The latest volume of M. Anatole France purports1, by the declaration of its title-page, to contain several profitable narratives2. The story of Crainquebille’s encounter with human justice stands at the head of them; a tale of a well-bestowed charity closes the book with the touch of playful irony3 characteristic of the writer on whom the most distinguished4 amongst his literary countrymen have conferred the rank of Prince of Prose.
Never has a dignity been better borne. M. Anatole France is a good prince. He knows nothing of tyranny but much of compassion5. The detachment of his mind from common errors and current superstitions6 befits the exalted7 rank he holds in the Commonwealth8 of Literature. It is just to suppose that the clamour of the tribes in the forum9 had little to do with his elevation10. Their elect are of another stamp. They are such as their need of precipitate11 action requires. He is the Elect of the Senate — the Senate of Letters — whose Conscript Fathers have recognised him as primus inter12 pares; a post of pure honour and of no privilege.
It is a good choice. First, because it is just, and next, because it is safe. The dignity will suffer no diminution13 in M. Anatole France’s hands. He is worthy14 of a great tradition, learned in the lessons of the past, concerned with the present, and as earnest as to the future as a good prince should be in his public action. It is a Republican dignity. And M. Anatole France, with his sceptical insight into an forms of government, is a good Republican. He is indulgent to the weaknesses of the people, and perceives that political institutions, whether contrived16 by the wisdom of the few or the ignorance of the many, are incapable17 of securing the happiness of mankind. He perceives this truth in the serenity18 of his soul and in the elevation of his mind. He expresses his convictions with measure, restraint and harmony, which are indeed princely qualities. He is a great analyst19 of illusions. He searches and probes their innermost recesses20 as if they were realities made of an eternal substance. And therein consists his humanity; this is the expression of his profound and unalterable compassion. He will flatter no tribe no section in the forum or in the market-place. His lucid21 thought is not beguiled22 into false pity or into the common weakness of affection. He feels that men born in ignorance as in the house of an enemy, and condemned23 to struggle with error and passions through endless centuries, should be spared the supreme24 cruelty of a hope for ever deferred25. He knows that our best hopes are irrealisable; that it is the almost incredible misfortune of mankind, but also its highest privilege, to aspire26 towards the impossible; that men have never failed to defeat their highest aims by the very strength of their humanity which can conceive the most gigantic tasks but leaves them disarmed27 before their irremediable littleness. He knows this well because he is an artist and a master; but he knows, too, that only in the continuity of effort there is a refuge from despair for minds less clear-seeing and philosophic28 than his own. Therefore he wishes us to believe and to hope, preserving in our activity the consoling illusion of power and intelligent purpose. He is a good and politic15 prince.
“The majesty29 of justice is contained entire in each sentence pronounced by the judge in the name of the sovereign people. Jerome Crainquebille, hawker of vegetables, became aware of the august aspect of the law as he stood indicted30 before the tribunal of the higher Police Court on a charge of insulting a constable31 of the force.” With this exposition begins the first tale of M. Anatole France’s latest volume.
The bust32 of the Republic and the image of the Crucified Christ appear side by side above the bench occupied by the President Bourriche and his two Assessors; all the laws divine and human are suspended over the head of Crainquebille.
From the first visual impression of the accused and of the court the author passes by a characteristic and natural turn to the historical and moral significance of those two emblems33 of State and Religion whose accord is only possible to the confused reasoning of an average man. But the reasoning of M. Anatole France is never confused. His reasoning is clear and informed by a profound erudition. Such is not the case of Crainquebille, a street hawker, charged with insulting the constituted power of society in the person of a policeman. The charge is not true, nothing was further from his thoughts; but, amazed by the novelty of his position, he does not reflect that the Cross on the wall perpetuates34 the memory of a sentence which for nineteen hundred years all the Christian35 peoples have looked upon as a grave miscarriage36 of justice. He might well have challenged the President to pronounce any sort of sentence, if it were merely to forty-eight hours of simple imprisonment38, in the name of the Crucified Redeemer.
