in his pocket, but he does not generalize those grievances; he does not complain of “government” or “society,” probably because he has good reason to complain of the burgomaster. When a few sparks from the first French Revolution fell among the German peasantry, and in certain villages of Saxony the country people assembled together to write down their demands, there was no glimpse in their petition of the “universal rights of man,” but simply of their own particular affairs as Saxon peasants. Again, after the July revolution of 1830, there were many insignificant217 peasant insurrections; but the object of almost all was the removal of local grievances. Toll-houses were pulled down; stamped paper was destroyed; in some places there was a persecution218 of wild boars, in others, of that plentiful219 tame animal, the German Rath, or councillor who is never called into council. But in 1848 it seemed as if the movements of the peasants had taken a new character; in the small western states of Germany it seemed as if the whole class of peasantry was in insurrection. But, in fact, the peasant did not know the meaning of the part he was playing. He had heard that everything was being set right in the towns, and that wonderful things were happening p. 160there, so he tied up his bundle and set off. Without any distinct object or resolution, the country people presented themselves on the scene of commotion220, and were warmly received by the party leaders. But, seen from the windows of ducal palaces and ministerial hotels, these swarms221 of peasants had quite another aspect, and it was imagined that they had a common plan of co-operation. This, however, the peasants have never had. Systematic co-operation implies general conceptions, and a provisional subordination of egoism, to which even the artisans of towns have rarely shown themselves equal, and which are as foreign to the mind of the peasant as logarithms or the doctrine89 of chemical proportions. And the revolutionary fervor222 of the peasant was soon cooled. The old mistrust of the towns was reawakened on the spot. The Tyrolese peasants saw no great good in the freedom of the press and the constitution, because these changes “seemed to please the gentry so much.” Peasants who had given their voices stormily for a German parliament asked afterward223, with a doubtful look, whether it were to consist of infantry224 or cavalry225. When royal domains226 were declared the property of the State, the peasants in some small principalities rejoiced over this, because they interpreted it to mean that every one would have his share in them, after the manner of the old common and forest rights.
The very practical views of the peasants with regard to the demands of the people were in amusing contrast with the abstract theorizing of the educated townsmen. The peasant continually withheld227 all State payments until he saw how matters would turn out, and was disposed to reckon up the solid benefit, in the form of land or money, that might come to him from the changes obtained. While the townsman was heating his brains about representation on the broadest basis, the peasant asked if the relation between tenant and landlord would continue as before, and whether the removal of the “feudal obligations” meant that the farmer should become owner of the land!
p. 161It is in the same na?ve way that Communism is interpreted by the German peasantry. The wide spread among them of communistic doctrines, the eagerness with which they listened to a plan for the partition of property, seemed to countenance228 the notion that it was a delusion229 to suppose the peasant would be secured from this intoxication230 by his love of secure possession and peaceful earnings231. But, in fact, the peasant contemplated232 “partition” by the light of an historical reminiscence rather than of novel theory. The golden age, in the imagination of the peasant, was the time when every member of the commune had a right to as much wood from the forest as would enable him to sell some, after using what he wanted in firing—in which the communal possessions were so profitable that, instead of his having to pay rates at the end of the year, each member of the commune was something in pocket. Hence the peasants in general understood by “partition,” that the State lands, especially the forests, would be divided among the communes, and that, by some political legerdemain234 or other, everybody would have free fire-wood, free grazing for his cattle, and over and above that, a piece of gold without working for it. That he should give up a single clod of his own to further the general “partition” had never entered the mind of the peasant communist; and the perception that this was an essential preliminary to “partition” was often a sufficient cure for his Communism.
In villages lying in the neighborhood of large towns, however, where the circumstances of the peasantry are very different, quite another interpretation235 of Communism is prevalent. Here the peasant is generally sunk to the position of the proletaire living from hand to mouth: he has nothing to lose, but everything to gain by “partition.” The coarse nature of the peasant has here been corrupted236 into bestiality by the disturbance237 of his instincts, while he is as yet incapable238 of principles; and in this type of the degenerate239 peasant is seen the worst example of ignorance intoxicated240 by theory.
A significant hint as to the interpretation the peasants put p. 162on revolutionary theories may be drawn241 from the way they employed the few weeks in which their movements were unchecked. They felled the forest trees and shot the game; they withheld taxes; they shook off the imaginary or real burdens imposed on them by their mediatized princes, by presenting their “demands” in a very rough way before the ducal or princely “Schloss;” they set their faces against the bureaucratic management of the communes, deposed242 the government functionaries who had been placed over them as burgomasters and magistrates, and abolished the whole bureaucratic system of procedure, simply by taking no notice of its regulations, and recurring243 to some tradition—some old order or disorder244 of things. In all this it is clear that they were animated245 not in the least by the spirit of modern revolution, but by a purely narrow and personal impulse toward reaction.
The idea of constitutional government lies quite beyond the range of the German peasant’s conceptions. His only notion of representation is that of a representation of ranks—of classes; his only notion of a deputy is of one who takes care, not of the national welfare, but of the interests of his own order. Herein lay the great mistake of the democratic party, in common with the bureaucratic governments, that they entirely omitted the peculiar107 character of the peasant from their political calculations. They talked of the “people” and forgot that the peasants were included in the term. Only a baseless misconception of the peasant’s character could induce the supposition that he would feel the slightest enthusiasm about the principles involved in the reconstitution of the Empire, or even about the reconstitution itself. He has no zeal246 for a written law, as such, but only so far as it takes the form of a living law—a tradition. It was the external authority which the revolutionary party had won in Baden that attracted the peasants into a participation247 of the struggle.
Such, Riehl tells us, are the general characteristics of the German peasantry—characteristics which subsist111 amid a wide p. 163variety of circumstances. In Mecklenburg, Pomerania, and Brandenburg the peasant lives on extensive estates; in Westphalia he lives in large isolated248 homesteads; in the Westerwald and in Sauerland, in little groups of villages and hamlets; on the Rhine land is for the most part parcelled out among small proprietors, who live together in large villages. Then, of course, the diversified249 physical geography of Germany gives rise to equally diversified methods of land-culture; and out of these various circumstances grow numerous specific differences in manner and character. But the generic250 character of the German peasant is everywhere the same; in the clean mountain hamlet and in the dirty fishing village on the coast; in the plains of North Germany and in the backwoods of America. “Everywhere he has the same historical character—everywhere custom is his supreme251 law. Where religion and patriotism252 are still a na?ve instinct, are still a sacred custom, there begins the class of the German Peasantry.”
Our readers will perhaps already have gathered from the foregoing portrait of the German peasant that Riehl is not a man who looks at objects through the spectacles either of the doctrinaire253 or the dreamer; and they will be ready to believe what he tells us in his Preface, namely, that years ago he began his wanderings over the hills and plains of Germany for the sake of obtaining, in immediate164 intercourse254 with the people, that completion of his historical, political, and economical studies which he was unable to find in books. He began his investigations255 with no party prepossessions, and his present views were evolved entirely from his own gradually amassed256 observations. He was, first of all, a pedestrian, and only in the second place a political author. The views at which he has arrived by this inductive process, he sums up in the term—social-political-conservatism; but his conservatism is, we conceive, of a thoroughly257 philosophical kind. He sees in European society incarnate258 history, and any attempt to disengage it from its historical elements must, he believes, be simply destructive of p. 164social vitality259. [164] What has grown up historically can only die out historically, by the gradual operation of necessary laws. The external conditions which society has inherited from the past are but the manifestation260 of inherited internal conditions in the human beings who compose it; the internal conditions and the external are related to each other as the organism and its medium, and development can take place only by the gradual consentaneous development of both. Take the familiar example of attempts to abolish titles, which have been about as effective as the process of cutting off poppy-heads in a cornfield. Jedem Menschem, says Riehl, ist sein Zopf angeboren, warum soll denn der sociale Sprachgebrauch nicht auch sein Zopf haben?—which we may render—“As long as snobism runs in the blood, why should it not run in our speech?” As a necessary preliminary to a purely rational society, you must obtain purely rational men, free from the sweet and bitter prejudices of hereditary affection and antipathy261; which is as easy as to get running streams without springs, or the leafy shade of the forest without the secular262 growth of trunk and branch.
