"A child forsaken1, waking suddenly, Whose gaze afeard on all things round doth rove, And seeth only that it cannot see The meeting eyes of love."
Two hours later, Dorothea was seated in an inner room or boudoir of a handsome apartment in the Via Sistina.
I am sorry to add that she was sobbing3 bitterly, with such abandonment to this relief of an oppressed heart as a woman habitually4 controlled by pride on her own account and thoughtfulness for others will sometimes allow herself when she feels securely alone. And Mr. Casaubon was certain to remain away for some time at the Vatican.
Yet Dorothea had no distinctly shapen grievance5 that she could state even to herself; and in the midst of her confused thought and passion, the mental act that was struggling forth6 into clearness was a self-accusing cry that her feeling of desolation was the fault of her own spiritual poverty. She had married the man of her choice, and with the advantage over most girls that she had contemplated7 her marriage chiefly as the beginning of new duties: from the very first she had thought of Mr. Casaubon as having a mind so much above her own, that he must often be claimed by studies which she could not entirely8 share; moreover, after the brief narrow experience of her girlhood she was beholding9 Rome, the city of visible history, where the past of a whole hemisphere seems moving in funeral procession with strange ancestral images and trophies10 gathered from afar.
But this stupendous fragmentariness heightened the dreamlike strangeness of her bridal life. Dorothea had now been five weeks in Rome, and in the kindly11 mornings when autumn and winter seemed to go hand in hand like a happy aged12 couple one of whom would presently survive in chiller loneliness, she had driven about at first with Mr. Casaubon, but of late chiefly with Tantripp and their experienced courier. She had been led through the best galleries, had been taken to the chief points of view, had been shown the grandest ruins and the most glorious churches, and she had ended by oftenest choosing to drive out to the Campagna where she could feel alone with the earth and sky, away-from the oppressive masquerade of ages, in which her own life too seemed to become a masque with enigmatical costumes.
To those who have looked at Rome with the quickening power of a knowledge which breathes a growing soul into all historic shapes, and traces out the suppressed transitions which unite all contrasts, Rome may still be the spiritual centre and interpreter of the world. But let them conceive one more historical contrast: the gigantic broken revelations of that Imperial and Papal city thrust abruptly13 on the notions of a girl who had been brought up in English and Swiss Puritanism, fed on meagre Protestant histories and on art chiefly of the hand-screen sort; a girl whose ardent14 nature turned all her small allowance of knowledge into principles, fusing her actions into their mould, and whose quick emotions gave the most abstract things the quality of a pleasure or a pain; a girl who had lately become a wife, and from the enthusiastic acceptance of untried duty found herself plunged15 in tumultuous preoccupation with her personal lot. The weight of unintelligible16 Rome might lie easily on bright nymphs to whom it formed a background for the brilliant picnic of Anglo-foreign society; but Dorothea had no such defence against deep impressions. Ruins and basilicas, palaces and colossi, set in the midst of a sordid17 present, where all that was living and warm-blooded seemed sunk in the deep degeneracy of a superstition18 divorced from reverence19; the dimmer but yet eager Titanic20 life gazing and struggling on walls and ceilings; the long vistas21 of white forms whose marble eyes seemed to hold the monotonous22 light of an alien world: all this vast wreck23 of ambitious ideals, sensuous24 and spiritual, mixed confusedly with the signs of breathing forgetfulness and degradation25, at first jarred her as with an electric shock, and then urged themselves on her with that ache belonging to a glut26 of confused ideas which check the flow of emotion. Forms both pale and glowing took possession of her young sense, and fixed27 themselves in her memory even when she was not thinking of them, preparing strange associations which remained through her after-years. Our moods are apt to bring with them images which succeed each other like the magic-lantern pictures of a doze28; and in certain states of dull forlornness Dorothea all her life continued to see the vastness of St. Peter's, the huge bronze canopy29, the excited intention in the attitudes and garments of the prophets and evangelists in the mosaics30 above, and the red drapery which was being hung for Christmas spreading itself everywhere like a disease of the retina.
