CHAPTER 36.
Besides Fifine Beck’s mother, another power had a word to say to M. Paul and me, before that covenant2 of friendship could be ratified3. We were under the surveillance of a sleepless4 eye: Rome watched jealously her son through that mystic lattice at which I had knelt once, and to which M. Emanuel drew nigh month by month—the sliding panel of the confessional.
“Why were you so glad to be friends with M. Paul?” asks the reader. “Had he not long been a friend to you? Had he not given proof on proof of a certain partiality in his feelings?”
Yes, he had; but still I liked to hear him say so earnestly—that he was my close, true friend; I liked his modest doubts, his tender deference—that trust which longed to rest, and was grateful when taught how. He had called me “sister.” It was well. Yes; he might call me what he pleased, so long as he confided6 in me. I was willing to be his sister, on condition that he did not invite me to fill that relation to some future wife of his; and tacitly vowed7 as he was to celibacy9, of this dilemma10 there seemed little danger.
Through most of the succeeding night I pondered that evening’s interview. I wanted much the morning to break, and then listened for the bell to ring; and, after rising and dressing11, I deemed prayers and breakfast slow, and all the hours lingering, till that arrived at last which brought me the lesson of literature. My wish was to get a more thorough comprehension of this fraternal alliance: to note with how much of the brother he would demean himself when we met again; to prove how much of the sister was in my own feelings; to discover whether I could summon a sister’s courage, and he a brother’s frankness.
He came. Life is so constructed, that the event does not, cannot, will not, match the expectation. That whole day he never accosted12 me. His lesson was given rather more quietly than usual, more mildly, and also more gravely. He was fatherly to his pupils, but he was not brotherly to me. Ere he left the classe, I expected a smile, if not a word; I got neither: to my portion fell one nod—hurried, shy.
This distance, I argued, is accidental—it is involuntary; patience, and it will vanish. It vanished not; it continued for days; it increased. I suppressed my surprise, and swallowed whatever other feelings began to surge.
Well might I ask when he offered fraternity—“Dare I rely on you?” Well might he, doubtless knowing himself, withhold13 all pledge. True, he had bid me make my own experiments—tease and try him. Vain injunction! Privilege nominal14 and unavailable! Some women might use it! Nothing in my powers or instinct placed me amongst this brave band. Left alone, I was passive; repulsed16, I withdrew; forgotten—my lips would not utter, nor my eyes dart17 a reminder18. It seemed there had been an error somewhere in my calculations, and I wanted for time to disclose it.
But the day came when, as usual, he was to give me a lesson. One evening in seven he had long generously bestowed19 on me, devoting it to the examination of what had been done in various studies during the past week, and to the preparation of work for the week in prospect20. On these occasions my schoolroom was anywhere, wherever the pupils and the other teachers happened to be, or in their close vicinage, very often in the large second division, where it was easy to choose a quiet nook when the crowding day pupils were absent, and the few boarders gathered in a knot about the surveillante’s estrade.
On the customary evening, hearing the customary hour strike, I collected my books and papers, my pen and ink, and sought the large division.
In classe there was no one, and it lay all in cool deep shadow; but through the open double doors was seen the carré, filled with pupils and with light; over hall and figures blushed the westering sun. It blushed so ruddily and vividly21, that the hues22 of the walls and the variegated23 tints24 of the dresses seemed all fused in one warm glow. The girls were seated, working or studying; in the midst of their circle stood M. Emanuel, speaking good-humouredly to a teacher. His dark paletôt, his jetty hair, were tinged25 with many a reflex of crimson26; his Spanish face, when he turned it momentarily, answered the sun’s animated27 kiss with an animated smile. I took my place at a desk.
The orange-trees, and several plants, full and bright with bloom, basked28 also in the sun’s laughing bounty29; they had partaken it the whole day, and now asked water. M. Emanuel had a taste for gardening; he liked to tend and foster plants. I used to think that working amongst shrubs30 with a spade or a watering-pot soothed31 his nerves; it was a recreation to which he often had recourse; and now he looked to the orange-trees, the geraniums, the gorgeous cactuses, and revived them all with the refreshment32 their drought needed. His lips meantime sustained his precious cigar, that (for him) first necessary and prime luxury of life; its blue wreaths curled prettily33 enough amongst the flowers, and in the evening light. He spoke34 no more to the pupils, nor to the mistresses, but gave many an endearing word to a small spanieless (if one may coin a word), that nominally35 belonged to the house, but virtually owned him as master, being fonder of him than any inmate36. A delicate, silky, loving, and lovable little doggie she was, trotting37 at his side, looking with expressive38, attached eyes into his face; and whenever he dropped his bonnet-grec or his handkerchief, which he occasionally did in play, crouching39 beside it with the air of a miniature lion guarding a kingdom’s flag.
There were many plants, and as the amateur gardener fetched all the water from the well in the court, with his own active hands, his work spun40 on to some length. The great school-clock ticked on. Another hour struck. The carré and the youthful group lost the illusion of sunset. Day was drooping41. My lesson, I perceived, must to-night be very short; but the orange-trees, the cacti42, the camelias were all served now. Was it my turn?
Alas! in the garden were more plants to be looked after,—favourite rose-bushes, certain choice flowers; little Sylvie’s glad bark and whine43 followed the receding44 paletôt down the alleys46. I put up some of my books; I should not want them all; I sat and thought; and waited, involuntarily deprecating the creeping invasion of twilight47.
Sylvie, gaily48 frisking, emerged into view once more, heralding49 the returning paletôt; the watering-pot was deposited beside the well; it had fulfilled its office; how glad I was! Monsieur washed his hands in a little stone bowl. There was no longer time for a lesson now; ere long the prayer-bell must ring; but still we should meet; he would speak; a chance would be offered of reading in his eyes the riddle50 of his shyness. His ablutions over, he stood, slowly re-arranging his cuffs51, looking at the horn of a young moon, set pale in the opal sky, and glimmering52 faint on the oriel of Jean Baptiste. Sylvie watched the mood contemplative; its stillness irked her; she whined53 and jumped to break it. He looked down.
“Petite exigeante,” said he; “you must not be forgotten one moment, it seems.”
He stopped, lifted her in his arms, sauntered across the court, within a yard of the line of windows near one of which I sat: he sauntered lingeringly, fondling the spaniel in his bosom54, calling her tender names in a tender voice. On the front-door steps he turned; once again he looked at the moon, at the grey cathedral55, over the remoter spires56 and house-roofs fading into a blue sea of night-mist; he tasted the sweet breath of dusk, and noted57 the folded bloom of the garden; he suddenly looked round; a keen beam out of his eye rased the white façade59 of the classes, swept the long line of croisées. I think he bowed; if he did, I had no time to return the courtesy. In a moment he was gone; the moonlit threshold lay pale and shadowless before the closed front door.
