Since harmony was unknown during the first one thousand years or more of the Christian7 era, and instrumental music had no independent existence, the whole vast system of chant melodies was purely8 unison9 and unaccompanied, its rhythm usually subordinated to that of the text. Melody, unsupported by harmony, soon [130] runs its course, and if no new principle had been added to this antique melodic10 method, European music would have become petrified11 or else have gone on copying itself indefinitely. But about the eleventh century a new conception made its appearance, in which lay the assurance of the whole magnificent art of modern music. This new principle was that of harmony, the combination of two or more simultaneous and mutually dependent parts. The importance of this discovery needs no emphasis. It not only introduced an artistic12 agency that is practically unlimited13 in scope and variety, but it made music for the first time a free art, with its laws of rhythm and structure no longer identical with those of language, but drawn14 from the powers that lie inherent in its own nature. Out of the impulse to combine two or more parts together in complete freedom from the constraints15 of verbal accent and prosody16 sprang the second great school of church music, which, likewise independent of instrumental accompaniment, developed along purely vocal17 lines, and issued in the contrapuntal chorus music which attained18 its maturity20 in the last half of the sixteenth century.
This mediaeval school of a capella polyphonic music is in many respects more attractive to the student of ecclesiastical art than even the far more elaborate and brilliant style which prevails to-day. Modern church music, by virtue22 of its variety, splendor23, and dramatic pathos24, seems to be tinged25 with the hues26 of earthliness which belie27 the strictest conception of ecclesiastical art. It partakes of the doubt and turmoil28 of a skeptical29 and rebellious30 age, it is the music of impassioned longing31 [131] in which are mingled32 echoes of worldly allurements33, it is not the chastened tone of pious35 assurance and self-abnegation. The choral song developed in the ages of faith is pervaded36 by the accents of that calm ecstasy37 of trust and celestial38 anticipation39 which give to mediaeval art that exquisite40 charm of na?veté and sincerity41 never again to be realized through the same medium, because it is the unconscious expression of an unquestioning simplicity42 of conviction which seems to have passed away forever from the higher manifestations43 of the human creative intellect.
Such pathetic suggestion clings to the religious music of the Middle Age no less palpably than to the sculpture, painting, and hymnody of the same era, and combines with its singular artistic perfection and loftiness of tone to render it perhaps the most typical and lovely of all the forms of Catholic art. And yet to the generality of students of church and art history it is of all the products of the Middle Age the least familiar. Any intellectual man whom we might select would call himself but scantily46 educated if he had no acquaintance with mediaeval architecture and plastic art; yet he would probably not feel at all ashamed to confess total ignorance of that vast store of liturgic music which in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries filled the incense-laden air of those very cathedrals and chapels48 in which his reverent49 feet so love to wander. The miracles of mediaeval architecture, the achievements of the Gothic sculptors50 and the religious painters of Florence, Cologne, and Flanders are familiar to him, but the musical craftsmen52 of the Low Countries, Paris, Rome, and Venice, who clothed [132] every prayer, hymn45, and Scripture53 lesson with strains of unique beauty and tenderness, are only names, if indeed their names are known to him at all. Yet in sheer bulk their works would doubtless be found to equal the whole amount of the music of every kind that has been written in the three centuries following their era; while in technical mastery and adaptation to its special end this school is not unworthy of comparison with the more brilliant and versatile55 art of the present day.
The period from the twelfth century to the close of the sixteenth was one of extraordinary musical activity. The thousands of cathedrals, chapels, parish churches, and convents were unceasing in their demands for new settings of the Mass and offices. Until the art of printing was applied56 to musical notes about the year 1500, followed by the foundation of musical publishing houses, there was but little duplication or exchange of musical compositions, and thus every important ecclesiastical establishment must be provided with its own corps57 of composers and copyists. The religious enthusiasm and the vigorous intellectual activity of the Middle Age found as free a channel of discharge in song as in any other means of embellishment of the church ceremonial. These conditions, together with the absence of an operatic stage, a concert system, or a musical public, turned the fertile musical impulses of the period to the benefit of the Church. The ecclesiastical musicians also set to music vast numbers of madrigals, chansons, villanellas, and the like, for the entertainment of aristocratic patrons, but this was only an incidental deflection from their more serious duties as ritual composers. In quality [133] as well as quantity the mediaeval chorus music was not unworthy of comparison with the architectural, sculptural, pictorial60, and textile products which were created in the same epoch3 and under the same auspices61. The world has never witnessed a more absorbed devotion to a single artistic idea, neither has there existed since the golden age of Greek sculpture another art form so lofty in expression and so perfect in workmanship as the polyphonic church chorus in the years of its maturity. That style of musical art which was brought to fruition by such men as Josquin des Prés, Orlandus Lassus, Willaert, Palestrina, Vittoria, the Anerios, the Gabrielis, and Lotti is not unworthy to be compared with the Gothic cathedrals in whose epoch it arose and with the later triumphs of Renaissance62 painting with which it culminated63.
Of this remarkable64 achievement of genius the educated man above mentioned knows little or nothing. How is it possible, he might ask, that a school of art so opulent in results, capable of arousing so much admiration65 among the initiated66, could have dominated all Europe for five such brilliant centuries, and yet have left so little impress upon the consciousness of the modern world, if it really possessed67 the high artistic merits that are claimed for it? The answer is not difficult. For the world at large music exists only as it is performed, and the difficulty and expense of musical performance insure, as a general rule, the neglect of compositions that do not arouse a public demand. Church music is less susceptible68 than secular69 to the tyranny of fashion, but even in this department changing tastes and the politic70 compromising spirit tend to pay court to [134] novelty and to neglect the antiquated72. The revolution in musical taste and practice which occurred early in the seventeenth century—a revolution so complete that it metamorphosed the whole conception of the nature and purpose of music—swept all musical production off into new directions, and the complex austere73 art of the mediaeval Church was forgotten under the fascination74 of the new Italian melody and the vivid rhythm and tone-color of the orchestra. Since then the tide of invention has never paused long enough to enable the world at large to turn its thought to the forsaken75 treasures of the past. Moreover, only a comparatively minute part of this multitude of old works has ever been printed, much of it has been lost, the greater portion lies buried in the dust of libraries; whatever is accessible must be released from an abstruse76 and obsolete77 system of notation78, and the methods of performance, which conditioned a large measure of its effect, must be restored under the uncertain guidance of tradition. The usages of chorus singing in the present era do not prepare singers to cope with the peculiar79 difficulties of the a capella style; a special education and an unwonted mode of feeling are required for an appreciation80 of its appropriateness and beauty. Nevertheless, such is its inherent vitality81, so magical is its attraction to one who has come into complete harmony with its spirit, so true is it as an exponent82 of the mystical submissive type of piety83 which always tends to reassert itself in a rationalistic age like the present, that the minds of churchmen are gradually returning to it, and scholars and musical directors are tempting84 it forth85 from its seclusion86. Societies are founded for its study, [135] choirs87 in some of the most influential89 church centres are adding mediaeval works to their repertories, journals and schools are laboring90 in its interest, and its influence is insinuating91 itself into the modern mass and anthem92, lending to the modern forms a more elevated and spiritual quality. Little by little the world of culture is becoming enlightened in respect to the unique beauty and refinement93 of this form of art; and the more intelligent study of the Middle Age, which has now taken the place of the former prejudiced misinterpretation, is forming an attitude of mind that is capable of a sympathetic response to this most exquisite and characteristic of all the products of mediaeval genius.
In order to seize the full significance of this school of Catholic music in its mature stage in the sixteenth century, it will be necessary to trace its origin and growth. The constructive94 criticism of the present day rests on the principle that we cannot comprehend works and schools of art unless we know their causes and environment. We shall find as we examine the history of mediaeval choral song, that it arose in response to an instinctive95 demand for a more expansive form of music than the unison chant. Liturgic necessities can in no wise account for the invention of part singing, for even today the Gregorian Plain Song remains96 the one officially recognized form of ritual music in the Catholic Church. It was an unconscious impulse, prophesying97 a richer musical expression which could not at once be realized,—a blind revolt of the European mind against bondage98 to an antique and restrictive form of expression. For the Gregorian chant by its very nature as unaccompanied [136] melody, rhythmically100 controlled by prose accent and measure, was incapable101 of further development, and it was impossible that music should remain at a stand-still while all the other arts were undergoing the pains of growth. The movement which elicited102 the art of choral song from the latent powers of the liturgic chant was identical with the tendency which evolved Gothic and Renaissance architecture, sculpture, and painting out of Roman and Byzantine art. Melody unsupported soon runs its course; harmony, music in parts, with contrast of consonance and dissonance, dynamics103, and light and shade, must supplement melody, adding more opulent resources to the simple charm of tone and rhythm. The science of harmony, at least in the modern sense, was unknown in antiquity104, and the Gregorian chant was but the projection105 of the antique usage into the modern world. The history of modern European music, therefore, begins with the first authentic106 instances of singing in two or more semi-independent parts, these parts being subjected to a definite proportional notation.
