Two decades ago, more or less, John M. Robertson published several volumes chiefly concerned with the gentle art of criticism. Mr. Robertson introduced to the English-reading world the critical theories of Emile Hennequin, whose essays on Poe, Dosto?evsky, and Turgenieff may be remembered. It is a cardinal1 doctrine2 of Hennequin and Robertson that, as the personal element plays the chief r?le in everything the critic writes, he himself should be the first to submit to a grilling3; in a word, to be put through his paces and tell us in advance of his likes and dislikes, his prejudices and passions. Naturally, it doesn't take long to discover the particular bias4 of a critic's mind. He writes himself down whenever he puts pen to paper.
For instance, there is the historic duel5 between Anatole France, a free-lance among critics, and Ferdinand Brunetière, intrenched behind the bastions of tradition, not to mention the Revue des Deux Mondes. That discussion, while amusing, was so much threshing of academic [Pg 90] straw. M. France disclaimed6 all authority—he, most erudite among critics; M. Brunetière praised impersonality7 in criticism—he, the most personal among writers—not a pleasing or expansive personality, be it understood; but, narrow as he was, his personality shone out from every page.
Now, says Mr. Robertson, why not ask every critic about to bring forth8 an opinion for a sort of chart on which will be shown his various qualities of mind, character; yes, and even his physical temperament9; whether sanguine10 or melancholic11, bilious12 or eupeptic, young or old, peaceful or truculent13; also his tastes in literature, art, music, politics, and religion. This reminds one of an old-fashioned game. And all this long-winded preamble14 is to tell you that the case of Arnold Schoenberg, musical anarchist15, and an Austrian composer who has at once aroused the ire and admiration16 of musical Germany, demands just such a confession17 from a critic about to hold in the balance the music or unmusic (the Germans have such a handy word) of Schoenberg. Therefore, before I attempt a critical or uncritical valuation of the art of Arnold Schoenberg let me make a clean breast of my prejudices in the manner suggested by Hennequin and Robertson. Besides, it is a holy and unwholesome idea to purge18 the mind every now and then.
First: I place pure music above impure19, i. e., instrumental above mixed. I dislike grand [Pg 91] opera as a miserable20 mishmash of styles, compromises, and arrant21 ugliness. The moment the human voice intrudes22 in an orchestral work, my dream-world of music vanishes. Mother Church is right in banishing23, from within the walls of her temples the female voice. The world, the flesh, and the devil lurk24 in the larynx of the soprano or alto, and her place is before the footlights, not as a vocal25 staircase to paradise. I say this, knowing in my heart that nothing is so thrilling as Tristan and Isolde, and my memory-cells hold marvellous pictures of Lilli Lehmann, Milka Ternina, and Olive Fremstad. So, I'm neither logical nor sincere; nevertheless, I maintain the opinion that absolute music, not programme, not music-drama, is the apogee27 of the art. A Beethoven string quartet holds more genuine music for me than the entire works of Wagner. There's a prejudiced statement for you!
Second: I fear and dislike the music of Arnold Schoenberg, who may be called the Max Stirner of music. Now, the field being cleared, let us see what the music of the new man is like. Certainly, he is the hardest musical nut to crack of his generation, and the shell is very bitter in the mouth.
Early in December, 1912, the fourth performance of a curious composition by Schoenberg was given at the Choralionsaal in the Bellevuestrasse, Berlin. The work is entitled Lieder des Pierrot Lunaire, the text of which is a [Pg 92] fairly good translation of a poem cycle by Albert Guiraud. This translation was made by the late Otto Erich Hartleben, himself a poet and dramatist. I have not read the original French verse, but the idea seems to be faithfully represented in the German version. This moon-stricken Pierrot chants—rather declaims—his woes28 and occasional joys to the music of the Viennese composer, whose score requires a reciter (female), a piano, flute29 (also piccolo), clarinet (also bass30 clarinet), violin (also viola), and violoncello. The piece is described as a melodrama31. I listened to it on a Sunday morning, and I confess that Sunday at noon is not a time propitious32 to the mood musical. It was also the first time I had heard a note of Schoenberg's. In vain I had tried to get some of his scores; not even the six little piano pieces could I secure. Instead, my inquiries33 were met with dubious34 or pitying smiles—your music clerk is a terrible critic betimes, and his mind oft takes upon it the colour of his customer's orders. So there I was, to be pitched overboard into a new sea, to sink or float, and all the while wishing myself miles away.