Gathering60 in my arms all that was spread on the desk before me, I carried back the unused heap to its place in the third classe. The prayer-bell rang; I obeyed its summons.
The morrow would not restore him to the Rue5 Fossette, that day being devoted61 entirely62 to his college. I got through my teaching; I got over the intermediate hours; I saw evening approaching, and armed myself for its heavy ennuis. Whether it was worse to stay with my co-inmates, or to sit alone, I had not considered; I naturally took up the latter alternative; if there was a hope of comfort for any moment, the heart or head of no human being in this house could yield it; only under the lid of my desk could it harbour, nestling between the leaves of some book, gilding63 a pencil-point, the nib64 of a pen, or tinging65 the black fluid in that ink-glass. With a heavy heart I opened my desk-lid; with a weary hand I turned up its contents.
One by one, well-accustomed books, volumes sewn in familiar covers, were taken out and put back hopeless: they had no charm; they could not comfort. Is this something new, this pamphlet in lilac? I had not seen it before, and I re-arranged my desk this very day—this very afternoon; the tract66 must have been introduced within the last hour, while we were at dinner.
I opened it. What was it? What would it say to me?
It was neither tale nor poem, neither essay nor history; it neither sung, nor related, not discussed. It was a theological work; it preached and it persuaded.
I lent to it my ear very willingly, for, small as it was, it possessed67 its own spell, and bound my attention at once. It preached Romanism; it persuaded to conversion68. The voice of that sly little book was a honeyed voice; its accents were all unction and balm. Here roared no utterance69 of Rome’s thunders, no blasting of the breath of her displeasure. The Protestant was to turn Papist, not so much in fear of the heretic’s hell, as on account of the comfort, the indulgence, the tenderness Holy Church offered: far be it from her to threaten or to coerce70; her wish was to guide and win. She persecute71? Oh dear no! not on any account!
This meek72 volume was not addressed to the hardened and worldly; it was not even strong meat for the strong: it was milk for babes: the mild effluence of a mother’s love towards her tenderest and her youngest; intended wholly and solely73 for those whose head is to be reached through the heart. Its appeal was not to intellect; it sought to win the affectionate through their affections, the sympathizing through their sympathies: St. Vincent de Paul, gathering his orphans74 about him, never spoke more sweetly.
I remember one capital inducement to apostacy was held out in the fact that the Catholic who had lost dear friends by death could enjoy the unspeakable solace75 of praying them out of purgatory76. The writer did not touch on the firmer peace of those whose belief dispenses77 with purgatory altogether: but I thought of this; and, on the whole, preferred the latter doctrine78 as the most consolatory79. The little book amused, and did not painfully displease80 me. It was a canting, sentimental81, shallow little book, yet something about it cheered my gloom and made me smile; I was amused with the gambols82 of this unlicked wolf-cub muffled83 in the fleece, and mimicking84 the bleat85 of a guileless lamb. Portions of it reminded me of certain Wesleyan Methodist tracts86 I had once read when a child; they were flavoured with about the same seasoning87 of excitation to fanaticism88. He that had written it was no bad man, and while perpetually betraying the trained cunning—the cloven hoof89 of his system—I should pause before accusing himself of insincerity. His judgment90, however, wanted surgical91 props92; it was rickety.
I smiled then over this dose of maternal93 tenderness, coming from the ruddy old lady of the Seven Hills; smiled, too, at my own disinclination, not to say disability, to meet these melting favours. Glancing at the title-page, I found the name of “Père Silas.” A fly-leaf bore in small, but clear and well-known pencil characters: “From P. C. D. E. to L—y.” And when I saw this I laughed: but not in my former spirit. I was revived.
A mortal bewilderment cleared suddenly from my head and vision; the solution of the Sphinx-riddle was won; the conjunction of those two names, Père Silas and Paul Emanuel, gave the key to all. The penitent94 had been with his director; permitted to withhold nothing; suffered to keep no corner of his heart sacred to God and to himself; the whole narrative95 of our late interview had been drawn96 from him; he had avowed97 the covenant of fraternity, and spoken of his adopted sister. How could such a covenant, such adoption98, be sanctioned by the Church? Fraternal communion with a heretic! I seemed to hear Père Silas annulling99 the unholy pact100; warning his penitent of its perils101; entreating102, enjoining103 reserve, nay104, by the authority of his office, and in the name, and by the memory of all M. Emanuel held most dear and sacred, commanding the enforcement of that new system whose frost had pierced to the marrow105 of my bones.
These may not seem pleasant hypotheses; yet, by comparison, they were welcome. The vision of a ghostly troubler hovering106 in the background, was as nothing, matched with the fear of spontaneous change arising in M. Paul himself.
At this distance of time, I cannot be sure how far the above conjectures107 were self-suggested: or in what measure they owed their origin and confirmation108 to another quarter. Help was not wanting.
This evening there was no bright sunset: west and east were one cloud; no summer night-mist, blue, yet rose-tinged, softened109 the distance; a clammy fog from the marshes110 crept grey round Villette. To-night the watering-pot might rest in its niche111 by the well: a small rain had been drizzling112 all the afternoon, and still it fell fast and quietly. This was no weather for rambling113 in the wet alleys, under the dripping trees; and I started to hear Sylvie’s sudden bark in the garden—her bark of welcome. Surely she was not accompanied and yet this glad, quick bark was never uttered, save in homage114 to one presence.
Through the glass door and the arching berceau, I commanded the deep vista115 of the allée défendue: thither116 rushed Sylvie, glistening117 through its gloom like a white guelder-rose. She ran to and fro, whining118, springing, harassing119 little birds amongst the bushes. I watched five minutes; no fulfilment followed the omen15. I returned to my books; Sylvie’s sharp bark suddenly ceased. Again I looked up. She was standing120 not many yards distant, wagging her white feathery tail as fast as the muscle would work, and intently watching the operations of a spade, plied121 fast by an indefatigable122 hand. There was M. Emanuel, bent123 over the soil, digging in the wet mould amongst the rain-laden and streaming shrubs, working as hard as if his day’s pittance124 were yet to earn by the literal sweat of his brow.
In this sign I read a ruffled125 mood. He would dig thus in frozen snow on the coldest winter day, when urged inwardly by painful emotion, whether of nervous excitation, or, sad thoughts of self-reproach. He would dig by the hour, with knit brow and set teeth, nor once lift his head, or open his lips.