He might have done so. But Crainquebille, who has lived pushing every day for half a century his hand-barrow loaded with vegetables through the streets of Paris, has not a philosophic mind. Truth to say he has nothing. He is one of the disinherited. Properly speaking, he has no existence at all, or, to be strictly39 truthful40, he had no existence till M. Anatole France’s philosophic mind and human sympathy have called him up from his nothingness for our pleasure, and, as the title-page of the book has it, no doubt for our profit also.
Therefore we behold41 him in the dock, a stranger to all historical, political or social considerations which can be brought to bear upon his case. He remains42 lost in astonishment43. Penetrated44 with respect, overwhelmed with awe45, he is ready to trust the judge upon the question of his transgression46. In his conscience he does not think himself culpable47; but M. Anatole France’s philosophical48 mind discovers for us that he feels all the insignificance49 of such a thing as the conscience of a mere37 street-hawker in the face of the symbols of the law and before the ministers of social repression50. Crainquebille is innocent; but already the young advocate, his defender51, has half persuaded him of his guilt52.
On this phrase practically ends the introductory chapter of the story which, as the author’s dedication53 states, has inspired an admirable draughtsman and a skilful54 dramatist, each in his art, to a vision of tragic55 grandeur56. And this opening chapter without a name — consisting of two and a half pages, some four hundred words at most — is a masterpiece of insight and simplicity57, resumed in M. Anatole France’s distinction of thought and in his princely command of words.
It is followed by six more short chapters, concise58 and full, delicate and complete like the petals59 of a flower, presenting to us the Adventure of Crainquebille — Crainquebille before the justice — An Apology for the President of the Tribunal — Of the Submission60 of Crainquebille to the Laws of the Republic — Of his Attitude before the Public Opinion, and so on to the chapter of the Last Consequences. We see, created for us in his outward form and innermost perplexity, the old man degraded from his high estate of a law-abiding street-hawker and driven to insult, really this time, the majesty of the social order in the person of another police-constable. It is not an act of revolt, and still less of revenge. Crainquebille is too old, too resigned, too weary, too guileless to raise the black standard of insurrection. He is cold and homeless and starving. He remembers the warmth and the food of the prison. He perceives the means to get back there. Since he has been locked up, he argues with himself, for uttering words which, as a matter of fact he did not say, he will go forth61 now, and to the first policeman he meets will say those very words in order to be imprisoned62 again. Thus reasons Crainquebille with simplicity and confidence. He accepts facts. Nothing surprises him. But all the phenomena63 of social organisation64 and of his own life remain for him mysterious to the end. The description of the policeman in his short cape65 and hood66, who stands quite still, under the light of a street lamp at the edge of the pavement shining with the wet of a rainy autumn evening along the whole extent of a long and deserted67 thoroughfare, is a perfect piece of imaginative precision. From under the edge of the hood his eyes look upon Crainquebille, who has just uttered in an uncertain voice the sacramental, insulting phrase of the popular slang — mort aux vaches! They look upon him shining in the deep shadow of the hood with an expression of sadness, vigilance, and contempt.
He does not move. Crainquebille, in a feeble and hesitating voice, repeats once more the insulting words. But this policeman is full of philosophic superiority, disdain68, and indulgence. He refuses to take in charge the old and miserable69 vagabond who stands before him shivering and ragged70 in the drizzle71. And the ruined Crainquebille, victim of a ridiculous miscarriage of justice, appalled72 at this magnanimity, passes on hopelessly down the street full of shadows where the lamps gleam each in a ruddy halo of falling mist.