Not that this inward amazement31 of Dorothea's was anything very exceptional: many souls in their young nudity are tumbled out among incongruities32 and left to "find their feet" among them, while their elders go about their business. Nor can I suppose that when Mrs. Casaubon is discovered in a fit of weeping six weeks after her wedding, the situation will be regarded as tragic33. Some discouragement, some faintness of heart at the new real future which replaces the imaginary, is not unusual, and we do not expect people to be deeply moved by what is not unusual. That element of tragedy which lies in the very fact of frequency, has not yet wrought34 itself into the coarse emotion of mankind; and perhaps our frames could hardly bear much of it. If we had a keen vision and feeling of all ordinary human life, it would be like hearing the grass grow and the squirrel's heart beat, and we should die of that roar which lies on the other side of silence. As it is, the quickest of us walk about well wadded with stupidity.
However, Dorothea was crying, and if she had been required to state the cause, she could only have done so in some such general words as I have already used: to have been driven to be more particular would have been like trying to give a history of the lights and shadows, for that new real future which was replacing the imaginary drew its material from the endless minutiae35 by which her view of Mr. Casaubon and her wifely relation, now that she was married to him, was gradually changing with the secret motion of a watch-hand from what it had been in her maiden36 dream. It was too early yet for her fully37 to recognize or at least admit the change, still more for her to have readjusted that devotedness38 which was so necessary a part of her mental life that she was almost sure sooner or later to recover it. Permanent rebellion, the disorder39 of a life without some loving reverent40 resolve, was not possible to her; but she was now in an interval41 when the very force of her nature heightened its confusion. In this way, the early months of marriage often are times of critical tumult--whether that of a shrimp-pool or of deeper waters--which afterwards subsides42 into cheerful peace.
But was not Mr. Casaubon just as learned as before? Had his forms of expression changed, or his sentiments become less laudable? Oh waywardness of womanhood! did his chronology fail him, or his ability to state not only a theory but the names of those who held it; or his provision for giving the heads of any subject on demand? And was not Rome the place in all the world to give free play to such accomplishments43? Besides, had not Dorothea's enthusiasm especially dwelt on the prospect45 of relieving the weight and perhaps the sadness with which great tasks lie on him who has to achieve them?-- And that such weight pressed on Mr. Casaubon was only plainer than before.
All these are crushing questions; but whatever else remained the same, the light had changed, and you cannot find the pearly dawn at noonday. The fact is unalterable, that a fellow-mortal with whose nature you are acquainted solely46 through the brief entrances and exits of a few imaginative weeks called courtship, may, when seen in the continuity of married companionship, be disclosed as something better or worse than what you have preconceived, but will certainly not appear altogether the same. And it would be astonishing to find how soon the change is felt if we had no kindred changes to compare with it. To share lodgings47 with a brilliant dinner-companion, or to see your favorite politician in the Ministry48, may bring about changes quite as rapid: in these cases too we begin by knowing little and believing much, and we sometimes end by inverting49 the quantities.
Still, such comparisons might mislead, for no man was more incapable50 of flashy make-believe than Mr. Casaubon: he was as genuine a character as any ruminant animal, and he had not actively51 assisted in creating any illusions about himself. How was it that in the weeks since her marriage, Dorothea had not distinctly observed but felt with a stifling52 depression, that the large vistas and wide fresh air which she had dreamed of finding in her husband's mind were replaced by anterooms and winding53 passages which seemed to lead nowhither? I suppose it was that in courtship everything is regarded as provisional and preliminary, and the smallest sample of virtue54 or accomplishment44 is taken to guarantee delightful55 stores which the broad leisure of marriage will reveal. But the door-sill of marriage once crossed, expectation is concentrated on the present. Having once embarked56 on your marital57 voyage, it is impossible not to be aware that you make no way and that the sea is not within sight--that, in fact, you are exploring an enclosed basin.