A lady of pleasing appearance, attired35 in a mollified Pierrot costume, stood before some Japanese screens and began to intone—to cantillate, would be a better expression. She told of a monstrous36 moon-drunken world, then she described Columbine, a dandy, a pale washer-woman—"Eine blasse W?scherin w?scht zur [Pg 93] Nachtzeit bleiche Tücher"—and always with a refrain, for Guiraud employs the device to excess. A valse of Chopin followed, in verse, of course (poor suffering Frederic!), and part one—there are seven poems, each in three sections—ended with one entitled Madonna, and another, the Sick Moon. The musicians were concealed37 behind the screens (dear old Mark Twain would have said, to escape the outraged38 audience), but we heard them only too clearly!
It is the decomposition39 of the art, I thought, as I held myself in my seat. Of course, I meant decomposition of tones, as the slang of the ateliers goes.
What did I hear? At first, the sound of delicate china shivering into a thousand luminous40 fragments. In the welter of tonalities that bruised41 each other as they passed and repassed, in the preliminary grip of enharmonics that almost made the ears bleed, the eyes water, the scalp to freeze, I could not get a central grip on myself. It was new music (or new exquisitely42 horrible sounds) with a vengeance44. The very ecstasy45 of the hideous46! I say "exquisitely horrible," for pain can be at once exquisite43 and horrible; consider toothache and its first cousin, neuralgia. And the border-land between pain and pleasure is a territory hitherto unexplored by musical composers. Wagner suggests poetic47 anguish48; Schoenberg not only arouses the image of anguish, but he brings it home to his auditory in the most subjective49 way. You suffer [Pg 94] the anguish with the fictitious50 character in the poem. Your nerves—and remember the porches of the ears are the gateways51 to the brain and ganglionic centres—are literally52 pinched and scraped.
I wondered that morning if I were not in a nervous condition. I looked about me in the sparsely53 filled hall. People didn't wriggle54; perhaps their souls wriggled55. They neither smiled nor wept. Yet on the wharf56 of hell the lost souls disembarked and wept and lamented57. What was the matter with my own ego58? My conscience reported a clean bill of health, I had gone to bed early the previous night wishing to prepare for the ordeal59. Evidently I was out of condition (critics are like prize-fighters, they must keep in constant training else they go "stale"). Or was the music to blame? Schoenberg is, I said to myself, the crudest of all composers, for he mingles61 with his music sharp daggers62 at white heat, with which he pares away tiny slices of his victim's flesh. Anon he twists the knife in the fresh wound and you receive another horrible thrill, all the time wondering over the fate of the Lunar Pierrot and—hold on! Here's the first clew. If this new music is so distractingly atrocious what right has a listener to bother about Pierrot? What's Pierrot to him or he to Pierrot? Perhaps Schoenberg had caught his fish in the musical net he used, and what more did he want, or what more could his listeners expect?—for to be hooked [Pg 95] or netted by the stronger volition63 of an artist is the object of all the seven arts.
How does Schoenberg do it? How does he pull off the trick? It is not a question to be lightly answered. In the first place the personality of the listener is bound to obtrude64 itself; dissociation from one's ego—if such a thing were possible—would be intellectual death; only by the clear, persistent65 image of ourselves do we exist—banal psychology66 as old as the hills. And the ear, like the eye, soon "accommodates" itself to new perspectives and unrelated harmonies.