M. Anatole France can speak for the people. This prince of the Senate is invested with the tribunitian power. M. Anatole France is something of a Socialist73; and in that respect he seems to depart from his sceptical philosophy. But as an illustrious statesman, now no more, a great prince too, with an ironic74 mind and a literary gift, has sarcastically75 remarked in one of his public speeches: “We are all Socialists76 now.” And in the sense in which it may be said that we all in Europe are Christians77 that is true enough. To many of us Socialism is merely an emotion. An emotion is much and is also less than nothing. It is the initial impulse. The real Socialism of to-day is a religion. It has its dogmas. The value of the dogma does not consist in its truthfulness78, and M. Anatole France, who loves truth, does not love dogma. Only, unlike religion, the cohesive79 strength of Socialism lies not in its dogmas but in its ideal. It is perhaps a too materialistic80 ideal, and the mind of M. Anatole France may not find in it either comfort or consolation81. It is not to be doubted that he suspects this himself; but there is something reposeful82 in the finality of popular conceptions. M. Anatole France, a good prince and a good Republican, will succeed no doubt in being a good Socialist. He will disregard the stupidity of the dogma and the unlovely form of the ideal. His art will find its own beauty in the imaginative presentation of wrongs, of errors, and miseries83 that call aloud for redress84. M. Anatole France is humane85. He is also human. He may be able to discard his philosophy; to forget that the evils are many and the remedies are few, that there is no universal panacea86, that fatality87 is invincible88, that there is an implacable menace of death in the triumph of the humanitarian89 idea. He may forget all that because love is stronger than truth.
Besides “Crainquebille” this volume contains sixteen other stories and sketches90. To define them it is enough to say that they are written in M. Anatole France’s prose. One sketch91 entitled “Riquet” may be found incorporated in the volume of Monsieur Bergeret e Paris. “Putois” is a remarkable92 little tale, significant, humorous, amusing, and symbolic93. It concerns the career of a man born in the utterance94 of a hasty and untruthful excuse made by a lady at a loss how to decline without offence a very pressing invitation to dinner from a very tyrannical aunt. This happens in a provincial95 town, and the lady says in effect: “Impossible, my dear aunt. To-morrow I am expecting the gardener.” And the garden she glances at is a poor garden; it is a wild garden; its extent is insignificant96 and its neglect seems beyond remedy. “A gardener! What for?” asks the aunt. “To work in the garden.” And the poor lady is abashed97 at the transparence of her evasion98. But the lie is told, it is believed, and she sticks to it. When the masterful old aunt inquires, “What is the man’s name, my dear?” she answers brazenly99, “His name is Putois.” “Where does he live?” “Oh, I don’t know; anywhere. He won’t give his address. One leaves a message for him here and there.” “Oh! I see,” says the other; “he is a sort of ne’er do well, an idler, a vagabond. I advise you, my dear, to be careful how you let such a creature into your grounds; but I have a large garden, and when you do not want his services I shall find him some work to do, and see he does it too. Tell your Putois to come and see me.” And thereupon Putois is born; he stalks abroad, invisible, upon his career of vagabondage and crime, stealing melons from gardens and tea-spoons from pantries, indulging his licentious101 proclivities102; becoming the talk of the town and of the countryside; seen simultaneously103 in far-distant places; pursued by gendarmes104, whose brigadier assures the uneasy householders that he “knows that scamp very well, and won’t be long in laying his hands upon him.” A detailed105 description of his person collected from the information furnished by various people appears in the columns of a local newspaper. Putois lives in his strength and malevolence106. He lives after the manner of legendary107 heroes, of the gods of Olympus. He is the creation of the popular mind. There comes a time when even the innocent originator of that mysterious and potent108 evil-doer is induced to believe for a moment that he may have a real and tangible109 presence. All this is told with the wit and the art and the philosophy which is familiar to M. Anatole France’s readers and admirers. For it is difficult to read M. Anatole France without admiring him. He has the princely gift of arousing a spontaneous loyalty110, but with this difference, that the consent of our reason has its place by the side of our enthusiasm. He is an artist. As an artist he awakens111 emotion. The quality of his art remains, as an inspiration, fascinating and inscrutable; but the proceedings112 of his thought compel our intellectual admiration113.