The historical conditions of society may be compared with those of language. It must be admitted that the language of cultivated nations is in anything but a rational state; the great sections of the civilized263 world are only approximatively intelligible41 to each other, and even that only at the cost of long study; one word stands for many things, and many words for one thing; the subtle shades of meaning, and still subtler echoes of association, make language an instrument which scarcely anything short of genius can wield264 with definiteness and certainty. Suppose, then, that the effect which has been again and again made to construct a universal language on a rational basis has at length succeeded, and that you have a language which has no uncertainty, no whims265 of idiom, no cumbrous forms, no fitful simmer of many-hued significance, p. 165no hoary266 Archaisms “familiar with forgotten years”—a patent deodorized and non-resonant language, which effects the purpose of communication as perfectly267 and rapidly as algebraic signs. Your language may be a perfect medium of expression to science, but will never express life, which is a great deal more than science. With the anomalies and inconveniences of historical language you will have parted with its music and its passions, and its vital qualities as an expression of individual character, with its subtle capabilities268 of wit, with everything that gives it power over the imagination; and the next step in simplification will be the invention of a talking watch, which will achieve the utmost facility and despatch269 in the communication of ideas by a graduated adjustment of ticks, to be represented in writing by a corresponding arrangement of dots. A melancholy “language of the future!” The sensory270 and motor nerves that run in the same sheath are scarcely bound together by a more necessary and delicate union than that which binds men’s affections, imagination, wit and humor, with the subtle ramifications271 of historical language. Language must be left to grow in precision, completeness, and unity84, as minds grow in clearness, comprehensiveness, and sympathy. And there is an analogous relation between the moral tendencies of men and the social conditions they have inherited. The nature of European men has its roots intertwined with the past, and can only be developed by allowing those roots to remain undisturbed while the process of development is going on until that perfect ripeness of the seed which carries with it a life independent of the root. This vital connection with the past is much more vividly273 felt on the Continent than in England, where we have to recall it by an effort of memory and reflection; for though our English life is in its core intensely traditional, Protestantism and commerce have modernized274 the face of the land and the aspects of society in a far greater degree than in any continental275 country:
“Abroad,” says Ruskin, “a building of the eighth or tenth century stands ruinous in the open streets; the children play round it, p. 166the peasants heap their corn in it, the buildings of yesterday nestle about it, and fit their new stones in its rents, and tremble in sympathy as it trembles. No one wonders at it, or thinks of it as separate, and of another time; we feel the ancient world to be a real thing; and one with the new; antiquity276 is no dream; it is rather the children playing about the old stones that are the dream. But all is continuous; and the words “from generation to generation” understandable here.”
This conception of European society as incarnate history is the fundamental idea of Riehl’s books. After the notable failure of revolutionary attempts conducted from the point of view of abstract democratic and socialistic theories, after the practical demonstration277 of the evils resulting from a bureaucratic system, which governs by an undiscriminating, dead mechanism278, Riehl wishes to urge on the consideration of his countrymen a social policy founded on the special study of the people as they are—on the natural history of the various social ranks. He thinks it wise to pause a little from theorizing, and see what is the material actually present for theory to work upon. It is the glory of the Socialists279—in contrast with the democratic doctrinaires who have been too much occupied with the general idea of “the people” to inquire particularly into the actual life of the people—that they have thrown themselves with enthusiastic zeal into the study at least of one social group, namely, the factory operatives; and here lies the secret of their partial success. But, unfortunately, they have made this special duty of a single fragment of society the basis of a theory which quietly substitutes for the small group of Parisian proletaires or English factory-workers the society of all Europe—nay, of the whole world. And in this way they have lost the best fruit of their investigations. For, says Riehl, the more deeply we penetrate280 into the knowledge of society in its details, the more thoroughly we shall be convinced that a universal social policy has no validity except on paper, and can never be carried into successful practice. The conditions of German society are altogether different from those of French, of English, or of Italian society; and to apply the same social theory to these p. 167nations indiscriminately is about as wise a procedure as Triptolemus Yellowley’s application of the agricultural directions in Virgil’s “Georgics” to his farm in the Shetland Isles282.
It is the clear and strong light in which Riehl places this important position that in our opinion constitutes the suggestive value of his books for foreign as well as German readers. It has not been sufficiently insisted on, that in the various branches of Social Science there is an advance from the general to the special, from the simple to the complex, analogous with that which is found in the series of the sciences, from Mathematics to Biology. To the laws of quantity comprised in Mathematics and Physics are superadded, in Chemistry, laws of quality; to these again are added, in Biology, laws of life; and lastly, the conditions of life in general branch out into its special conditions, or Natural History, on the one hand, and into its abnormal conditions, or Pathology, on the other. And in this series or ramification272 of the sciences, the more general science will not suffice to solve the problems of the more special. Chemistry embraces phenomena283 which are not explicable by Physics; Biology embraces phenomena which are not explicable by Chemistry; and no biological generalization will enable us to predict the infinite specialities produced by the complexity284 of vital conditions. So Social Science, while it has departments which in their fundamental generality correspond to mathematics and physics, namely, those grand and simple generalizations which trace out the inevitable march of the human race as a whole, and, as a ramification of these, the laws of economical science, has also, in the departments of government and jurisprudence, which embrace the conditions of social life in all their complexity, what may be called its Biology, carrying us on to innumerable special phenomena which outlie the sphere of science, and belong to Natural History. And just as the most thorough acquaintance with physics, or chemistry, or general physiology285, will not enable you at once to establish the balance of life in your private vivarium, so that your particular society of zoophytes, mollusks, and echinoderms p. 168may feel themselves, as the Germans say, at ease in their skin; so the most complete equipment of theory will not enable a statesman or a political and social reformer to adjust his measures wisely, in the absence of a special acquaintance with the section of society for which he legislates286, with the peculiar characteristics of the nation, the province, the class whose well-being287 he has to consult. In other words, a wise social policy must be based not simply on abstract social science, but on the natural history of social bodies.