I had felt, without clearly knowing the reason, that when Albertine Zehme so eloquently67 declaimed the lines of Madonna, the sixth stanza68 of part one, beginning "Steig, o Mutter aller Schmerzen, auf den60 Altar meiner T?ne!" that the background of poignant69 noise supplied by the composer was more than apposite, and in the mood-key of the poem. The flute, bass clarinet, and violoncello were so cleverly handled that the colour of the doleful verse was enhanced, the mood expanded; perhaps the Hebraic strain in the composer's blood has endowed him with the gift of expressing sorrow and desolation and the abomination of living. How far are we here from the current notion that music is a consoler, is joy-breeding, or should, according to the Aristotelian formula, purge the soul through pity and terror. I felt the terror, but pity was absent. Blood-red clouds swept over [Pg 96] vague horizons. It was a new land through which I wandered. And so it went on to the end, and I noted70 as we progressed that Schoenberg, despite his ugly sounds, was master of more than one mood; witness the shocking cynicism of the gallows71 song Die dürre Dirne mit langen Halse. Such music is shameful—"and that's the precise effect I was after"—could the composer triumphantly72 answer, and he would be right. What kind of music is this, without melody, in the ordinary sense; without themes, yet every acorn73 of a phrase contrapuntally developed by an adept74; without a harmony that does not smite75 the ears, lacerate, figuratively speaking, the ear-drums; keys forced into hateful marriage that are miles asunder76, or else too closely related for aural77 matrimony; no form, that is, in the scholastic78 formal sense, and rhythms that are so persistently79 varied80 as to become monotonous—what kind of music, I repeat, is this that can paint a "crystal sigh," the blackness of prehistoric81 night, the abysm of a morbid82 soul, the man in the moon, the faint sweet odours of an impossible fairy-land, and the strut83 of the dandy from Bergamo? (See the Guiraud poem.) There is no melodic84 or harmonic line, only a series of points, dots, dashes, or phrases that sob85 and scream, despair, explode, exalt86, blaspheme.
I give the conundrum87 the go-by; I only know that when I finally surrendered myself to the composer he worked his will on my [Pg 97] fancy and on my raw nerves, and I followed the poems, loathing88 the music all the while, with intense interest. Indeed, I couldn't let go the skein of the story for fear that I might fall off somewhere into a gloomy chasm89 and be devoured90 by chromatic91 wolves. I recalled one extraordinary moment at the close of the composition when a simple major chord was sounded and how to my ears it had a supernal92 beauty; after the perilous93 tossing and pitching on a treacherous94 sea of no-harmonies it was like a field of firm ice under the feet.
I told myself that it served me right, that I was too old to go gallivanting around with this younger generation, that if I would eat prickly musical pears I must not be surprised if I suffered from aural colic. Nevertheless, when certain of the Schoenberg compositions reached me from Vienna I eagerly fell to studying them. I saw then that he had adopted as his motto: Evil, be thou my good! And that a man who could portray95 in tone sheer ugliness with such crystal clearness is to be reckoned with in these topsyturvy times.
I have called Arnold Schoenberg a musical anarchist, using the word in its best estate—anarchos, without a head. Perhaps he is a superman also, and the world doesn't know it. His admirers and pupils think so, however, and several of them have recorded their opinion in a little book, published at Munich, 1912, by R. Piper & Co.
[Pg 98] The life of Arnold Schoenberg, its outer side, has thus far been uneventful, though doubtless rich in the psychical96 sense. He is still young, born in Vienna, September 13, 1874. He lived there till 1901, then in the December of that year he went to Berlin, where he was for a short time conductor in Wolzogen's Bunten Theatre, and also teacher of composition at Stern's Conservatory97. In 1903 he returned to Vienna, where he taught—he is pre-eminently a pedagogue98, even pedantic99 as I hope to presently prove—in the K. K. Akademie für Musik. In 1911 Berlin again beckoned100 to him, and as hope ever burns in the bosom101 of composers, young and old, he no doubt believes that his day will come. Certainly, his disciples102, few as they may be, make up by their enthusiasm for the public and critical flouting103. I can't help recalling the Italian Futurists when I think of Schoenberg. The same wrath104 may be noted in the galleries where the young Italian painters exhibit. So it was at the end of the concert. One man, a sane105 person, was positively106 purple with rage (evidently he had paid for his seat), and swore that the composer was verrückt.
His compositions are not numerous. Schoenberg appears to be a reflective rather than a spontaneous creator. Here is an abridged107 list: Opus 1, 2, and 3 (composed, 1898-1900); Opus 4, string sextet, which bears the title, Verkl?rte Nacht (1899); Gurrelieder, after J. P. Jacobsen, for solos; chorus and orchestra (1900), [Pg 99] published in the Universal Edition, Vienna; Opus 5, Pelléas et Mélisande, symphonic poem for orchestra (1902), Universal Edition aforesaid; Opus 6, eight lieder (about 1905); Opus 7, E string quartet, D minor108 (1905); Opus 8, six orchestral lieder (1904); Opus 9, Kammersymphonie (1906); two ballads109 for voice and piano (1907); Peace on Earth, mixed chorus à capella (1908), manuscript; Opus 10, II, string quartet, F-sharp minor (1907-8); fifteen lieder, after Stefan George, a talented Viennese poet, one of the Jung-Wien group (1908), manuscript; Opus 11, three piano pieces (1908); five pieces for orchestra (1909) in the Peters Edition; monodrama, Erwartung (1909); Glückliche Hand, drama with music, text by composer, not yet finished (1910); and six piano pieces (1911). His book on harmony appeared in 1910 and was universally treated as the production of a madman, and, finally, as far as this chronicle goes, in 1911-12 he finished Pierrot Lunaire, which was first produced in Berlin.
One thing is certain, and this hardly need assure my musical readers, the old tonal order has changed for ever; there are plenty of signs in the musical firmament110 to prove this. Moussorgsky preceded Debussy in his use of whole-tone harmonies, and a contemporary of Debussy, and an equally gifted musician, Martin Loeffler, was experimenting before Debussy himself in a dark but delectable111 harmonic region. The [Pg 100] tyranny of the diatonic and chromatic scales, the tiresome112 revolutions of the major and minor modes, the critical Canutes who sit at the seaside and say to the modern waves: Thus far and no farther; and then hastily abandon their chairs and rush to safety else be overwhelmed, all these things are of the past, whether in music, art, literature, and—let Nietzsche speak—in ethics113. Even philosophy has become a plaything, and logic26 "a dodge," as Professor Jowett puts it. Every stronghold is being assailed114, from the "divine" rights of property to the common chord of C major. With Schoenberg, freedom in modulation115 is not only permissible116, but is an iron rule; he is obsessed117 by the theory of overtones, and his music is not only horizontally and vertically118 planned, but, so I pretend to hear, also in a circular fashion. There is no such thing as consonance or dissonance, only imperfect training of the ear (I am quoting from his Harmony, certainly a bible for musical supermen). He says: "Harmonie fremde T?ne gibt es also nicht"—and a sly dig at the old-timers—"sondern nur dem Harmoniesystem fremde." After carefully listening I noted that he too has his mannerisms, that in his chaos119 there is a certain order, that his madness is very methodical. For one thing he abuses the interval120 of the fourth, and he enjoys juggling121 with the chord of the ninth. Vagabond harmonies, in which the remotest keys lovingly hold hands, do not prevent the sensation of a [Pg 101] central tonality somewhere—in the cellar, on the roof, in the gutter122, up in the sky. The inner ear tells you that the D-minor quartet is really thought, though not altogether played, in that key. As for form, you must not expect it from a man who declares: "I decide my form during composition only through feeling." Every chord is the outcome of an emotion, the emotion aroused by the poem or idea which gives birth to the composition. Such antique things as the cyclic form or community of themes are not to be expected in Schoenberg's bright lexicon123 of anarchy124. He boils down the classic form to one movement and, so it seemed to my hearing, he begins developing his idea as soon as it is announced.
Such polyphony, such interweaving of voices—eleven and twelve and fifteen are a matter of course—as would make envious125 the old tonal weavers126 of the Netherlands! There is, literally, no waste ornament127 or filling in his scores; every theme, every subsidiary figure, is set spinning so that you dream of fireworks spouting128 in every direction, only the fire is vitriolic129 and burns the tympani of the ears. Seriously, like all complex effects, the Schoenberg scores soon become legible if scrutinised without prejudice. The string sextet, if compared to the later music, is sunny and Mozartian in its melodic and harmonic simplicity130. They tell me that Schoenberg once wrote freely in the normal manner, but finding that he could not attract attention [Pg 102] he deliberately131 set himself to make abnormal music. I don't know how true this may be; the same sort of thing was said of Mallarmé and Paul Cézanne and Richard Strauss, and was absolutely without foundation.
Schoenberg is an autodidact, the lessons in composition from Alexander von Zemlinsky not affecting his future path-breaking propensities132. His mission is to free harmony from all rules. A man doesn't hit on such combinations, especially in his acrid133 instrumentation, without heroic labour. His knowledge must be enormous, for his scores are as logical as a highly wrought134 mosaic135; that is, logical, if you grant him his premises136. He is perverse137 and he wills his music, but he is a master in delineating certain moods, though the means he employs revolt our ears. To call him "crazy," is merely amusing. No man is less crazy, few men are so conscious of what they are doing, and few modern composers boast such a faculty138 of attention. Concentration is the key-note of his work; concentration—or condensation139 formal, concentration of thematic material—to the vanishing-point; and conciseness140 in treatment, although every license141 is allowed in modulation.
Every composer has his aura; the aura of Arnold Schoenberg is, for me, the aura of subtle ugliness, of hatred142 and contempt, of cruelty, and of the mystic grandiose143. He is never petty. He sins in the grand manner of Nietzsche's [Pg 103] Superman, and he has the courage of his chromatics. If such music-making is ever to become accepted, then I long for Death the Releaser. More shocking still would be the suspicion that in time I might be persuaded to like this music, to embrace, after abhorring144 it.
As for Schoenberg, the painter—he paints, too!—I won't take even the guarded praise of such an accomplished145 artist as Kandinsky as sufficient evidence. I've not seen any of the composer's "purple cows," and hope I never shall see them. His black-and-white reproductions look pretty bad, and not nearly as original as his music. The portrait of a lady (who seems to be listening to Schoenbergian harmonies) hasn't much colour, a critic tells us, only a sickly rose in her dress. He also paints grey-green landscapes and visions, the latter dug up from the abysmal146 depths of his subconsciousness147. Schoenberg is, at least, the object of considerable curiosity. What he will do next no man may say; but at least it won't be like the work of any one else. The only distinct reminiscence of an older composer that I could discover in his Pierrot was Richard Wagner (toujours Wagner, whether Franck or Humperdinck or Strauss or Debussy), and of him, the first page of the Introduction to the last act of Tristan und Isolde, more the mood than the actual themes. Schoenberg is always atmospheric148. So is a tornado149. He is the poet whose flowers are evil; he is the spirit that denies; never a realist, like Strauss, ingeniously imitating natural sounds, he may be truthfully described as a musical symbolist.
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cardinal
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| n.(天主教的)红衣主教；adj.首要的，基本的 | |
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doctrine
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| n.教义；主义；学说 | |
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grilling
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| v.烧烤( grill的现在分词 )；拷问，盘问 | |
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bias
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| n.偏见，偏心，偏袒；vt.使有偏见 | |
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duel
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| n./v.决斗；(双方的)斗争 | |
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disclaimed
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| v.否认( disclaim的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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impersonality
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| n.无人情味 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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temperament
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| n.气质，性格，性情 | |
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sanguine
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| adj.充满希望的，乐观的，血红色的 | |
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melancholic
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| 忧郁症患者 | |
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bilious
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| adj.胆汁过多的；易怒的 | |
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truculent
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| adj.野蛮的，粗野的 | |
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preamble
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| n.前言；序文 | |
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anarchist
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| n.无政府主义者 | |
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admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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confession
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| n.自白，供认，承认 | |
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purge
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| n.整肃，清除，泻药，净化；vt.净化，清除，摆脱；vi.清除，通便，腹泻，变得清洁 | |
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impure
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| adj.不纯净的，不洁的；不道德的，下流的 | |
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miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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arrant
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| adj.极端的；最大的 | |
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intrudes
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| v.侵入，侵扰，打扰( intrude的第三人称单数 )；把…强加于 | |
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banishing
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| v.放逐，驱逐( banish的现在分词 ) | |
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lurk
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| n.潜伏，潜行；v.潜藏，潜伏，埋伏 | |
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vocal
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| adj.直言不讳的；嗓音的；n.[pl.]声乐节目 | |
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logic
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| n.逻辑(学)；逻辑性 | |
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apogee
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| n.远地点；极点；顶点 | |
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woes
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| 困境( woe的名词复数 )； 悲伤； 我好苦哇； 某人就要倒霉 | |
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flute
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| n.长笛；v.吹笛 | |
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bass
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| n.男低音(歌手)；低音乐器；低音大提琴 | |
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melodrama
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| n.音乐剧；情节剧 | |
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propitious
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| adj.吉利的；顺利的 | |
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inquiries
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| n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 )；疑问；探究；打听 | |
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dubious
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| adj.怀疑的，无把握的；有问题的，靠不住的 | |
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attired
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| adj.穿着整齐的v.使穿上衣服，使穿上盛装( attire的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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monstrous
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| adj.巨大的；恐怖的；可耻的，丢脸的 | |
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concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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outraged
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| a.震惊的，义愤填膺的 | |
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decomposition
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| n. 分解, 腐烂, 崩溃 | |
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luminous
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| adj.发光的，发亮的；光明的；明白易懂的；有启发的 | |
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bruised
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| [医]青肿的，瘀紫的 | |
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exquisitely
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| adv.精致地；强烈地；剧烈地；异常地 | |
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exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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vengeance