In their conversation before marriage, Mr. Casaubon had often dwelt on some explanation or questionable58 detail of which Dorothea did not see the bearing; but such imperfect coherence59 seemed due to the brokenness of their intercourse60, and, supported by her faith in their future, she had listened with fervid61 patience to a recitation of possible arguments to be brought against Mr. Casaubon's entirely new view of the Philistine62 god Dagon and other fish-deities63, thinking that hereafter she should see this subject which touched him so nearly from the same high ground whence doubtless it had become so important to him. Again, the matter-of-course statement and tone of dismissal with which he treated what to her were the most stirring thoughts, was easily accounted for as belonging to the sense of haste and preoccupation in which she herself shared during their engagement. But now, since they had been in Rome, with all the depths of her emotion roused to tumultuous activity, and with life made a new problem by new elements, she had been becoming more and more aware, with a certain terror, that her mind was continually sliding into inward fits of anger and repulsion, or else into forlorn weariness. How far the judicious64 Hooker or any other hero of erudition would have been the same at Mr. Casaubon's time of life, she had no means of knowing, so that he could not have the advantage of comparison; but her husband's way of commenting on the strangely impressive objects around them had begun to affect her with a sort of mental shiver: he had perhaps the best intention of acquitting65 himself worthily66, but only of acquitting himself. What was fresh to her mind was worn out to his; and such capacity of thought and feeling as had ever been stimulated67 in him by the general life of mankind had long shrunk to a sort of dried preparation, a lifeless embalmment68 of knowledge.
When he said, "Does this interest you, Dorothea? Shall we stay a little longer? I am ready to stay if you wish it,"--it seemed to her as if going or staying were alike dreary69. Or, "Should you like to go to the Farnesina, Dorothea? It contains celebrated70 frescos designed or painted by Raphael, which most persons think it worth while to visit."
"But do you care about them?" was always Dorothea's question.
"They are, I believe, highly esteemed71. Some of them represent the fable72 of Cupid and Psyche73, which is probably the romantic invention of a literary period, and cannot, I think, be reckoned as a genuine mythical74 product. But if you like these wall-paintings we can easily drive thither75; and you will then, I think, have seen the chief works of Raphael, any of which it were a pity to omit in a visit to Rome. He is the painter who has been held to combine the most complete grace of form with sublimity76 of expression. Such at least I have gathered to be the opinion of cognoscenti."
This kind of answer given in a measured official tone, as of a clergyman reading according to the rubric, did not help to justify77 the glories of the Eternal City, or to give her the hope that if she knew more about them the world would be joyously78 illuminated79 for her. There is hardly any contact more depressing to a young ardent creature than that of a mind in which years full of knowledge seem to have issued in a blank absence of interest or sympathy.
On other subjects indeed Mr. Casaubon showed a tenacity80 of occupation and an eagerness which are usually regarded as the effect of enthusiasm, and Dorothea was anxious to follow this spontaneous direction of his thoughts, instead of being made to feel that she dragged him away from it. But she was gradually ceasing to expect with her former delightful confidence that she should see any wide opening where she followed him. Poor Mr. Casaubon himself was lost among small closets and winding stairs, and in an agitated81 dimness about the Cabeiri, or in an exposure of other mythologists' ill-considered parallels, easily lost sight of any purpose which had prompted him to these labors82. With his taper83 stuck before him he forgot the absence of windows, and in bitter manuscript remarks on other men's notions about the solar deities, he had become indifferent to the sunlight.
These characteristics, fixed and unchangeable as bone in Mr. Casaubon, might have remained longer unfelt by Dorothea if she had been encouraged to pour forth her girlish and womanly feeling--if he would have held her hands between his and listened with the delight of tenderness and understanding to all the little histories which made up her experience, and would have given her the same sort of intimacy84 in return, so that the past life of each could be included in their mutual85 knowledge and affection--or if she could have fed her affection with those childlike caresses86 which are the bent87 of every sweet woman, who has begun by showering kisses on the hard pate88 of her bald doll, creating a happy soul within that woodenness from the wealth of her own love. That was Dorothea's bent. With all her yearning89 to know what was afar from her and to be widely benignant, she had ardor90 enough for what was near, to have kissed Mr. Casaubon's coat-sleeve, or to have caressed91 his shoe-latchet, if he would have made any other sign of acceptance than pronouncing her, with his unfailing propriety92, to be of a most affectionate and truly feminine nature, indicating at the same time by politely reaching a chair for her that he regarded these manifestations93 as rather crude and startling. Having made his clerical toilet with due care in the morning, he was prepared only for those amenities94 of life which were suited to the well-adjusted stiff cravat95 of the period, and to a mind weighted with unpublished matter.
And by a sad contradiction Dorothea's ideas and resolves seemed like melting ice floating and lost in the warm flood of which they had been but another form. She was humiliated96 to find herself a mere97 victim of feeling, as if she could know nothing except through that medium: all her strength was scattered98 in fits of agitation99, of struggle, of despondency, and then again in visions of more complete renunciation, transforming all hard conditions into duty. Poor Dorothea! she was certainly troublesome--to herself chiefly; but this morning for the first time she had been troublesome to Mr. Casaubon.