Riehl’s books are not dedicated288 merely to the argumentative maintenance of this or of any other position; they are intended chiefly as a contribution to that knowledge of the German people on the importance of which he insists. He is less occupied with urging his own conclusions than with impressing on his readers the facts which have led him to those conclusions. In the volume entitled “Land und Leute,” which, though published last, is properly an introduction to the volume entitled “Die Bürgerliche Gesellschaft,” he considers the German people in their physical geographical289 relations; he compares the natural divisions of the race, as determined290 by land and climate, and social traditions, with the artificial divisions which are based on diplomacy291; and he traces the genesis and influences of what we may call the ecclesiastical geography of Germany—its partition between Catholicism and Protestantism. He shows that the ordinary antithesis292 of North and South Germany represents no real ethnographical distinction, and that the natural divisions of Germany, founded on its physical geography are threefold—namely, the low plains, the middle mountain region, and the high mountain region, or Lower, Middle, and Upper Germany; and on this primary natural division all the other broad ethnographical distinctions of Germany will be found to rest. The plains of North or Lower Germany include all the seaboard the nation possesses; and this, together with the fact that they are traversed to the depth of 600 miles by navigable rivers, makes them the natural seat of a trading race. Quite different is the geographical character of p. 169Middle Germany. While the northern plains are marked off into great divisions, by such rivers as the Lower Rhine, the Weser, and the Oder, running almost in parallel lines, this central region is cut up like a mosaic293 by the capricious lines of valleys and rivers. Here is the region in which you find those famous roofs from which the rain-water runs toward two different seas, and the mountain-tops from which you may look into eight or ten German states. The abundance of water-power and the presence of extensive coal-mines allow of a very diversified industrial development in Middle Germany. In Upper Germany, or the high mountain region, we find the same symmetry in the lines of the rivers as in the north; almost all the great Alpine294 streams flow parallel with the Danube. But the majority of these rivers are neither navigable nor available for industrial objects, and instead of serving for communication they shut off one great tract3 from another. The slow development, the simple peasant life of many districts is here determined by the mountain and the river. In the south-east, however, industrial activity spreads through Bohemia toward Austria, and forms a sort of balance to the industrial districts of the Lower Rhine. Of course, the boundaries of these three regions cannot be very strictly295 defined; but an approximation to the limits of Middle Germany may be obtained by regarding it as a triangle, of which one angle lies in Silesia, another in Aix-la-Chapelle, and a third at Lake Constance.
This triple division corresponds with the broad distinctions of climate. In the northern plains the atmosphere is damp and heavy; in the southern mountain region it is dry and rare, and there are abrupt296 changes of temperature, sharp contrasts between the seasons, and devastating297 storms; but in both these zones men are hardened by conflict with the roughness of the climate. In Middle Germany, on the contrary, there is little of this struggle; the seasons are more equable, and the mild, soft air of the valleys tends to make the inhabitants luxurious298 and sensitive to hardships. It is only in exceptional mountain districts that one is here reminded of the rough, bracing299 air on p. 170the heights of Southern Germany. It is a curious fact that, as the air becomes gradually lighter300 and rarer from the North German coast toward Upper Germany, the average of suicides regularly decreases. Mecklenburg has the highest number, then Prussia, while the fewest suicides occur in Bavaria and Austria.
Both the northern and southern regions have still a large extent of waste lands, downs, morasses301, and heaths; and to these are added, in the south, abundance of snow-fields and naked rock; while in Middle Germany culture has almost over-spread the face of the land, and there are no large tracts302 of waste. There is the same proportion in the distribution of forests. Again, in the north we see a monotonous303 continuity of wheat-fields, potato-grounds, meadow-lands, and vast heaths, and there is the same uniformity of culture over large surfaces in the southern table-lands and the Alpine pastures. In Middle Germany, on the contrary, there is a perpetual variety of crops within a short space; the diversity of land surface and the corresponding variety in the species of plants are an invitation to the splitting up of estates, and this again encourages to the utmost the motley character of the cultivation304.
According to this threefold division, it appears that there are certain features common to North and South Germany in which they differ from Central Germany, and the nature of this difference Riehl indicates by distinguishing the former as Centralized Land and the latter as Individualized Land; a distinction which is well symbolized by the fact that North and South Germany possess the great lines of railway which are the medium for the traffic of the world, while Middle Germany is far richer in lines for local communication, and possesses the greatest length of railway within the smallest space. Disregarding superficialities, the East Frieslanders, the Schleswig-Holsteiners, the Mecklenburghers, and the Pomeranians are much more nearly allied305 to the old Bavarians, the Tyrolese, and the Styrians than any of these are allied to the Saxons, the Thuringians, or the Rhinelanders. Both in North and p. 171South Germany original races are still found in large masses, and popular dialects are spoken; you still find there thoroughly peasant districts, thorough villages, and also, at great intervals306, thorough cities; you still find there a sense of rank. In Middle Germany, on the contrary, the original races are fused together or sprinkled hither and thither307; the peculiarities of the popular dialects are worn down or confused; there is no very strict line of demarkation between the country and the town population, hundreds of small towns and large villages being hardly distinguishable in their characteristics; and the sense of rank, as part of the organic structure of society, is almost extinguished. Again, both in the north and south there is still a strong ecclesiastical spirit in the people, and the Pomeranian sees Antichrist in the Pope as clearly as the Tyrolese sees him in Doctor Luther; while in Middle Germany the confessions308 are mingled309, they exist peaceably side by side in very narrow space, and tolerance310 or indifference311 has spread itself widely even in the popular mind. And the analogy, or rather the causal relation between the physical geography of the three regions and the development of the population goes still further:
“For,” observes Riehl, “the striking connection which has been pointed160 out between the local geological formations in Germany and the revolutionary disposition of the people has more than a metaphorical312 significance. Where the primeval physical revolutions of the globe have been the wildest in their effects, and the most multiform strata313 have been tossed together or thrown one upon the other, it is a very intelligible consequence that on a land surface thus broken up, the population should sooner develop itself into small communities, and that the more intense life generated in these smaller communities should become the most favorable nidus for the reception of modern culture, and with this a susceptibility for its revolutionary ideas; while a people settled in a region where its groups are spread over a large space will persist much more obstinately314 in the retention of its original character. The people of Middle Germany have none of that exclusive one-sidedness which determines the peculiar genius of great national groups, just as this one-sidedness or uniformity is wanting to the geological and geographical character of their land.”
p. 172This ethnographical outline Riehl fills up with special and typical descriptions, and then makes it the starting-point for a criticism of the actual political condition of Germany. The volume is full of vivid pictures, as well as penetrating315 glances into the maladies and tendencies of modern society. It would be fascinating as literature if it were not important for its facts and philosophy. But we can only commend it to our readers, and pass on to the volume entitled “Die Bürgerliche Gesellschaft,” from which we have drawn our sketch of the German peasantry. Here Riehl gives us a series of studies in that natural history of the people which he regards as the proper basis of social policy. He holds that, in European society, there are three natural ranks or estates: the hereditary landed aristocracy, the citizens or commercial class, and the peasantry or agricultural class. By natural ranks he means ranks which have their roots deep in the historical structure of society, and are still, in the present, showing vitality above ground; he means those great social groups which are not only distinguished externally by their vocation316, but essentially317 by their mental character, their habits, their mode of life—by the principle they represent in the historical development of society. In his conception of the “Fourth Estate” he differs from the usual interpretation, according to which it is simply equivalent to the Proletariat, or those who are dependent on daily wages, whose only capital is their skill or bodily strength—factory operatives, artisans, agricultural laborers, to whom might be added, especially in Germany, the day-laborers with the quill318, the literary proletariat. This, Riehl observes, is a valid281 basis of economical classification, but not of social classification. In his view, the Fourth Estate is a stratum319 produced by the perpetual abrasion320 of the other great social groups; it is the sign and result of the decomposition321 which is commencing in the organic constitution of society. Its elements are derived322 alike from the aristocracy, the bourgeoisie, and the peasantry. It assembles under its banner the deserters of historical society, and forms them into a terrible army, p. 173which is only just awaking to the consciousness of its corporate323 power. The tendency of this Fourth Estate, by the very process of its formation, is to do away with the distinctive324 historical character of the other estates, and to resolve their peculiar rank and vocation into a uniform social relation founded on an abstract conception of society. According to Riehl’s classification, the day-laborers, whom the political economist325 designates as the Fourth Estate, belong partly to the peasantry or agricultural class, and partly to the citizens or commercial class.