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| n.报复，报仇，复仇 | |
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ecstasy
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| n.狂喜，心醉神怡，入迷 | |
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hideous
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| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
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poetic
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| adj.富有诗意的，有诗人气质的，善于抒情的 | |
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anguish
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| n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦，烦恼 | |
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49
subjective
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| a.主观(上)的，个人的 | |
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50
fictitious
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| adj.虚构的，假设的；空头的 | |
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51
gateways
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| n.网关( gateway的名词复数 )；门径；方法；大门口 | |
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52
literally
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| adv.照字面意义，逐字地；确实 | |
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53
sparsely
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| adv.稀疏地；稀少地；不足地；贫乏地 | |
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54
wriggle
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| v./n.蠕动，扭动；蜿蜒 | |
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55
wriggled
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| v.扭动，蠕动，蜿蜒行进( wriggle的过去式和过去分词 )；（使身体某一部位）扭动；耍滑不做，逃避（应做的事等） | |
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56
wharf
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| n.码头，停泊处 | |
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57
lamented
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| adj.被哀悼的，令人遗憾的v.（为…）哀悼，痛哭，悲伤( lament的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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58
ego
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| n.自我，自己，自尊 | |
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59
ordeal
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| n.苦难经历，（尤指对品格、耐力的）严峻考验 | |
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60
den
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| n.兽穴；秘密地方；安静的小房间，私室 | |
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61
mingles
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| 混合，混入( mingle的第三人称单数 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
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62
daggers
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| 匕首，短剑( dagger的名词复数 ) | |
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63
volition
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| n.意志；决意 | |
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64
obtrude
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| v.闯入；侵入；打扰 | |
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65
persistent
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| adj.坚持不懈的，执意的；持续的 | |
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66
psychology
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| n.心理，心理学，心理状态 | |
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67
eloquently
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| adv. 雄辩地(有口才地, 富于表情地) | |
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68
stanza
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| n.（诗）节，段 | |
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69
poignant
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| adj.令人痛苦的，辛酸的，惨痛的 | |
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70
noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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71
gallows
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| n.绞刑架，绞台 | |
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72
triumphantly
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| ad.得意洋洋地；得胜地；成功地 | |
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73
acorn
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| n.橡实，橡子 | |
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74
adept
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| adj.老练的，精通的 | |
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75
smite
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| v.重击；彻底击败；n.打；尝试；一点儿 | |
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76
asunder
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| adj.分离的，化为碎片 | |
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77
aural
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| adj.听觉的，听力的 | |
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78
scholastic
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| adj.学校的，学院的，学术上的 | |
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79
persistently
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| ad.坚持地；固执地 | |
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80
varied
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| adj.多样的，多变化的 | |
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81
prehistoric
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| adj.（有记载的）历史以前的，史前的，古老的 | |
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82
morbid
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| adj.病的；致病的；病态的；可怕的 | |
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83
strut
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| v.肿胀，鼓起；大摇大摆地走；炫耀；支撑；撑开；n.高视阔步；支柱，撑杆 | |
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84
melodic
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| adj.有旋律的，调子美妙的 | |
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85
sob
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| n.空间轨道的轰炸机；呜咽，哭泣 | |
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86
exalt
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| v.赞扬，歌颂，晋升，提升 | |
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87
conundrum
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| n.谜语；难题 | |
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88
loathing
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| n.厌恶，憎恨v.憎恨，厌恶( loathe的现在分词)；极不喜欢 | |
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89
chasm
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| n.深坑，断层，裂口，大分岐，利害冲突 | |
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90
devoured
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| 吞没( devour的过去式和过去分词 )； 耗尽； 津津有味地看； 狼吞虎咽地吃光 | |
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91
chromatic
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| adj.色彩的，颜色的 | |
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92
supernal
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| adj.天堂的，天上的；崇高的 | |
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93
perilous
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| adj.危险的，冒险的 | |
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94
treacherous
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| adj.不可靠的，有暗藏的危险的；adj.背叛的，背信弃义的 | |
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95
portray
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| v.描写，描述；画(人物、景象等) | |
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96
psychical
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| adj.有关特异功能现象的；有关特异功能官能的；灵魂的；心灵的 | |
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97
