If Ruskin had written music-criticism, he might have amplified5 the meaning of his once-famous phrase, the "pathetic fallacy," for I consider it a pathetic fallacy—though not in [Pg 105] the Ruskinian sense—in criticism to be over-shadowed by the fear that, because some of our critical predecessors7 misjudged Wagner or Manet or Ibsen, we should be too merciful in criticising our contemporaries. Here is the "pathos8 of distance" run to sentimental9 seed. The music of to-day may be the music of to-morrow, but if it is not, what then? It may satisfy the emotional needs of the moment, yet to-morrow be a stale formula. But what does that prove? Though Bach and Beethoven built their work on the bases of eternity10 (employing this tremendous term in a limited sense), one may nevertheless enjoy the men whose music is of slighter texture11 and "modern." Nor is this a plea for mediocrity. Mediocrity we shall always have with us: mediocrity is mankind in the normal, and normal man demands of art what he can read without running, hear without thinking. Every century produces artists who are forgotten in a generation, though they fill the eye and the ear for a time with their clever production. This has led to another general idea, that of transition, of intermediate types. After critical perspective has been attained12, it may be seen that the majority of composers fall into this category not a consoling notion, but an unavoidable. Richard Wagner has his epigones; the same is the case with Haydn, Mozart, Beethoven. Mendelssohn was a delightful13 feminine variation on Bach, and after Schumann came Brahms.
[Pg 106] The Wagner-Liszt tradition of music-drama, so-called, and the symphonic poem have been continued with personal modifications14 by Richard Strauss; Max Reger has pinned his faith to Brahms and absolute music, though not without a marked individual variation. In considering his Sinfonietta, the Serenade, the Hiller Variations, the Prologue15 to a Tragedy, the Lustspiel Overture16, the two concertos17 respectively for pianoforte and violin, we are struck not as much by the easy handling of old forms, as by the stark18 emotional content of these compositions. Reger began as a Brahmsianer, but he has not thus far succeeded in fusing form and theme as wonderfully as did his master. There is a Dionysian strain in his music that too often is in jarring discord19 with the intellectual structure of his work. But there is no denying that Max Reger is the one man in Germany to-day who is looked upon as the inevitable20 rival of Richard Strauss. Their disparate tendencies bring to the lips the old query21, Under which king? Some think that Arnold Schoenberg may be a possible antagonist22 in the future, but for the present it is Reger and Strauss, and no third in opposition23.
The Strauss problem is a serious one. In America much criticism of his performances has contrived24 to evade25 the real issue. He has been called hard names because he is money-loving, or because he has not followed in the steps of Beethoven, because of a thousand and one [Pg 107] things of no actual critical value. That he is easily the greatest technical master of his art now living there can be no question. And he has wound up a peg26 or two the emotional intensity27 of music. Whether this striving after nerve-shattering combinations is a dangerous tendency is quite beside the mark. Let us register the fact. Beginning in the path made by Brahms, he soon came under the influence of Liszt, and we were given a chaplet of tone-poems, sheer programme-music, but cast in a bigger and more flexible mould than the thrice-familiar Liszt pattern. Whatever fate is reserved for Death and Transfiguration, Till Eulenspiegel, Also Sprach Zarathustra, Hero's Life, and Don Quixote, there is no denying their significance during the last decade of the nineteenth century. For me it seemed a decided28 step backward when Strauss entered the operatic field. One so conspicuously29 rich in the gift of music-making (for the titles of his symphonies never prevented us from enjoying their colouring and eloquence30) might have avoided the more facile triumphs of the stage. However, Elektra needs no apology, and the joyous31 Rosenkavalier is a distinct addition to the repertory of high-class musical comedy. Strauss is an experimenter and no doubt a man for whom the visible box-office exists, to parody32 a saying of Gautier's. But we must judge him by his own highest standard, the standard of Elektra, Don Quixote, and Till Eulenspiegel, not to mention the beautiful [Pg 108] songs. Ariadne on Naxos was a not particularly successful experiment, and what the Alp Symphony will prove to be we may only surmise33. Probably this versatile34 tone-poet has said his best. He is not a second Richard Wagner, not yet has he the charm of the Lizst personality, but he bulks too large in contemporary history to be called a decadent35, although in the precise meaning of the word, without its stupid misinterpretation, he is a decadent inasmuch as he dwells with emphasis on the technique of his composition, sacrificing the whole for the page, putting the phrase above the page, and the single note in equal competition with the phrase. In a word, Richard Strauss is a romantic, and flies the red flag of his faith. He has not followed the advice of Paul Verlaine in taking eloquence by the neck and wringing37 it. He is nothing if not eloquent38 and expressive39, magnifying his Bavarian song-birds to the size of Alpine40 eagles. The newer choir41 has avoided the very things in which Strauss has excelled, for that way lie repetition and satiety42. [Since writing the above, Strauss has given the world his ballet The Legend of Joseph, in which he has said nothing novel, but has with his customary skill mixed anew the old compound of glittering colours and sultry, exotic harmonies.]