In this volume the trifle called “The Military Manoeuvres at Montil,” apart from its far-reaching irony, embodies114 incidentally the very spirit of automobilism. Somehow or other, how you cannot tell, the flight over the country in a motor-car, its sensations, its fatigue115, its vast topographical range, its incidents down to the bursting of a tyre, are brought home to you with all the force of high imaginative perception. It would be out of place to analyse here the means by which the true impression is conveyed so that the absurd rushing about of General Decuir, in a 30-horse-power car, in search of his cavalry116 brigade, becomes to you a more real experience than any day-and-night run you may ever have taken yourself. Suffice it to say that M. Anatole France had thought the thing worth doing and that it becomes, in virtue117 of his art, a distinct achievement. And there are other sketches in this book, more or less slight, but all worthy of regard — the childhood’s recollections of Professor Bergeret and his sister Zoe; the dialogue of the two upright judges and the conversation of their horses; the dream of M. Jean Marteau, aimless, extravagant118, apocalyptic119, and of all the dreams one ever dreamt, the most essentially120 dreamlike. The vision of M. Anatole France, the Prince of Prose, ranges over all the extent of his realm, indulgent and penetrating121, disillusioned122 and curious, finding treasures of truth and beauty concealed123 from less gifted magicians. Contemplating124 the exactness of his images and the justice of his judgment125, the freedom of his fancy and the fidelity126 of his purpose, one becomes aware of the futility127 of literary watch-words and the vanity of all the schools of fiction. Not that M. Anatole France is a wild and untrammelled genius. He is not that. Issued legitimately128 from the past, he is mindful of his high descent. He has a critical temperament129 joined to creative power. He surveys his vast domain130 in a spirit of princely moderation that knows nothing of excesses but much of restraint.
2. —“L’ile Des Pingouins”
M. Anatole France, historian and adventurer, has given us many profitable histories of saints and sinners, of Roman procurators and of officials of the Third Republic, of Grandes Dames131 and of dames not so very grand, of ornate Latinists and of inarticulate street hawkers, of priests and generals — in fact, the history of all humanity as it appears to his penetrating eye, serving a mind marvellously incisive132 in its scepticism, and a heart that, of all contemporary hearts gifted with a voice, contains the greatest treasure of charitable irony. As to M. Anatole France’s adventures, these are well-known. They lie open to this prodigal133 world in the four volumes of the Vie Litteraire, describing the adventures of a choice soul amongst masterpieces. For such is the romantic view M. Anatole France takes of the life of a literary critic. History and adventure, then, seem to be the chosen fields for the magnificent evolutions of M. Anatole France’s prose; but no material limits can stand in the way of a genius. The latest book from his pen — which may be called golden, as the lips of an eloquent134 saint once upon a time were acclaimed135 golden by the faithful — this latest book is, up to a certain point, a book of travel.
I would not mislead a public whose confidence I court. The book is not a record of globe-trotting. I regret it. It would have been a joy to watch M. Anatole France pouring the clear elixir136 compounded of his Pyrrhonic philosophy, his Benedictine erudition, his gentle wit and most humane irony into such an unpromising and opaque137 vessel138. He would have attempted it in a spirit of benevolence139 towards his fellow men and of compassion for that life of the earth which is but a vain and transitory illusion. M. Anatole France is a great magician, yet there seem to be tasks which he dare not face. For he is also a sage100.
It is a book of ocean travel — not, however, as understood by Herr Ballin of Hamburg, the Machiavel of the Atlantic. It is a book of exploration and discovery — not, however, as conceived by an enterprising journal and a shrewdly philanthropic king of the nineteenth century. It is nothing so recent as that. It dates much further back; long, long before the dark age when Krupp of Essen wrought140 at his steel plates and a German Emperor condescendingly suggested the last improvements in ships’ dining-tables. The best idea of the inconceivable antiquity141 of that enterprise I can give you is by stating the nature of the explorer’s ship. It was a trough of stone, a vessel of hollowed granite142.