A century or so before the science of part writing had taken root in musical practice, a strange barbaric form of music meets our eyes. A manuscript of the tenth century, formerly107 ascribed to Hucbald of St. Armand, who lived, however, a century earlier, gives the first distinct account, with rules for performance, of a divergence108 from the custom of unison singing, by which the voices of the choir88, instead of all singing the same notes, move along together separated by octaves and fourths or octaves and fifths; or else a second voice accompanies the first by a movement sometimes direct, sometimes [137] oblique109, and sometimes contrary. The author of this manuscript makes no claim to the invention of this manner of singing, but alludes110 to it as something already well known. Much speculation111 has been expended112 upon the question of the origin and purpose of the first form of this barbarous orgunum or diaphony, as it was called. Some conjecture113 that it was suggested by the sound of the ancient Keltic stringed instrument crowth or crotta, which was tuned114 in fifths and had a flat finger-board; others find in it an imitation of the early organ with its several rows of pipes sounding fifths like a modern mixture stop; while others suppose, with some reason, that it was a survival of a fashion practised among the Greeks and Rornans. The importance of the organum in music history has, however, been greatly overrated, for properly speaking it was not harmony or part singing at all, but only another kind of unison. Even the second form of organum was but little nearer the final goal, for the attendant note series was not free enough to be called an organic element in a harmonic structure. As soon, however, as the accompanying part was allowed ever so little unconstrained life of its own, the first steps in genuine part writing were taken, and a new epoch in musical history had begun.
Example of Organum or Diaphony, First Species
Example of Organum or Diaphony, First Species
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Example of Organum or Diaphony, Second Species
Example of Organum or Diaphony, Second Species
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The freer and more promising71 style which issued from the treadmill117 of the organum was called in its initial stages discant (Lat. discantus), and was at first wholly confined to an irregular mixture of octaves, unisons, fifths and fourths, with an occasional third as a sort of concession118 to the criticism of the natural ear upon antique theory. At first two parts only were employed. Occasional successions of parallel fifths and fourths, the heritage of the organum, long survived, but they were gradually eliminated as hollow and unsatisfying, and the principle of contrary motion, which is the very soul of all modern harmony and counterpoint, was slowly established. It must be borne in mind, as the clue to all mediaeval music, that the practice of tone combination involved no idea whatever of chords, as modern theory conceives them. The characteristic principle of the vastly [139] preponderating119 portion of the music of the last three centuries is harmony, technically120 so called, i.e., chords, solid or distributed, out of which melody is primarily evolved. Homophony, monody—one part sustaining the tune115 while all others serve as the support and, so to speak, the coloring material also—is now the ruling postulate121. The chorus music of Europe down to the seventeenth century was, on the other hand, based on melody; the composer never thought of his combination as chords, but worked, we might say, horizontally, weaving together several semi-independent melodies into a flexible and accordant tissue.[64]
The transition from organum to discant was effected about the year 1100. There was for a time no thought of the invention of the component122 melodies. Not only the cantus firmus (the principal theme), but also the counterpoint (the melodic “running mate”), was borrowed, the second factor being frequently a folk-tune altered to fit the chant melody, according to the simple laws of euphony123 then admitted. In respect to the words the discant may be divided into two classes: the words might be the same in both parts; or one voice would sing the text of the office of the Church, and the other the words of the secular song from which the accompanying tune was taken. In the twelfth century the monkish124 musicians, stirred to bolder flights by the satisfactory results of their two-part discant, essayed three parts, with results at first childishly awkward, but with growing ease and smoothness. Free invention of the accompanying [141] parts took the place of the custom of borrowing the entire melodic framework, for while two borrowed themes might fit each other, it was practically impossible to find three that would do so without almost complete alteration125. As a scientific method of writing developed, with the combination of parallel and contrary motion, the term discant gave way to counterpoint (Lat. punctus contra punctum). But there was never any thought of inventing the cantus firmus; this was invariably taken from a ritual book or a popular tune, and the whole art of composition consisted in fabricating melodic figures that would unite with it in an agreeable synthesis. These contrapuntal devices, at first simple and often harsh, under the inevitable127 law of evolution became more free and mellifluous128 at the same time that they became more complex. The primitive129 discant was one note against one note; later the accompanying part was allowed to sing several notes against one of the cantus firmus. Another early form consisted of notes interrupted by rests. In the twelfth century such progress had been made that thirds and sixths were abundantly admitted, dissonant130 intervals131 were made to resolve upon [142] consonances, consecutive133 fifths were avoided, passing notes and embellishments were used in the accompanying voices, and the beginnings of double counterpoint and imitation appeared. Little advance was made in the thirteenth century; music was still chiefly a matter of scholastic134 theory, a mechanical handicraft. Considerable dexterity135 had been attained in the handling of three simultaneous, independent parts. Contrary and parallel motion alternating for variety’s sake, contrast of consonance and dissonance, a system of notation by which time values as well as differences of pitch could be indicated, together with a recognition of the importance of rhythm as an ingredient in musical effect,—all this foreshadowed the time when the material of tonal art would be plastic in the composer’s hand, and he would be able to mould it into forms of fluent grace, pregnant with meaning. This final goal was still far away; the dull, plodding136 round of apprenticeship137 must go on through the fourteenth century also, and the whole conscious aim of effort must be directed to the invention of scientific combinations which might ultimately provide a vehicle for the freer action of the imagination.
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Example of Discant in Three Parts with Different Words (Twelfth Century).
From Coussemaker, Histoire de l’harmonie au moyen age. Translated into modern notation.
Example of Discant in Three Parts with Different Words (Twelfth Century).
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The period from the eleventh to the fifteenth centuries was, therefore, not one of expressive139 art work, but rather of slow and arduous140 experiment. The problem was so to adjust the semi-independent melodious141 parts that an unimpeded life might be preserved in all the voices, and yet the combined effect be at any instant pure and beautiful. The larger the number of parts, the greater the skill required to weave them together into a [143] varied142, rich, and euphonious143 pattern. Any one of these parts might for the moment hold the place of the leading part which the others were constrained116 to follow through the mazes144 of the design. Hence the term polyphonic, i.e., many-voiced. Although each voice part was as important as any other in this living musical texture145, yet each section took its cue from a single melody—a fragment of a Gregorian chant or a folk-tune and called the cantus firmus, and also known as the tenor146, from teneo, to hold—and the voice that gave out this melody came to be called the tenor voice. In the later phases of this art the first utterance147 of the theme was assigned indifferently to any one of the voice parts.
After confidence had been gained in devising two or more parts to be sung simultaneously148, the next step was to bring in one part after another. Some method of securing unity149 amid variety was now necessary, and this was found in the contrivance known as “imitation,” by which one voice follows another through the same or approximate intervals, the part first sounded acting150 as a model for a short distance, then perhaps another taking up the leadership with a new melodic figure, the intricate network of parts thus revealing itself as a coherent organism rather than a fortuitous conjunction of notes, the composer’s invention and the hearers’ impression controlled by a conscious plan to which each melodic part is tributary151.
When a number of parts came to be used together, the need of fixing the pitch and length of notes with precision became imperative152. So out of the antique mnemonic signs, which had done useful service during [144] the exclusive régime of the unison chant, there was gradually developed a system of square-headed notes, together with a staff of lines and spaces. But instead of simplicity a bewildering complexity153 reigned154 for centuries. Many clefs were used, shifting their place on the staff in order to keep the notes within the lines; subtleties155, many and deep, were introduced, and the matter of rhythm, key relations, contrapuntal structure, and method of singing became a thing abstruse and recondite156. Composition was more like algebraic calculation than free art; symbolisms of trinity and unity, of perfect and imperfect, were entangled157 in the notation, to the delight of the ingenious monkish intellect and the despair of the neophyte159 and the modern student of mediaeval manuscripts. Progress was slowest at the beginning. It seemed an interminable task to learn to put a number of parts together with any degree of ease, and for many generations after it was first attempted the results were harsh and uncouth160.
Even taking into account the obstacles to rapid development which exist in the very nature of music as the most abstract of the arts, it seems difficult to understand why it should have been so long in acquiring beauty and expression. There was a shorter way to both, but the church musicians would not take it. All around them bloomed a rich verdure of graceful161 expressive melody in the song and instrumental play of the common people. But the monkish musicians and choristers scorned to follow the lead of anything so artless and obvious. In a scholastic age they were musical scholastics; subtilty and fine pedantic162 distinctions were their pride. They had become infatuated with the formal and technical, and they seemed indifferent to the claims of the natural and simple while carried away by a passion for intricate structural163 problems.