However, Strauss is not the only member of the post-Wagnerian group, but he is the chief one who has kept his individual head above [Pg 109] water in the welter and chaos43 of the school. Where are Cyrill Kistner, Hans Sommer, August Bungert, and the others? Humperdinck is a mediocrity, even more so than Puccini. And what of the banalities of Bruckner? His Wagnerian cloak is a world too large for his trifling45 themes. Siegfried Wagner does not count, and for anything novel we are forced to turn our eyes and ears toward the direction of France. After Berlioz, a small fry, indeed, yet not without interest. The visit made by Claude Debussy to Russia in 1879 and during his formative period had consequences. He absorbed Moussorgsky, and built upon him, and he had Wagner at his finger-ends; like Charpentier he cannot keep Wagner out of his scores; the Bayreuth composer is the King Charles's head in his manuscript. Tristan und Isolde in particular must have haunted the composers of Louise, and Pelléas et Mélisande. The Julien of Charpentier is on a lower literary and musical level than Louise, which, all said and done, has in certain episodes a picturesque46 charm; the new work is replete47 with bad symbolism and worse music-spinning. Debussy has at least a novel, though somewhat monotonous48, manner. He is "precious," and in ideas as constipated as Mallarmé, whose Afternoon of a Faun he so adequately set. Nevertheless, there is, at times, magic in his music. It is the magic of suggestiveness, of the hinted mystery which only Huysmans's superior persons scattered49 [Pg 110] throughout the universe may guess. After Debussy comes Dukas, Ravel, Florent Schmitt, Rogier-Ducasse, men who seem to have caught anew the spirit of the eighteenth-century music and given it to us not through the poetic50 haze51 of Debussy, but in gleaming, brilliant phrases. There is promise in Schmitt. As to Vincent d'Indy, you differ with his scheme, yet he is a master, as was César Franck a master, as are masters the two followers52 of D'Indy, Albert Roussel and Theodat de Sévérac. Personally I admire Paul Dukas, though without any warrant whatever for placing him on the same plane with Claude Debussy, who, after all, has added a novel nuance53 to art. But they are all makers of anxious mosaics54; never do they carve the block; exquisite55 miniaturists, yet lack the big brush work and epical56 sweep of the preceding generation. Above all, the entire school is minus virility57; its music is of the distaff, and has not the masculine ring of crossed swords.