The explorer was St. Mael, a saint of Armorica. I had never heard of him before, but I believe now in his arduous143 existence with a faith which is a tribute to M. Anatole France’s pious144 earnestness and delicate irony. St. Mael existed. It is distinctly stated of him that his life was a progress in virtue. Thus it seems that there may be saints that are not progressively virtuous145. St. Mael was not of that kind. He was industrious146. He evangelised the heathen. He erected147 two hundred and eighteen chapels149 and seventy-four abbeys. Indefatigable150 navigator of the faith, he drifted casually151 in the miraculous152 trough of stone from coast to coast and from island to island along the northern seas. At the age of eighty-four his high stature153 was bowed by his long labours, but his sinewy154 arms preserved their vigour155 and his rude eloquence156 had lost nothing of its force.
A nautical157 devil tempting158 him by the worldly suggestion of fitting out his desultory159, miraculous trough with mast, sail, and rudder for swifter progression (the idea of haste has sprung from the pride of Satan), the simple old saint lent his ear to the subtle arguments of the progressive enemy of mankind.
The venerable St. Mael fell away from grace by not perceiving at once that a gift of heaven cannot be improved by the contrivances of human ingenuity160. His punishment was adequate. A terrific tempest snatched the rigged ship of stone in its whirlwinds, and, to be brief, the dazed St. Mael was stranded161 violently on the Island of Penguins162.
The saint wandered away from the shore. It was a flat, round island whence rose in the centre a conical mountain capped with clouds. The rain was falling incessantly163 — a gentle, soft rain which caused the simple saint to exclaim in great delight: “This is the island of tears, the island of contrition164!”
Meantime the inhabitants had flocked in their tens of thousands to an amphitheatre of rocks; they were penguins; but the holy man, rendered deaf and purblind165 by his years, mistook excusably the multitude of silly, erect148, and self-important birds for a human crowd. At once he began to preach to them the doctrine166 of salvation167. Having finished his discourse168 he lost no time in administering to his interesting congregation the sacrament of baptism.
If you are at all a theologian you will see that it was no mean adventure to happen to a well-meaning and zealous169 saint. Pray reflect on the magnitude of the issues! It is easy to believe what M. Anatole France says, that, when the baptism of the Penguins became known in Paradise, it caused there neither joy nor sorrow, but a profound sensation.
M. Anatole France is no mean theologian himself. He reports with great casuistical erudition the debates in the saintly council assembled in Heaven for the consideration of an event so disturbing to the economy of religious mysteries. Ultimately the baptised Penguins had to be turned into human beings; and together with the privilege of sublime170 hopes these innocent birds received the curse of original sin, with the labours, the miseries, the passions, and the weaknesses attached to the fallen condition of humanity.
At this point M. Anatole France is again an historian. From being the Hakluyt of a saintly adventurer he turns (but more concisely) into the Gibbon of Imperial Penguins. Tracing the development of their civilisation171, the absurdity172 of their desires, the pathos173 of their folly174 and the ridiculous littleness of their quarrels, his golden pen lightens by relevant but unpuritanical anecdotes175 the austerity of a work devoted176 to a subject so grave as the Polity of Penguins. It is a very admirable treatment, and I hasten to congratulate all men of receptive mind on the feast of wisdom which is theirs for the mere plucking of a book from a shelf.