Riehl considers, in the first place, the peasantry and aristocracy as the “Forces of social persistence,” and, in the second, the bourgeoisie and the “fourth Estate” as the “Forces of social movement.”
The aristocracy, he observes, is the only one among these four groups which is denied by others besides Socialists to have any natural basis as a separate rank. It is admitted that there was once an aristocracy which had an intrinsic ground of existence, but now, it is alleged326, this is an historical fossil, an antiquarian relic327, venerable because gray with age. It what, it is asked, can consist the peculiar vocation of the aristocracy, since it has no longer the monopoly of the land, of the higher military functions, and of government offices, and since the service of the court has no longer any political importance? To this Riehl replies, that in great revolutionary crises, the “men of progress” have more than once “abolished” the aristocracy. But, remarkably328 enough, the aristocracy has always reappeared. This measure of abolition329 showed that the nobility were no longer regarded as a real class, for to abolish a real class would be an absurdity330. It is quite possible to contemplate233 a voluntary breaking up of the peasant or citizen class in the socialistic sense, but no man in his senses would think of straightway “abolishing” citizens and peasants. The aristocracy, then, was regarded as a sort of cancer, or excrescence of society. Nevertheless, not only has it been found impossible to annihilate331 an hereditary nobility by decree, but p. 174also the aristocracy of the eighteenth century outlived even the self-destructive acts of its own perversity332. A life which was entirely without object, entirely destitute333 of functions, would not, says Riehl, be so persistent334. He has an acute criticism of those who conduct a polemic335 against the idea of an hereditary aristocracy while they are proposing an “aristocracy of talent,” which after all is based on the principle of inheritance. The Socialists are, therefore, only consistent in declaring against an aristocracy of talent. “But when they have turned the world into a great Foundling Hospital they will still be unable to eradicate336 the ‘privileges of birth.’” We must not follow him in his criticism, however; nor can we afford to do more than mention hastily his interesting sketch of the medi?val aristocracy, and his admonition to the German aristocracy of the present day, that the vitality of their class is not to be sustained by romantic attempts to revive medi?val forms and sentiments, but only by the exercise of functions as real and salutary for actual society as those of the medi?val aristocracy were for the feudal age. “In modern society the divisions of rank indicate division of labor, according to that distribution of functions in the social organism which the historical constitution of society has determined. In this way the principle of differentiation337 and the principle of unity are identical.”
The elaborate study of the German bourgeoisie, which forms the next division of the volume, must be passed over, but we may pause a moment to note Riehl’s definition of the social Philister (Philistine), an epithet for which we have no equivalent, not at all, however, for want of the object it represents. Most people who read a little German know that the epithet Philister originated in the Burschen-leben, or Student-life of Germany, and that the antithesis of Bursch and Philister was equivalent to the antithesis of “gown” and “town;” but since the word has passed into ordinary language it has assumed several shades of significance which have not yet been merged into a single, absolute meaning; and one of the questions p. 175which an English visitor in Germany will probably take an opportunity of asking is, “What is the strict meaning of the word Philister?” Riehl’s answer is, that the Philister “is one who is indifferent to all social interests, all public life, as distinguished from selfish and private interests; he has no sympathy with political and social events except as they affect his own comfort and prosperity, as they offer him material for amusement or opportunity for gratifying his vanity. He has no social or political creed338, but is always of the opinion which is most convenient for the moment. He is always in the majority, and is the main element of unreason and stupidity in the judgment339 of a “discerning public.” It seems presumptuous340 in us to dispute Riehl’s interpretation of a German word, but we must think that, in literature, the epithet Philister has usually a wider meaning than this—includes his definition and something more. We imagine the Philister is the personification of the spirit which judges everything from a lower point of view than the subject demands; which judges the affairs of the parish from the egotistic or purely personal point of view; which judges the affairs of the nation from the parochial point of view, and does not hesitate to measure the merits of the universe from the human point of view. At least this must surely be the spirit to which Goethe alludes341 in a passage cited by Riehl himself, where he says that the Germans need not be ashamed of erecting342 a monument to him as well as to Blucher; for if Blucher had freed them from the French, he (Goethe) had freed them from the nets of the Philister:
“Ihr m?gt mirimmer ungescheut
Gleich Blüchern Denkmal setzen!
Von Franzosen hat er euch befreit,
Ich von Philister-netzen.”
Goethe could hardly claim to be the apostle of public spirit; but he is eminently the man who helps us to rise to a lofty point of observation, so that we may see things in their relative proportions.
The most interesting chapters in the description of the p. 176“Fourth Estate,” which concludes the volume, are those on the “Aristocratic Proletariat” and the “Intellectual Proletariat.” The Fourth Estate in Germany, says Riehl, has its centre of gravity not, as in England and France, in the day laborers and factory operatives, and still less in the degenerate peasantry. In Germany the educated proletariat is the leaven343 that sets the mass in fermentation; the dangerous classes there go about, not in blouses, but in frock coats; they begin with the impoverished344 prince and end in the hungriest littérateur. The custom that all the sons of a nobleman shall inherit their father’s title necessarily goes on multiplying that class of aristocrats345 who are not only without function but without adequate provision, and who shrink from entering the ranks of the citizens by adopting some honest calling. The younger son of a prince, says Riehl, is usually obliged to remain without any vocation; and however zealously346 he may study music, painting, literature, or science, he can never be a regular musician, painter, or man of science; his pursuit will be called a “passion,” not a “calling,” and to the end of his days he remains347 a dilettante348. “But the ardent349 pursuit of a fixed350 practical calling can alone satisfy the active man.” Direct legislation cannot remedy this evil. The inheritance of titles by younger sons is the universal custom, and custom is stronger than law. But if all government preference for the “aristocratic proletariat” were withdrawn351, the sensible men among them would prefer emigration, or the pursuit of some profession, to the hungry distinction of a title without rents.
The intellectual proletaires Riehl calls the “church militant” of the Fourth Estate in Germany. In no other country are they so numerous; in no other country is the trade in material and industrial capital so far exceeded by the wholesale352 and retail353 trade, the traffic and the usury354, in the intellectual capital of the nation. Germany yields more intellectual produce than it can use and pay for.
“This over-production, which is not transient but permanent, nay, is constantly on the increase, evidences a diseased state of the national p. 177industry, a perverted application of industrial powers, and is a far more pungent355 satire356 on the national condition than all the poverty of operatives and peasants. . . . Other nations need not envy us the preponderance of the intellectual proletariat over the proletaires of manual labor. For man more easily becomes diseased from over-study than from the labor of the hands; and it is precisely in the intellectual proletariat that there are the most dangerous seeds of disease. This is the group in which the opposition357 between earnings and wants, between the ideal social position and the real, is the most hopelessly irreconcilable358.”
We must unwillingly359 leave our readers to make acquaintance for themselves with the graphic135 details with which Riehl follows up this general statement; but before quitting these admirable volumes, let us say, lest our inevitable omissions360 should have left room for a different conclusion, that Riehl’s conservatism is not in the least tinged361 with the partisanship362 of a class, with a poetic363 fanaticism364 for the past, or with the prejudice of a mind incapable of discerning the grander evolution of things to which all social forms are but temporarily subservient365. It is the conservatism of a clear-eyed, practical, but withal large-minded man—a little caustic366, perhaps, now and then in his epigrams on democratic doctrinaires who have their nostrum367 for all political and social diseases, and on communistic theories which he regards as “the despair of the individual in his own manhood, reduced to a system,” but nevertheless able and willing to do justice to the elements of fact and reason in every shade of opinion and every form of effort. He is as far as possible from the folly368 of supposing that the sun will go backward on the dial because we put the hands of our clock backward; he only contends against the opposite folly of decreeing that it shall be mid-day while in fact the sun is only just touching369 the mountain-tops, and all along the valley men are stumbling in the twilight370.