Sylvie watched till she was tired. Again scampering126 devious127, bounding here, rushing there, snuffing and sniffing128 everywhere; she at last discovered me in classe. Instantly she flew barking at the panes129, as if to urge me forth130 to share her pleasure or her master’s toil131; she had seen me occasionally walking in that alley45 with M. Paul; and I doubt not, considered it my duty to join him now, wet as it was.
She made such a bustle132 that M. Paul at last looked up, and of course perceived why, and at whom she barked. He whistled to call her off; she only barked the louder. She seemed quite bent upon having the glass door opened. Tired, I suppose, with her importunity133, he threw down his spade, approached, and pushed the door ajar. Sylvie burst in all impetuous, sprang to my lap, and with her paws at my neck, and her little nose and tongue somewhat overpoweringly busy about my face, mouth, and eyes, flourished her bushy tail over the desk, and scattered135 books and papers far and wide.
M. Emanuel advanced to still the clamour and repair the disarrangement. Having gathered up the books, he captured Sylvie, and stowed her away under his paletôt, where she nestled as quiet as a mouse, her head just peeping forth. She was very tiny, and had the prettiest little innocent face, the silkiest long ears, the finest dark eyes in the world. I never saw her, but I thought of Paulina de Bassompierre: forgive the association, reader, it would occur.
M. Paul petted and patted her; the endearments136 she received were not to be wondered at; she invited affection by her beauty and her vivacious137 life.
While caressing138 the spaniel, his eye roved over the papers and books just replaced; it settled on the religious tract. His lips moved; he half checked the impulse to speak. What! had he promised never to address me more? If so, his better nature pronounced the vow8 “more honoured in the breach139 than in the observance,” for with a second effort, he spoke.—“You have not yet read the brochure, I presume? It is not sufficiently140 inviting141?”
I replied that I had read it.
He waited, as if wishing me to give an opinion upon it unasked. Unasked, however, I was in no mood to do or say anything. If any concessions142 were to be made—if any advances were demanded—that was the affair of the very docile143 pupil of Père Silas, not mine. His eye settled upon me gently: there was mildness at the moment in its blue ray—there was solicitude144—a shade of pathos145; there were meanings composite and contrasted—reproach melting into remorse146. At the moment probably, he would have been glad to see something emotional in me. I could not show it. In another minute, however, I should have betrayed confusion, had I not bethought myself to take some quill-pens from my desk, and begin soberly to mend them.
I knew that action would give a turn to his mood. He never liked to see me mend pens; my knife was always dull-edged—my hand, too, was unskilful; I hacked147 and chipped. On this occasion I cut my own finger—half on purpose. I wanted to restore him to his natural state, to set him at his ease, to get him to chide148.
“Maladroit149!” he cried at last, “she will make mincemeat of her hands.”
He put Sylvie down, making her lie quiet beside his bonnet-grec, and, depriving me of the pens and penknife, proceeded to slice, nib, and point with the accuracy and celerity of a machine.
“Did I like the little book?” he now inquired.
Suppressing a yawn150, I said I hardly knew.
“Had it moved me?”
“I thought it had made me a little sleepy.”
(After a pause) “Allons donc! It was of no use taking that tone with him. Bad as I was—and he should be sorry to have to name all my faults at a breath—God and nature had given me ‘trop de sensibilité et de sympathie’ not to be profoundly affected151 by an appeal so touching.”
“Indeed!” I responded, rousing myself quickly, “I was not affected at all—not a whit58.”
And in proof, I drew from my pocket a perfectly152 dry handkerchief, still clean and in its folds.
Hereupon I was made the object of a string of strictures rather piquant153 than polite. I listened with zest154. After those two days of unnatural155 silence, it was better than music to hear M. Paul haranguing156 again just in his old fashion. I listened, and meantime solaced157 myself and Sylvie with the contents of a bonbonnière, which M. Emanuel’s gifts kept well supplied with chocolate comfits: It pleased him to see even a small matter from his hand duly appreciated. He looked at me and the spaniel while we shared the spoil; he put up his penknife. Touching my hand with the bundle of new-cut quills158, he said:—“Dites donc, petite sœur—speak frankly—what have you thought of me during the last two days?”
But of this question I would take no manner of notice; its purport159 made my eyes fill. I caressed160 Sylvie assiduously. M. Paul, leaning—over the desk, bent towards me:—“I called myself your brother,” he said: “I hardly know what I am—brother—friend—I cannot tell. I know I think of you—I feel I wish, you well—but I must check myself; you are to be feared. My best friends point out danger, and whisper caution.”
“You do right to listen to your friends. By all means be cautious.”
“It is your religion—your strange, self-reliant, invulnerable creed161, whose influence seems to clothe you in, I know not what, unblessed panoply162. You are good—Père Silas calls you good, and loves you—but your terrible, proud, earnest Protestantism, there is the danger. It expresses itself by your eye at times; and again, it gives you certain tones and certain gestures that make my flesh creep. You are not demonstrative, and yet, just now—when you handled that tract—my God! I thought Lucifer smiled.”
“Certainly I don’t respect that tract—what then?”
“Not respect that tract? But it is the pure essence of faith, love, charity! I thought it would touch you: in its gentleness, I trusted that it could not fail. I laid it in your desk with a prayer: I must indeed be a sinner: Heaven will not hear the petitions that come warmest from my heart. You scorn my little offering. Oh, cela me fait mal!”
“Monsieur, I don’t scorn it—at least, not as your gift. Monsieur, sit down; listen to me. I am not a heathen, I am not hard-hearted, I am not unchristian, I am not dangerous, as they tell you; I would not trouble your faith; you believe in God and Christ and the Bible, and so do I.”
“But do you believe in the Bible? Do you receive Revelation? What limits are there to the wild, careless daring of your country and sect163. Père Silas dropped dark hints.”
By dint164 of persuasion165, I made him half-define these hints; they amounted to crafty166 Jesuit-slanders. That night M. Paul and I talked seriously and closely. He pleaded, he argued. I could not argue—a fortunate incapacity; it needed but triumphant167, logical opposition168 to effect all the director wished to be effected; but I could talk in my own way—the way M. Paul was used to—and of which he could follow the meanderings and fill the hiatus, and pardon the strange stammerings, strange to him no longer. At ease with him, I could defend my creed and faith in my own fashion; in some degree I could lull169 his prejudices. He was not satisfied when he went away, hardly was he appeased170; but he was made thoroughly171 to feel that Protestants were not necessarily the irreverent Pagans his director had insinuated172; he was made to comprehend something of their mode of honouring the Light, the Life, the Word; he was enabled partly to perceive that, while their veneration173 for things venerable was not quite like that cultivated in his Church, it had its own, perhaps, deeper power—its own more solemn awe174.