She had begun, while they were taking coffee, with a determination to shake off what she inwardly called her selfishness, and turned a face all cheerful attention to her husband when he said, "My dear Dorothea, we must now think of all that is yet left undone100, as a preliminary to our departure. I would fain have returned home earlier that we might have been at Lowick for the Christmas; but my inquiries101 here have been protracted102 beyond their anticipated period. I trust, however, that the time here has not been passed unpleasantly to you. Among the sights of Europe, that of Rome has ever been held one of the most striking and in some respects edifying103. I well remember that I considered it an epoch104 in my life when I visited it for the first time; after the fall of Napoleon, an event which opened the Continent to travellers. Indeed I think it is one among several cities to which an extreme hyperbole has been applied-- `See Rome and die:' but in your case I would propose an emendation and say, See Rome as a bride, and live henceforth as a happy wife."
Mr. Casaubon pronounced this little speech with the most conscientious105 intention, blinking a little and swaying his head up and down, and concluding with a smile. He had not found marriage a rapturous state, but he had no idea of being anything else than an irreproachable106 husband, who would make a charming young woman as happy as she deserved to be.
"I hope you are thoroughly107 satisfied with our stay--I mean, with the result so far as your studies are concerned," said Dorothea, trying to keep her mind fixed on what most affected108 her husband.
"Yes," said Mr. Casaubon, with that peculiar109 pitch of voice which makes the word half a negative. "I have been led farther than I had foreseen, and various subjects for annotation110 have presented themselves which, though I have no direct need of them, I could not pretermit. The task, notwithstanding the assistance of my amanuensis, has been a somewhat laborious111 one, but your society has happily prevented me from that too continuous prosecution112 of thought beyond the hours of study which has been the snare113 of my solitary114 life."
"I am very glad that my presence has made any difference to you," said Dorothea, who had a vivid memory of evenings in which she had supposed that Mr. Casaubon's mind had gone too deep during the day to be able to get to the surface again. I fear there was a little temper in her reply. "I hope when we get to Lowick, I shall be more useful to you, and be able to enter a little more into what interests you."
"Doubtless, my dear," said Mr. Casaubon, with a slight bow. "The notes I have here made will want sifting115, and you can, if you please, extract them under my direction."
"And all your notes," said Dorothea, whose heart had already burned within her on this subject, so that now she could not help speaking with her tongue. "All those rows of volumes--will you not now do what you used to speak of?--will you not make up your mind what part of them you will use, and begin to write the book which will make your vast knowledge useful to the world? I will write to your dictation, or I will copy and extract what you tell me: I can be of no other use." Dorothea, in a most unaccountable, darkly feminine manner, ended with a slight sob2 and eyes full of tears.
The excessive feeling manifested would alone have been highly disturbing to Mr. Casaubon, but there were other reasons why Dorothea's words were among the most cutting and irritating to him that she could have been impelled116 to use. She was as blind to his inward troubles as he to hers: she had not yet learned those hidden conflicts in her husband which claim our pity. She had not yet listened patiently to his heartbeats, but only felt that her own was beating violently. In Mr. Casaubon's ear, Dorothea's voice gave loud emphatic117 iteration to those muffled118 suggestions of consciousness which it was possible to explain as mere fancy, the illusion of exaggerated sensitiveness: always when such suggestions are unmistakably repeated from without, they are resisted as cruel and unjust. We are angered even by the full acceptance of our humiliating confessions--how much more by hearing in hard distinct syllables119 from the lips of a near observer, those confused murmurs120 which we try to call morbid121, and strive against as if they were the oncoming of numbness122! And this cruel outward accuser was there in the shape of a wife--nay, of a young bride, who, instead of observing his abundant pen-scratches and amplitude123 of paper with the uncritical awe124 of an elegant-minded canary-bird, seemed to present herself as a spy watching everything with a malign125 power of inference. Here, towards this particular point of the compass, Mr. Casaubon had a sensitiveness to match Dorothea's, and an equal quickness to imagine more than the fact. He had formerly126 observed with approbation127 her capacity for worshipping the right object; he now foresaw with sudden terror that this capacity might be replaced by presumption128, this worship by the most exasperating129 of all criticism,--that which sees vaguely130 a great many fine ends, and has not the least notion what it costs to reach them.