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1 habitual | |
adj.习惯性的;通常的,惯常的 | |
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2 habitually | |
ad.习惯地,通常地 | |
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3 tract | |
n.传单,小册子,大片(土地或森林) | |
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4 concurrently | |
adv.同时地 | |
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5 shareholder | |
n.股东,股票持有人 | |
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6 proprietor | |
n.所有人;业主;经营者 | |
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7 multiplication | |
n.增加,增多,倍增;增殖,繁殖;乘法 | |
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8 glibness | |
n.花言巧语;口若悬河 | |
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9 aged | |
adj.年老的,陈年的 | |
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10 ascertain | |
vt.发现,确定,查明,弄清 | |
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11 eloquence | |
n.雄辩;口才,修辞 | |
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12 legislate | |
vt.制定法律;n.法规,律例;立法 | |
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13 sufficiently | |
adv.足够地,充分地 | |
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14 truthfulness | |
n. 符合实际 | |
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15 ragged | |
adj.衣衫褴褛的,粗糙的,刺耳的 | |
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16 eminently | |
adv.突出地;显著地;不寻常地 | |
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17 idyllic | |
adj.质朴宜人的,田园风光的 | |
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18 ornaments | |
n.装饰( ornament的名词复数 );点缀;装饰品;首饰v.装饰,点缀,美化( ornament的第三人称单数 ) | |
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19 rustic | |
adj.乡村的,有乡村特色的;n.乡下人,乡巴佬 | |
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20 rustics | |
n.有农村或村民特色的( rustic的名词复数 );粗野的;不雅的;用粗糙的木材或树枝制作的 | |
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21 sentimental | |
adj.多愁善感的,感伤的 | |
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22 boors | |
n.农民( boor的名词复数 );乡下佬;没礼貌的人;粗野的人 | |
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23 joyous | |
adj.充满快乐的;令人高兴的 | |
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24 buxom | |
adj.(妇女)丰满的,有健康美的 | |
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25 rosy | |
adj.美好的,乐观的,玫瑰色的 | |
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26 artistic | |
adj.艺术(家)的,美术(家)的;善于艺术创作的 | |
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27 jocund | |
adj.快乐的,高兴的 | |
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28 hawthorn | |
山楂 | |
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29 checkered | |
adj.有方格图案的 | |
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30 spicy | |
adj.加香料的;辛辣的,有风味的 | |
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31 utterance | |
n.用言语表达,话语,言语 | |
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32 melancholy | |
n.忧郁,愁思;adj.令人感伤(沮丧)的,忧郁的 | |
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33 wagon | |
n.四轮马车,手推车,面包车;无盖运货列车 | |
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34 labor | |
n.劳动,努力,工作,劳工;分娩;vi.劳动,努力,苦干;vt.详细分析;麻烦 | |
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35 animation | |
n.活泼,兴奋,卡通片/动画片的制作 | |
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36 laborers | |
n.体力劳动者,工人( laborer的名词复数 );(熟练工人的)辅助工 | |
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37 laborer | |
n.劳动者,劳工 | |
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38 triumphant | |
adj.胜利的,成功的;狂欢的,喜悦的 | |
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39 taunt | |
n.辱骂,嘲弄;v.嘲弄 | |
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40 unintelligible | |
adj.无法了解的,难解的,莫明其妙的 | |
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41 intelligible | |
adj.可理解的,明白易懂的,清楚的 | |
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42 ingenuousness | |
n.率直;正直;老实 | |
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43 disposition | |
n.性情,性格;意向,倾向;排列,部署 | |
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44 adroit | |
adj.熟练的,灵巧的 | |
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45 reaper | |
n.收割者,收割机 | |
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46 subdued | |
adj. 屈服的,柔和的,减弱的 动词subdue的过去式和过去分词 | |
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47 requisite | |
adj.需要的,必不可少的;n.必需品 | |
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48 lyric | |
n.抒情诗,歌词;adj.抒情的 | |
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49 picturesque | |
adj.美丽如画的,(语言)生动的,绘声绘色的 | |
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50 par | |
n.标准,票面价值,平均数量;adj.票面的,平常的,标准的 | |
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51 profess | |
v.声称,冒称,以...为业,正式接受入教,表明信仰 | |
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52 generalization | |
n.普遍性,一般性,概括 | |
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53 generalizations | |
一般化( generalization的名词复数 ); 普通化; 归纳; 概论 | |
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54 yearningly | |
怀念地,思慕地,同情地; 渴 | |
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55 obliterating | |
v.除去( obliterate的现在分词 );涂去;擦掉;彻底破坏或毁灭 | |
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56 philosophical | |
adj.哲学家的,哲学上的,达观的 | |
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57 dissertations | |
专题论文,学位论文( dissertation的名词复数 ) | |
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58 amplifying | |
放大,扩大( amplify的现在分词 ); 增强; 详述 | |
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59 perennial | |
adj.终年的;长久的 | |
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60 toil | |
vi.辛劳工作,艰难地行动;n.苦工,难事 | |
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61 laden | |
adj.装满了的;充满了的;负了重担的;苦恼的 | |
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62 perverted | |
adj.不正当的v.滥用( pervert的过去式和过去分词 );腐蚀;败坏;使堕落 | |
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63 perversion | |
n.曲解;堕落;反常 | |
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64 motives | |
n.动机,目的( motive的名词复数 ) | |
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65 apathy | |
n.漠不关心,无动于衷;冷淡 | |
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66 rendering | |
n.表现,描写 | |
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67 awakening | |
n.觉醒,醒悟 adj.觉醒中的;唤醒的 | |
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68 colloquial | |
adj.口语的,会话的 | |
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69 tragic | |
adj.悲剧的,悲剧性的,悲惨的 | |
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70 psychology | |
n.心理,心理学,心理状态 | |
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71 virtuous | |
adj.有品德的,善良的,贞洁的,有效力的 | |
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72 obnoxious | |
adj.极恼人的,讨人厌的,可憎的 | |
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73 miserable | |
adj.悲惨的,痛苦的;可怜的,糟糕的 | |
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74 millennial | |
一千年的,千福年的 | |
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75 altruism | |
n.利他主义,不自私 | |
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76 merged | |
(使)混合( merge的过去式和过去分词 ); 相融; 融入; 渐渐消失在某物中 | |
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77 dilettantism | |
n.业余的艺术爱好,浅涉文艺,浅薄涉猎 | |
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78 feudal | |
adj.封建的,封地的,领地的 | |
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79 feud | |
n.长期不和;世仇;v.长期争斗;世代结仇 | |
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80 fidelity | |
n.忠诚,忠实;精确 | |
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81 veneration | |
n.尊敬,崇拜 | |
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82 turnips | |
芜青( turnip的名词复数 ); 芜菁块根; 芜菁甘蓝块根; 怀表 | |
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83 diverging | |
分开( diverge的现在分词 ); 偏离; 分歧; 分道扬镳 | |
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84 unity | |
n.团结,联合,统一;和睦,协调 | |
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85 scattered | |
adj.分散的,稀疏的;散步的;疏疏落落的 | |
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86 stimulus | |
n.刺激,刺激物,促进因素,引起兴奋的事物 | |
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87 maxims | |
n.格言,座右铭( maxim的名词复数 ) | |
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88 doctrines | |
n.教条( doctrine的名词复数 );教义;学说;(政府政策的)正式声明 | |
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89 doctrine | |
n.教义;主义;学说 | |
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90 disintegration | |
n.分散,解体 | |
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91 remarkable | |
adj.显著的,异常的,非凡的,值得注意的 | |
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92 sketch | |
n.草图;梗概;素描;v.素描;概述 | |
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93 primitive | |
adj.原始的;简单的;n.原(始)人,原始事物 | |
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94 tenant | |
n.承租人;房客;佃户;v.租借,租用 | |