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purports
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| v.声称是…，（装得）像是…的样子( purport的第三人称单数 ) | |
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narratives
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| 记叙文( narrative的名词复数 )； 故事； 叙述； 叙述部分 | |
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irony
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| n.反语，冷嘲；具有讽刺意味的事，嘲弄 | |
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distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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compassion
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| n.同情，怜悯 | |
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superstitions
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| 迷信，迷信行为( superstition的名词复数 ) | |
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exalted
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| adj.(地位等)高的，崇高的；尊贵的，高尚的 | |
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commonwealth
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| n.共和国，联邦，共同体 | |
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forum
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| n.论坛，讨论会 | |
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elevation
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precipitate
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inter
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diminution
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| n.减少；变小 | |
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worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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politic
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| adj.有智虑的；精明的；v.从政 | |
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contrived
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| adj.不自然的，做作的；虚构的 | |
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incapable
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| adj.无能力的，不能做某事的 | |
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serenity
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| n.宁静，沉着，晴朗 | |
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analyst
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| n.分析家，化验员；心理分析学家 | |
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recesses
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| n.壁凹( recess的名词复数 )；（工作或业务活动的）中止或暂停期间；学校的课间休息；某物内部的凹形空间v.把某物放在墙壁的凹处( recess的第三人称单数 )；将（墙）做成凹形，在（墙）上做壁龛；休息，休会，休庭 | |
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lucid
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| adj.明白易懂的，清晰的，头脑清楚的 | |
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beguiled
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| v.欺骗( beguile的过去式和过去分词 )；使陶醉；使高兴；消磨（时间等） | |
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condemned
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supreme
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deferred
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| adj.延期的，缓召的v.拖延，延缓，推迟( defer的过去式和过去分词 )；服从某人的意愿，遵从 | |
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aspire
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| vi.(to，after)渴望，追求，有志于 | |
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disarmed
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philosophic
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majesty
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| n.雄伟，壮丽，庄严，威严；最高权威，王权 | |
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indicted
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constable
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| n.(英国)警察，警官 | |
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bust
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| vt.打破；vi.爆裂；n.半身像；胸部 | |
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emblems
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perpetuates
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Christian
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miscarriage
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| n.失败，未达到预期的结果；流产 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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imprisonment
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| n.关押，监禁，坐牢 | |
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strictly
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| adv.严厉地，严格地；严密地 | |
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truthful
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| adj.真实的，说实话的，诚实的 | |
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behold
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| v.看，注视，看到 | |
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remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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penetrated
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| adj. 击穿的，鞭辟入里的 动词penetrate的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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awe
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| n.敬畏，惊惧；vt.使敬畏，使惊惧 | |
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46
transgression
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| n.违背；犯规；罪过 | |
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47
culpable
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| adj.有罪的，该受谴责的 | |
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48
philosophical
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| adj.哲学家的，哲学上的，达观的 | |
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49
insignificance
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| n.不重要；无价值；无意义 | |
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50
repression
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| n.镇压，抑制，抑压 | |
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51
defender
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| n.保卫者，拥护者，辩护人 | |
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52
guilt
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| n.犯罪；内疚；过失，罪责 | |
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53
dedication
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| n.奉献，献身，致力，题献，献辞 | |
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54
skilful
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| (=skillful)adj.灵巧的，熟练的 | |
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55
tragic
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| adj.悲剧的，悲剧性的，悲惨的 | |
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56
grandeur
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| n.伟大，崇高，宏伟，庄严，豪华 | |
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57
simplicity
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| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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58
concise
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| adj.简洁的，简明的 | |
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59
petals
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| n.花瓣( petal的名词复数 ) | |
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60
submission
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| n.服从，投降；温顺，谦虚；提出 | |
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61
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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62
imprisoned
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| 下狱，监禁( imprison的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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63
phenomena
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| n.现象 | |
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64
organisation
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| n.组织，安排，团体，有机休 | |
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65