For the first time since Dorothea had known him, Mr. Casaubon's face had a quick angry flush upon it.
"My love," he said, with irritation131 reined132 in by propriety, "you may rely upon me for knowing the times and the seasons, adapted to the different stages of a work which is not to be measured by the facile conjectures133 of ignorant onlookers134. It had been easy for me to gain a temporary effect by a mirage135 of baseless opinion; but it is ever the trial of the scrupulous136 explorer to be saluted137 with the impatient scorn of chatterers who attempt only the smallest achievements, being indeed equipped for no other. And it were well if all such could be admonished138 to discriminate139 judgments141 of which the true subject-matter lies entirely beyond their reach, from those of which the elements may be compassed by a narrow and superficial survey."
This speech was delivered with an energy and readiness quite unusual with Mr. Casaubon. It was not indeed entirely an improvisation142, but had taken shape in inward colloquy143, and rushed out like the round grains from a fruit when sudden heat cracks it. Dorothea was not only his wife: she was a personification of that shallow world which surrounds the appreciated or desponding author.
Dorothea was indignant in her turn. Had she not been repressing everything in herself except the desire to enter into some fellowship with her husband's chief interests?
"My judgment140 _was_ a very superficial one--such as I am capable of forming," she answered, with a prompt resentment144, that needed no rehearsal145. "You showed me the rows of notebooks--you have often spoken of them--you have often said that they wanted digesting. But I never heard you speak of the writing that is to be published. Those were very simple facts, and my judgment went no farther. I only begged you to let me be of some good to you."
Dorothea rose to leave the table and Mr. Casaubon made no reply, taking up a letter which lay beside him as if to reperuse it. Both were shocked at their mutual situation--that each should have betrayed anger towards the other. If they had been at home, settled at Lowick in ordinary life among their neighbors, the clash would have been less embarrassing: but on a wedding journey, the express object of which is to isolate146 two people on the ground that they are all the world to each other, the sense of disagreement is, to say the least, confounding and stultifying147. To have changed your longitude148 extensively and placed yourselves in a moral solitude149 in order to have small explosions, to find conversation difficult and to hand a glass of water without looking, can hardly be regarded as satisfactory fulfilment even to the toughest minds. To Dorothea's inexperienced sensitiveness, it seemed like a catastrophe150, changing all prospects151; and to Mr. Casaubon it was a new pain, he never having been on a wedding journey before, or found himself in that close union which was more of a subjection than he had been able to imagine, since this charming young bride not only obliged him to much consideration on her behalf (which he had sedulously152 given), but turned out to be capable of agitating153 him cruelly just where he most needed soothing154. Instead of getting a soft fence against the cold, shadowy, unapplausive audience of his life, had he only given it a more substantial presence?
Neither of them felt it possible to speak again at present. To have reversed a previous arrangement and declined to go out would have been a show of persistent155 anger which Dorothea's conscience shrank from, seeing that she already began to feel herself guilty. However just her indignation might be, her ideal was not to claim justice, but to give tenderness. So when the carriage came to the door, she drove with Mr. Casaubon to the Vatican, walked with him through the stony156 avenue of inscriptions157, and when she parted with him at the entrance to the Library, went on through the Museum out of mere listlessness as to what was around her. She had not spirit to turn round and say that she would drive anywhere. It was when Mr. Casaubon was quitting her that Naumann had first seen her, and he had entered the long gallery of sculpture at the same time with her; but here Naumann had to await Ladislaw with whom he was to settle a bet of champagne158 about an enigmatical mediaeval-looking figure there. After they had examined the figure, and had walked on finishing their dispute, they had parted, Ladislaw lingering behind while Naumann had gone into the Hall of Statues where he again saw Dorothea, and saw her in that brooding abstraction which made her pose remarkable159. She did not really see the streak160 of sunlight on the floor more than she saw the statues: she was inwardly seeing the light of years to come in her own home and over the English fields and elms and hedge-bordered highroads; and feeling that the way in which they might be filled with joyful161 devotedness was not so clear to her as it had been. But in Dorothea's mind there was a current into which all thought and feeling were apt sooner or later to flow--the reaching forward of the whole consciousness towards the fullest truth, the least partial good. There was clearly something better than anger and despondency.