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The growth of such an art as this, without models, must necessarily be painfully slow. Many of the cloistered166 experimenters passed their lives in nursing an infant art without seeing enough progress to justify167 any very strong faith in the bantling’s future. Their floundering helplessness is often pathetic, but not enough so to overcome a smile at the futility168 of their devices. Practice and theory did not always work amiably169 together. In studying the chorus music of the Middle Age, we must observe that, as in the case of the liturgic chant, the singers did not deem it necessary to confine themselves to the notes actually written. In this formative period of which we are speaking it was the privilege of the singers to vary and decorate the written phrases according to their good pleasure. These adornments were sometimes carefully thought out, incorporated into the stated method of delivery, and handed down as traditions.[65] But it is evident that in the earlier days of counterpoint these variations were often extemporized171 on the spur of the moment. The result of this habit on the part of singers who were ignorant of the laws of musical consonance and proportion, and whose ears were as dull as their understandings, could easily be conceived even if we did not have before us the indignant testimony172 [146] of many musicians and churchmen of the period. Jean Cotton, in the eleventh century, says that he could only compare the singers with drunken men, who indeed find their way home, but do not know how they get there. The learned theorist, Jean de Muris, of the fourteenth century, exclaims: “How can men have the face to sing discant who know nothing of the combination of sounds! Their voices roam around the cantus firmus without regard to any rule; they throw their tones out by luck, just as an unskilful thrower hurls174 a stone, hitting the mark once in a hundred casts.” As he broods over the abuse his wrath175 increases. “O roughness, O bestiality! taking an ass2 for a man, a kid for a lion, a sheep for a fish. They cannot tell a consonance from a dissonance. They are like a blind man trying to strike a dog.” Another censor176 apostrophizes the singers thus: “Does such oxen bellowing177 belong in the Church? Is it believed that God can be graciously inclined by such an uproar178?” Oelred, the Scottish abbot of Riverby in the twelfth century, rails at the singers for jumbling179 the tones together in every kind of distortion, for imitating the whinnying of horses, or (worst of all in his eyes) sharpening their voices like those of women. He tells how the singers bring in the aid of absurd gestures to enhance the effect of their preposterous180 strains, swaying their bodies, twisting their lips, rolling their eyes, and bending their fingers, with each note. A number of popes, notably181 John XXII., tried to suppress these offences, but the extemporized discant was too fascinating a plaything to be dropped, and ridicule182 and pontifical183 rebuke184 were alike powerless.
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Such abuses were, of course, not universal, perhaps not general,—as to that we cannot tell; but they illustrate185 the chaotic187 condition of church music in the three or four centuries following the first adoption188 of part singing. The struggle for light was persistent189, and music, however crude and halting, received abundant measure of the reverence190 which, in the age that saw the building of the Gothic cathedrals, was accorded to everything that was identified with the Catholic religion. There were no forms of music that could rival the song of the Church,—secular music at the best was a plaything, not an art. The whole endeavor of the learned musicians was addressed to the enrichment of the church service, and the wealthy and powerful princes of France, Italy, Austria, Spain, and England turned the patronage191 of music at their courts in the same channel with the patronage of the Church. It was in the princely chapels of Northern France and the schools attached to them that the new art of counterpoint was first cultivated. So far as the line of progress can be traced, the art originated in Paris or its vicinity, and slowly spread over the adjacent country. The home of Gothic architecture was the home of mediaeval chorus music, and the date of the appearance of these two products is the same. The princes of France and Flanders (the term France at that period meaning the dominions192 of the Capetian dynasty) faithfully guarded the interests of religious music, and the theorists and composers of this time were officers of the secular government as well as of the Church. We should naturally suppose that church music would be actively193 supported by a king so pious as Robert of France [148] (eleventh century), who discarded his well-beloved wife at the command of Pope Gregory V. because she was his second cousin, who held himself pure and magnanimous in the midst of a fierce and corrupt194 age, and who composed many beautiful hymns195, including (as is generally agreed) the exquisite Sequence, Veni Sancte Spiritus. He was accustomed to lead the choir in his chapel47 by voice and gesture. He carried on all his journeys a little prayer chamber196 in the form of a tent, in which he sang at the stated daily hours to the praise of God. Louis IX. also, worthily197 canonized for the holiness of his life, made the cultivation198 of church song one of the most urgent of his duties. Every day he heard two Masses, sometimes three or four. At the canonical199 hours hymns and prayers were chanted by his chapel choir, and even on his crusades his choristers went before him on the march, singing the office for the day, and the king, a priest by his side, sang in a low voice after them. Rulers of a precisely200 opposite character, the craftiest201 and most violent in a guileful202 and brutal203 age, were zealous204 patrons of church music. Even during that era of slaughter206 and misery207 when the French kingship was striding to supremacy208 over the bodies of the great vassals209, and struggling with England for very existence in the One Hundred Years’ War, the art of music steadily210 advanced, and the royal and ducal chapels flourished. Amid such conditions and under such patronage accomplished211 musicians were nurtured213 in France and the Low Countries, and thence they went forth to teach all Europe the noble art of counterpoint.
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About the year 1350 church music had cast off its swaddling bands and had entered upon the stage that was soon to lead up to maturity. With the opening of the fifteenth century compositions worthy54 to be called artistic were produced. These were hardly yet beautiful according to modern standards, certainly they had little or no characteristic expression, but they had begun to be pliable214 and smooth sounding, showing that the notes had come under the composer’s control, and that he was no longer an awkward apprentice138. From the early part of the fifteenth century we date the epoch of artistic polyphony, which advanced in purity and dignity until it culminated in the perfected art of the sixteenth century. So large a proportion of the fathers and high priests of mediaeval counterpoint belonged to the districts now included in Northern France, Belgium, and Holland that the period bounded by the years 1400 and 1550 is known in music history as “the age of the Netherlanders.” With limitless patience and cunning, the French and Netherland musical artificers applied themselves to the problems of counterpoint, producing works enormous in quantity and often of bewildering intricacy. Great numbers of pupils were trained in the convents and chapel schools, becoming masters in their turn, and exercising commanding influence in the churches and cloisters216 of all Europe. Complexity in part writing steadily increased, not only in combinations of notes, but also in the means of indicating their employment. It often happened that each voice must sing to a measure sign that was different from that provided for the other voices. Double and triple rhythm alternated, the value of notes of the same character varied in different circumstances; [150] a highly sophisticated symbolism was invented, known as “riddle canons,” by which adepts217 were enabled to improvise218 accompanying parts to the cantus firmus; and counterpoint, single and double, augmented219 and diminished, direct, inverted220, and retrograde, became at once the end and the means of musical endeavor. Rhythm was obscured and the words almost hopelessly lost in the web of crossing parts. The cantus firmus, often extended into notes of portentous221 length, lost all expressive quality, and was treated only as a thread upon which this closely woven fabric126 was strung. Composers occupied themselves by preference with the mechanical side of music; quite unimaginative, they were absorbed in solving technical problems; and so they went on piling up difficulties for their fellow-craftsmen to match, making music for the eye rather than for the ear, for the logical faculty222 rather than for the fancy or the emotion.
It would, however, be an error to suppose that such labored223 artifice215 was the sole characteristic of the scientific music of the fifteenth century. The same composers who revelled224 in the exercise of this kind of scholastic subtlety225 also furnished their choirs with a vast amount of music in four, five, and six parts, complex and difficult indeed from the present point of view, but for the choristers as then trained perfectly226 available, in which there was a striving for solemn devotional effect, a melodious leading of the voices, and the adjustment of phrases into bolder and more symmetrical patterns. Even among the master fabricators of musical labyrinths227 we find glimpses of a recognition of the true [151] final aim of music, a soul dwelling228 in the tangled158 skeins of their polyphony, a grace and inwardness of expression comparable to the poetic229 suggestiveness which shines through the na?ve and often rude forms of Gothic sculpture. The growing fondness on the part of the austere church musicians for the setting of secular poems—madrigals, chansons, villanellas, and the like—in polyphonic style gradually brought in a simpler construction, more obvious melody, and a more characteristic and pertinent230 expression, which reacted upon the mass and motet in the promotion231 of a more direct and flexible manner of treatment The stile famigliare, in which the song moves note against note, syllable232 against syllable, suggesting modern chord progression, is no invention of Palestrina, with whose name it is commonly associated, but appears in many episodes in the works of his Netherland masters.
The contrapuntal chorus music of the Middle Age reached its maturity in the middle of the sixteenth century. For five hundred years this art had been growing, constantly putting forth new tendrils, which interlaced in luxuriant and ever-extending forms until they overspread all Western Christendom. It was now given to one man, Giovanni Pierluigi, called Palestrina from the place of his birth, to put the finishing touches upon this wonder of mediaeval genius, and to impart to it all of which its peculiar nature was capable in respect to technical completeness, tonal purity and majesty234, and elevated devotional expression. Palestrina was more than a flawless artist, more than an Andrea del Sarto; he was so representative of that inner spirit which has uttered itself in the most sincere works of Catholic art that the very heart of the institution to which he devoted235 his life may be said to find a voice in his music.
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Palestrina was born probably in 1526 (authority of Haberl) and died in 1594. He spent almost the whole of his art life as director of music at Rome in the service of the popes, being at one time also a singer in the papal chapel. He enriched every portion of the ritual with compositions, the catalogue of his works including ninety-five masses. Among his contemporaries at Rome were men such as Vittoria, Marenzio, the Anerios, and the Naninis, who worked in the same style as Palestrina. Together they compose the “Roman school” or the “Palestrina school,” and all that may be said of Palestrina’s style would apply in somewhat diminished degree to the writings of this whole group.