It is hardly necessary to consider here the fantastic fashionings of Erik Satie, the "newest" French composer. He seems to have out-Schoenberged Schoenberg in his little piano pieces bearing the alluring58 titles of Embryons desséchés, preludes59 and pastorales. Apart from the extravagant60 titles, the music itself is ludicrous qua music, but not without subtle irony61. That trio of Chopin's Funeral March played in C and declared as a citation62 from the celebrated63 mazurka of Schubert does touch the rib64 risible65. [Pg 111] There are neither time signature nor bars. All is gentle chaos and is devoted66 to the celebration, in tone, of certain sea-plants and creatures. This sounds like Futurism or the passionate67 patterns of the Cubists, but I assure you I've seen and tried to play the piano music of Satie. That he is an arch-humbug I shall neither maintain nor deny. After Schoenberg anything is possible in this vale of agonising dissonance. I recall with positive satisfaction a tiny composition for piano by Rebikoff, which he calls a setting of The Devil's Daughters, a mural design by Franz von Stuck of Munich. To be sure, the bass68 is in C and the treble in D flat, nevertheless the effect is almost piquant69. The humour of the new composers is melancholy70 in its originality71, but Gauguin has said that in art one must be either a plagiarist72 or a revolutionist. Satie is hardly a plagiarist, though the value of his revolution is doubtful.
The influence of Verdi has been supreme73 among the Verdists of young Italy, though not one has proved knee-high to a grasshopper74 when compared with the composer of that incomparable Falstaffo. Ponchielli played his part, and under his guidance such dissimilar talents as Puccini, Mascagni, and Leoncavallo were fostered. Puccini stopped with La Bohème, all the rest is repetition and not altogether admirable repetition. That he has been the hero of many phonographs has nothing to do with his intrinsic merits. Cleverness is his predominating [Pg 112] vice36, and a marked predilection75 for time-serving; that is, he, like the excellent musical journalist that he is, feels the public pulse, spreads his sails to the breeze of popular favour, and while he is never as banal44 as Humperdinck or Leoncavallo, he exhibits this quality in suffusion76. Above all, he is not original. If Mascagni had only followed the example of Single-Speech Hamilton, he would have spared himself many mortifications and his admirers much boredom77. The new men, such as Wolf-Ferrari, Montemezzi, Giordano, and numerous others are eclectics; they belong to any country, and their musical cosmopolitanism78, while affording agreeable specimens79, may be dismissed with the comment that their art lacks pronounced personal profile. This does not mean that L'Amore dei Tre Re is less delightful. The same may be said of Ludwig Thuille and also of the Neo-Belgian group. Sibelius, the Finn, is a composer with a marked temperament. Among the English Delius shows strongest. He is more personal and more original than Elgar. Not one of these can tie the shoe-strings of Peter Cornelius, the composer of short masterpieces, The Barber of Bagdad—the original, not the bedevilled version of Mottl.
In Germany there is an active group of young men: Ernest Boehe, Walter Braunfels, Max Schillings, Hans Pfitzner, F. Klose, Karl Ehrenberg, Dohnány—born Hungarian—H. G. Noren. The list is long. Fresh, agreeable, and indicative of a high order of talent is a new opera [Pg 113] by Franz Schreker, Das Spielwerk und die Prinzessin (1913). Schreker's earlier opera, Der ferne Klang, I missed, but I enjoyed the later composition, charged as it is with fantasy, atmosphere, bold climaxes80, and framing a legendary81 libretto82. The influence of Debussy is marked.
Curiously83 enough, the Russian Moussorgsky, whose work was neglected during his lifetime, has proved to be a precursor84 to latter-day music. He was not affected85 in his development by Franz Liszt, whose influence on Tschaikovsky, Borodin, Rimsky-Korsakof, Glazounof—he less than the others—was considerable. Like Dosto?evsky, Moussorgsky is ur-Russian, not a polished production of Western culture, as are Turgenieff, Tschaikovsky, Tolstoy, or Rubinstein. He is not a romantic, this Russian bear; the entire modern school is at one in their rejection86 of romantic moods and attitudes. Now, music is pre-eminently a romantic art. I once called it a species of emotional mathematics, yet so vast is its kingdom that it may contain the sentimentalities of Mendelssohn, the Old World romance of Schumann, the sublimated87 poetry of Chopin, and the thunderous epical accents of Beethoven.
Moussorgsky I have styled a "primitive88," and I fancy it is as good an ascription as another. He is certainly as primitive as Paul Gauguin, who accomplished89 the difficult feat90 of shedding his Parisian skin as an artist and reappearing as a modified Tahitian savage91. But [Pg 114] I suspect there was a profounder sincerity92 in the case of the Muscovite. Little need now to sing the praises of Boris Godunoff, though not having seen and heard Ohaliapine, New York is yet to receive the fullest and sharpest impression of the r?le notwithstanding the sympathetic reading of Arturo Toscanini. Khovanchtchina is even more rugged94, more Russian. Hearing it after Tschaikovsky's charming, but weak, setting of Eugen Onegin, the forthright95 and characteristic qualities of Moussorgsky are set in higher relief. All the old rhetoric96 goes by the board, and sentiment, in our sense of the word, is not drawn97 upon too heavily. Stravinsky is a new man not to be slighted, nor are Kodaly and Bartok. I mention only the names of those composers with whose music I am fairly familiar. Probably Stravinsky and his musical fireworks will be called a Futurist, whatever that portentous98 title may mean. However, the music of Tschaikovsky, Rimsky-Korsakof, Rachmaninof, and the others is no longer revolutionary, but may be considered as evolutionary99. Again the theory of transitional periods and types comes into play, but I notice this theory has been applied100 only to minor101 masters, never to creators. We don't call Bach or Handel or Mozart or Beethoven intermediate types. Perhaps some day Wagner will seem as original to posterity102 as Beethoven does to our generation. Wasn't it George Saintsbury who once remarked that all discussion of contemporaries is conversation, [Pg 115] not criticism? If this be the case, then it is suicidal for a critic to pass judgment103 upon the music-making of his day, a fact obviously at variance104 with daily practice. Yet it is a dictum not to be altogether contravened105. For instance, my first impressions of Schoenberg were neither flattering to his composition nor to my indifferent critical acumen106. If I had begun by listening to the comparatively mellifluous107 D-minor string quartet, played by the Flonzaley Quartet, as did my New York colleagues, instead of undergoing the terrifying aural108 tortures of Lieder des Pierrot Lunaire, I might have been as amiable109 as the critics. The string sextet has been received here with critical cordiality. Its beauties were exposed by the Kneisel Quartet. But circumstances were otherwise, and it was later that I heard the two string quartets—the latter in F-sharp minor (by courtesy, this tonality), with voices at the close—the astounding110 Gurrelieder and the piano pieces. The orchestral poem of Pelléas et Mélisande I have yet to enjoy or execrate111; there seems to be no middle term for Schoenberg's amazing art. If I say I hate or like it that is only a personal expression, not a criticism standing93 foursquare. I fear I subscribe112 to the truth of Mr. Saintsbury's epigram.
It may be considered singular that the most original "new" music hails from Austria, not Germany. No doubt that Strauss is the protagonist113 of the romantics, dating from Liszt and [Pg 116] Wagner; and that Max Reger is the protagonist of the modern classicists, counting Brahms as their fount (did you ever read what Wagner, almost a septuagenarian, wrote of Brahms: "Der jüdische Czardas-Aufspieler"?). But they are no longer proclaimed by those ultramoderns who dare to call Strauss an intermediate type. So rapidly doth music speed down the grooves114 of time. From Vienna comes Schoenberg; in Vienna lives and composes the youthful Erich Korngold, whose earlier music seems to well as if from some mountain spring, although with all its spontaneity it has no affinity115 with Mozart. It is distinctively116 "modern," employing the resources of the "new" harmonic displacements117 and the multicoloured modern orchestral apparatus118. Korngold is so receptive that he reveals just now the joint119 influences of Strauss and Schoenberg. Yet I think the path lies straight before this young genius, a straight and shining path.
The little Erich Korngold—in reality a plump, good-looking boy—presents few problems for the critic. I know his piano music, replete with youthful charm, and I heard his overture produced by the Berlin Philharmonic Orchestra (the fifth concert of the season) under the leadership of Arthur Nikisch. Whether or not the youth is helped by his teacher, as some say, there can be no doubt as to his precocious120 talent. His facility in composition is Mozartian. Nothing laboured, all as spontaneous as [Pg 117] Schoenberg is calculating. He scores conventionally, that is, latter-day commonplaces are the rule in his disposition121 and treatment of the instrumental army. Like Mozart, he is melodious122, easy to follow, and, like Mozart, he begins by building on his immediate123 predecessor6, in his case Strauss. Debussy is not absent, nor is Fritz Delius.
I heard not a little of Der Rosenkavalier. But who would suspect a lad of such a formal sense—even if it is only imitative—of such clear development, such climaxes, and such a capital coda! The chief test of the music—would you listen to it if you did not know who composed it?—is met. The overture is entertaining, if not very original. Truly a wonder child.
Hugo Wolf was a song writer who perilously124 grazed genius, but he rotted before he was ripe. Need we consider the respective positions of Bruckner or Mahler, one all prodigality125 and diffuseness126, the other largely cerebral127? And Mahler without Bruckner would hardly have been possible. Those huge tonal edifices128, skyscrapers129 in bulk, soon prove barren to the spirit. A mountain in parturition130 with a mouse! Nor need we dwell upon the ecstatic Scriabine who mimicked131 Chopin so deftly132 in his piano pieces, "going" Liszt and Strauss one better—or ten, if you will—and spilt his soul in swooning, roseate vibrations133. Withal, a man of ability and vast ambitions. (He died in 1915.)
[Pg 118] More than two years ago I heard in Vienna Schoenberg's Gurrelieder, a setting to a dramatic legend by Jens Peter Jacobsen. This choral and orchestral work was composed in 1902, but it sounds newer than the quartets or the sextet. In magnitude it beats Berlioz. It demands five solo singers, a dramatic reader, three choral bodies, and an orchestra of one hundred and forty, in which figure eight flutes134, seven clarinets, six horns, four Wagner tubas. Little wonder the impression was a stupendous one. There were episodes of great beauty, dramatic moments, and appalling135 climaxes. As Schoenberg has decided both in his teaching and practice that there are no unrelated harmonies, cacophony136 was not absent. Another thing: this composer has temperament. He is cerebral, as few before him, yet in this work the bigness of the design did not detract from the emotional quality. I confess I did not understand at one hearing the curious dislocated harmonies and splintered themes—melodies they are not—in the Pierrot Lunaire. I have been informed that the ear should play a secondary r?le in this "new" music; no longer through the porches of the ear must filter plangent137 tones, wooing the tympanum with ravishing accords. It is now the "inner ear," which is symbolic138 of a higher type of musical art. A complete disassociation of ideas, harmonies, rhythmic139 life, architectonic is demanded. To quote an admirer of the Vienna revolutionist: [Pg 119] "The entire man in you must be made over before you can divine Schoenberg's art." Perhaps his ?sthetik embraces what the metaphysicians call the Langley-James hypothesis; fear, anxiety, pain are the "content," and his hearers actually suffer as are supposed to suffer his characters or moods or ideas. The old order has changed, changed very much, yet I dimly feel that if this art is to endure it contains, perhaps in precipitation, the elements without which no music is permanent. But his elliptical patterns are interesting, above all bold. There is no such thing as absolute originality. Even the individual Schoenberg, the fabricator of nervous noises, leans heavily on Wagner. Wagner is the fountainhead of the new school, let them mock his romanticism as they may.
Is all this to be the music of to-morrow? Frankly140, I don't know, and I'm sure Schoenberg doesn't know. He is said to be guided by his daímon, as was Socrates; let us hope that familiar may prompt him to more comprehensible utterances141. But he must be counted with nowadays. He is significant of the reaction against formal or romantic beauty. I said the same more than a decade ago of Debussy. Again the critical watchmen in the high towers are signalling Schoenberg's movements, not without dismay. Cheer up, brethren! Preserve an open mind. It is too soon to beat reactionary142 bosoms143, crying aloud, Nunc dimittis! Remember the monstrous144 fuss made over the methods [Pg 120] of Richard Strauss and Claude Debussy. I shouldn't be surprised if ten years hence Arnold Schoenberg proves quite as conventional a member of musical society as those other two "anarchs of art."
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1 flute | |
n.长笛;v.吹笛 | |
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2 dealing | |
n.经商方法,待人态度 | |
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3 temperament | |
n.气质,性格,性情 | |
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4 makers | |
n.制造者,制造商(maker的复数形式) | |
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5 amplified | |
放大,扩大( amplify的过去式和过去分词 ); 增强; 详述 | |
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6 predecessor | |
n.前辈,前任 | |
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7 predecessors | |
n.前任( predecessor的名词复数 );前辈;(被取代的)原有事物;前身 | |
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8 pathos | |
n.哀婉,悲怆 | |
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9 sentimental | |
adj.多愁善感的,感伤的 | |
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10 eternity | |
n.不朽,来世;永恒,无穷 | |
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11 texture | |
n.(织物)质地;(材料)构造;结构;肌理 | |
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12 attained | |
(通常经过努力)实现( attain的过去式和过去分词 ); 达到; 获得; 达到(某年龄、水平、状况) | |
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13 delightful | |
adj.令人高兴的,使人快乐的 | |
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14 modifications | |
n.缓和( modification的名词复数 );限制;更改;改变 | |
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15 prologue | |
n.开场白,序言;开端,序幕 | |
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16 overture | |
n.前奏曲、序曲,提议,提案,初步交涉 | |
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17 concertos | |
n. [音]协奏曲 | |
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18 stark | |
adj.荒凉的;严酷的;完全的;adv.完全地 | |
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19 discord | |
n.不和,意见不合,争论,(音乐)不和谐 | |
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20 inevitable | |
adj.不可避免的,必然发生的 | |
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21 query | |
n.疑问,问号,质问;vt.询问,表示怀疑 | |
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22 antagonist | |
n.敌人,对抗者,对手 | |
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23 opposition | |
n.反对,敌对 | |
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24 contrived | |
adj.不自然的,做作的;虚构的 | |
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25 evade | |
vt.逃避,回避;避开,躲避 | |
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26 peg | |
n.木栓,木钉;vt.用木钉钉,用短桩固定 | |
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27 intensity | |
n.强烈,剧烈;强度;烈度 | |
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28 decided | |
adj.决定了的,坚决的;明显的,明确的 | |
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29 conspicuously | |
ad.明显地,惹人注目地 | |
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30 eloquence | |
n.雄辩;口才,修辞 | |
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31 joyous | |
adj.充满快乐的;令人高兴的 | |
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32 parody | |
n.打油诗文,诙谐的改编诗文,拙劣的模仿;v.拙劣模仿,作模仿诗文 | |
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33 surmise | |
v./n.猜想,推测 | |
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34 versatile | |
adj.通用的,万用的;多才多艺的,多方面的 | |
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35 decadent | |
adj.颓废的,衰落的,堕落的 | |
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36 vice | |
n.坏事;恶习;[pl.]台钳,老虎钳;adj.副的 | |
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37 wringing | |
淋湿的,湿透的 | |
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38 eloquent | |
adj.雄辩的,口才流利的;明白显示出的 | |
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39 expressive | |
adj.表现的,表达…的,富于表情的 | |
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40 alpine | |
adj.高山的;n.高山植物 | |
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41 choir | |
n.唱诗班,唱诗班的席位,合唱团,舞蹈团;v.合唱 | |
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42 satiety | |
n.饱和;(市场的)充分供应 | |
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43 chaos | |
n.混乱,无秩序 | |
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44 banal | |
adj.陈腐的,平庸的 | |
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45 trifling | |
adj.微不足道的;没什么价值的 | |
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46 picturesque | |
adj.美丽如画的,(语言)生动的,绘声绘色的 | |
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47 replete | |
adj.饱满的,塞满的;n.贮蜜蚁 | |
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48 monotonous | |
adj.单调的,一成不变的,使人厌倦的 | |
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49 scattered | |
adj.分散的,稀疏的;散步的;疏疏落落的 | |
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50 poetic | |
adj.富有诗意的,有诗人气质的,善于抒情的 | |
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51 haze | |
n.霾,烟雾;懵懂,迷糊;vi.(over)变模糊 | |
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52 followers | |
追随者( follower的名词复数 ); 用户; 契据的附面; 从动件 | |
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53 nuance | |
n.(意义、意见、颜色)细微差别 | |
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54 mosaics | |
n.马赛克( mosaic的名词复数 );镶嵌;镶嵌工艺;镶嵌图案 | |
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55 exquisite | |
adj.精美的;敏锐的;剧烈的,感觉强烈的 | |
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56 epical | |
adj.叙事诗的,英勇的 | |
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57 virility | |
n.雄劲,丈夫气 | |
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58 alluring | |
adj.吸引人的,迷人的 | |
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59 preludes | |
n.开端( prelude的名词复数 );序幕;序曲;短篇作品 | |
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60 extravagant | |
adj.奢侈的;过分的;(言行等)放肆的 | |
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61 irony | |
n.反语,冷嘲;具有讽刺意味的事,嘲弄 | |
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62 citation | |
n.引用,引证,引用文;传票 | |
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63 celebrated | |
adj.有名的,声誉卓著的 | |
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64 rib | |
n.肋骨,肋状物 | |
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65 risible | |
adj.能笑的;可笑的 | |
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66 devoted | |
adj.忠诚的,忠实的,热心的,献身于...的 | |
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67 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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68 bass | |
n.男低音(歌手);低音乐器;低音大提琴 | |
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69 piquant | |
adj.辛辣的,开胃的,令人兴奋的 | |
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70 melancholy | |
n.忧郁,愁思;adj.令人感伤(沮丧)的,忧郁的 | |
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71 originality | |
n.创造力,独创性;新颖 | |
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72 plagiarist | |
n.剽窃者,文抄公 | |
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73 supreme | |
adj.极度的,最重要的;至高的,最高的 | |
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74 grasshopper | |
n.蚱蜢,蝗虫,蚂蚱 | |
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75 predilection | |
n.偏好 | |
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76 suffusion | |
n.充满 | |
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77 boredom | |
n.厌烦,厌倦,乏味,无聊 | |
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78 cosmopolitanism | |
n. 世界性,世界主义 | |
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79 specimens | |
n.样品( specimen的名词复数 );范例;(化验的)抽样;某种类型的人 | |
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80 climaxes | |
n.顶点( climax的名词复数 );极点;高潮;性高潮 | |
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81 legendary | |
adj.传奇(中)的,闻名遐迩的;n.传奇(文学) | |
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82 libretto | |
n.歌剧剧本,歌曲歌词 | |
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83 curiously | |
adv.有求知欲地;好问地;奇特地 | |
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84 precursor | |
n.先驱者;前辈;前任;预兆;先兆 | |
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85 affected | |
adj.不自然的,假装的 | |
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86 rejection | |
n.拒绝,被拒,抛弃,被弃 | |
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87 sublimated | |
v.(使某物质)升华( sublimate的过去式和过去分词 );使净化;纯化 | |
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88 primitive | |
adj.原始的;简单的;n.原(始)人,原始事物 | |
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89 accomplished | |
adj.有才艺的;有造诣的;达到了的 | |
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90 feat | |
n.功绩;武艺,技艺;adj.灵巧的,漂亮的,合适的 | |
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91 savage | |
adj.野蛮的;凶恶的,残暴的;n.未开化的人 | |
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92 sincerity | |
n.真诚,诚意;真实 | |
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93 standing | |
n.持续,地位;adj.永久的,不动的,直立的,不流动的 | |
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94 rugged | |
adj.高低不平的,粗糙的,粗壮的,强健的 | |
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95 forthright | |
adj.直率的,直截了当的 [同]frank | |
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96 rhetoric | |
n.修辞学,浮夸之言语 | |
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97 drawn | |
v.拖,拉,拔出;adj.憔悴的,紧张的 | |
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98 portentous | |
adj.不祥的,可怕的,装腔作势的 | |
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99 evolutionary | |
adj.进化的;演化的,演变的;[生]进化论的 | |
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100 applied | |
adj.应用的;v.应用,适用 | |
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101 minor | |
adj.较小(少)的,较次要的;n.辅修学科;vi.辅修 | |
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102 posterity | |
n.后裔,子孙,后代 | |
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103 judgment | |
n.审判;判断力,识别力,看法,意见 | |
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104 variance | |
n.矛盾,不同 | |
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105 contravened | |
v.取消,违反( contravene的过去式 ) | |
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106 acumen | |
n.敏锐,聪明 | |
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107 mellifluous | |
adj.(音乐等)柔美流畅的 | |
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108 aural | |
adj.听觉的,听力的 | |
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109 amiable | |
adj.和蔼可亲的,友善的,亲切的 | |
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110 astounding | |
adj.使人震惊的vt.使震惊,使大吃一惊astound的现在分词) | |
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111 execrate | |
v.憎恶;厌恶;诅咒 | |
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112 subscribe | |
vi.(to)订阅,订购;同意;vt.捐助,赞助 | |
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113 protagonist | |
n.(思想观念的)倡导者;主角,主人公 | |
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114 grooves | |
n.沟( groove的名词复数 );槽;老一套;(某种)音乐节奏v.沟( groove的第三人称单数 );槽;老一套;(某种)音乐节奏 | |
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115 affinity | |
n.亲和力,密切关系 | |
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116 distinctively | |
adv.特殊地,区别地 | |
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117 displacements | |
n.取代( displacement的名词复数 );替代;移位;免职 | |
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118 apparatus | |
n.装置,器械;器具,设备 | |
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119 joint | |
adj.联合的,共同的;n.关节,接合处;v.连接,贴合 | |
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120 precocious | |
adj.早熟的;较早显出的 | |
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121 disposition | |
n.性情,性格;意向,倾向;排列,部署 | |
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122 melodious | |
adj.旋律美妙的,调子优美的,音乐性的 | |
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123 immediate | |
adj.立即的;直接的,最接近的;紧靠的 | |
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124 perilously | |
adv.充满危险地,危机四伏地 | |
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125 prodigality | |
n.浪费,挥霍 | |
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126 diffuseness | |
漫射,扩散 | |
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127 cerebral | |
adj.脑的,大脑的;有智力的,理智型的 | |
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128 edifices | |
n.大建筑物( edifice的名词复数 ) | |
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129 skyscrapers | |
n.摩天大楼 | |
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130 parturition | |
n.生产,分娩 | |
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131 mimicked | |
v.(尤指为了逗乐而)模仿( mimic的过去式和过去分词 );酷似 | |
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132 deftly | |
adv.灵巧地,熟练地,敏捷地 | |
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133 vibrations | |
n.摆动( vibration的名词复数 );震动;感受;(偏离平衡位置的)一次性往复振动 | |
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134 flutes | |
长笛( flute的名词复数 ); 细长香槟杯(形似长笛) | |
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135 appalling | |
adj.骇人听闻的,令人震惊的,可怕的 | |
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136 cacophony | |
n.刺耳的声音 | |
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137 plangent | |
adj.悲哀的,轰鸣的 | |
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138 symbolic | |
adj.象征性的,符号的,象征主义的 | |
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139 rhythmic | |
adj.有节奏的,有韵律的 | |
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140 frankly | |
adv.坦白地,直率地;坦率地说 | |
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141 utterances | |
n.发声( utterance的名词复数 );说话方式;语调;言论 | |
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142 reactionary | |
n.反动者,反动主义者;adj.反动的,反动主义的,反对改革的 | |
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143 bosoms | |
胸部( bosom的名词复数 ); 胸怀; 女衣胸部(或胸襟); 和爱护自己的人在一起的情形 | |
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144 monstrous | |
adj.巨大的;恐怖的;可耻的,丢脸的 | |
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