I found that Père Silas (himself, I must repeat, not a bad man, though the advocate of a bad cause) had darkly stigmatized175 Protestants in general, and myself by inference, with strange names, had ascribed to us strange “isms;” Monsieur Emanuel revealed all this in his frank fashion, which knew not secretiveness, looking at me as he spoke with a kind, earnest fear, almost trembling lest there should be truth in the charges. Père Silas, it seems, had closely watched me, had ascertained176 that I went by turns, and indiscriminately, to the three Protestant Chapels177 of Villette—the French, German, and English—id est, the Presbyterian, Lutheran, Episcopalian. Such liberality argued in the father’s eyes profound indifference—who tolerates all, he reasoned, can be attached to none. Now, it happened that I had often secretly wondered at the minute and unimportant character of the differences between these three sects—at the unity134 and identity of their vital doctrines178: I saw nothing to hinder them from being one day fused into one grand Holy Alliance, and I respected them all, though I thought that in each there were faults of form, incumbrances, and trivialities. Just what I thought, that did I tell M. Emanuel, and explained to him that my own last appeal, the guide to which I looked, and the teacher which I owned, must always be the Bible itself, rather than any sect, of whatever name or nation.
He left me soothed, yet full of solicitude, breathing a wish, as strong as a prayer, that if I were wrong, Heaven would lead me right. I heard, poured forth on the threshold, some fervid179 murmurings to “Marie, Reine du Ciel,” some deep aspiration180 that his hope might yet be mine.
Strange! I had no such feverish181 wish to turn him from the faith of his fathers. I thought Romanism wrong, a great mixed image of gold and clay; but it seemed to me that this Romanist held the purer elements of his creed with an innocency182 of heart which God must love.
The preceding conversation passed between eight and nine o’clock of the evening, in a schoolroom of the quiet Rue Fossette, opening on a sequestered183 garden. Probably about the same, or a somewhat later hour of the succeeding evening, its echoes, collected by holy obedience184, were breathed verbatim in an attent ear, at the panel of a confessional, in the hoary185 church of the Magi. It ensued that Père Silas paid a visit to Madame Beck, and stirred by I know not what mixture of motives186, persuaded her to let him undertake for a time the Englishwoman’s spiritual direction.
Hereupon I was put through a course of reading—that is, I just glanced at the books lent me; they were too little in my way to be thoroughly read, marked, learned, or inwardly digested. And besides, I had a book up-stairs, under my pillow, whereof certain chapters satisfied my needs in the article of spiritual lore187, furnishing such precept188 and example as, to my heart’s core, I was convinced could not be improved on.
Then Père Silas showed me the fair side of Rome, her good works; and bade me judge the tree by its fruits.
In answer, I felt and I avowed that these works were not the fruits of Rome; they were but her abundant blossoming, but the fair promise she showed the world, that bloom when set, savoured not of charity; the apple full formed was ignorance, abasement190, and bigotry191. Out of men’s afflictions and affections were forged the rivets192 of their servitude. Poverty was fed and clothed, and sheltered, to bind193 it by obligation to “the Church;” orphanage194 was reared and educated that it might grow up in the fold of “the Church;” sickness was tended that it might die after the formula and in the ordinance195 of “the Church;” and men were overwrought, and women most murderously sacrificed, and all laid down a world God made pleasant for his creatures’ good, and took up a cross, monstrous196 in its galling197 weight, that they might serve Rome, prove her sanctity, confirm her power, and spread the reign198 of her tyrant199 “Church.”
For man’s good was little done; for God’s glory, less. A thousand ways were opened with pain, with blood-sweats, with lavishing200 of life; mountains were cloven through their breasts, and rocks were split to their base; and all for what? That a Priesthood might march straight on and straight upward to an all-dominating eminence201, whence they might at last stretch the sceptre of their Moloch “Church.”
It will not be. God is not with Rome, and, were human sorrows still for the Son of God, would he not mourn over her cruelties and ambitions, as once he mourned over the crimes and woes202 of doomed203 Jerusalem!
Oh, lovers of power! Oh, mitred aspirants204 for this world’s kingdoms! an hour will come, even to you, when it will be well for your hearts—pausing faint at each broken beat—that there is a Mercy beyond human compassions, a Love, stronger than this strong death which even you must face, and before it, fall; a Charity more potent205 than any sin, even yours; a Pity which redeems206 worlds—nay, absolves207 Priests.
My third temptation was held out in the pomp of Rome—the glory of her kingdom. I was taken to the churches on solemn occasions—days of fête and state; I was shown the Papal ritual and ceremonial. I looked at it.
Many people—men and women—no doubt far my superiors in a thousand ways, have felt this display impressive, have declared that though their Reason protested, their Imagination was subjugated208. I cannot say the same. Neither full procession, nor high mass, nor swarming209 tapers210, nor swinging censers, nor ecclesiastical millinery, nor celestial211 jewellery, touched my imagination a whit. What I saw struck me as tawdry, not grand; as grossly material, not poetically212 spiritual.
This I did not tell Père Silas; he was old, he looked venerable: through every abortive213 experiment, under every repeated disappointment, he remained personally kind to me, and I felt tender of hurting his feelings. But on the evening of a certain day when, from the balcony of a great house, I had been made to witness a huge mingled214 procession of the church and the army—priests with relics215, and soldiers with weapons, an obese216 and aged archbishop, habited in cambric and lace, looking strangely like a grey daw in bird-of-paradise plumage, and a band of young girls fantastically robed and garlanded—then I spoke my mind to M. Paul.
“I did not like it,” I told him; “I did not respect such ceremonies; I wished to see no more.”
And having relieved my conscience by this declaration, I was able to go on, and, speaking more currently and clearly than my wont217, to show him that I had a mind to keep to my reformed creed; the more I saw of Popery the closer I clung to Protestantism; doubtless there were errors in every church, but I now perceived by contrast how severely218 pure was my own, compared with her whose painted and meretricious219 face had been unveiled for my admiration220. I told him how we kept fewer forms between us and God; retaining, indeed, no more than, perhaps, the nature of mankind in the mass rendered necessary for due observance. I told him I could not look on flowers and tinsel, on wax-lights and embroidery221, at such times and under such circumstances as should be devoted to lifting the secret vision to Him whose home is Infinity222, and His being—Eternity. That when I thought of sin and sorrow, of earthly corruption223, mortal depravity, weighty temporal woe—I could not care for chanting priests or mumming officials; that when the pains of existence and the terrors of dissolution pressed before me—when the mighty224 hope and measureless doubt of the future arose in view—then, even the scientific strain, or the prayer in a language learned and dead, harassed225: with hindrance226 a heart which only longed to cry—“God be merciful to me, a sinner!”