收听单词发音 |
1
Forsaken
|
|
| adj. 被遗忘的, 被抛弃的 动词forsake的过去分词 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
sob
|
|
| n.空间轨道的轰炸机；呜咽，哭泣 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
sobbing
|
|
| <主方>Ⅰ adj.湿透的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
habitually
|
|
| ad.习惯地，通常地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
grievance
|
|
| n.怨愤，气恼，委屈 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
forth
|
|
| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
contemplated
|
|
| adj. 预期的 动词contemplate的过去分词形式 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
entirely
|
|
| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
beholding
|
|
| v.看，注视( behold的现在分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
trophies
|
|
| n.（为竞赛获胜者颁发的）奖品( trophy的名词复数 )；奖杯；（尤指狩猎或战争中获得的）纪念品；（用于比赛或赛跑名称）奖 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
kindly
|
|
| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
aged
|
|
| adj.年老的，陈年的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
abruptly
|
|
| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
ardent
|
|
| adj.热情的，热烈的，强烈的，烈性的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
plunged
|
|
| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
unintelligible
|
|
| adj.无法了解的，难解的，莫明其妙的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
sordid
|
|
| adj.肮脏的，不干净的，卑鄙的，暗淡的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
superstition
|
|
| n.迷信，迷信行为 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
reverence
|
|
| n.敬畏，尊敬，尊严；Reverence:对某些基督教神职人员的尊称；v.尊敬，敬畏，崇敬 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
titanic
|
|
| adj.巨人的，庞大的，强大的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
vistas
|
|
| 长条形景色( vista的名词复数 )； 回顾； 展望； （未来可能发生的）一系列情景 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
monotonous
|
|
| adj.单调的，一成不变的，使人厌倦的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
wreck
|
|
| n.失事，遇难；沉船；vt.(船等)失事，遇难 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
sensuous
|
|
| adj.激发美感的；感官的，感觉上的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
degradation
|
|
| n.降级；低落；退化；陵削；降解；衰变 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
glut
|
|
| n.存货过多，供过于求；v.狼吞虎咽 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
fixed
|
|
| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
doze
|
|
| v.打瞌睡；n.打盹，假寐 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
canopy
|
|
| n.天篷，遮篷 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
mosaics
|
|
| n.马赛克( mosaic的名词复数 )；镶嵌；镶嵌工艺；镶嵌图案 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
amazement
|
|
| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
incongruities
|
|
| n.不协调( incongruity的名词复数 )；不一致；不适合；不协调的东西 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
tragic
|
|
| adj.悲剧的，悲剧性的，悲惨的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
wrought
|
|
| v.引起；以…原料制作；运转；adj.制造的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
minutiae
|
|
| n.微小的细节，细枝末节；（常复数）细节，小事( minutia的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
maiden
|
|
| n.少女，处女；adj.未婚的，纯洁的，无经验的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
fully
|
|
| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
devotedness
|
|
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
disorder
|
|
| n.紊乱，混乱；骚动，骚乱；疾病，失调 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
reverent
|
|
| adj.恭敬的，虔诚的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
interval
|
|
| n.间隔，间距；幕间休息，中场休息 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
subsides
|
|
| v.（土地）下陷（因在地下采矿）( subside的第三人称单数 )；减弱；下降至较低或正常水平；一下子坐在椅子等上 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
accomplishments
|
|
| n.造诣；完成( accomplishment的名词复数 )；技能；成绩；成就 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
accomplishment
|
|
| n.完成，成就，（pl.）造诣，技能 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
prospect
|
|
| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
solely
|
|
| adv.仅仅，唯一地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
lodgings
|
|
| n. 出租的房舍, 寄宿舍 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
ministry
|
|
| n.(政府的)部；牧师 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
inverting
|
|
| v.使倒置，使反转( invert的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
incapable
|
|
| adj.无能力的，不能做某事的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
51
actively
|
|
| adv.积极地，勤奋地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
52
stifling
|
|
| a.令人窒息的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
53
winding
|
|
| n.绕，缠，绕组，线圈 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
54
virtue
|
|
| n.德行，美德；贞操；优点；功效，效力 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
55
delightful
|
|
| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
56
embarked
|
|