Palestrina has been enshrined in history as the “savior of church music” by virtue of a myth which has until recent years been universally regarded as a historic fact. The first form of the legend was to the effect that the reforming Council of Trent (1545-1563) had serious thoughts of abolishing the chorus music of the Church everywhere, and reducing all liturgic music to the plain unison chant; that judgment237 was suspended at the request of Pope Marcellus II. until Palestrina could produce a work that should be free from all objectionable features; that a mass of his composition—the Mass of Pope Marcellus—was performed before a commission of cardinals238, and that its beauty and refinement so impressed the judges that polyphonic music was saved and Palestrina’s style proclaimed [153] as the most perfect model of artistic music. This tale has undergone gradual reduction until it has been found that the Council of Trent contented239 itself with simply recommending to the bishops240 that they exclude from the churches “all musical compositions in which anything impure241 or lascivious242 is mingled,” yet not attempting to define what was meant by “impure” and “lascivious.” The commission of cardinals had jurisdiction243 only over some minor244 questions of discipline in the papal choir, and if Palestrina had the mass in question sung before them (which is doubtful) it had certainly been composed a number of years earlier.
Certain abuses that called for correction there doubtless were in church music in this period. The prevalent practice of borrowing themes from secular songs for the cantus firmus, with sometimes the first few words of the original song at the beginning—as in the mass of “The Armed Man,” the “Adieu, my Love” mass, etc.—was certainly objectionable from the standpoint of propriety245, although the intention was never profane246, and the impression received was not sacrilegious. Moreover, the song of the Church had at times become so artificial and sophisticated as to belie the true purpose of worship music. But among all the records of complaint we find only one at all frequent, and that was that the sacred words could not be understood in the elaborate contrapuntal interweaving of the voices. In the history of every church, in all periods, down even to the present time, there has always been a party that discountenances everything that looks like art for the sake of art, satisfied only with the simplest and rudest [154] form of music, setting the reception of the sacred text so far above the pleasure of the sense that all artistic embellishment seems to them profanation247. This class was represented at the Council of Trent, but it was never in the majority, and never strenuous248 for the total abolition249 of figured music. No reform was instituted but such as would have come about inevitably250 from the ever-increasing refinement of the art and the assertion of the nobler traditions of the Church in the Counter-Reformation. An elevation251 of the ideal of church music there doubtless was at this time, and the genius of Palestrina was one of the most potent252 factors in its promotion; but it was a natural growth, not a violent turning of direction.
The dissipation of the halo of special beatification which certain early worshipers of Palestrina have attempted to throw about the Mass of Pope Marcellus has in no wise dimmed its glory. It is not unworthy of the renown253 which it has so dubiously254 acquired. Although many times equalled by its author, he never surpassed it, and few will be inclined to dispute the distinction it has always claimed as the most perfect product of mediaeval musical art. Its style was not new; it does not mark the beginning of a new era, as certain writers but slightly versed255 in music history have supposed, but the culmination256 of an old one. It is essentially257 in the manner of the Netherland school, which the myth-makers would represent as condemned258 by the Council of Trent. Josquin des Prés, Orlandus Lassus, Goudimel, and many others had written music in the same style, just as chaste34 and subdued259, with the [155] same ideal in mind, and almost as perfectly beautiful. It is not a simple work, letting the text stand forth in clear and obvious relief, as the legend would require. It is a masterpiece of construction, abounding260 in technical subtleties, differing from the purest work of the Netherlanders only in being even more delicately tinted261 and sweet in melody than the best of them could attain19. It was in the quality of melodious grace that Palestrina soared above his Netherland masters. Melody, as we know, is the peculiar endowment of the Italians, and Palestrina, a typical son of Italy, crowned the Netherland science with an ethereal grace of movement which completed once for all the four hundred years’ striving of contrapuntal art, and made it stand forth among the artistic creations of the Middle Age perhaps the most divinely radiant of them all.
It may seem strange at first thought that a form which embodied262 the deepest and sincerest religious feeling that has ever been projected in tones should have been perfected in an age when all other art had become to a large degree sensuous263 and worldly, and when the Catholic Church was under condemnation264, not only by its enemies, but also by many of its grieving friends, for its political ambition, avarice265, and corruption266. The papacy was at that moment reaping the inevitable harvest of spiritual indifference267 and moral decline, and had fallen upon days of struggle, confusion, and humiliation268. The Lutheran, Calvinistic, and Anglican revolt had rent from the Holy See some of the fairest of its dominions, and those that remained were in a condition of political and intellectual turmoil. That a reform “in head and members” [156] was indeed needed is established not by the accusations269 of hostile witnesses alone, but by the demands of many of the staunchest prelates of the time and the admissions of unimpeachable270 Catholic historians. But, as the sequel proved, it was the head far more than the members that required surgery. The lust186 for sensual enjoyments271, personal and family aggrandizement272, and the pomp and luxury of worldly power, which had made the papacy of the fifteenth and first half of the sixteenth centuries a byword in Europe, the decline of faith in the early ideals of the Church, the excesses of physical and emotional indulgence which came in with the Renaissance as a natural reaction against mediaeval repression,—all this had produced a moral degeneracy in Rome and its dependencies which can hardly be exaggerated. But the assertion that the Catholic Church at large, or even in Rome, was wholly given over to corruption and formalism is sufficiently273 refuted by the sublime274 manifestation44 of moral force which issued in the Catholic Reaction and the Counter-Reformation, the decrees of the Council of Trent, and the deeds of such moral heroes as Carlo Borromeo, Phillip Neri, Ignatius Loyola, Francis Xavier, Theresa of Jesus, Francis de Sales, Vincent de Paul, and the founders275 and leaders of the Capuchins, Theatines, Ursulines, and other beneficent religious orders, whose lives and achievements are the glory not only of Catholicism, but of the human race.
The great church composers of the sixteenth century were kindred to such spirits as these, and the reviving piety of the time found its most adequate symbol in the realm of art in the masses and hymns of Palestrina and [157] his compeers. These men were nurtured in the cloisters and choirs. The Church was their sole patron, and no higher privilege could be conceived by them than that of lending their powers to the service of that sublime institution into which their lives were absorbed. They were not agitated277 by the political and doctrinal ferment278 of the day. No sphere of activity could more completely remove a man from mundane279 influences than the employment of a church musician of that period. The abstract nature of music as an art, together with the engrossing280 routine of a liturgic office, kept these men, as it were, close to the inner sanctuary281 of their religion, where the ecclesiastical traditions were strongest and purest. The music of the Church in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries was unaffected by the influences which had done so much to make other forms of Italian art ministers to pride and sensual gratification. Music, through its very limitations, possessed no means of flattering the appetites of an Alexander VI., the luxurious283 tastes of a Leo X., or the inordinate284 pride of a Julius II. It was perforce allowed to develop unconstrained along the line of austere tradition. Art forms seem often to be under the control of a law which requires that when once set in motion they must run their course independently of changes in their environment. These two factors, therefore,—the compulsion of an advancing art demanding completion, and the uncontaminated springs of piety whence the liturgy285 and its musical setting drew their life,—will explain the splendid achievements of religious music in the hands of the Catholic composers of the sixteenth century amid conditions which would at first thought seem unfavorable to the nurture212 of an art so pure and austere.
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Under such influences, impelled286 by a zeal205 for the glory of God and the honor of his Church, the polyphony of the Netherland school put forth its consummate287 flower in the “Palestrina style.” In the works of this later school we may distinguish two distinct modes of treatment: (1) the intricate texture and solidity of Netherland work; (2) the “familiar style,” in which the voices move together in equal steps, without canonic imitations. In the larger compositions we have a blending and alternation of these two, and the scholastic Netherland polyphony appears clarified, and moulded into more plastic outlines for the attainment288 of a more refined vehicle of expression.
The marked dissimilarity between the music of the mediaeval school and that of the present era is to a large extent explained by the differences between the key and harmonic systems upon which they are severally based. In the modern system the relationship of notes to the antithetic tone-centres of tonic289 and dominant290, and the freedom of modulation291 from one key to another by means of the introduction of notes that do not exist in the first, give opportunities for effect which are not obtainable in music based upon the Gregorian modes, for the reason that these modes do not differ in the notes employed (since they include only the notes represented by the white keys of the pianoforte plus the B flat), but only in the relation of the intervals to the note which forms the keynote or “final.” The concoction292 of music based on the latter system is, strictly293 speaking, [159] melodic, not harmonic in the modern technical sense, and the resulting combinations of sounds are not conceived as chords built upon a certain tone taken as a fundamental, but rather as consequences of the conjunction of horizontally moving series of single notes. The harmony, therefore, seems both vague and monotonous294 to the ear trained in accordance with the laws of modern music, because, in addition to being almost purely diatonic, it lacks the stable pivotal points which give symmetry, contrast, and cohesion295 to modern tone structure. The old system admits chromatic296 changes but sparingly, chiefly in order to provide a leading tone in a cadence297, or to obviate298 an objectionable melodic interval132. Consequently there is little of what we should call variety or positive color quality. There is no pronounced leading melody to which the other parts are subordinate. The theme consists of a few chant-like notes, speedily taken up by one voice after another under control of the principle of “imitation.” For the same reasons the succession of phrases, periods, and sections which constitutes the architectonic principle of form in modern music does not appear. Even in the “familiar style,” in which the parts move together like blocks of chords of equal length, the implied principle is melodic in all the voices, not tune above and accompaniment beneath; and the progression is not guided by the necessity of revolving299 about mutually supporting tone-centres.