When I had so spoken, so declared my faith, and so widely severed227 myself, from him I addressed—then, at last, came a tone accordant, an echo responsive, one sweet chord of harmony in two conflicting spirits.
“Whatever say priests or controversialists,” murmured M. Emanuel, “God is good, and loves all the sincere. Believe, then, what you can; believe it as you can; one prayer, at least, we have in common; I also cry—‘O Dieu, sois appaisé envers moi qui suis pécheur!’”
He leaned on the back of my chair. After some thought he again spoke:
“How seem in the eyes of that God who made all firmaments, from whose nostrils228 issued whatever of life is here, or in the stars shining yonder—how seem the differences of man? But as Time is not for God, nor Space, so neither is Measure, nor Comparison. We abase
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possessed
conversion
utterance
coerce
persecute
meek
solely
orphans
solace
purgatory
dispenses
doctrine
consolatory
displease
sentimental
gambols
muffled
mimicking
bleat
tracts
seasoning
fanaticism
hoof
judgment
surgical
props
maternal
penitent
narrative
drawn
avowed
adoption
annulling
pact
perils
entreating
enjoining
nay
marrow
hovering
conjectures
confirmation
softened
marshes
niche
drizzling
rambling
homage
vista
thither
glistening
whining
harassing
standing
plied
indefatigable
bent
pittance
ruffled
scampering
devious
sniffing
panes
forth
toil
bustle
importunity
unity
scattered
endearments
vivacious
caressing
breach
sufficiently
inviting
concessions
docile
solicitude
pathos
remorse
hacked
chide
maladroit
yawn
affected
perfectly
piquant
zest
unnatural
haranguing
solaced
quills
purport
caressed
creed
panoply
sect
dint
persuasion
crafty
triumphant
opposition
lull
appeased
thoroughly
insinuated
veneration
awe
stigmatized
ascertained
chapels
doctrines
fervid
aspiration
feverish
innocency
sequestered
obedience
hoary
motives
lore
precept
abase
abasement
bigotry
rivets
bind
orphanage
ordinance
monstrous
galling
reign
tyrant
lavishing
eminence
woes
doomed
aspirants
potent
redeems
absolves
subjugated
swarming
tapers
celestial
poetically
abortive
mingled
relics
obese
wont
severely
meretricious
admiration
embroidery
infinity
corruption
mighty
harassed
hindrance
severed
nostrils
收听单词发音
1
discord [ˈdɪskɔ:d]
第8级
n.不和，意见不合，争论，（音乐）不和谐
2
covenant [ˈkʌvənənt]
第10级
n.盟约，契约；v.订盟约
3
ratified ['rætɪfaɪd]
第8级
v.批准，签认（合约等）( ratify的过去式和过去分词 )
4
sleepless [ˈsli:pləs]
第7级
adj.不睡眠的，睡不著的，不休息的
5
rue [ru:]
第10级
n.懊悔，芸香，后悔；v.后悔，悲伤，懊悔
6
confided [kənˈfaidid]
第7级
v.吐露（秘密，心事等）( confide的过去式和过去分词 )；（向某人）吐露（隐私、秘密等）
7
vowed []
第7级
起誓，发誓（vow的过去式与过去分词形式）
8
vow [vaʊ]
第7级
n.誓(言)，誓约；vt.&vi.起誓，立誓
9
celibacy ['selibəsi]
第11级
n.独身(主义)
10
dilemma [dɪˈlemə]
第7级
n.困境，进退两难的局面
11
dressing [ˈdresɪŋ]
第7级
n.(食物)调料；包扎伤口的用品，敷料
12
accosted [əˈkɔ:stid]
第10级
v.走过去跟…讲话( accost的过去式和过去分词 )；跟…搭讪；（乞丐等）上前向…乞讨；（妓女等）勾搭
13
withhold [wɪðˈhəʊld]
第7级
vt.拒绝，不给；使停止，阻挡；vi.忍住；克制
14
nominal [ˈnɒmɪnl]
第7级
adj.名义上的；(金额、租金)微不足道的
15
omen [ˈəʊmən]
第9级
n.征兆，预兆；vt.预示
16
repulsed [rɪˈpʌlst]
第9级
v.击退( repulse的过去式和过去分词 )；驳斥；拒绝
17
dart [dɑ:t]
第8级
vt. 投掷，投射；使迅速突然移动 vi. 向前冲，飞奔 n. 飞镖，标枪；急驰，飞奔；（虫的）螯；飞快的移动
18
reminder [rɪˈmaɪndə(r)]
第9级
n.提醒物，纪念品；暗示，提示
19
bestowed [biˈstəud]
第9级
赠给，授予( bestow的过去式和过去分词 )
20
prospect [ˈprɒspekt]
第7级
n.前景，前途；景色，视野
21
vividly ['vɪvɪdlɪ]
第9级
adv.清楚地，鲜明地，生动地
22
hues [hju:z]
第10级
色彩( hue的名词复数 )； 色调； 信仰； 观点
23
variegated [ˈveəriəgeɪtɪd]
第11级
adj.斑驳的，杂色的
24
tints [tɪnts]
第9级
色彩( tint的名词复数 )； 带白的颜色； （淡色）染发剂； 痕迹
25
tinged [tɪndʒd]
第9级
v.（使）发丁丁声( ting的过去式和过去分词 )
26
crimson [ˈkrɪmzn]
第10级
n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色
27
animated [ˈænɪmeɪtɪd]
第11级
adj.生气勃勃的，活跃的，愉快的
28
basked [bæskt]
第9级
v.晒太阳，取暖( bask的过去式和过去分词 )；对…感到乐趣；因他人的功绩而出名；仰仗…的余泽
29
bounty [ˈbaʊnti]
第9级
n.慷慨的赠予物，奖金；慷慨，大方；施与
30
shrubs [ʃrʌbz]
第7级
灌木( shrub的名词复数 )
31
soothed [su:ðd]
第7级
v.安慰( soothe的过去式和过去分词 )；抚慰；使舒服；减轻痛苦
32
refreshment [rɪˈfreʃmənt]
第7级
n.恢复，精神爽快，提神之事物；（复数）refreshments:点心，茶点
33
prettily ['prɪtɪlɪ]
第12级
adv.优美地；可爱地
34
spoke [spəʊk]
第11级
n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说
35
nominally ['nɒmɪnəlɪ]
第7级
在名义上，表面地； 应名儿
36
inmate [ˈɪnmeɪt]
第10级
n.被收容者；(房屋等的)居住人；住院人
37
trotting [trɔtɪŋ]
第9级
小跑，急走( trot的现在分词 )； 匆匆忙忙地走
38
expressive [ɪkˈspresɪv]
第9级
adj.表现的，表达…的，富于表情的
39
crouching ['kraʊtʃɪŋ]
第8级
v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的现在分词 )
40
spun [spʌn]
第11级
v.（spin的过去式）纺，杜撰，急转身
41
drooping ['dru:pɪŋ]
第10级
adj. 下垂的，无力的
动词droop的现在分词
42
cacti [ˈkæktaɪ]
第12级
n.（复）仙人掌
43
whine [waɪn]
第11级
vi.哀号，号哭；vt.哀诉；n.哀鸣
44
receding [riˈsi:dɪŋ]
第7级
v.逐渐远离( recede的现在分词 )；向后倾斜；自原处后退或避开别人的注视；尤指问题
45
alley [ˈæli]
第7级
n.小巷，胡同；小径，小路
46
alleys [ˈæliz]
第7级
胡同，小巷( alley的名词复数 )； 小径
47
twilight [ˈtwaɪlaɪt]
第7级
n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期
48
gaily [ˈgeɪli]
第11级
adv.欢乐地，高兴地
49
heralding [ˈherəldɪŋ]
第8级
v.预示( herald的现在分词 )；宣布（好或重要）
50
riddle [ˈrɪdl]
第7级
n.谜；谜语；vt. 解谜；出谜题；充满；筛选；vi.出谜题
51
cuffs [kʌfs]
第9级
n.袖口( cuff的名词复数 )v.掌打，拳打( cuff的第三人称单数 )
52
glimmering ['glɪmərɪŋ]
第8级
n.微光，隐约的一瞥adj.薄弱地发光的v.发闪光，发微光( glimmer的现在分词 )
53
whined [hwaɪnd]
第11级
v.哀号( whine的过去式和过去分词 )；哀诉，诉怨
54
bosom [ˈbʊzəm]
第7级
n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的
55
cathedral [kəˈθi:drəl]
第7级
n.教区总教堂；大教堂
56
spires [spaɪəz]
第10级
n.（教堂的） 塔尖，尖顶( spire的名词复数 )
57
noted [ˈnəʊtɪd]
第8级
adj.著名的，知名的
58
whit [wɪt]
第11级
n.一点，丝毫
59
facade [fəˈsɑ:d]
第9级
n.(建筑物的)正面，临街正面；外表
60
gathering [ˈgæðərɪŋ]
第8级
n.集会，聚会，聚集
61
devoted [dɪˈvəʊtɪd]
第8级
adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的
62
entirely [ɪnˈtaɪəli]
第9级
ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地
63
gilding ['gildiŋ]
第10级
n.贴金箔，镀金
64
nib [nɪb]
第10级
n.钢笔尖；尖头
66
tract [trækt]
第7级
n.传单，小册子，大片(土地或森林)
67
possessed [pəˈzest]
第12级
adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的
68
conversion [kənˈvɜ:ʃn]
第7级
n.转化，转换，转变
69
utterance [ˈʌtərəns]
第11级
n.用言语表达，话语，言语
70
coerce [kəʊˈɜ:s]
第10级
vt.强迫，压制
71
persecute [ˈpɜ:sɪkju:t]
第7级
vt.迫害，虐待；纠缠，骚扰
72
meek [mi:k]
第9级
adj.温顺的，逆来顺受的
73
solely [ˈsəʊlli]
第8级
adv.仅仅，唯一地
74
orphans [ˈɔ:fənz]
第7级
孤儿( orphan的名词复数 )
75
solace [ˈsɒləs]
第9级
n.安慰；vt.使快乐；安慰(物)，缓和
76
purgatory [ˈpɜ:gətri]
第12级
n.炼狱；苦难；adj.净化的，清洗的
77
dispenses [dɪ'spensɪz]
第7级
v.分配，分与；分配( dispense的第三人称单数 )；施与；配（药）
78
doctrine [ˈdɒktrɪn]
第7级
n.教义；主义；学说
79
consolatory []
第10级
adj.慰问的，可藉慰的
80
displease [dɪsˈpli:z]
第8级
vt.使不高兴，惹怒；n.不悦，不满，生气
81
sentimental [ˌsentɪˈmentl]
第7级
adj.多愁善感的，感伤的
83
muffled [ˈmʌfld]
第10级
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）
84
mimicking ['mɪmɪkɪŋ]
第9级
v.（尤指为了逗乐而）模仿( mimic的现在分词 )；酷似
85
bleat [bli:t]
第11级
vt.&vi.咩咩叫，(讲)废话，哭诉；n.咩咩叫，废话，哭诉
86
tracts [trækts]
第7级
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
87
seasoning [ˈsi:zənɪŋ]
第10级
n.调味；调味料；增添趣味之物
88
fanaticism [fə'nætisizəm]
第8级
n.狂热，盲信
89
hoof [hu:f]
第9级
n.(马，牛等的)蹄
90
judgment ['dʒʌdʒmənt]
第7级
n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见
91
surgical [ˈsɜ:dʒɪkl]
第9级
adj.外科的，外科医生的，手术上的
92
props [prɒps]
第7级
小道具； 支柱( prop的名词复数 )； 支持者； 道具； （橄榄球中的）支柱前锋
93
maternal [məˈtɜ:nl]
第8级
adj.母亲的，母亲般的，母系的，母方的
94
penitent [ˈpenɪtənt]
第12级
adj.后悔的；n.后悔者；忏悔者
95
narrative [ˈnærətɪv]
第7级
n.叙述，故事；adj.叙事的，故事体的
96
drawn [drɔ:n]
第11级
v.（draw的过去式）拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的
97
avowed [əˈvaʊd]
第10级
adj.公开声明的，承认的v.公开声明，承认( avow的过去式和过去分词)
98
adoption [əˈdɒpʃn]
第7级
n.采用，采纳，通过；收养
99
annulling [ə'nʌlɪŋ]
第9级
v.宣告无效( annul的现在分词 )；取消；使消失；抹去
100
pact [pækt]
第7级
n.合同，条约，公约，协定
101
perils [ˈperilz]
第9级
极大危险( peril的名词复数 )； 危险的事（或环境）
102
entreating [enˈtri:tɪŋ]
第9级
恳求，乞求( entreat的现在分词 )
103
enjoining [enˈdʒɔɪnɪŋ]
第10级
v.命令( enjoin的现在分词 )
104
nay [neɪ]
第12级
adv.不；n.反对票，投反对票者
105
marrow [ˈmærəʊ]
第9级
n.骨髓；精华；活力
106
hovering ['hɒvərɪŋ]
第7级
鸟( hover的现在分词 )； 靠近（某事物）； （人）徘徊； 犹豫
107
conjectures [kənˈdʒektʃəz]
第9级
推测，猜想( conjecture的名词复数 )
108
confirmation [ˌkɒnfəˈmeɪʃn]
第8级
n.证实，确认，批准
109
softened ['sɒfənd]
第7级
（使）变软( soften的过去式和过去分词 )； 缓解打击； 缓和； 安慰
110
marshes [mɑ:ʃiz]
第8级
n.沼泽，湿地( marsh的名词复数 )
111
niche [nɪtʃ]
第9级
n.壁龛；合适的职务(环境、位置等)
112
drizzling [ˈdrizlɪŋ]
第8级
下蒙蒙细雨，下毛毛雨( drizzle的现在分词 )
113
rambling ['ræmbliŋ]
第9级
adj.[建]凌乱的，杂乱的
114
homage [ˈhɒmɪdʒ]
第9级
n.尊敬，敬意，崇敬
115
vista [ˈvɪstə]
第8级
n.远景，深景，展望，回想
116
thither [ˈðɪðə(r)]
第12级
adv.向那里；adj.在那边的，对岸的
117
glistening ['glɪstnɪŋ]
第8级
adj.闪耀的，反光的v.湿物闪耀，闪亮( glisten的现在分词 )
118
whining [hwaɪnɪŋ]
第11级
n. 抱怨，牢骚
v. 哭诉，发牢骚
119
harassing [ˈhærəsɪŋ]
第9级
v.侵扰，骚扰( harass的现在分词 )；不断攻击（敌人）
120
standing [ˈstændɪŋ]
第8级
n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的
121
plied [plaɪd]
第10级
v.使用（工具）( ply的过去式和过去分词 )；经常供应（食物、饮料）；固定往来；经营生意
122
indefatigable [ˌɪndɪˈfætɪgəbl]
第11级
adj.不知疲倦的，不屈不挠的
123
bent [bent]
第7级
n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的；v.（使）弯曲，屈身(bend的过去式和过去分词)
124
pittance [ˈpɪtns]
第11级
n.微薄的薪水，少量
125
ruffled [ˈrʌfld]
第9级
adj. 有褶饰边的, 起皱的
动词ruffle的过去式和过去分词
126
scampering [ˈskæmpərɪŋ]
第11级
v.蹦蹦跳跳地跑，惊惶奔跑( scamper的现在分词 )
127
devious [ˈdi:viəs]
第9级
adj.不坦率的，狡猾的；迂回的，曲折的
128
sniffing [ˈsnifiŋ]
第7级
n.探查法v.以鼻吸气，嗅，闻( sniff的现在分词 )；抽鼻子（尤指哭泣、患感冒等时出声地用鼻子吸气）；抱怨，不以为然地说
129
panes [peɪnz]
第8级
窗玻璃( pane的名词复数 )
130
forth [fɔ:θ]
第7级
adv.向前；向外，往外
131
toil [tɔɪl]
第8级
vi.辛劳工作，艰难地行动；n.苦工，难事
132
bustle [ˈbʌsl]
第9级
vi.喧扰地忙乱，匆忙，奔忙；vt. 使忙碌；催促；n.忙碌；喧闹
133
importunity [ɪmpɔ:'tju:nɪtɪ]
第12级
n.硬要，强求
134
unity [ˈju:nəti]
第7级
n.团结，联合，统一；和睦，协调
135
scattered ['skætəd]
第7级
adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的
136
endearments [enˈdɪəmənts]
第12级
n.表示爱慕的话语，亲热的表示( endearment的名词复数 )
137
vivacious [vɪˈveɪʃəs]
第10级
adj.活泼的，快活的
138
caressing [kə'resɪŋ]
第7级
爱抚的，表现爱情的，亲切的
139
breach [bri:tʃ]
第7级
n.违反，不履行；破裂；vt.冲破，攻破
140
sufficiently [sə'fɪʃntlɪ]
第8级
adv.足够地，充分地
141
inviting [ɪnˈvaɪtɪŋ]
第8级
adj.诱人的，引人注目的
142
concessions [kən'seʃənz]
第7级
n.（尤指由政府或雇主给予的）特许权( concession的名词复数 )；承认；减价；（在某地的）特许经营权
143
docile [ˈdəʊsaɪl]
第10级
adj.驯服的，易控制的，容易教的
144
solicitude [səˈlɪsɪtju:d]
第12级
n.焦虑
145
pathos [ˈpeɪθɒs]
第10级
n.哀婉，悲怆
146
remorse [rɪˈmɔ:s]
第9级
n.痛恨，悔恨，自责
147
hacked [hækt]
第9级
生气
148
chide [tʃaɪd]
第10级
vt. 责骂；斥责 vi. 斥责；责骂
149
maladroit [ˌmæləˈdrɔɪt]
第11级
adj.笨拙的
150
yawn [jɔ:n]
第7级
n.呵欠；vi.打呵欠，vt.张开；打着呵欠说
151
affected [əˈfektɪd]
第9级
adj.不自然的，假装的
152
perfectly [ˈpɜ:fɪktli]
第8级
adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地
153
piquant [ˈpi:kənt]
第10级
adj.辛辣的，开胃的，令人兴奋的
154
zest [zest]
第9级
n.乐趣；滋味，风味；兴趣
155
unnatural [ʌnˈnætʃrəl]
第9级
adj.不自然的；反常的
156
haranguing [həˈræŋɪŋ]
第9级
v.高谈阔论( harangue的现在分词 )
157
solaced [ˈsɔlɪst]
第9级
v.安慰，慰藉( solace的过去分词 )
158
quills [kwɪlz]
第12级
n.（刺猬或豪猪的）刺( quill的名词复数 )；羽毛管；翮；纡管
159
purport [pəˈpɔ:t]
第10级
n.意义，要旨，大要；v.意味著，做为...要旨，要领是...
160
caressed [kəˈrest]
第7级
爱抚或抚摸…( caress的过去式和过去分词 )
161
creed [kri:d]
第9级
n.信条；信念，纲领
162
panoply [ˈpænəpli]
第11级
n.全副甲胄，礼服
163
sect [sekt]
第9级
n.派别，宗教，学派，派系
164
dint [dɪnt]
第12级
n.由于，靠；凹坑
165
persuasion [pəˈsweɪʒn]
第7级
n.劝说；说服；持有某种信仰的宗派
166
crafty [ˈkrɑ:fti]
第10级
adj.狡猾的，诡诈的
167
triumphant [traɪˈʌmfənt]
第9级
adj.胜利的，成功的；狂欢的，喜悦的
168
opposition [ˌɒpəˈzɪʃn]
第8级
n.反对，敌对
169
lull [lʌl]
第8级
vt. 使平静；使安静；哄骗 vi. 平息；减弱；停止 n. 间歇；暂停；暂时平静
170
appeased [əˈpi:zd]
第9级
安抚，抚慰( appease的过去式和过去分词 )； 绥靖（满足另一国的要求以避免战争）
171
thoroughly [ˈθʌrəli]
第8级
adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地
172
insinuated [ɪnˈsɪnju:ˌeɪtid]
第10级
v.暗示( insinuate的过去式和过去分词 )；巧妙或迂回地潜入；（使）缓慢进入；慢慢伸入
173
veneration [ˌvenə'reɪʃn]
第12级
n.尊敬，崇拜
174
awe [ɔ:]
第7级
n.敬畏，惊惧；vt.使敬畏，使惊惧
175
stigmatized [ˈstɪgməˌtaɪzd]
第10级
v.使受耻辱，指责，污辱( stigmatize的过去式和过去分词 )
176
ascertained [æsə'teɪnd]
第7级
v.弄清，确定，查明( ascertain的过去式和过去分词 )
177
chapels [ˈtʃæpəlz]
第9级
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
178
doctrines ['dɒktrɪnz]
第7级
n.教条( doctrine的名词复数 )；教义；学说；（政府政策的）正式声明
179
fervid [ˈfɜ:vɪd]
第11级
adj.热情的；炽热的
180
aspiration [ˌæspəˈreɪʃn]
第7级
n.志向，志趣抱负；渴望；(语)送气音；吸出
181
feverish [ˈfi:vərɪʃ]
第9级
adj.发烧的，狂热的，兴奋的
182
innocency ['ɪnəsnsɪ]
第9级
无罪，洁白
183
sequestered [sɪˈkwestəd]
第10级
adj.扣押的；隐退的；幽静的；偏僻的v.使隔绝，使隔离( sequester的过去式和过去分词 )；扣押
184
obedience [ə'bi:dɪəns]
第8级
n.服从，顺从
185
hoary [ˈhɔ:ri]
第11级
adj.古老的；鬓发斑白的
186
motives [ˈməutivz]
第7级
n.动机，目的( motive的名词复数 )
187
lore [lɔ:(r)]
第10级
n.传说；学问，经验，知识
188
precept [ˈpri:sept]
第10级
n.戒律；格言
189
abase [əˈbeɪs]
第10级
vt.降低，贬抑
190
abasement [ə'beismənt]
第10级
n.滥用
191
bigotry [ˈbɪgətri]
第10级
n.偏见，偏执，持偏见的行为[态度]等
192
rivets [ˈrɪvɪts]
第10级
铆钉( rivet的名词复数 )
193
bind [baɪnd]
第7级
vt.捆，包扎；装订；约束；使凝固；vi.变硬
194
orphanage [ˈɔ:fənɪdʒ]
第9级
n.孤儿院
195
ordinance [ˈɔ:dɪnəns]
第9级
n.法令；条令；条例
196
monstrous [ˈmɒnstrəs]
第9级
adj.巨大的；恐怖的；可耻的，丢脸的
197
galling [ˈgɔ:lɪŋ]
第11级
adj.难堪的,使烦恼的,使焦躁的
198
reign [reɪn]
第7级
n.统治时期，统治，支配，盛行；vi.占优势
199
tyrant [ˈtaɪrənt]
第8级
n.暴君，专制的君主，残暴的人
200
lavishing [ˈlæviʃɪŋ]
第7级
v.过分给予，滥施( lavish的现在分词 )
201
eminence [ˈemɪnəns]
第9级
n.卓越，显赫；高地，高处；名家
202
woes [wəʊz]
第7级
困境( woe的名词复数 )； 悲伤； 我好苦哇； 某人就要倒霉
203
doomed [dumd]
第7级
命定的
204
aspirants [ˈæspərənts]
第11级
n.有志向或渴望获得…的人( aspirant的名词复数 )v.渴望的，有抱负的，追求名誉或地位的( aspirant的第三人称单数 )；有志向或渴望获得…的人
205
potent [ˈpəʊtnt]
第7级
adj.强有力的，有权势的；有效力的
206
redeems [riˈdi:mz]
第8级
补偿( redeem的第三人称单数 )； 实践； 解救； 使…免受责难
207
absolves [əbˈzɔlvz]
第8级
宣告…无罪，赦免…的罪行，宽恕…的罪行( absolve的第三人称单数 )； 不受责难，免除责任 [义务] ,开脱（罪责）
208
subjugated [ˈsʌbdʒəˌgeɪtid]
第11级
v.征服，降伏( subjugate的过去式和过去分词 )
209
swarming ['swɔ:mɪŋ]
第7级
密集( swarm的现在分词 )； 云集； 成群地移动； 蜜蜂或其他飞行昆虫成群地飞来飞去
210
tapers [ˈteɪpəz]
第9级
（长形物体的）逐渐变窄( taper的名词复数 )； 微弱的光； 极细的蜡烛
211
celestial [səˈlestiəl]
第9级
adj.天体的；天上的
212
poetically [pəʊ'etɪklɪ]
第10级
adv.有诗意地，用韵文
213
abortive [əˈbɔ:tɪv]
第10级
adj.不成功的，发育不全的
214
mingled [ˈmiŋɡld]
第7级
混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系]
215
relics ['reliks]
第8级
[pl.］n.遗物，遗迹，遗产；遗体，尸骸
216
obese [əʊˈbi:s]
第8级
adj.过度肥胖的，肥大的
217
wont [wəʊnt]
第11级
adj.习惯于；vi.习惯；vt.使习惯于；n.习惯
218
severely [sə'vɪrlɪ]
第7级
adv.严格地；严厉地；非常恶劣地
219
meretricious [ˌmerəˈtrɪʃəs]
第11级
adj.华而不实的，俗艳的
220
admiration [ˌædməˈreɪʃn]
第8级
n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕
221
embroidery [ɪmˈbrɔɪdəri]
第9级
n.绣花，刺绣；绣制品
222
infinity [ɪnˈfɪnəti]
第8级
n.无限，无穷，大量
223
corruption [kəˈrʌpʃn]
第7级
n.腐败，堕落，贪污
224
mighty [ˈmaɪti]
第7级
adj.强有力的；巨大的
225
harassed [ˈhærəst]
第9级
adj. 疲倦的，厌烦的
动词harass的过去式和过去分词
226
hindrance [ˈhɪndrəns]
第9级
n.妨碍，障碍