conservatory
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| n.温室，音乐学院；adj.保存性的，有保存力的 | |
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98
pedagogue
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| n.教师 | |
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99
pedantic
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| adj.卖弄学问的；迂腐的 | |
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100
beckoned
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| v.（用头或手的动作）示意，召唤( beckon的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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101
bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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102
disciples
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| n.信徒( disciple的名词复数 )；门徒；耶稣的信徒；（尤指）耶稣十二门徒之一 | |
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103
flouting
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| v.藐视，轻视( flout的现在分词 ) | |
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104
wrath
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| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
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105
sane
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| adj.心智健全的，神志清醒的，明智的，稳健的 | |
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106
positively
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| adv.明确地，断然，坚决地；实在，确实 | |
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107
abridged
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| 削减的，删节的 | |
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108
minor
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| adj.较小(少)的，较次要的；n.辅修学科；vi.辅修 | |
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109
ballads
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| 民歌，民谣，特别指叙述故事的歌( ballad的名词复数 )； 讴 | |
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110
firmament
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| n.苍穹；最高层 | |
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111
delectable
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| adj.使人愉快的；美味的 | |
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112
tiresome
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| adj.令人疲劳的，令人厌倦的 | |
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113
ethics
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| n.伦理学；伦理观，道德标准 | |
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114
assailed
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| v.攻击( assail的过去式和过去分词 )；困扰；质问；毅然应对 | |
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115
modulation
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| n.调制 | |
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116
permissible
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| adj.可允许的，许可的 | |
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117
obsessed
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| adj.心神不宁的,鬼迷心窍的,沉迷的 | |
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118
vertically
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| adv.垂直地 | |
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119
chaos
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| n.混乱，无秩序 | |
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120
interval
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| n.间隔，间距；幕间休息，中场休息 | |
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121
juggling
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| n. 欺骗, 杂耍(=jugglery) adj. 欺骗的, 欺诈的 动词juggle的现在分词 | |
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122
gutter
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| n.沟，街沟，水槽，檐槽，贫民窟 | |
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123
lexicon
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| n.字典，专门词汇 | |
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124
anarchy
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| n.无政府状态；社会秩序混乱，无秩序 | |
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125
envious
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| adj.嫉妒的，羡慕的 | |
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126
weavers
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| 织工，编织者( weaver的名词复数 ) | |
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127
ornament
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| v.装饰，美化；n.装饰，装饰物 | |
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128
spouting
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| n.水落管系统v.（指液体）喷出( spout的现在分词 )；滔滔不绝地讲；喋喋不休地说；喷水 | |
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129
vitriolic
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| adj.硫酸的，尖刻的 | |
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130
simplicity
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| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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131
deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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132
propensities
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| n.倾向，习性( propensity的名词复数 ) | |
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133
acrid
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| adj.辛辣的，尖刻的，刻薄的 | |
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134
wrought
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| v.引起；以…原料制作；运转；adj.制造的 | |
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135
mosaic
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| n./adj.镶嵌细工的，镶嵌工艺品的，嵌花式的 | |
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136
premises
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| n.建筑物，房屋 | |
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137
perverse
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| adj.刚愎的；坚持错误的，行为反常的 | |
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138
faculty
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| n.才能；学院，系；(学院或系的)全体教学人员 | |
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139
condensation
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| n.压缩，浓缩；凝结的水珠 | |
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140
conciseness
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| n.简洁，简短 | |
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141
license
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| n.执照，许可证，特许；v.许可，特许 | |
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142
hatred
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| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
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143
grandiose
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| adj.宏伟的，宏大的，堂皇的，铺张的 | |
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144
abhorring
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| v.憎恶( abhor的现在分词 )；（厌恶地）回避；拒绝；淘汰 | |
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145
accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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146
abysmal
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| adj.无底的，深不可测的，极深的；糟透的，极坏的；完全的 | |
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147
subconsciousness
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| 潜意识；下意识 | |
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148
atmospheric
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| adj.大气的，空气的；大气层的；大气所引起的 | |
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149
tornado
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| n.飓风，龙卷风 | |
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