cape
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| n.海角，岬；披肩，短披风 | |
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66
hood
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| n.头巾，兜帽，覆盖；v.罩上，以头巾覆盖 | |
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67
deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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68
disdain
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| n.鄙视，轻视；v.轻视，鄙视，不屑 | |
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69
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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70
ragged
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| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
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71
drizzle
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| v.下毛毛雨；n.毛毛雨，蒙蒙细雨 | |
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72
appalled
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| v.使惊骇，使充满恐惧( appall的过去式和过去分词)adj.惊骇的；丧胆的 | |
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73
socialist
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| n.社会主义者；adj.社会主义的 | |
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74
ironic
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| adj.讽刺的，有讽刺意味的，出乎意料的 | |
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75
sarcastically
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| adv.挖苦地，讽刺地 | |
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76
socialists
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| 社会主义者( socialist的名词复数 ) | |
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77
Christians
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| n.基督教徒( Christian的名词复数 ) | |
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78
truthfulness
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| n. 符合实际 | |
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79
cohesive
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| adj.有粘着力的；有结合力的；凝聚性的 | |
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80
materialistic
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| a.唯物主义的，物质享乐主义的 | |
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81
consolation
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| n.安慰，慰问 | |
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82
reposeful
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| adj.平稳的，沉着的 | |
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83
miseries
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| n.痛苦( misery的名词复数 )；痛苦的事；穷困；常发牢骚的人 | |
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84
redress
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| n.赔偿，救济，矫正；v.纠正，匡正，革除 | |
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85
humane
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| adj.人道的，富有同情心的 | |
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86
panacea
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| n.万灵药；治百病的灵药 | |
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87
fatality
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| n.不幸，灾祸，天命 | |
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88
invincible
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| adj.不可征服的，难以制服的 | |
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89
humanitarian
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| n.人道主义者，博爱者，基督凡人论者 | |
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90
sketches
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| n.草图( sketch的名词复数 )；素描；速写；梗概 | |
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91
sketch
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| n.草图；梗概；素描；v.素描；概述 | |
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92
remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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93
symbolic
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| adj.象征性的，符号的，象征主义的 | |
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94
utterance
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| n.用言语表达，话语，言语 | |
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95
provincial
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| adj.省的，地方的；n．外省人，乡下人 | |
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96
insignificant
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| adj.无关紧要的，可忽略的，无意义的 | |
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97
abashed
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| adj.窘迫的，尴尬的v.使羞愧，使局促，使窘迫( abash的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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98
evasion
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| n.逃避，偷漏(税) | |
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99
brazenly
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| adv.厚颜无耻地；厚脸皮地肆无忌惮地 | |
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100
sage
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| n.圣人，哲人；adj.贤明的，明智的 | |
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101
licentious
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| adj.放纵的，淫乱的 | |
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102
proclivities
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| n.倾向，癖性( proclivity的名词复数 ) | |
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103
simultaneously
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| adv.同时发生地，同时进行地 | |
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104
gendarmes
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| n.宪兵，警官( gendarme的名词复数 ) | |
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105
detailed
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| adj.详细的，详尽的，极注意细节的，完全的 | |
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106
malevolence
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| n.恶意，狠毒 | |
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107
legendary
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| adj.传奇（中）的，闻名遐迩的；n.传奇（文学） | |
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108
potent
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| adj.强有力的，有权势的；有效力的 | |
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109
tangible
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|
| adj.有形的，可触摸的，确凿的，实际的 | |
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110
loyalty
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| n.忠诚，忠心 | |
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111
awakens
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| v.（使）醒( awaken的第三人称单数 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
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112
proceedings
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| n.进程，过程，议程；诉讼(程序)；公报 | |
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113
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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114
embodies
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| v.表现( embody的第三人称单数 )；象征；包括；包含 | |
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115
fatigue
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| n.疲劳，劳累 | |
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116
cavalry
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| n.骑兵；轻装甲部队 | |
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117
virtue
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| n.德行，美德；贞操；优点；功效，效力 | |
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118
extravagant
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|
| adj.奢侈的；过分的；(言行等)放肆的 | |
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119
apocalyptic
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| adj.预示灾祸的，启示的 | |
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120
essentially
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| adv.本质上，实质上，基本上 | |
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121
penetrating
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|
| 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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122
disillusioned
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| a.不再抱幻想的，大失所望的，幻想破灭的 | |
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123
concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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124
contemplating
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| 深思，细想，仔细考虑( contemplate的现在分词 )； 注视，凝视； 考虑接受（发生某事的可能性）； 深思熟虑，沉思，苦思冥想 | |
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125
judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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126
fidelity
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| n.忠诚，忠实；精确 | |
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127
futility
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| n.无用 | |
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128
legitimately
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| ad.合法地；正当地，合理地 | |
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129
temperament
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| n.气质，性格，性情 | |
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130
domain
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| n.(活动等)领域，范围；领地，势力范围 | |
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131
dames
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| n.（在英国）夫人（一种封号），夫人（爵士妻子的称号）( dame的名词复数 )；女人 | |
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132
incisive
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| adj.敏锐的，机敏的，锋利的，切入的 | |
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133
prodigal
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| adj.浪费的，挥霍的，放荡的 | |
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134
eloquent
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| adj.雄辩的，口才流利的；明白显示出的 | |
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135
acclaimed
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| adj.受人欢迎的 | |
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136
elixir
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| n.长生不老药，万能药 | |
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137
opaque
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| adj.不透光的；不反光的，不传导的；晦涩的 | |
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138
vessel
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| n.船舶；容器，器皿；管，导管，血管 | |
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139
benevolence
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| n.慈悲，捐助 | |
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140
wrought
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| v.引起；以…原料制作；运转；adj.制造的 | |
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141
antiquity
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| n.古老；高龄；古物，古迹 | |
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142
granite
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| adj.花岗岩，花岗石 | |
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143
arduous
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| adj.艰苦的，费力的，陡峭的 | |
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144
pious
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| adj.虔诚的；道貌岸然的 | |
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145
virtuous
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| adj.有品德的，善良的，贞洁的，有效力的 | |
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146
industrious
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| adj.勤劳的，刻苦的，奋发的 | |
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147
ERECTED
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| adj. 直立的，竖立的，笔直的 vt. 使 ... 直立，建立 | |
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148
erect
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| n./v.树立，建立，使竖立；adj.直立的，垂直的 | |
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149
chapels
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| n.小教堂， （医院、监狱等的）附属礼拜堂( chapel的名词复数 )；（在小教堂和附属礼拜堂举行的）礼拜仪式 | |
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150
indefatigable
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| adj.不知疲倦的，不屈不挠的 | |
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151
casually
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| adv.漠不关心地，无动于衷地，不负责任地 | |
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152
miraculous
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| adj.像奇迹一样的，不可思议的 | |
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153
stature
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| n.（高度）水平，（高度）境界，身高，身材 | |
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154
sinewy
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| adj.多腱的，强壮有力的 | |
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155
vigour
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| （=vigor）n.智力，体力，精力 | |
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156
eloquence
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| n.雄辩；口才，修辞 | |
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157
nautical
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| adj.海上的，航海的，船员的 | |
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158
tempting
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| a.诱人的, 吸引人的 | |
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159
desultory
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| adj.散漫的，无方法的 | |
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160
ingenuity
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| n.别出心裁；善于发明创造 | |
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161
stranded
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| a.搁浅的，进退两难的 | |
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162
penguins
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| n.企鹅( penguin的名词复数 ) | |
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163
incessantly
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| ad.不停地 | |
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164
contrition
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| n.悔罪，痛悔 | |
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165
purblind
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| adj.半盲的；愚笨的 | |
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166
doctrine
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| n.教义；主义；学说 | |
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167
salvation
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| n.（尤指基督）救世，超度，拯救，解困 | |
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168
discourse
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| n.论文，演说；谈话；话语；vi.讲述，著述 | |
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169
zealous
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| adj.狂热的，热心的 | |
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170
sublime
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| adj.崇高的，伟大的；极度的，不顾后果的 | |
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171
civilisation
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| n.文明，文化，开化，教化 | |
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172
absurdity
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| n.荒谬，愚蠢；谬论 | |
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173
pathos
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| n.哀婉，悲怆 | |
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174
folly
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| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
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175
anecdotes
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| n.掌故，趣闻，轶事( anecdote的名词复数 ) | |
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176
devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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