| 乘船( embark的过去式和过去分词 )； 装载； 从事 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
57
marital
|
|
| adj.婚姻的，夫妻的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
58
questionable
|
|
| adj.可疑的，有问题的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
59
coherence
|
|
| n.紧凑；连贯；一致性 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
60
intercourse
|
|
| n.性交；交流，交往，交际 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
61
fervid
|
|
| adj.热情的；炽热的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
62
philistine
|
|
| n.庸俗的人；adj.市侩的，庸俗的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
63
deities
|
|
| n.神，女神( deity的名词复数 )；神祗；神灵；神明 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
64
judicious
|
|
| adj.明智的，明断的，能作出明智决定的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
65
acquitting
|
|
| 宣判…无罪( acquit的现在分词 )； 使（自己）作出某种表现 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
66
worthily
|
|
| 重要地，可敬地，正当地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
67
stimulated
|
|
| a.刺激的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
68
embalmment
|
|
| n.（尸体的）防腐处理，薰香 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
69
dreary
|
|
| adj.令人沮丧的，沉闷的，单调乏味的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
70
celebrated
|
|
| adj.有名的，声誉卓著的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
71
esteemed
|
|
| adj.受人尊敬的v.尊敬( esteem的过去式和过去分词 )；敬重；认为；以为 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
72
fable
|
|
| n.寓言；童话；神话 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
73
psyche
|
|
| n.精神；灵魂 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
74
mythical
|
|
| adj.神话的；虚构的；想像的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
75
thither
|
|
| adv.向那里；adj.在那边的，对岸的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
76
sublimity
|
|
| 崇高，庄严，气质高尚 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
77
justify
|
|
| vt.证明…正当(或有理)，为…辩护 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
78
joyously
|
|
| ad.快乐地, 高兴地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
79
illuminated
|
|
| adj.被照明的；受启迪的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
80
tenacity
|
|
| n.坚韧 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
81
agitated
|
|
| adj.被鼓动的，不安的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
82
labors
|
|
| v.努力争取(for)( labor的第三人称单数 )；苦干；详细分析；（指引擎）缓慢而困难地运转 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
83
taper
|
|
| n.小蜡烛，尖细，渐弱；adj.尖细的；v.逐渐变小 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
84
intimacy
|
|
| n.熟悉，亲密，密切关系，亲昵的言行 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
85
mutual
|
|
| adj.相互的，彼此的；共同的，共有的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
86
caresses
|
|
| 爱抚，抚摸( caress的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
87
bent
|
|
| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
88
pate
|
|
| n.头顶；光顶 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
89
yearning
|
|
| a.渴望的；向往的；怀念的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
90
ardor
|
|
| n.热情，狂热 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
91
caressed
|
|
| 爱抚或抚摸…( caress的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
92
propriety
|
|
| n.正当行为；正当；适当 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
93
manifestations
|
|
| n.表示，显示（manifestation的复数形式） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
94
amenities
|
|
| n.令人愉快的事物；礼仪；礼节；便利设施；礼仪( amenity的名词复数 )；便利设施；（环境等的）舒适；（性情等的）愉快 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
95
cravat
|
|
| n.领巾，领结；v.使穿有领结的服装，使结领结 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
96
humiliated
|
|
| 感到羞愧的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
97
mere
|
|
| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
98
scattered
|
|
| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
99
agitation
|
|
| n.搅动；搅拌；鼓动，煽动 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
100
undone
|
|
| a.未做完的，未完成的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
101
inquiries
|
|
| n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 )；疑问；探究；打听 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
102
protracted
|
|
| adj.拖延的；延长的v.拖延“protract”的过去式和过去分词 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
103
edifying
|
|
| adj.有教训意味的，教训性的，有益的v.开导，启发( edify的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
104
epoch
|
|
| n.(新)时代；历元 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
105
conscientious
|
|
| adj.审慎正直的，认真的，本着良心的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
106
irreproachable
|
|
| adj.不可指责的，无过失的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
107
thoroughly
|
|
| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
108
affected
|
|
| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
109
peculiar
|
|
| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
110
annotation
|
|