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95 proprietors | |
n.所有人,业主( proprietor的名词复数 ) | |
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96 quarried | |
v.从采石场采得( quarry的过去式和过去分词 );从(书本等中)努力发掘(资料等);在采石场采石 | |
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97 parlor | |
n.店铺,营业室;会客室,客厅 | |
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98 specimens | |
n.样品( specimen的名词复数 );范例;(化验的)抽样;某种类型的人 | |
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99 accomplishment | |
n.完成,成就,(pl.)造诣,技能 | |
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100 procure | |
vt.获得,取得,促成;vi.拉皮条 | |
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101 provincial | |
adj.省的,地方的;n.外省人,乡下人 | |
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102 imposing | |
adj.使人难忘的,壮丽的,堂皇的,雄伟的 | |
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103 negligence | |
n.疏忽,玩忽,粗心大意 | |
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104 vowels | |
n.元音,元音字母( vowel的名词复数 ) | |
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105 distinguished | |
adj.卓越的,杰出的,著名的 | |
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106 peculiarities | |
n. 特质, 特性, 怪癖, 古怪 | |
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107 peculiar | |
adj.古怪的,异常的;特殊的,特有的 | |
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108 eyebrows | |
眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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109 eyelids | |
n.眼睑( eyelid的名词复数 );眼睛也不眨一下;不露声色;面不改色 | |
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110 subsisted | |
v.(靠很少的钱或食物)维持生活,生存下去( subsist的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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111 subsist | |
vi.生存,存在,供养 | |
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112 attained | |
(通常经过努力)实现( attain的过去式和过去分词 ); 达到; 获得; 达到(某年龄、水平、状况) | |
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113 oysters | |
牡蛎( oyster的名词复数 ) | |
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114 tenacity | |
n.坚韧 | |
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115 colonists | |
n.殖民地开拓者,移民,殖民地居民( colonist的名词复数 ) | |
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116 colonist | |
n.殖民者,移民 | |
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117 reapers | |
n.收割者,收获者( reaper的名词复数 );收割机 | |
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118 emigrants | |
n.(从本国移往他国的)移民( emigrant的名词复数 ) | |
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119 rigid | |
adj.严格的,死板的;刚硬的,僵硬的 | |
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120 adherents | |
n.支持者,拥护者( adherent的名词复数 );党羽;徒子徒孙 | |
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121 tenaciously | |
坚持地 | |
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122 standing | |
n.持续,地位;adj.永久的,不动的,直立的,不流动的 | |
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123 antagonism | |
n.对抗,敌对,对立 | |
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125 regiments | |
(军队的)团( regiment的名词复数 ); 大量的人或物 | |
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126 diligent | |
adj.勤勉的,勤奋的 | |
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127 narrated | |
v.故事( narrate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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128 binds | |
v.约束( bind的第三人称单数 );装订;捆绑;(用长布条)缠绕 | |
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129 peculiarity | |
n.独特性,特色;特殊的东西;怪癖 | |
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130 retention | |
n.保留,保持,保持力,记忆力 | |
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131 friction | |
n.摩擦,摩擦力 | |
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132 whim | |
n.一时的兴致,突然的念头;奇想,幻想 | |
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133 formerly | |
adv.从前,以前 | |
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134 preservation | |
n.保护,维护,保存,保留,保持 | |
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135 graphic | |
adj.生动的,形象的,绘画的,文字的,图表的 | |
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136 flora | |
n.(某一地区的)植物群 | |
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137 fauna | |
n.(一个地区或时代的)所有动物,动物区系 | |
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138 adherence | |
n.信奉,依附,坚持,固着 | |
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139 collateral | |
adj.平行的;旁系的;n.担保品 | |
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140 entailed | |
使…成为必要( entail的过去式和过去分词 ); 需要; 限定继承; 使必需 | |
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141 paucity | |
n.小量,缺乏 | |
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142 conspicuous | |
adj.明眼的,惹人注目的;炫耀的,摆阔气的 | |
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143 apron | |
n.围裙;工作裙 | |
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144 renounce | |
v.放弃;拒绝承认,宣布与…断绝关系 | |
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145 communal | |
adj.公有的,公共的,公社的,公社制的 | |
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146 braces | |
n.吊带,背带;托架( brace的名词复数 );箍子;括弧;(儿童)牙箍v.支住( brace的第三人称单数 );撑牢;使自己站稳;振作起来 | |
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147 unwillingness | |
n. 不愿意,不情愿 | |
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148 unreasonable | |
adj.不讲道理的,不合情理的,过度的 | |
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149 obstinacy | |
n.顽固;(病痛等)难治 | |
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150 epithet | |
n.(用于褒贬人物等的)表述形容词,修饰语 | |
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151 hereditary | |
adj.遗传的,遗传性的,可继承的,世袭的 | |
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152 hatred | |
n.憎恶,憎恨,仇恨 | |
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153 droll | |
adj.古怪的,好笑的 | |
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154 impromptu | |
adj.即席的,即兴的;adv.即兴的(地),无准备的(地) | |
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155 magistrates | |
地方法官,治安官( magistrate的名词复数 ) | |
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156 magistrate | |
n.地方行政官,地方法官,治安官 | |
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157 inflicted | |
把…强加给,使承受,遭受( inflict的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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158 incorrigible | |
adj.难以纠正的,屡教不改的 | |
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159 offenders | |
n.冒犯者( offender的名词复数 );犯规者;罪犯;妨害…的人(或事物) | |
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160 pointed | |
adj.尖的,直截了当的 | |
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161 relaxation | |
n.松弛,放松;休息;消遣;娱乐 | |
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162 incarceration | |
n.监禁,禁闭;钳闭 | |
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163 piety | |
n.虔诚,虔敬 | |
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164 immediate | |
adj.立即的;直接的,最接近的;紧靠的 | |
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165 carving | |
n.雕刻品,雕花 | |
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166 persistency | |
n. 坚持(余辉, 时间常数) | |
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167 capability | |
n.能力;才能;(pl)可发展的能力或特性等 | |
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168 nay | |
adv.不;n.反对票,投反对票者 | |
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169 inveterate | |
adj.积习已深的,根深蒂固的 | |
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170 immortal | |
adj.不朽的;永生的,不死的;神的 | |
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171 importunate | |
adj.强求的;纠缠不休的 | |
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172 lawsuit | |
n.诉讼,控诉 | |
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173 piques | |
v.伤害…的自尊心( pique的第三人称单数 );激起(好奇心) | |
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174 versed | |
adj. 精通,熟练 | |
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175 proceedings | |
n.进程,过程,议程;诉讼(程序);公报 | |
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176 arbitration | |
n.调停,仲裁 | |
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177 enlisted | |
adj.应募入伍的v.(使)入伍, (使)参军( enlist的过去式和过去分词 );获得(帮助或支持) | |
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178 deserted | |
adj.荒芜的,荒废的,无人的,被遗弃的 | |
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179 thatch | |
vt.用茅草覆盖…的顶部;n.茅草(屋) | |
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180 gentry | |
n.绅士阶级,上层阶级 | |
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181 symbolized | |
v.象征,作为…的象征( symbolize的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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182 functionaries | |
n.公职人员,官员( functionary的名词复数 ) | |
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183 parables | |
n.(圣经中的)寓言故事( parable的名词复数 ) | |
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184 prefix | |
n.前缀;vt.加…作为前缀;置于前面 | |
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185 conjugal | |
adj.婚姻的,婚姻性的 | |
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186 obliterated | |
v.除去( obliterate的过去式和过去分词 );涂去;擦掉;彻底破坏或毁灭 | |
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187 precisely | |
adv.恰好,正好,精确地,细致地 | |
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188 hardy | |
adj.勇敢的,果断的,吃苦的;耐寒的 | |
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189 amalgamate | |
v.(指业务等)合并,混合 | |
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190 vigor | |
n.活力,精力,元气 | |
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191 colonization | |
殖民地的开拓,殖民,殖民地化; 移殖 | |
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192 forsake | |
vt.遗弃,抛弃;舍弃,放弃 | |
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193 entirely | |
ad.全部地,完整地;完全地,彻底地 | |
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194 disintegrating | |
v.(使)破裂[分裂,粉碎],(使)崩溃( disintegrate的现在分词 ) | |
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195 vicissitudes | |
n.变迁,世事变化;变迁兴衰( vicissitude的名词复数 );盛衰兴废 | |
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196 uncertainty | |
n.易变,靠不住,不确知,不确定的事物 | |
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197 inevitable | |
adj.不可避免的,必然发生的 | |
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198 purely | |
adv.纯粹地,完全地 | |
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199 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 | |
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200 fealty | |
n.忠贞,忠节 | |
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201 bureaucratic | |
adj.官僚的,繁文缛节的 | |
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202 apparatus | |
n.装置,器械;器具,设备 | |
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203 torments | |
(肉体或精神上的)折磨,痛苦( torment的名词复数 ); 造成痛苦的事物[人] | |
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204 attachments | |
n.(用电子邮件发送的)附件( attachment的名词复数 );附着;连接;附属物 | |
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205 bent | |
n.爱好,癖好;adj.弯的;决心的,一心的 | |
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206 machinery | |
n.(总称)机械,机器;机构 | |
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207 gallows | |
n.绞刑架,绞台 | |
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208 irrational | |
adj.无理性的,失去理性的 | |
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209 questionable | |
adj.可疑的,有问题的 | |
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210 elevation | |
n.高度;海拔;高地;上升;提高 | |
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211 trifling | |
adj.微不足道的;没什么价值的 | |
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212 analogous | |
adj.相似的;类似的 | |
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213 illiterate | |
adj.文盲的;无知的;n.文盲 | |
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214 scarlet | |
n.深红色,绯红色,红衣;adj.绯红色的 | |
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215 grumbler | |
爱抱怨的人,发牢骚的人 | |
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216 grievances | |
n.委屈( grievance的名词复数 );苦衷;不满;牢骚 | |
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217 insignificant | |
adj.无关紧要的,可忽略的,无意义的 | |
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218 persecution | |
n. 迫害,烦扰 | |
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219 plentiful | |
adj.富裕的,丰富的 | |
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220 commotion | |
n.骚动,动乱 | |
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221 swarms | |
蜂群,一大群( swarm的名词复数 ) | |
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222 fervor | |
n.热诚;热心;炽热 | |
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223 afterward | |
adv.后来;以后 | |
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224 infantry | |
n.[总称]步兵(部队) | |
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225 cavalry | |
n.骑兵;轻装甲部队 | |
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226 domains | |
n.范围( domain的名词复数 );领域;版图;地产 | |
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227 withheld | |
withhold过去式及过去分词 | |
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228 countenance | |
n.脸色,面容;面部表情;vt.支持,赞同 | |
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229 delusion | |
n.谬见,欺骗,幻觉,迷惑 | |
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230 intoxication | |
n.wild excitement;drunkenness;poisoning | |
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231 earnings | |
n.工资收人;利润,利益,所得 | |
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232 contemplated | |
adj. 预期的 动词contemplate的过去分词形式 | |
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233 contemplate | |
vt.盘算,计议;周密考虑;注视,凝视 | |
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234 legerdemain | |
n.戏法,诈术 | |
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235 interpretation | |
n.解释,说明,描述;艺术处理 | |
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236 corrupted | |
(使)败坏( corrupt的过去式和过去分词 ); (使)腐化; 引起(计算机文件等的)错误; 破坏 | |
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237 disturbance | |
n.动乱,骚动;打扰,干扰;(身心)失调 | |
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238 incapable | |
adj.无能力的,不能做某事的 | |
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239 degenerate | |
v.退步,堕落;adj.退步的,堕落的;n.堕落者 | |
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240 intoxicated | |
喝醉的,极其兴奋的 | |
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241 drawn | |
v.拖,拉,拔出;adj.憔悴的,紧张的 | |
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242 deposed | |
v.罢免( depose的过去式和过去分词 );(在法庭上)宣誓作证 | |
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243 recurring | |
adj.往复的,再次发生的 | |
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244 disorder | |
n.紊乱,混乱;骚动,骚乱;疾病,失调 | |
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245 animated | |
adj.生气勃勃的,活跃的,愉快的 | |
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246 zeal | |
n.热心,热情,热忱 | |
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247 participation | |
n.参与,参加,分享 | |
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248 isolated | |
adj.与世隔绝的 | |
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249 diversified | |
adj.多样化的,多种经营的v.使多样化,多样化( diversify的过去式和过去分词 );进入新的商业领域 | |
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250 generic | |
adj.一般的,普通的,共有的 | |
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251 supreme | |
adj.极度的,最重要的;至高的,最高的 | |
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252 patriotism | |
n.爱国精神,爱国心,爱国主义 | |
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253 doctrinaire | |
adj.空论的 | |
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254 intercourse | |
n.性交;交流,交往,交际 | |
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255 investigations | |
(正式的)调查( investigation的名词复数 ); 侦查; 科学研究; 学术研究 | |
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256 amassed | |
v.积累,积聚( amass的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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257 thoroughly | |
adv.完全地,彻底地,十足地 | |
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258 incarnate | |
adj.化身的,人体化的,肉色的 | |
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259 vitality | |
n.活力,生命力,效力 | |
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260 manifestation | |
n.表现形式;表明;现象 | |
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261 antipathy | |
n.憎恶;反感,引起反感的人或事物 | |
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262 secular | |
n.牧师,凡人;adj.世俗的,现世的,不朽的 | |
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263 civilized | |
a.有教养的,文雅的 | |
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264 wield | |
vt.行使,运用,支配;挥,使用(武器等) | |
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265 WHIMS | |
虚妄,禅病 | |
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266 hoary | |
adj.古老的;鬓发斑白的 | |
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267 perfectly | |
adv.完美地,无可非议地,彻底地 | |
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268 capabilities | |
n.能力( capability的名词复数 );可能;容量;[复数]潜在能力 | |
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269 despatch | |
n./v.(dispatch)派遣;发送;n.急件;新闻报道 | |
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270 sensory | |
adj.知觉的,感觉的,知觉器官的 | |
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271 ramifications | |
n.结果,后果( ramification的名词复数 ) | |
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272 ramification | |
n.分枝,分派,衍生物 | |
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273 vividly | |
adv.清楚地,鲜明地,生动地 | |
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274 modernized | |
使现代化,使适应现代需要( modernize的过去式和过去分词 ); 现代化,使用现代方法 | |
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275 continental | |
adj.大陆的,大陆性的,欧洲大陆的 | |
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276 antiquity | |
n.古老;高龄;古物,古迹 | |
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277 demonstration | |
n.表明,示范,论证,示威 | |
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278 mechanism | |
n.机械装置;机构,结构 | |
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279 socialists | |
社会主义者( socialist的名词复数 ) | |
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280 penetrate | |
v.透(渗)入;刺入,刺穿;洞察,了解 | |
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281 valid | |
adj.有确实根据的;有效的;正当的,合法的 | |
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282 isles | |
岛( isle的名词复数 ) | |
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283 phenomena | |
n.现象 | |
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284 complexity | |
n.复杂(性),复杂的事物 | |
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285 physiology | |
n.生理学,生理机能 | |
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286 legislates | |
v.立法,制定法律( legislate的第三人称单数 ) | |
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287 well-being | |
n.安康,安乐,幸福 | |
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288 dedicated | |
adj.一心一意的;献身的;热诚的 | |
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289 geographical | |
adj.地理的;地区(性)的 | |
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290 determined | |
adj.坚定的;有决心的 | |
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291 diplomacy | |
n.外交;外交手腕,交际手腕 | |
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292 antithesis | |
n.对立;相对 | |
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293 mosaic | |
n./adj.镶嵌细工的,镶嵌工艺品的,嵌花式的 | |
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294 alpine | |
adj.高山的;n.高山植物 | |
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295 strictly | |
adv.严厉地,严格地;严密地 | |
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296 abrupt | |
adj.突然的,意外的;唐突的,鲁莽的 | |
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297 devastating | |
adj.毁灭性的,令人震惊的,强有力的 | |
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298 luxurious | |
adj.精美而昂贵的;豪华的 | |
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299 bracing | |
adj.令人振奋的 | |
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300 lighter | |
n.打火机,点火器;驳船;v.用驳船运送;light的比较级 | |
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301 morasses | |
n.缠作一团( morass的名词复数 );困境;沼泽;陷阱 | |
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302 tracts | |
大片土地( tract的名词复数 ); 地带; (体内的)道; (尤指宣扬宗教、伦理或政治的)短文 | |
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303 monotonous | |
adj.单调的,一成不变的,使人厌倦的 | |
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304 cultivation | |
n.耕作,培养,栽培(法),养成 | |
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305 allied | |
adj.协约国的;同盟国的 | |
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306 intervals | |
n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 );间隔时间;[数学]区间;(戏剧、电影或音乐会的)幕间休息 | |
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307 thither | |
adv.向那里;adj.在那边的,对岸的 | |
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308 confessions | |
n.承认( confession的名词复数 );自首;声明;(向神父的)忏悔 | |
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309 mingled | |
混合,混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 ); 混进,与…交往[联系] | |
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310 tolerance | |
n.宽容;容忍,忍受;耐药力;公差 | |
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311 indifference | |
n.不感兴趣,不关心,冷淡,不在乎 | |
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312 metaphorical | |
a.隐喻的,比喻的 | |
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313 strata | |
n.地层(复数);社会阶层 | |
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314 obstinately | |
ad.固执地,顽固地 | |
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315 penetrating | |
adj.(声音)响亮的,尖锐的adj.(气味)刺激的adj.(思想)敏锐的,有洞察力的 | |
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316 vocation | |
n.职业,行业 | |
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317 essentially | |
adv.本质上,实质上,基本上 | |
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318 quill | |
n.羽毛管;v.给(织物或衣服)作皱褶 | |
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319 stratum | |
n.地层,社会阶层 | |
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320 abrasion | |
n.磨(擦)破,表面磨损 | |
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321 decomposition | |
n. 分解, 腐烂, 崩溃 | |
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322 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 | |
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323 corporate | |
adj.共同的,全体的;公司的,企业的 | |
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324 distinctive | |
adj.特别的,有特色的,与众不同的 | |
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325 economist | |
n.经济学家,经济专家,节俭的人 | |
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326 alleged | |
a.被指控的,嫌疑的 | |
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327 relic | |
n.神圣的遗物,遗迹,纪念物 | |
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328 remarkably | |
ad.不同寻常地,相当地 | |
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329 abolition | |
n.废除,取消 | |
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330 absurdity | |
n.荒谬,愚蠢;谬论 | |
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331 annihilate | |
v.使无效;毁灭;取消 | |
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332 perversity | |
n.任性;刚愎自用 | |
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333 destitute | |
adj.缺乏的;穷困的 | |
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334 persistent | |
adj.坚持不懈的,执意的;持续的 | |
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335 polemic | |
n.争论,论战 | |
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336 eradicate | |
v.根除,消灭,杜绝 | |
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337 differentiation | |
n.区别,区分 | |
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338 creed | |
n.信条;信念,纲领 | |
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339 judgment | |
n.审判;判断力,识别力,看法,意见 | |
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340 presumptuous | |
adj.胆大妄为的,放肆的,冒昧的,冒失的 | |
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341 alludes | |
提及,暗指( allude的第三人称单数 ) | |
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342 erecting | |
v.使直立,竖起( erect的现在分词 );建立 | |
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343 leaven | |
v.使发酵;n.酵母;影响 | |
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344 impoverished | |
adj.穷困的,无力的,用尽了的v.使(某人)贫穷( impoverish的过去式和过去分词 );使(某物)贫瘠或恶化 | |
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345 aristocrats | |
n.贵族( aristocrat的名词复数 ) | |
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346 zealously | |
adv.热心地;热情地;积极地;狂热地 | |
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347 remains | |
n.剩余物,残留物;遗体,遗迹 | |
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348 dilettante | |
n.半瓶醋,业余爱好者 | |
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349 ardent | |
adj.热情的,热烈的,强烈的,烈性的 | |
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350 fixed | |
adj.固定的,不变的,准备好的;(计算机)固定的 | |
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351 withdrawn | |
vt.收回;使退出;vi.撤退,退出 | |
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352 wholesale | |
n.批发;adv.以批发方式;vt.批发,成批出售 | |
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353 retail | |
v./n.零售;adv.以零售价格 | |
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354 usury | |
n.高利贷 | |
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355 pungent | |
adj.(气味、味道)刺激性的,辛辣的;尖锐的 | |
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356 satire | |
n.讽刺,讽刺文学,讽刺作品 | |
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357 opposition | |
n.反对,敌对 | |
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358 irreconcilable | |
adj.(指人)难和解的,势不两立的 | |
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359 unwillingly | |
adv.不情愿地 | |
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360 omissions | |
n.省略( omission的名词复数 );删节;遗漏;略去或漏掉的事(或人) | |
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361 tinged | |
v.(使)发丁丁声( ting的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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362 Partisanship | |
n. 党派性, 党派偏见 | |
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363 poetic | |
adj.富有诗意的,有诗人气质的,善于抒情的 | |
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364 fanaticism | |
n.狂热,盲信 | |
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365 subservient | |
adj.卑屈的,阿谀的 | |
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366 caustic | |
adj.刻薄的,腐蚀性的 | |
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367 nostrum | |
n.秘方;妙策 | |
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368 folly | |
n.愚笨,愚蠢,蠢事,蠢行,傻话 | |
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369 touching | |
adj.动人的,使人感伤的 | |
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370 twilight | |
n.暮光,黄昏;暮年,晚期,衰落时期 | |
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