In this “familiar style” which we may trace backward to the age of the Netherlanders, we find a remote anticipation of the modern harmonic feeling. A vague sense of complementary colors of tonic and dominant, [160] caught perhaps from the popular music with which the most scientific composers of the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries always kept closely in touch, is sometimes evident for brief moments, but never carried out systematically300 to the end. This plain style is employed in hymns and short sentences, in connection with texts of an especially mournful or pleading expression, as, for instance, the Improperia and the Miserere, or, for contrast’s sake, in the more tranquil301 passages of masses or motets. It is a style that is peculiarly tender and gracious, and may be found reflected in the sweetest of modern Latin and English hymn-tunes. In the absence of chromatic changes it is the most serene302 form of music in existence, and is suggestive of the confidence and repose303 of spirit which is the most refined essence of the devotional mood.
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Example of the Simple Style (stile famigliare). Palestrina.
Example of the Simple Style (stile famigliare). Palestrina.
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The intricate style commonly prevails in larger works—masses, motets, and the longer hymns. Only after careful analysis can we appreciate the wonderful art that has entered into its fabrication. Upon examining works of this class we find the score consisting of four or more parts, but not usually exceeding eight. The most obvious feature of the design is that each part appears quite independent of the others; the melody does not lie in one voice while the others act as accompaniment, but each part is as much a melody as any other; each voice pursues its easy, unfettered way, now one acting as leader, now another, the voices often crossing each other, each melody apparently304 quite regardless of its mates in respect to the time of beginning, culminating, and ending, the voices apparently not subject to any common law of accent or rhythm, but each busy with its own individual progress. The onward305 movement [163] is like a series of waves; no sooner is the mind fixed306 upon one than it is lost in the ordered confusion of those that follow. The music seems also to have no definite rhythm. Each single voice part is indeed rhythmical99, as a sentence of prose may be rhythmical, but since the melodic constituents308 come in upon different parts of the measure, one culminating at one moment, another at another, the parts often crossing each other, so that while the mind may be fixed upon one melody which seems to lead, another, which has been coming up from below, strikes in across the field,—the result of all this is that the attention is constantly being dislodged from one tonal centre and shifted to another, and the whole scheme of design seems without form, a fluctuating mass swayed hither and thither309 without coherent plan. The music does not lack dynamic change or alteration of speed, but these contrasts are often so subtly graded that it is not apparent where they begin or end. The whole effect is measured, subdued, solemn. We are never startled, there is nothing that sets the nerves throbbing310. But as we hear this music again and again, analyzing311 its properties, shutting out all preconceptions, little by little there steal over us sensations of surprise, then of wonder, then of admiration. These delicately shaded harmonies develop unimagined beauties. Without sharp contrast of dissonance and consonance they are yet full of shifting lights and hues, like a meadow under breeze and sunshine, which to the careless eye seems only a mass of unvarying green, but which reveals to the keener sense infinite modulation of the scale of color. No melody lies conspicuous312 upon the surface, but the whole harmonic substance is full of undulating melody, each voice pursuing its confident, unfettered motion amid the ingenious complexity of which it is a constituent307 part.
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Fragment of Kyrie, from the Mass of Pope Marcellus. Novello’s Edition. Palestrina.
Fragment of Kyrie, from the Mass of Pope Marcellus. Novello’s Edition. Palestrina.
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In considering further the technical methods and the final aims of this marvellous style, we find in its culminating period that the crown of the mediaeval contrapuntal art upon its aesthetic313 side lies in the attainment of beauty of tone effect in and of itself—the gratification of the sensuous ear, rich and subtly modulated314 sound quality, not in the individual boys’ and men’s [166] voices, but in the distribution and combination of voices of different timbre315. That mastery toward which orchestral composers have been striving during the past one hundred years—the union and contrast of stringed and wind instruments for the production of impressions upon the ear analogous316 to those produced upon the eye by the color of a Rembrandt or a Titian—this was also sought, and, so far as the slender means went, achieved in a wonderful degree by the tone-masters of the Roman [167] and Venetian schools. The chorus, we must remind ourselves, was not dependent upon an accompaniment, and sensuous beauty of tone must, therefore, result not merely from the individual quality of the voices, but still more from the manner in which the notes were grouped. The distribution of the components318 of a chord in order to produce the greatest sonority319; the alternation of the lower voices with the higher; the elimination320 of voices as a section approached its close, until the harmony was reduced at the last syllable to two higher voices in pianissimo, as though the strain were vanishing into the upper air; the resolution of tangled polyphony into a sun-burst of open golden chords; the subtle intrusion of veiled dissonances into the fluent gleaming concord321; the skilful173 blending of the vocal registers for the production of exquisite contrasts of light and shade,—these and many other devices were employed for the attainment of delicate and lustrous322 sound tints323, with results to which modern chorus writing affords no parallel. The culmination of this tendency could not be reached until the art of interweaving voices according to regular but flexible patterns had been fully164 mastered, and composers had learned to lead their parts with the confidence with which the engraver324 traces his lines to shape them into designs of beauty.
The singular perfection of the work of Palestrina has served to direct the slight attention which the world now gives to the music of the sixteenth century almost exclusively to him; yet he was but one master among a goodly number whose productions are but slightly inferior to his,—primus inter51 pares. Orlandus Lassus in [168] Munich, Willaert, and the two Gabrielis, Andrea and Giovanni, and Croce in Venice, the Naninis, Vittoria, and the Anerios in Rome, Tallis in England, are names which do not pale when placed beside that of the “prince of music.” Venice, particularly, was a worthy rival of Rome in the sphere of church song. The catalogue of her musicians who flourished in the sixteenth and early part of the seventeenth centuries contains the names of men who were truly sovereigns in their art, not inferior to Palestrina in science, compensating325 for a comparative lack of the super-refined delicacy326 and tremulous pathos which distinguished327 the Romans by a larger emphasis upon contrast, color variety, and characteristic expression. It was as though the splendors328 of Venetian painting had been emulated329, although in reduced shades, by these masters of Venetian music. In admitting into their works contrivances for effect which anticipated a coming revolution in musical art, the Venetians, rather than the Romans, form the connecting link between mediaeval and modern religious music. In the Venetian school we find triumphing over the ineffable330 calmness and remote impersonality332 of the Romans a more individual quality—a strain almost of passion and stress, and a far greater sonority and pomp. Chromatic changes, at first irregular and unsystematized, come gradually into use as a means of attaining333 greater intensity334; dissonances become more pronounced, foreshadowing the change of key system with all its consequences. The contrapuntal leading of parts, in whose cunning labyrinths the expression of feeling through melody strove to lose itself, tended [169] under the different ideal cherished by the Venetians to condense into more massive harmonies, with bolder outlines and melody rising into more obvious relief. As far back as the early decades of the sixteenth century Venice had begun to loosen the bands of mediaeval choral law, and by a freer use of dissonances to prepare the ear for a new order of perceptions. The unprecedented335 importance given to the organ by the Venetian church composers, and the appearance of the beginnings of an independent organ style, also contributed strongly to the furtherance of the new tendencies. In this broader outlook, more individual stamp, and more self-conscious aim toward brilliancy the music of Venice simply shared those impulses that manifested themselves in the gorgeous canvases of her great painters and in the regal splendors of her public spectacles.
The national love of pomp and ceremonial display was shown in the church festivals hardly less than in the secular pageants336, and all that could embellish59 the externals of the church solemnities was eagerly adopted. All the most distinguished members of the line of Venetian church composers were connected with the church of St. Mark as choir directors and organists, and they imparted to their compositions a breadth of tone and warmth of color fully in keeping with the historic and artistic glory of this superb temple. The founder276 of the sixteenth-century Venetian school was Adrian Willaert, a Netherlander, who was chapel-master at St. Mark’s from 1527 to 1563. It was he who first employed the method which became a notable feature of the music of St. Mark’s, of dividing the choir and thus obtaining [170] novel effects of contrast and climax337 by means of antiphonal chorus singing. The hint was given to Willaert by the construction of the church, which contains two music galleries opposite each other, each with its organ. The freer use of dissonances, so characteristic of the adventurous338 spirit of the Venetian composers, first became a significant trait in the writings of Willaert.
The tendency to lay less stress upon interior intricacy and more upon harmonic strength, striking tone color, and cumulative339 grandeur340 is even more apparent in Willaert’s successors at St. Mark’s,—Cyprian de Rore, Claudio Merulo, and the two Gabrielis. Andrea and Giovanni Gabrieli carried the splendid tonal art of Venice to unprecedented heights, adding a third choir to the two of Willaert, and employing alternate choir singing, combinations of parts, and massing of voices in still more ingenious profusion341. Winterfeld, the chief historian of this epoch, thus describes the performance of a twelve-part psalm6 by G. Gabrieli: “Three choruses, one of deep voices, one of higher, and the third consisting of the four usual parts, are separated from each other. Like a tender, fervent342 prayer begins the song in the deeper chorus, ‘God be merciful unto us and bless us.’ Then the middle choir continues with similar expression, ‘And cause his face to shine upon us.’ The higher chorus strikes in with the words, ‘That thy way may be known upon earth.’ In full voice the strain now resounds343 from all three choirs, ‘Thy saving health among all nations.’ The words, ‘Thy saving health,’ are given with especial earnestness, and it is to be noticed that this utterance comes not from all the choirs together, [171] nor from a single one entire, but from selected voices from each choir in full-toned interwoven parts. We shall not attempt to describe how energetic and fiery344 the song, ‘Let all the people praise thee, O God,’ pours forth from the choirs in alternation; how tastefully the master proclaims the words, ‘Let the nations be glad and sing for joy,’ through change of measure and limitation to selected voices from all the choirs; how the words, ‘And God shall bless us,’ are uttered in solemn masses of choral song. Language could give but a feeble suggestion of the magnificence of this music.”[66]
Great as Giovanni Gabrieli was as master of all the secrets of mediaeval counterpoint and also of the special applications devised by the school of Venice, he holds an even more eminent345 station as the foremost of the founders of modern instrumental art, which properly took its starting point in St. Mark’s church in the sixteenth century. These men conceived that the organ might claim a larger function than merely aiding the voices here and there, and they began to experiment with independent performances where the ritual permitted such innovation. So we see the first upspringing of a lusty growth of instrumental forms, if they may properly be called forms,—canzonas (the modern fugue in embryo346), toccatas, ricercare (at first nothing more than vocal counterpoint transferred to the organ), fantasias, etc.,—rambling, amorphous347, incoherent pieces, but vastly significant as holding the promise and potency348 of a new art. Of these far-sighted experimenters Giovanni Gabrieli was easily chief. Consummate [172] master of the ancient forms, he laid the first pier233 of the arch which was to connect two epochs; honoring the old traditions by his achievements in chorus music, and leading his disciples349 to perceive possibilities of expression which were to respond to the needs of a new age.
Another composer of the foremost rank demands attention before we take leave of the mediaeval contrapuntal school. Orlandus Lassus (original Flemish Roland de Lattre, Italianized Orlando di Lasso) was a musician whose genius entitles him to a place in the same inner circle with Palestrina and Gabrieli. He lived from 1520 to 1594. His most important field of labor21 was Munich. In force, variety, and range of subject and treatment he surpasses Palestrina, but is inferior to the great Roman in pathos, nobility, and spiritual fervor350. His music is remarkable in view of its period for energy, sharp contrasts, and bold experiments in chromatic alteration. “Orlando,” says Ambros, “is a Janus who looks back toward the great past of music in which he arose, but also forward toward the approaching epoch.” An unsurpassed master of counterpoint, he yet depended much upon simpler and more condensed harmonic movements. The number of his works reaches 2337, of which 765 are secular. His motets hold a more important place than his masses, and in many of the former are to be found elements that are so direct and forceful in expression as almost to be called dramatic. His madrigals and choral songs are especially notable for their lavish351 use of chromatics, and also for a lusty sometimes rough humor, which shows his keen sympathy with the popular currents that were running [173] strongly in the learned music of his time. Lassus has more significance in the development of music than Palestrina, for the latter’s absorption in liturgic duties kept him within much narrower boundaries. Palestrina’s music is permeated352 with the spirit of the liturgic chant; that of Lassus with the racier quality of the folk-song. Lassus, although his religious devotion cannot be questioned, had the temper of a citizen of the world; Palestrina that of a man of the cloister165. Palestrina’s music reaches a height of ecstasy which Lassus never approached; the latter is more instructive in respect to the tendencies of the time.
Turning again to the analysis of the sixteenth-century chorus and striving to penetrate353 still further the secret of its charm, we are obliged to admit that it is not its purely musical qualities or the learning and cleverness displayed in its fabrication that will account for its long supremacy or for the enthusiasm which it has often excited in an age so remote as our own. Its aesthetic effect can never be quite disentangled from the impressions drawn from its religious and historic associations. Only the devout354 Catholic call feel its full import, for to him it shares the sanctity of the liturgy,—it is not simply ear-pleasing harmony, but prayer; not merely a decoration of the holy ceremony, but an integral part of the sacrifice of praise and supplication355. And among Protestants those who eulogize it most warmly are those whose opinions on church music are liturgical356 and austere. Given in a concert hall, in implied competition with modern chorus music, its effect is feeble. It is as religious music—ritualistic religious music—identified [174] with what is most solemn and suggestive in the traditions and ordinances357 of an ancient faith, that this antiquated form of art makes its appeal to modern taste. No other phase of music is so dependent upon its setting.
There can be no question that the Catholic Church has always endeavored, albeit358 with a great deal of wavering and inconsistency, to maintain a certain ideal or standard in respect to those forms of art which she employs in her work of education. The frequent injunctions of popes, prelates, councils, and synods for century after century have always held the same tone upon this question. They have earnestly reminded their followers359 that the Church recognizes a positive norm or canon in ecclesiastical art, that there is a practical distinction between ecclesiastic4 art and secular art, and that it is a pious duty on the part of churchmen to preserve this distinction inviolate360. The Church, however, has never had the courage of this conviction. As J. A. Symonds says, she has always compromised; and so has every church compromised. The inroads of secular styles and modes of expression have always been irresistible361 except here and there in very limited times and localities. The history of church art, particularly of church music, is the history of the conflict between the sacerdotal conception of art and the popular taste.
What, then, is the theory of ecclesiastical art which the heads of the Catholic Church have maintained in precept362 and so often permitted to be ignored in practice? What have been the causes and the results of the secularization363 of religious art, particularly music? [175] These questions are of the greatest practical interest to the student of church music, and the answers to them will form the centre around which all that I have to say from this point about Catholic music will mainly turn.
The strict idea of religious art, as it has always stood more or less distinctly in the thought of the Catholic Church, is that it exists not for the decoration of the offices of worship (although the gratification of the senses is not considered unworthy as an incidental end), but rather for edification, instruction, and inspiration. As stated by an authoritative364 Catholic writer: “No branch of art exists for its own sake alone. Art is a servant, and it serves either God or the world, the eternal or the temporal, the spirit or the flesh. Ecclesiastical art must derive365 its rule and form solely366 from the Church.” “These rules and determinations [in respect to church art] are by no means arbitrary, no external accretion367; they have grown up organically from within outward, from the spirit which guides the Church, out of her views and out of the needs of her worship. And herein lies the justification368 of her symbolism and emblematic370 expression in ecclesiastical art so long as this holds itself within the limits of tradition. The church of stone must be a speaking manifestation of the living Church and her mysteries. The pictures on the walls and on the altars are not mere317 adornment170 for the pleasure of the eye, but for the heart a book full of instruction, a sermon full of truth. And hereby art is raised to be an instrument of edification to the believer, it becomes a profound [176] expositor for thousands, a transmitter and preserver of great ideas for all the centuries.”[67] The Catholic Church in her art would subject the literal to the ideal, the particular to the general, the definitive371 to the symbolic372. “The phrase ‘emancipation of the individual,’” says Jakob again, “is not heard in the Church. Art history teaches that the Church does not oppose the individual conception, but simply restrains that false freedom which would make art the servant of personal caprice or of fashion.”
The truth of this principle as a fundamental canon of ecclesiastical art is not essentially affected282 by the fact that it is only in certain periods and under favorable conditions that it has been strictly enforced. Whenever art reaches a certain point in development, individual determination invariably succeeds in breaking away from tradition. The attainment of technic, attended by the inevitable pride in technic, liberates373 its possessors. The spirit of the Italian religious painters of the fourteenth and early fifteenth centuries, content to submit their skill to further the educational purposes of the Church, could no longer persist in connection with the growing delight in new technical problems and the vision of the new fields open to art when face to face with reality. The conventional treatment of the Memmis and Fra Angelicos was followed by the naturalistic representation of the Raphaels, the Da Vincis, and the Titians. The same result has followed where pure art has decayed, or where no real appreciation of art ever existed. The stage of church [177] art in its purest and most edifying374 form is, therefore, only temporary. It exists in the adolescent period of an art, before the achievement of technical skill arouses desire for its unhampered exercise, and when religious ideas are at the same time dominant and pervasive375. Neither is doubt to be cast upon the sincerity of the religious motive376 in this phase of art growth when we discover that its technical methods are identical with those of secular art at the same period. In fact, this general and conventional style which the Church finds suited to her ends is most truly characteristic when the artists have virtually no choice in their methods. The motive of the Gothic cathedral builders was no less religious because their modes of construction and decoration were also common to the civic377 and domestic architecture of the time. A distinctive378 ecclesiastical style has never developed in rivalry379 with contemporary tendencies in secular art, but only in unison with them. The historic church styles are also secular styles, carried to the highest practicable degree of refinement and splendor. These styles persist in the Church after they have disappeared in the mutations of secular art; they become sanctified by time and by the awe380 which the claim of supernatural commission inspires, and the world at last comes to think of them as inherently rather than conventionally religious.
All these principles must be applied to the sixteenth-century a capella music. In fact, there is no better illustration; its meaning and effect cannot be otherwise understood. Growing up under what seem perfectly natural conditions, patronized by the laity381 as well as by the [178] clergy382, this highly organized, severe, and impersonal331 style was seen, even before the period of its maturity, to conform to the ideal of liturgic art cherished by the Church; and now that it has become completely isolated383 in the march of musical progress, this conformity384 appears even more obvious under contrast. No other form of chorus music has existed so objective and impersonal, so free from the stress and stir of passion, so plainly reflecting an exalted385 spiritualized state of feeling. This music is singularly adapted to reinforce the impression of the Catholic mysteries by reason of its technical form and its peculiar emotional appeal. The devotional mood that is especially nurtured by the Catholic religious exercises is absorbed and mystical; the devotee strives to withdraw into a retreat within the inner shrine236 of religious contemplation, where no echoes of the world reverberate386, and where the soul may be thrilled by the tremulous ecstasy of half-unveiled heavenly glory. It is the consciousness of the nearness and reality of the unseen world that lends such a delicate and reserved beauty to those creations of Catholic genius in which this ideal has been most directly symbolized387. Of this cloistral388 mood the church music of the Palestrina age is the most subtle and suggestive embodiment ever realized in art. It is as far as possible removed from profane suggestion; in its ineffable calmness, and an indescribable tone of chastened exultation389, pure from every trace of struggle, with which it vibrates, it is the most adequate emblem369 of that eternal repose toward which the believer yearns390.
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It is not true, however, as often alleged391, that this form of music altogether lacks characterization, and that the style of Kyrie, Gloria, Crucifixus, Resurrexit, and of the motets and hymns whatever their subject, is always the same. The old masters were artists as well as churchmen, and knew how to adapt their somewhat unresponsive material to the more obvious contrasts of the text; and in actual performance a much wider latitude392 in respect to nuance393 and change of speed was permitted than could be indicated in the score. We know, also, that the choristers were allowed great license394 in the use of embellishments, more or less florid, upon the written notes, sometimes improvised395, sometimes carefully invented, taught and handed down as a prescribed code, the tradition of which, in all but a few instances, has been lost. But the very laws of the Gregorian modes and the strict contrapuntal system kept such excursions after expression within narrow bounds, and the traditional view of ecclesiastical art forbade anything like a drastic descriptive literalism.
This mediaeval polyphonic music, although the most complete example in art of the perfect adaptation of means to a particular end, could not long maintain its exclusive prestige. It must be supplanted396 by a new style as soon as the transformed secular music was strong enough to react upon the Church. It was found that a devotional experience that was not far removed from spiritual trance, which was all that the old music could express, was not the only mental attitude admissible in worship. The new-born art strove to give more apt and detailed397 expression to the words, and why should not this permission be granted to church music? The musical revolution of the seventeenth century involved [180] the development of an art of solo singing and its supremacy over the chorus, the substitution of the modern major and minor transposing scales for the Gregorian modal system, a homophonic method of harmony for the mediaeval polyphony, accompanied music for the a capella, secular and dramatic for religious music, the rise of instrumental music as an independent art, the transfer of patronage from the Church to the aristocracy and ultimately to the common people. All the modern forms, both vocal and instrumental, which have come to maturity in recent times suddenly appeared in embryo at the close of the sixteenth or early in the seventeenth century. The ancient style of ecclesiastical music did not indeed come to a standstill. The grand old forms continued to be cultivated by men who were proud to wear the mantle398 of Palestrina; and in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries the traditions of the Roman and Venetian schools of church music have had sufficient vitality to inspire works not unworthy of comparison with their venerable models. The strains of these later disciples, however, are but scanty399 reverberations of the multitudinous voices of the past. The instrumental mass and motet, embellished400 with all the newly discovered appliances of melody, harmony, rhythm, and tone color, led the art of the Church with flying banners into wider regions of conquest, and the a capella contrapuntal chorus was left behind, a stately monument upon the receding401 shores of the Middle Age.
[Note. A very important agent in stimulating402 a revival403 of interest in the mediaeval polyphonic school is the St. Cecilia Society, which was founded at Regensburg in 1868 by Dr. Franz Xaver Witt, a devoted priest [181] and learned musician, for the purpose of restoring a more perfect relation between music and the liturgy and erecting404 a barrier against the intrusion of dramatic and virtuoso405 tendencies. Flourishing branches of this society exist in many of the chief church centres of Europe and America. It is the patron of schools of music, it has issued periodicals, books, and musical compositions, and has shown much vigor58 in making propaganda for its views.
Not less intelligent and earnest is the Schola Cantorum of Paris, which is exerting a strong influence upon church music in the French capital and thence throughout the world by means of musical performances, editions of musical works, lectures, and publications of books and essays.]
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1 noted | |
adj.著名的,知名的 | |
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2 ass | |
n.驴;傻瓜,蠢笨的人 | |
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3 epoch | |
n.(新)时代;历元 | |
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4 ecclesiastic | |
n.教士,基督教会;adj.神职者的,牧师的,教会的 | |
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5 psalms | |
n.赞美诗( psalm的名词复数 );圣诗;圣歌;(中的) | |
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6 psalm | |
n.赞美诗,圣诗 | |
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7 Christian | |
adj.基督教徒的;n.基督教徒 | |
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8 purely | |
adv.纯粹地,完全地 | |
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9 unison | |
n.步调一致,行动一致 | |
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10 melodic | |
adj.有旋律的,调子美妙的 | |
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11 petrified | |
adj.惊呆的;目瞪口呆的v.使吓呆,使惊呆;变僵硬;使石化(petrify的过去式和过去分词) | |
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12 artistic | |
adj.艺术(家)的,美术(家)的;善于艺术创作的 | |
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13 unlimited | |
adj.无限的,不受控制的,无条件的 | |
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14 drawn | |
v.拖,拉,拔出;adj.憔悴的,紧张的 | |
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15 constraints | |
强制( constraint的名词复数 ); 限制; 约束 | |
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16 prosody | |
n.诗体论,作诗法 | |
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17 vocal | |
adj.直言不讳的;嗓音的;n.[pl.]声乐节目 | |
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18 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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19 attain | |
vt.达到,获得,完成 | |
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20 maturity | |
n.成熟;完成;(支票、债券等)到期 | |
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21 labor | |
n.劳动,努力,工作,劳工;分娩;vi.劳动,努力,苦干;vt.详细分析;麻烦 | |
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22 virtue | |
n.德行,美德;贞操;优点;功效,效力 | |
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23 splendor | |
n.光彩;壮丽,华丽;显赫,辉煌 | |
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24 pathos | |
n.哀婉,悲怆 | |
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25 tinged | |
v.(使)发丁丁声( ting的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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26 hues | |
色彩( hue的名词复数 ); 色调; 信仰; 观点 | |
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27 belie | |
v.掩饰,证明为假 | |
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28 turmoil | |
n.骚乱,混乱,动乱 | |
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29 skeptical | |
adj.怀疑的,多疑的 | |
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30 rebellious | |
adj.造反的,反抗的,难控制的 | |
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31 longing | |
n.(for)渴望 | |
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32 mingled | |
混合,混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 ); 混进,与…交往[联系] | |
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33 allurements | |
n.诱惑( allurement的名词复数 );吸引;诱惑物;有诱惑力的事物 | |
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34 chaste | |
adj.贞洁的;有道德的;善良的;简朴的 | |
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35 pious | |
adj.虔诚的;道貌岸然的 | |
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36 pervaded | |
v.遍及,弥漫( pervade的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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37 ecstasy | |
n.狂喜,心醉神怡,入迷 | |
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38 celestial | |
adj.天体的;天上的 | |
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39 anticipation | |
n.预期,预料,期望 | |
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40 exquisite | |
adj.精美的;敏锐的;剧烈的,感觉强烈的 | |
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41 sincerity | |
n.真诚,诚意;真实 | |
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42 simplicity | |
n.简单,简易;朴素;直率,单纯 | |
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43 manifestations | |
n.表示,显示(manifestation的复数形式) | |
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44 manifestation | |
n.表现形式;表明;现象 | |
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45 hymn | |
n.赞美诗,圣歌,颂歌 | |
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46 scantily | |
adv.缺乏地;不充足地;吝啬地;狭窄地 | |
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47 chapel | |
n.小教堂,殡仪馆 | |
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48 chapels | |
n.小教堂, (医院、监狱等的)附属礼拜堂( chapel的名词复数 );(在小教堂和附属礼拜堂举行的)礼拜仪式 | |
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49 reverent | |
adj.恭敬的,虔诚的 | |
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50 sculptors | |
雕刻家,雕塑家( sculptor的名词复数 ); [天]玉夫座 | |
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51 inter | |
v.埋葬 | |
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52 craftsmen | |
n. 技工 | |
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53 scripture | |
n.经文,圣书,手稿;Scripture:(常用复数)《圣经》,《圣经》中的一段 | |
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54 worthy | |
adj.(of)值得的,配得上的;有价值的 | |
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55 versatile | |
adj.通用的,万用的;多才多艺的,多方面的 | |
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56 applied | |
adj.应用的;v.应用,适用 | |
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57 corps | |
n.(通信等兵种的)部队;(同类作的)一组 | |