| n.注解 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
111
laborious
|
|
| adj.吃力的，努力的，不流畅 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
112
prosecution
|
|
| n.起诉，告发，检举，执行，经营 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
113
snare
|
|
| n.陷阱，诱惑，圈套；（去除息肉或者肿瘤的）勒除器；响弦，小军鼓；vt.以陷阱捕获，诱惑 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
114
solitary
|
|
| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
115
sifting
|
|
| n.筛，过滤v.筛( sift的现在分词 )；筛滤；细查；详审 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
116
impelled
|
|
| v.推动、推进或敦促某人做某事( impel的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
117
emphatic
|
|
| adj.强调的，着重的；无可置疑的，明显的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
118
muffled
|
|
| adj.（声音）被隔的；听不太清的；（衣服）裹严的；蒙住的v.压抑，捂住( muffle的过去式和过去分词 )；用厚厚的衣帽包着（自己） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
119
syllables
|
|
| n.音节( syllable的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
120
murmurs
|
|
| n.低沉、连续而不清的声音( murmur的名词复数 )；低语声；怨言；嘀咕 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
121
morbid
|
|
| adj.病的；致病的；病态的；可怕的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
122
numbness
|
|
| n.无感觉，麻木，惊呆 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
123
amplitude
|
|
| n.广大；充足；振幅 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
124
awe
|
|
| n.敬畏，惊惧；vt.使敬畏，使惊惧 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
125
malign
|
|
| adj.有害的；恶性的；恶意的；v.诽谤，诬蔑 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
126
formerly
|
|
| adv.从前，以前 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
127
approbation
|
|
| n.称赞；认可 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
128
presumption
|
|
| n.推测，可能性，冒昧，放肆，[法律]推定 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
129
exasperating
|
|
| adj. 激怒的 动词exasperate的现在分词形式 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
130
vaguely
|
|
| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
131
irritation
|
|
| n.激怒，恼怒，生气 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
132
reined
|
|
| 勒缰绳使（马）停步( rein的过去式和过去分词 )； 驾驭； 严格控制； 加强管理 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
133
conjectures
|
|
| 推测，猜想( conjecture的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
134
onlookers
|
|
| n.旁观者，观看者( onlooker的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
135
mirage
|
|
| n.海市蜃楼，幻景 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
136
scrupulous
|
|
| adj.审慎的，小心翼翼的，完全的，纯粹的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
137
saluted
|
|
| v.欢迎，致敬( salute的过去式和过去分词 )；赞扬，赞颂 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
138
admonished
|
|
| v.劝告( admonish的过去式和过去分词 )；训诫；（温和地）责备；轻责 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
139
discriminate
|
|
| v.区别，辨别，区分；有区别地对待 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
140
judgment
|
|
| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
141
judgments
|
|
| 判断( judgment的名词复数 )； 鉴定； 评价； 审判 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
142
improvisation
|
|
| n.即席演奏(或演唱)；即兴创作 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
143
colloquy
|
|
| n.谈话，自由讨论 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
144
resentment
|
|
| n.怨愤，忿恨 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
145
rehearsal
|
|
| n.排练，排演；练习 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
146
isolate
|
|
| vt.使孤立，隔离 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
147
stultifying
|
|
| v.使成为徒劳，使变得无用( stultify的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
148
longitude
|
|
| n.经线，经度 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
149
solitude
|
|
| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
150
catastrophe
|
|
| n.大灾难，大祸 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
151
prospects
|
|
| n.希望，前途(恒为复数) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
152
sedulously
|
|
| ad.孜孜不倦地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
153
agitating
|
|
| 搅动( agitate的现在分词 )； 激怒； 使焦虑不安； （尤指为法律、社会状况的改变而）激烈争论 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
154
soothing
|
|
| adj.慰藉的；使人宽心的；镇静的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
155
persistent
|
|
| adj.坚持不懈的，执意的；持续的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
156
stony
|
|
| adj.石头的，多石头的，冷酷的，无情的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
157
inscriptions
|
|
| （作者）题词( inscription的名词复数 )； 献词； 碑文； 证劵持有人的登记 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
158
champagne
|
|
| n.香槟酒；微黄色 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
159
remarkable
|
|
| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
160
streak
|
|
| n.条理，斑纹，倾向，少许，痕迹；v.加条纹，变成条纹，奔驰，快速移动 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
161
joyful
|
|
| adj.欢乐的，令人欢欣的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |