The author of this enthusiastic and important critique was John Forster. When the Examiner review appeared the two young men had not met: but the encounter, which was to be the seed of so fine a flower of friendship, occurred before the publication of the New Monthly article. Before this, however, Browning had already made one of the most momentous3 acquaintanceships of his life.
His good friend and early critic, Mr. Fox, asked him to his house one evening in November, a few months after the publication of "Paracelsus." The chief guest of the occasion was Macready, then at the height of his great reputation. Mr. Fox had paved the way for the young poet, but the moment he entered he carried with him his best recommendation. Every one who met Browning in those early years of his buoyant manhood seems to have been struck by his comeliness5 and simple grace of manner. Macready stated that he looked more like a poet than any man he had ever met. As a young man he appears to have had a certain ivory delicacy6 of colouring, what an old friend perhaps somewhat exaggeratedly described to me as an almost flower-like beauty, which passed ere long into a less girlish and more robust7 complexion8. He appeared taller than he was, for he was not above medium height, partly because of his rare grace of movement, and partly from a characteristic high poise9 of the head when listening intently to music or conversation. Even then he had that expressive10 wave o' the hand, which in later years was as full of various meanings as the Ecco of an Italian. A swift alertness pervaded11 him, noticeable as much in the rapid change of expression, in the deepening and illuming colours of his singularly expressive eyes, and in his sensitive mouth, with the upper lip ever so swift to curve or droop12 in response to the most fluctuant emotion, as in his greyhound-like apprehension13, which so often grasped the subject in its entirety before its propounder14 himself realised its significance. A lady, who remembers Browning at that time, has told me that his hair--then of a brown so dark as to appear black--was so beautiful in its heavy sculpturesque waves as to attract frequent notice. Another, and more subtle, personal charm was his voice, then with a rare flute-like tone, clear, sweet, and resonant15. Afterwards, though always with precise clarity, it became merely strong and hearty17, a little too loud sometimes, and not infrequently as that of one simulating keen immediate18 interest while the attention was almost wholly detached.
Macready, in his Journal, [11] about a week later than the date of his first meeting with the poet, wrote--"Read 'Paracelsus,' a work of great daring, starred with poetry of thought, feeling, and diction, but occasionally obscure: the writer can scarcely fail to be a leading spirit of his time." The tragedian's house, whither he went at week-ends and on holidays, was at Elstree, a short distance to the northward19 of Hampstead: and there he invited Browning, among other friends, to come on the last day of December and spend New Year's Day (1836). [12] When alluding20, in after years, to this visit, Browning always spoke21 of it as one of the red-letter days of his life. It was here he first met Forster, with whom he at once formed what proved to be an enduring friendship; and on this occasion, also, that he was urged by his host to write a poetic22 play.
[11] For many interesting particulars concerning Macready and Browning, and the production of "Strafford," etc., vide the Reminiscences, vol. i.
[12] It was for Macready's eldest23 boy, William Charles, that Browning wrote one of the most widely popular of his poems, "The Pied Piper of Hamelin." It is said to have been an impromptu24 performance, and to have been so little valued by the author that he hesitated about its inclusion in "Bells and Pomegranates." It was inserted at the last moment, in the third number, which was short of "copy." Some one (anonymous, but whom I take to be Mr. Nettleship) has publicly alluded25 to his possession of a rival poem (entitled, simply, "Hamelin") by Robert Browning the elder, and of a letter which he had sent to a friend along with the verses, in which he writes: "Before I knew that Robert had begun the story of the 'Rats' I had contemplated26 a tale on the same subject, and proceeded with it as far as you see, but, on hearing that Robert had a similar one on hand, I desisted." This must have been in 1842, for it was in that year that the third part of Bells and Pomegranates was published. In 1843, however, he finished it. Browning's "Pied Piper" has been translated into French, Russian, Italian, and German. The latter (or one German) version is in prose. It was made in 1880, for a special purpose, and occupied the whole of one number of the local paper of Hameln, which is a quaint4 townlet in Hanover.
Browning promised to consider the suggestion. Six weeks later, in company with Forster, with whom he had become intimate, he called upon Macready, to discuss the plot of a tragedy which he had pondered. He told the tragedian how deeply he had been impressed by his performance of "Othello," and how this had deflected27 his intention from a modern and European to an Oriental and ancient theme. "Browning said that I had bit him by my performance of 'Othello,' and I told him I hoped I should make the blood come." The "blood" had come in the guise28 of a drama-motive based on the crucial period in the career of Narses, the eunuch-general of Justinian. Macready liked the suggestion, though he demurred29 to one or two points in the outline: and before Browning left he eagerly pressed him to "go on with 'Narses.'" But whether Browning mistrusted his own interest in the theme, or was dubious30 as to the success with which Macready would realise his conception, or as to the reception a play of such a nature would win from an auditory no longer reverent31 of high dramatic ideals, he gave up the idea. Some three months later (May 26th) he enjoyed another eventful evening. It was the night of the first performance of Talfourd's "Ion," and he was among the personal friends of Macready who were invited to the supper at Talfourd's rooms. After the fall of the curtain, Browning, Forster, and other friends sought the tragedian and congratulated him upon the success both of the play and of his impersonation of the chief character. They then adjourned32 to the house of the author of "Ion." To his surprise and gratification Browning found himself placed next but one to his host, and immediately opposite Macready, who sat between two gentlemen, one calm as a summer evening, and the other with a tempestuous33 youth dominating his sixty years, whom the young poet at once recognised as Wordsworth and Walter Savage34 Landor. Every one was in good spirits: the host perhaps most of all, who was celebrating his birthday as well as the success of "Ion." Possibly Macready was the only person who felt at all bored--unless it was Landor--for Wordsworth was not, at such a function, an entertaining conversationalist. There is much significance in the succinct35 entry in Macready's journal concerning the Lake-poet--"Wordsworth, who pinned me." ... When Talfourd rose to propose the toast of "The Poets of England" every one probably expected that Wordsworth would be named to respond. But with a kindly36 grace the host, after flattering remarks upon the two great men then honouring him by sitting at his table, coupled his toast with the name of the youngest of the poets of England--"Mr. Robert Browning, the author of 'Paracelsus.'" It was a very proud moment for Browning, singled out among that brilliant company: and it is pleasant to know, on the authority of Miss Mitford, who was present, that "he performed his task with grace and modesty," looking, the amiable37 lady adds, even younger than he was. Perhaps, however, he was prouder still when Wordsworth leaned across the table, and with stately affability said, "I am proud to drink your health, Mr. Browning:" when Landor, also, with a superbly indifferent and yet kindly smile, also raised his glass to his lips in courteous38 greeting.
Of Wordsworth Browning saw not a little in the ensuing few years, for on the rare visits the elderly poet paid to London, Talfourd never failed to ask the author of "Paracelsus," for whom he had a sincere admiration39, to meet the great man. It was not in the nature of things that the two poets could become friends, but though the younger was sometimes annoyed by the elder's pooh-poohing his republican sympathies, and contemptuously waiving40 aside as a mere16 nobody no less an individual than Shelley, he never failed of respect and even reverence41. With what tenderness and dignity he has commemorated42 the great poet's falling away from his early ideals, may be seen in "The Lost Leader," one of the most popular of Browning's short poems, and likely to remain so. For several reasons, however, it is best as well as right that Wordsworth should not be more than merely nominally43 identified with the Lost Leader. Browning was always imperative44 upon this point.
Towards Landor, on the other hand, he entertained a sentiment of genuine affection, coupled with a profound sympathy and admiration: a sentiment duly reciprocated45. The care of the younger for the elder, in the old age of the latter, is one of the most beautiful incidents in a beautiful life.
But the evening was not to pass without another memorable46 incident, one to which we owe "Strafford," and probably "A Blot47 on the 'Scutcheon." Just as the young poet, flushed with the triumphant48 pleasure of the evening, was about to leave, Macready arrested him by a friendly grip of the arm. In unmistakable earnestness he asked Browning to write him a play. With a simplicity49 equal to the occasion, the poet contented50 himself with replying, "Shall it be historical and English? What do you say to a drama on Strafford?"
Macready was pleased with the idea, and hopeful that his friend would be more successful with the English statesman than with the eunuch Narses.
A few months elapsed before the poet, who had set aside the long work upon which he was engaged ("Sordello"), called upon Macready with the manuscript of "Strafford." The latter hoped much from it. In March the MS. was ready. About the end of the month Macready took it to Covent Garden Theatre, and read it to Mr. Osbaldiston, "who caught at it with avidity, and agreed to produce it without delay."
It was an eventful first of May--an eventful twelvemonth, indeed, for it was the initial year of the Victorian era, notable, too, as that wherein the Electric Telegraph was established, and, in letters, wherein a new dramatic literature had its origin. For "Strafford," already significant of a novel movement, and destined51, it seems to me, to be still more significant in that great dramatic period towards which we are fast converging52, was not less important to the Drama in England, as a new departure in method and radically53 indicative of a fresh standpoint, than "Hernani" was in France. But in literary history the day itself is doubly memorable, for in the forenoon Carlyle gave the first of his lectures in London. The play was a success, despite the shamefully55 inadequate56 acting57 of some of those entrusted58 with important parts. There was once, perhaps there were more occasions than one, where success poised59 like the soul of a Mohammedan on the invisible thread leading to Paradise, but on either side of which lies perdition. There was none to cry Timbul save Macready, except Miss Helen Faucit, who gained a brilliant triumph as Lady Carlisle. The part of Charles I. was enacted60 so execrably that damnation for all was again and again within measurable distance. "The Younger Vane" ranted61 so that a hiss62, like an embodied63 scorn, vibrated on vagrant64 wings throughout the house. There was not even any extraneous65 aid to a fortunate impression. The house was in ill repair: the seats dusty, the "scenery" commonplace and sometimes noticeably inappropriate, the costumes and accessories almost sordid66. But in the face of all this, a triumph was secured. For a brief while Macready believed that the star of regeneration had arisen. Unfortunately 'twas, in the words of a contemporary dramatic poet, "a rising sorrow splendidly forlorn." The financial condition of Covent Garden Theatre was so ruinous that not even the most successful play could have restored its doomed67 fortunes.
After the fifth night one of the leading actors, having received a better offer elsewhere, suddenly withdrew.
This was the last straw. A collapse69 forthwith occurred. In the scramble70 for shares in the few remaining funds every one gained something, except the author, who was to have received £12 for each performance for the first twenty-five nights, and, £10 each for ten nights further. This disaster was a deep disappointment to Browning, and a by no means transitory one, for three or four years later he wrote (Advt. of "Bells and Pomegranates"): "Two or three years ago I wrote a play, about which the chief matter I much care to recollect71 at present is, that a pitful of good-natured people applauded it. Ever since, I have been desirous of doing something in the same way that should better reward their attention." But, except in so far as its abrupt72 declension from the stage hurt its author in the eyes of the critics, and possibly in those of theatrical73 managers, "Strafford" was certainly no failure. It has the elements of a great acting play. Everything, even the language (and here was a stumbling-block with most of the critics and criticasters), was subordinated to dramatic exigencies74: though the subordination was in conformity75 with a novel shaping method. "Strafford" was not, however, allowed to remain unknown to those who had been unable to visit Covent Garden Theatre.[13] Browning's name had quite sufficient literary repute to justify76 a publisher in risking the issue of a drama by him; one, at any rate, that had the advantage of association with Macready's name. The Longmans issued it, and the author had the pleasure of knowing that his third poetic work was not produced at the expense of a relative, but at that of the publishers. It had but an indifferent reception, however.
[13] "It is time to deny a statement that has been repeated ad nauseam in every notice that professes77 to give an account of Mr. Browning's career. Whatever is said or not said, it is always that his plays have 'failed' on the stage. In point of fact, the three plays which he has brought out have all succeeded, and have owed it to fortuitous circumstances that their tenure78 on the boards has been comparatively short."--E.W. GOSSE, in article in The Century Magazine.
Most people who saw the performance of "Strafford" given in 1886, under the auspices79 of the Browning Society, were surprised as well as impressed: for few, apparently80, had realised from perusal81 the power of the play as made manifest when acted. The secret of this is that the drama, when privily82 read, seems hard if not heavy in its diction, and to be so inornate, though by no means correspondingly simple, as to render any comparison between it and the dramatic work of Shakspere out of the question. But when acted, the artistry of the play is revealed. Its intense naturalness is due in great part to the stern concision83 of the lines, where no word is wasted, where every sentence is fraught84 with the utmost it can convey. The outlines which disturbed us by their vagueness become more clear: in a word, we all see in enactment85 what only a few of us can discern in perusal. The play has its faults, but scarcely those of language, where the diction is noble and rhythmic86, because it is, so to speak, the genuine rind of the fruit it envelops87. But there are dramatic faults--primarily, in the extreme economy of the author in the presentment of his dramatis person?, who are embodied abstractions--monomaniacs of ideas, as some one has said of Hugo's personages--rather than men as we are, with manifold complexities88 in endless friction89 or fusion90. One cardinal91 fault is the lack of humour, which to my mind is the paramount92 objection to its popular acceptance. Another, is the misproportionate length of some of the speeches. Once again, there is, as in the greater portion of Browning's longer poems and dramas, a baneful93 equality of emphasis. The conception of Charles I. is not only obviously weak, but strangely prejudiced adversely94 for so keen an analyst95 of the soul as Browning. For what a fellow-dramatist calls this "Sunset Shadow of a King," no man or woman could abase96 every hope and energy. Shakspere would never have committed the crucial mistake of making Charles the despicable deformity he is in Browning's drama. Strafford himself disappears too soon: in the fourth act there is the vacuum abhorred97 of dramatic propriety98.
When he again comes on the scene, the charm is partly broken. But withal the play is one of remarkable vigour99 and beauty. It seems to me that too much has been written against it on the score of its metrical rudeness. The lines are beat out by a hammer, but in the process they are wrought100 clear of all needless alloy101. To urge, as has been lately urged, that it lacks all human touch and is a mere intellectual fanfaronade, and that there is not once a line of poignant102 insight, is altogether uncritical. Readers of this mind must have forgotten or be indifferent to those lines, for example, where the wretched Charles stammeringly103 excuses himself to his loyal minister for his death-warrant, crying out that it was wrung104 from him, and begging Strafford not to curse him: or, again, that wonderfully significant line, so full of a too tardy105 knowledge and of concentrated scorn, where Strafford first begs the king to "be good to his children," and then, with a contempt that is almost sublime106, implores107, "Stay, sir, do not promise, do not swear!" The whole of the second scene in the fifth act is pure genius. The reader, or spectator, knows by this time that all hope is over: that Strafford, though all unaware108, is betrayed and undone109. It is a subtle dramatic ruse110, that of Browning's representing him sitting in his apartment in the Tower with his young children, William and Anne, blithely111 singing.
Can one read and ever forget the lines giving the gay Italian rhyme, with the boy's picturesquely113 childish prose-accompaniment? Strafford is seated, weary and distraught:--
"O bell'andare
Per barca in mare114,
Verso la sera
Di Primavera!
William. The boat's in the broad moonlight all this while--
Verso la sera
Di Primavera!
And the boat shoots from underneath115 the moon
Into the shadowy distance; only still
You hear the dipping oar--
Verso la sera,
And faint, and fainter, and then all's quite gone,
Music and light and all, like a lost star.
Anne. But you should sleep, father: you were to sleep.
Strafford. I do sleep, Anne; or if not--you must know
There's such a thing as . . .
William. You're too tired to sleep.
Strafford. It will come by-and-by and all day long,
In that old quiet house I told you of:
We sleep safe there.
Anne. Why not in Ireland?
Strafford. No!
Too many dreams!--"
To me this children's-song and the fleeting116 and now plaintive117 echo of it, as "Voices from Within"--"Verso la sera, Di Primavera"--in the terrible scene where Strafford learns his doom68, is only to be paralleled by the song of Mariana in "Measure for Measure," wherein, likewise, is abduced in one thrilling poignant strain the quintessential part of the tense life of the whole play.
So much has been written concerning the dramas of Robert Browning--though indeed there is still room for a volume of careful criticism, dealing118 solely119 with this theme--that I have the less regret in having so inadequately120 to pass in review works of such poetic magnitude as those enumerated121 above.
But it would be impossible, in so small a book as this, to examine them in detail without incurring122 a just charge of misproportion. The greatness and the shortcomings of the dramas and dramatic poems must be noted123 as succinctly124 as practicable; and I have dwelt more liberally upon "Pauline," "Paracelsus," and "Strafford," partly because (certainly without more than one exception, "Sordello") these are the three least read of Browning's poems, partly because they indicate the sweep and reach of his first orient eagle-flight through new morning-skies, and mainly because in them we already find Browning at his best and at his weakest, because in them we hear not only the rush of his sunlit pinions125, but also the low earthward surge of dullard wings.
Browning is foreshadowed in his earliest writings, as perhaps no other poet has been to like extent. In the "Venus and Adonis," and the "Rape126 of Lucrece," we have but the dimmest foreview of the author of "Hamlet," "Othello," and "Macbeth"; had Shakspere died prematurely127 none could have predicted, from the exquisite128 blossoms of his adolescence129, the immortal130 fruit of his maturity131. But, in Browning's three earliest works, we clearly discern him, as the sculptor132 of Melos provisioned his Venus in the rough-hewn block.
Thenceforth, to change the imagery, he developed rapidly upon the same lines, or doubled upon himself in intricate revolutions; but already his line of life, his poetic parallel, was definitely established.
In the consideration of Browning's dramas it is needful to be sure of one's vantage for judgment133. The first step towards this assurance is the ablation of the chronic134 Shaksperian comparison. Primarily, the shaping spirit of the time wrought Shakspere and Browning to radically divergent methods of expression, but each to a method in profound harmony with the dominant136 sentiment of the age in which he lived. Above all others, the Elizabethan era was rich in romantic adventure, of the mind as well as of the body, and above all others, save that of the Renaissance137 in Italy, animated138 by a passionate139 curiosity. So, too, supremely140, the Victorian era has been prolific142 of novel and vast Titanic143 struggles of the human spirit to reach those Gates of Truth whose lowest steps are the scarce discernible stars and furthest suns we scan, by piling Ossas of searching speculation144 upon Pelions of hardly-won positive knowledge. The highest exemplar of the former is Shakspere, Browning the profoundest interpreter of the latter. To achieve supremacy145 the one had to create a throbbing146 actuality, a world of keenest living, of acts and intervolved situations and episodes: the other to fashion a mentality147 so passionately148 alive that its manifold phases should have all the reality of concrete individualities. The one reveals individual life to us by the play of circumstance, the interaction of events, the correlative eduction149 of personal characteristics: the other by his apprehension of that quintessential movement or mood or phase wherein the soul is transitorily visible on its lonely pinnacle150 of light. The elder poet reveals life to us by the sheer vividness of his own vision: the younger, by a newer, a less picturesque112 but more scientific abduction, compels the complex rayings of each soul-star to a singular simplicity, as by the spectrum151 analysis. The one, again, fulfils his aim by a broad synthesis based upon the vivid observance and selection of vital details: the other by an extraordinary acute psychic152 analysis. In a word, Shakspere works as with the clay of human action: Browning as with the clay of human thought.
As for the difference in value of the two methods it is useless to dogmatise. The psychic portraiture153 produced by either is valuable only so far as it is convincingly true.
The profoundest insight cannot reach deeper than its own possibilities of depth. The physiognomy of the soul is never visible in its entirety, barely ever even its profile. The utmost we can expect to reproduce, perhaps even to perceive in the most quintessential moment, is a partially154 faithful, partially deceptive155 silhouette156. As no human being has ever seen his or her own soul, in all its rounded completeness of good and evil, of strength and weakness, of what is temporal and perishable157 and what is germinal and essential, how can we expect even the subtlest analyst to adequately depict158 other souls than his own. It is Browning's high distinction that he has this soul-depictive faculty--restricted as even in his instance it perforce is--to an extent unsurpassed by any other poet, ancient or modern. As a sympathetic critic has remarked, "His stage is not the visible phenomenal England (or elsewhere) of history; it is a point in the spiritual universe, where naked souls meet and wrestle159, as they play the great game of life, for counters, the true value of which can only be realised in the bullion160 of a higher life than this." No doubt there is "a certain crudeness in the manner in which these naked souls are presented," not only in "Strafford" but elsewhere in the plays. Browning markedly has the defects of his qualities.
As part of his method, it should be noted that his real trust is upon monologue161 rather than upon dialogue. To one who works from within outward--in contradistinction to the Shaksperian method of striving to win from outward forms "the passion and the life whose fountains are within"--the propriety of this dramatic means can scarce be gainsaid162. The swift complicated mental machinery163 can thus be exhibited infinitely164 more coherently and comprehensibly than by the most electric succinct dialogue. Again and again Browning has nigh foundered165 in the morass166 of monologue, but, broadly speaking, he transcends167 in this dramatic method.
At the same time, none must take it for granted that the author of the "Blot on the 'Scutchcon," "Luria," "In a Balcony," is not dramatic in even the most conventional sense. Above all, indeed--as Mr. Walter Pater has said--his is the poetry of situations. In each of the dramatis person?, one of the leading characteristics is loyalty168 to a dominant ideal. In Strafford's case it is that of unswerving devotion to the King: in Mildred's and in Thorold's, in the "Blot on the 'Scutcheon," it is that of subservience169 respectively to conventional morality and family pride (Lord Tresham, it may be added, is the most hopelessly monomaniacal of all Browning's "monomaniacs"): in Valence's, in "Colombe's Birthday," to chivalric170 love: in Charles, in "King Victor and King Charles," to kingly and filial duty: in Anael's and Djabal's, in "The Return of the Druses," respectively to religion and unscrupulous ambition modified by patriotism171: in Chiappino's, in "A Soul's Tragedy," to purely172 sordid ambition: in Luria's, to noble steadfastness173: and in Constance's, in "In a Balcony," to self-denial. Of these plays, "The Return of the Druses" seems to me the most picturesque, "Luria" the most noble and dignified174, and "In a Balcony" the most potentially a great dramatic success. The last is in a sense a fragment, but, though the integer of a great unaccomplished drama, is as complete in itself as the Funeral March in Beethoven's Eroica Symphony. The "Blot on the 'Scutcheon" has the radical54 fault characteristic of writers of sensational175 fiction, a too promiscuous176 "clearing the ground" by syncope and suicide. Another is the juvenility177 of Mildred:--a serious infraction178 of dramatic law, where the mere tampering179 with history, as in the circumstances of King Victor's death in the earlier play, is at least excusable by high precedent180. More disastrous181, poetically182, is the ruinous banality183 of Mildred's anticlimax184 when, after her brother reveals himself as her lover's murderer, she, like the typical young Miss Anglaise of certain French novelists, betrays her incapacity for true passion by exclaiming, in effect, "What, you've murdered my lover! Well, tell me all. Pardon? Oh, well, I pardon you: at least I think I do. Thorold, my dear brother, how very wretched you must be!"
I am unaware if this anticlimax has been pointed185 out by any one, but surely it is one of the most appalling186 lapses187 of genius which could be indicated. Even the beautiful song in the third scene of the first act, "There's a woman like a dew-drop, she's so purer than the purest," is, in the circumstances, nearly over the verge135 which divides the sublime from the ridiculous. No wonder that, on the night the play was first acted, Mertoun's song, as he clambered to his mistress's window, caused a sceptical laugh to ripple188 lightly among the tolerant auditory. It is with diffidence I take so radically distinct a standpoint from that of Dickens, who declared he knew no love like that of Mildred and Mertoun, no passion like it, no moulding of a splendid thing after its conception, like it; who, further, at a later date, affirmed that he would rather have written this play than any work of modern times: nor with less reluctance189, that I find myself at variance190 with Mr. Skelton, who speaks of the drama as "one of the most perfectly191 conceived and perfectly executed tragedies in the language." In the instance of Luria, that second Othello, suicide has all the impressiveness of a plenary act of absolution: the death of Anael seems as inevitable192 as the flash of lightning after the concussion193 of thunder-clouds. But Thorold's suicide is mere weakness, scarce a perverted194 courage; and Mildred's broken heart was an ill not beyond the healing of a morally robust physician. "Colombe's Birthday" has a certain remoteness of interest, really due to the reader's more or less acute perception of the radical divergence195, for all Valence's greatness of mind and spirit, between the fair young Duchess and her chosen lover: a circumstance which must surely stand in the way of its popularity. Though "A Soul's Tragedy" has the saving quality of humour, it is of too grim a kind to be provocative196 of laughter.
In each of these plays[14] the lover of Browning will recall passage after passage of superbly dramatic effect. But supreme141 in his remembrance will be the wonderful scene in "The Return of the Druses," where the Prefect, drawing a breath of relief, is almost simultaneously197 assassinated198; and that where Anael, with every nerve at tension in her fierce religious resolve, with a poignant, life-surrendering cry, hails Djabal as Hakeem--as Divine--and therewith falls dead at his feet. Nor will he forget that where, in the "Blot on the 'Scutcheon," Mildred, with a dry sob199 in her throat, stammeringly utters--
"I--I--was so young!
Besides I loved him, Thorold--and I had
No mother; God forgot me: so I fell----"
or that where, "at end of the disastrous day," Luria takes the phial of poison from his breast, muttering--
"Strange! This is all I brought from my own land
To help me."
[14] "Strafford," 1837; "King Victor and King Charles," 1842; "The Return of the Druses," and "A Blot on the 'Scutcheon," 1843; "Colombe's Birthday," 1844; "Luria," and "A Soul's Tragedy," 1845.
Before passing on from these eight plays to Browning's most imperishable because most nearly immaculate dramatic poem, "Pippa Passes," and to "Sordello," that colossal200 derelict upon the ocean of poetry, I should like--out of an embarrassing quantity of alluring201 details--to remind the reader of two secondary matters of interest pertinent202 to the present theme. One is that the song in "A Blot on the 'Scutcheon," "There's a woman like a dew-drop," written several years before the author's meeting with Elizabeth Barrett, is so closely in the style of "Lady Geraldine's Courtship," and other ballads203 by the sweet singer who afterwards became a partner in the loveliest marriage of which we have record in literary history, that, even were there nothing to substantiate204 the fact, it were fair to infer that Mertoun's song to Mildred was the electric touch which compelled to its metric shape one of Mrs. Browning's best-known poems.
The further interest lies in the lordly acknowledgment of the dedication205 to him of "Luria," which Landor sent to Browning--lines pregnant with the stateliest music of his old age:--
"Shakespeare is not our poet but the world's,
Therefore on him no speech! and brief for thee,
Browning! Since Chaucer was alive and hale
No man has walked along our roads with step
So active, so enquiring206 eye, or tongue
So varied207 in discourse208. But warmer climes
Give brighter plumage, stronger wing: the breeze
Of Alpine209 heights thou playest with, borne on
Beyond Sorrento and Amalfi, where
The Siren waits thee, singing song for song."
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9 poise | |
vt./vi. 平衡,保持平衡;n.泰然自若,自信 | |
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10 expressive | |
adj.表现的,表达…的,富于表情的 | |
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11 pervaded | |
v.遍及,弥漫( pervade的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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12 droop | |
v.低垂,下垂;凋萎,萎靡 | |
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13 apprehension | |
n.理解,领悟;逮捕,拘捕;忧虑 | |
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14 propounder | |
n.提议者,建议者,[法] 提出遗嘱者 | |
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15 resonant | |
adj.(声音)洪亮的,共鸣的 | |
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16 mere | |
adj.纯粹的;仅仅,只不过 | |
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17 hearty | |
adj.热情友好的;衷心的;尽情的,纵情的 | |
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18 immediate | |
adj.立即的;直接的,最接近的;紧靠的 | |
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19 northward | |
adv.向北;n.北方的地区 | |
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20 alluding | |
提及,暗指( allude的现在分词 ) | |
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21 spoke | |
n.(车轮的)辐条;轮辐;破坏某人的计划;阻挠某人的行动 v.讲,谈(speak的过去式);说;演说;从某种观点来说 | |
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22 poetic | |
adj.富有诗意的,有诗人气质的,善于抒情的 | |
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23 eldest | |
adj.最年长的,最年老的 | |
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24 impromptu | |
adj.即席的,即兴的;adv.即兴的(地),无准备的(地) | |
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25 alluded | |
提及,暗指( allude的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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26 contemplated | |
adj. 预期的 动词contemplate的过去分词形式 | |
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27 deflected | |
偏离的 | |
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28 guise | |
n.外表,伪装的姿态 | |
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29 demurred | |
v.表示异议,反对( demur的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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30 dubious | |
adj.怀疑的,无把握的;有问题的,靠不住的 | |
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31 reverent | |
adj.恭敬的,虔诚的 | |
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32 adjourned | |
(使)休会, (使)休庭( adjourn的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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33 tempestuous | |
adj.狂暴的 | |
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34 savage | |
adj.野蛮的;凶恶的,残暴的;n.未开化的人 | |
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35 succinct | |
adj.简明的,简洁的 | |
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36 kindly | |
adj.和蔼的,温和的,爽快的;adv.温和地,亲切地 | |
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37 amiable | |
adj.和蔼可亲的,友善的,亲切的 | |
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38 courteous | |
adj.彬彬有礼的,客气的 | |
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39 admiration | |
n.钦佩,赞美,羡慕 | |
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40 waiving | |
v.宣布放弃( waive的现在分词 );搁置;推迟;放弃(权利、要求等) | |
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41 reverence | |
n.敬畏,尊敬,尊严;Reverence:对某些基督教神职人员的尊称;v.尊敬,敬畏,崇敬 | |
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42 commemorated | |
v.纪念,庆祝( commemorate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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43 nominally | |
在名义上,表面地; 应名儿 | |
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44 imperative | |
n.命令,需要;规则;祈使语气;adj.强制的;紧急的 | |
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45 reciprocated | |
v.报答,酬答( reciprocate的过去式和过去分词 );(机器的部件)直线往复运动 | |
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46 memorable | |
adj.值得回忆的,难忘的,特别的,显著的 | |
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47 blot | |
vt.弄脏(用吸墨纸)吸干;n.污点,污渍 | |
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48 triumphant | |
adj.胜利的,成功的;狂欢的,喜悦的 | |
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49 simplicity | |
n.简单,简易;朴素;直率,单纯 | |
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50 contented | |
adj.满意的,安心的,知足的 | |
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51 destined | |
adj.命中注定的;(for)以…为目的地的 | |
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52 converging | |
adj.收敛[缩]的,会聚的,趋同的v.(线条、运动的物体等)会于一点( converge的现在分词 );(趋于)相似或相同;人或车辆汇集;聚集 | |
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53 radically | |
ad.根本地,本质地 | |
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54 radical | |
n.激进份子,原子团,根号;adj.根本的,激进的,彻底的 | |
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55 shamefully | |
可耻地; 丢脸地; 不体面地; 羞耻地 | |
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56 inadequate | |
adj.(for,to)不充足的,不适当的 | |
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57 acting | |
n.演戏,行为,假装;adj.代理的,临时的,演出用的 | |
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58 entrusted | |
v.委托,托付( entrust的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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59 poised | |
a.摆好姿势不动的 | |
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60 enacted | |
制定(法律),通过(法案)( enact的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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61 ranted | |
v.夸夸其谈( rant的过去式和过去分词 );大叫大嚷地以…说教;气愤地)大叫大嚷;不停地大声抱怨 | |
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62 hiss | |
v.发出嘶嘶声;发嘘声表示不满 | |
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63 embodied | |
v.表现( embody的过去式和过去分词 );象征;包括;包含 | |
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64 vagrant | |
n.流浪者,游民;adj.流浪的,漂泊不定的 | |
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65 extraneous | |
adj.体外的;外来的;外部的 | |
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66 sordid | |
adj.肮脏的,不干净的,卑鄙的,暗淡的 | |
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67 doomed | |
命定的 | |
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68 doom | |
n.厄运,劫数;v.注定,命定 | |
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69 collapse | |
vi.累倒;昏倒;倒塌;塌陷 | |
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70 scramble | |
v.爬行,攀爬,杂乱蔓延,碎片,片段,废料 | |
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71 recollect | |
v.回忆,想起,记起,忆起,记得 | |
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72 abrupt | |
adj.突然的,意外的;唐突的,鲁莽的 | |
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73 theatrical | |
adj.剧场的,演戏的;做戏似的,做作的 | |
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74 exigencies | |
n.急切需要 | |
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75 conformity | |
n.一致,遵从,顺从 | |
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76 justify | |
vt.证明…正当(或有理),为…辩护 | |
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77 professes | |
声称( profess的第三人称单数 ); 宣称; 公开表明; 信奉 | |
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78 tenure | |
n.终身职位;任期;(土地)保有权,保有期 | |
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79 auspices | |
n.资助,赞助 | |
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80 apparently | |
adv.显然地;表面上,似乎 | |
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81 perusal | |
n.细读,熟读;目测 | |
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82 privily | |
adv.暗中,秘密地 | |
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83 concision | |
n.简明,简洁 | |
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84 fraught | |
adj.充满…的,伴有(危险等)的;忧虑的 | |
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85 enactment | |
n.演出,担任…角色;制订,通过 | |
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86 rhythmic | |
adj.有节奏的,有韵律的 | |
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87 envelops | |
v.包围,笼罩,包住( envelop的第三人称单数 ) | |
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88 complexities | |
复杂性(complexity的名词复数); 复杂的事物 | |
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89 friction | |
n.摩擦,摩擦力 | |
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90 fusion | |
n.溶化;熔解;熔化状态,熔和;熔接 | |
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91 cardinal | |
n.(天主教的)红衣主教;adj.首要的,基本的 | |
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92 paramount | |
a.最重要的,最高权力的 | |
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93 baneful | |
adj.有害的 | |
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94 adversely | |
ad.有害地 | |
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95 analyst | |
n.分析家,化验员;心理分析学家 | |
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96 abase | |
v.降低,贬抑 | |
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97 abhorred | |
v.憎恶( abhor的过去式和过去分词 );(厌恶地)回避;拒绝;淘汰 | |
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98 propriety | |
n.正当行为;正当;适当 | |
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99 vigour | |
(=vigor)n.智力,体力,精力 | |
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100 wrought | |
v.引起;以…原料制作;运转;adj.制造的 | |
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101 alloy | |
n.合金,(金属的)成色 | |
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102 poignant | |
adj.令人痛苦的,辛酸的,惨痛的 | |
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103 stammeringly | |
adv.stammering(口吃的)的变形 | |
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104 wrung | |
绞( wring的过去式和过去分词 ); 握紧(尤指别人的手); 把(湿衣服)拧干; 绞掉(水) | |
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105 tardy | |
adj.缓慢的,迟缓的 | |
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106 sublime | |
adj.崇高的,伟大的;极度的,不顾后果的 | |
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107 implores | |
恳求或乞求(某人)( implore的第三人称单数 ) | |
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108 unaware | |
a.不知道的,未意识到的 | |
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109 undone | |
a.未做完的,未完成的 | |
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110 ruse | |
n.诡计,计策;诡计 | |
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111 blithely | |
adv.欢乐地,快活地,无挂虑地 | |
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112 picturesque | |
adj.美丽如画的,(语言)生动的,绘声绘色的 | |
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113 picturesquely | |
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114 mare | |
n.母马,母驴 | |
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115 underneath | |
adj.在...下面,在...底下;adv.在下面 | |
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116 fleeting | |
adj.短暂的,飞逝的 | |
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117 plaintive | |
adj.可怜的,伤心的 | |
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118 dealing | |
n.经商方法,待人态度 | |
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119 solely | |
adv.仅仅,唯一地 | |
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120 inadequately | |
ad.不够地;不够好地 | |
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121 enumerated | |
v.列举,枚举,数( enumerate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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122 incurring | |
遭受,招致,引起( incur的现在分词 ) | |
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123 noted | |
adj.著名的,知名的 | |
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124 succinctly | |
adv.简洁地;简洁地,简便地 | |
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125 pinions | |
v.抓住[捆住](双臂)( pinion的第三人称单数 ) | |
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126 rape | |
n.抢夺,掠夺,强奸;vt.掠夺,抢夺,强奸 | |
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127 prematurely | |
adv.过早地,贸然地 | |
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128 exquisite | |
adj.精美的;敏锐的;剧烈的,感觉强烈的 | |
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129 adolescence | |
n.青春期,青少年 | |
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130 immortal | |
adj.不朽的;永生的,不死的;神的 | |
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131 maturity | |
n.成熟;完成;(支票、债券等)到期 | |
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132 sculptor | |
n.雕刻家,雕刻家 | |
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133 judgment | |
n.审判;判断力,识别力,看法,意见 | |
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134 chronic | |
adj.(疾病)长期未愈的,慢性的;极坏的 | |
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135 verge | |
n.边,边缘;v.接近,濒临 | |
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136 dominant | |
adj.支配的,统治的;占优势的;显性的;n.主因,要素,主要的人(或物);显性基因 | |
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137 renaissance | |
n.复活,复兴,文艺复兴 | |
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138 animated | |
adj.生气勃勃的,活跃的,愉快的 | |
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139 passionate | |
adj.热情的,热烈的,激昂的,易动情的,易怒的,性情暴躁的 | |
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140 supremely | |
adv.无上地,崇高地 | |
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141 supreme | |
adj.极度的,最重要的;至高的,最高的 | |
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142 prolific | |
adj.丰富的,大量的;多产的,富有创造力的 | |
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143 titanic | |
adj.巨人的,庞大的,强大的 | |
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144 speculation | |
n.思索,沉思;猜测;投机 | |
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145 supremacy | |
n.至上;至高权力 | |
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146 throbbing | |
a. 跳动的,悸动的 | |
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147 mentality | |
n.心理,思想,脑力 | |
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148 passionately | |
ad.热烈地,激烈地 | |
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149 eduction | |
n.引出;排出;推断;引出物 | |
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150 pinnacle | |
n.尖塔,尖顶,山峰;(喻)顶峰 | |
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151 spectrum | |
n.谱,光谱,频谱;范围,幅度,系列 | |
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152 psychic | |
n.对超自然力敏感的人;adj.有超自然力的 | |
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153 portraiture | |
n.肖像画法 | |
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154 partially | |
adv.部分地,从某些方面讲 | |
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155 deceptive | |
adj.骗人的,造成假象的,靠不住的 | |
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156 silhouette | |
n.黑色半身侧面影,影子,轮廓;v.描绘成侧面影,照出影子来,仅仅显出轮廓 | |
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157 perishable | |
adj.(尤指食物)易腐的,易坏的 | |
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158 depict | |
vt.描画,描绘;描写,描述 | |
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159 wrestle | |
vi.摔跤,角力;搏斗;全力对付 | |
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160 bullion | |
n.金条,银条 | |
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161 monologue | |
n.长篇大论,(戏剧等中的)独白 | |
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162 gainsaid | |
v.否认,反驳( gainsay的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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163 machinery | |
n.(总称)机械,机器;机构 | |
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164 infinitely | |
adv.无限地,无穷地 | |
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165 foundered | |
v.创始人( founder的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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166 morass | |
n.沼泽,困境 | |
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167 transcends | |
超出或超越(经验、信念、描写能力等)的范围( transcend的第三人称单数 ); 优于或胜过… | |
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168 loyalty | |
n.忠诚,忠心 | |
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169 subservience | |
n.有利,有益;从属(地位),附属性;屈从,恭顺;媚态 | |
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170 chivalric | |
有武士气概的,有武士风范的 | |
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171 patriotism | |
n.爱国精神,爱国心,爱国主义 | |
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172 purely | |
adv.纯粹地,完全地 | |
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173 steadfastness | |
n.坚定,稳当 | |
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174 dignified | |
a.可敬的,高贵的 | |
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175 sensational | |
adj.使人感动的,非常好的,轰动的,耸人听闻的 | |
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176 promiscuous | |
adj.杂乱的,随便的 | |
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177 juvenility | |
n.年轻,不成熟 | |
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178 infraction | |
n.违反;违法 | |
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179 tampering | |
v.窜改( tamper的现在分词 );篡改;(用不正当手段)影响;瞎摆弄 | |
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180 precedent | |
n.先例,前例;惯例;adj.在前的,在先的 | |
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181 disastrous | |
adj.灾难性的,造成灾害的;极坏的,很糟的 | |
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182 poetically | |
adv.有诗意地,用韵文 | |
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183 banality | |
n.陈腐;平庸;陈词滥调 | |
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184 anticlimax | |
n.令人扫兴的结局;突降法 | |
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185 pointed | |
adj.尖的,直截了当的 | |
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186 appalling | |
adj.骇人听闻的,令人震惊的,可怕的 | |
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187 lapses | |
n.失误,过失( lapse的名词复数 );小毛病;行为失检;偏离正道v.退步( lapse的第三人称单数 );陷入;倒退;丧失 | |
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188 ripple | |
n.涟波,涟漪,波纹,粗钢梳;vt.使...起涟漪,使起波纹; vi.呈波浪状,起伏前进 | |
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189 reluctance | |
n.厌恶,讨厌,勉强,不情愿 | |
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190 variance | |
n.矛盾,不同 | |
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191 perfectly | |
adv.完美地,无可非议地,彻底地 | |
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192 inevitable | |
adj.不可避免的,必然发生的 | |
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193 concussion | |
n.脑震荡;震动 | |
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194 perverted | |
adj.不正当的v.滥用( pervert的过去式和过去分词 );腐蚀;败坏;使堕落 | |
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195 divergence | |
n.分歧,岔开 | |
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196 provocative | |
adj.挑衅的,煽动的,刺激的,挑逗的 | |
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197 simultaneously | |
adv.同时发生地,同时进行地 | |
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198 assassinated | |
v.暗杀( assassinate的过去式和过去分词 );中伤;诋毁;破坏 | |
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199 sob | |
n.空间轨道的轰炸机;呜咽,哭泣 | |
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200 colossal | |
adj.异常的,庞大的 | |
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201 alluring | |
adj.吸引人的,迷人的 | |
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202 pertinent | |
adj.恰当的;贴切的;中肯的;有关的;相干的 | |
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203 ballads | |
民歌,民谣,特别指叙述故事的歌( ballad的名词复数 ); 讴 | |
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204 substantiate | |
v.证实;证明...有根据 | |
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205 dedication | |
n.奉献,献身,致力,题献,献辞 | |
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206 enquiring | |
a.爱打听的,显得好奇的 | |
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207 varied | |
adj.多样的,多变化的 | |
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208 discourse | |
n.论文,演说;谈话;话语;vi.讲述,著述 | |
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209 alpine | |
adj.高山的;n.高山植物 | |
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