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58 vigor | |
n.活力,精力,元气 | |
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59 embellish | |
v.装饰,布置;给…添加细节,润饰 | |
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60 pictorial | |
adj.绘画的;图片的;n.画报 | |
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61 auspices | |
n.资助,赞助 | |
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62 renaissance | |
n.复活,复兴,文艺复兴 | |
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63 culminated | |
v.达到极点( culminate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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64 remarkable | |
adj.显著的,异常的,非凡的,值得注意的 | |
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65 admiration | |
n.钦佩,赞美,羡慕 | |
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66 initiated | |
n. 创始人 adj. 新加入的 vt. 开始,创始,启蒙,介绍加入 | |
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67 possessed | |
adj.疯狂的;拥有的,占有的 | |
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68 susceptible | |
adj.过敏的,敏感的;易动感情的,易受感动的 | |
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69 secular | |
n.牧师,凡人;adj.世俗的,现世的,不朽的 | |
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70 politic | |
adj.有智虑的;精明的;v.从政 | |
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71 promising | |
adj.有希望的,有前途的 | |
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72 antiquated | |
adj.陈旧的,过时的 | |
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73 austere | |
adj.艰苦的;朴素的,朴实无华的;严峻的 | |
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74 fascination | |
n.令人着迷的事物,魅力,迷恋 | |
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75 Forsaken | |
adj. 被遗忘的, 被抛弃的 动词forsake的过去分词 | |
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76 abstruse | |
adj.深奥的,难解的 | |
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77 obsolete | |
adj.已废弃的,过时的 | |
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78 notation | |
n.记号法,表示法,注释;[计算机]记法 | |
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79 peculiar | |
adj.古怪的,异常的;特殊的,特有的 | |
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80 appreciation | |
n.评价;欣赏;感谢;领会,理解;价格上涨 | |
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81 vitality | |
n.活力,生命力,效力 | |
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82 exponent | |
n.倡导者,拥护者;代表人物;指数,幂 | |
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83 piety | |
n.虔诚,虔敬 | |
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84 tempting | |
a.诱人的, 吸引人的 | |
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85 forth | |
adv.向前;向外,往外 | |
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86 seclusion | |
n.隐遁,隔离 | |
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87 choirs | |
n.教堂的唱诗班( choir的名词复数 );唱诗队;公开表演的合唱团;(教堂)唱经楼 | |
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88 choir | |
n.唱诗班,唱诗班的席位,合唱团,舞蹈团;v.合唱 | |
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89 influential | |
adj.有影响的,有权势的 | |
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90 laboring | |
n.劳动,操劳v.努力争取(for)( labor的现在分词 );苦干;详细分析;(指引擎)缓慢而困难地运转 | |
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91 insinuating | |
adj.曲意巴结的,暗示的v.暗示( insinuate的现在分词 );巧妙或迂回地潜入;(使)缓慢进入;慢慢伸入 | |
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92 anthem | |
n.圣歌,赞美诗,颂歌 | |
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93 refinement | |
n.文雅;高尚;精美;精制;精炼 | |
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94 constructive | |
adj.建设的,建设性的 | |
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95 instinctive | |
adj.(出于)本能的;直觉的;(出于)天性的 | |
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96 remains | |
n.剩余物,残留物;遗体,遗迹 | |
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97 prophesying | |
v.预告,预言( prophesy的现在分词 ) | |
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98 bondage | |
n.奴役,束缚 | |
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99 rhythmical | |
adj.有节奏的,有韵律的 | |
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100 rhythmically | |
adv.有节奏地 | |
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101 incapable | |
adj.无能力的,不能做某事的 | |
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102 elicited | |
引出,探出( elicit的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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103 dynamics | |
n.力学,动力学,动力,原动力;动态 | |
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104 antiquity | |
n.古老;高龄;古物,古迹 | |
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105 projection | |
n.发射,计划,突出部分 | |
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106 authentic | |
a.真的,真正的;可靠的,可信的,有根据的 | |
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107 formerly | |
adv.从前,以前 | |
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108 divergence | |
n.分歧,岔开 | |
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109 oblique | |
adj.斜的,倾斜的,无诚意的,不坦率的 | |
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110 alludes | |
提及,暗指( allude的第三人称单数 ) | |
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111 speculation | |
n.思索,沉思;猜测;投机 | |
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112 expended | |
v.花费( expend的过去式和过去分词 );使用(钱等)做某事;用光;耗尽 | |
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113 conjecture | |
n./v.推测,猜测 | |
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114 tuned | |
adj.调谐的,已调谐的v.调音( tune的过去式和过去分词 );调整;(给收音机、电视等)调谐;使协调 | |
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115 tune | |
n.调子;和谐,协调;v.调音,调节,调整 | |
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116 constrained | |
adj.束缚的,节制的 | |
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117 treadmill | |
n.踏车;单调的工作 | |
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118 concession | |
n.让步,妥协;特许(权) | |
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119 preponderating | |
v.超过,胜过( preponderate的现在分词 ) | |
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120 technically | |
adv.专门地,技术上地 | |
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121 postulate | |
n.假定,基本条件;vt.要求,假定 | |
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122 component | |
n.组成部分,成分,元件;adj.组成的,合成的 | |
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123 euphony | |
n.悦耳的语音 | |
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124 monkish | |
adj.僧侣的,修道士的,禁欲的 | |
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125 alteration | |
n.变更,改变;蚀变 | |
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126 fabric | |
n.织物,织品,布;构造,结构,组织 | |
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127 inevitable | |
adj.不可避免的,必然发生的 | |
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128 mellifluous | |
adj.(音乐等)柔美流畅的 | |
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129 primitive | |
adj.原始的;简单的;n.原(始)人,原始事物 | |
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130 dissonant | |
adj.不和谐的;不悦耳的 | |
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131 intervals | |
n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 );间隔时间;[数学]区间;(戏剧、电影或音乐会的)幕间休息 | |
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132 interval | |
n.间隔,间距;幕间休息,中场休息 | |
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133 consecutive | |
adj.连续的,联贯的,始终一贯的 | |
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134 scholastic | |
adj.学校的,学院的,学术上的 | |
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135 dexterity | |
n.(手的)灵巧,灵活 | |
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136 plodding | |
a.proceeding in a slow or dull way | |
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137 apprenticeship | |
n.学徒身份;学徒期 | |
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138 apprentice | |
n.学徒,徒弟 | |
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139 expressive | |
adj.表现的,表达…的,富于表情的 | |
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140 arduous | |
adj.艰苦的,费力的,陡峭的 | |
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141 melodious | |
adj.旋律美妙的,调子优美的,音乐性的 | |
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142 varied | |
adj.多样的,多变化的 | |
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143 euphonious | |
adj.好听的,悦耳的,和谐的 | |
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144 mazes | |
迷宫( maze的名词复数 ); 纷繁复杂的规则; 复杂难懂的细节; 迷宫图 | |
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145 texture | |
n.(织物)质地;(材料)构造;结构;肌理 | |
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146 tenor | |
n.男高音(歌手),次中音(乐器),要旨,大意 | |
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147 utterance | |
n.用言语表达,话语,言语 | |
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148 simultaneously | |
adv.同时发生地,同时进行地 | |
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149 unity | |
n.团结,联合,统一;和睦,协调 | |
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150 acting | |
n.演戏,行为,假装;adj.代理的,临时的,演出用的 | |
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151 tributary | |
n.支流;纳贡国;adj.附庸的;辅助的;支流的 | |
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152 imperative | |
n.命令,需要;规则;祈使语气;adj.强制的;紧急的 | |
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153 complexity | |
n.复杂(性),复杂的事物 | |
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154 reigned | |
vi.当政,统治(reign的过去式形式) | |
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155 subtleties | |
细微( subtlety的名词复数 ); 精细; 巧妙; 细微的差别等 | |
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156 recondite | |
adj.深奥的,难解的 | |
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157 entangled | |
adj.卷入的;陷入的;被缠住的;缠在一起的v.使某人(某物/自己)缠绕,纠缠于(某物中),使某人(自己)陷入(困难或复杂的环境中)( entangle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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158 tangled | |
adj. 纠缠的,紊乱的 动词tangle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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159 neophyte | |
n.新信徒;开始者 | |
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160 uncouth | |
adj.无教养的,粗鲁的 | |
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161 graceful | |
adj.优美的,优雅的;得体的 | |
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162 pedantic | |
adj.卖弄学问的;迂腐的 | |
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163 structural | |
adj.构造的,组织的,建筑(用)的 | |
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164 fully | |
adv.完全地,全部地,彻底地;充分地 | |
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165 cloister | |
n.修道院;v.隐退,使与世隔绝 | |
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166 cloistered | |
adj.隐居的,躲开尘世纷争的v.隐退,使与世隔绝( cloister的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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167 justify | |
vt.证明…正当(或有理),为…辩护 | |
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168 futility | |
n.无用 | |
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169 amiably | |
adv.和蔼可亲地,亲切地 | |
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170 adornment | |
n.装饰;装饰品 | |
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171 extemporized | |
v.即兴创作,即席演奏( extemporize的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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172 testimony | |
n.证词;见证,证明 | |
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173 skilful | |
(=skillful)adj.灵巧的,熟练的 | |
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174 hurls | |
v.猛投,用力掷( hurl的第三人称单数 );大声叫骂 | |
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175 wrath | |
n.愤怒,愤慨,暴怒 | |
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176 censor | |
n./vt.审查,审查员;删改 | |
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177 bellowing | |
v.发出吼叫声,咆哮(尤指因痛苦)( bellow的现在分词 );(愤怒地)说出(某事),大叫 | |
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178 uproar | |
n.骚动,喧嚣,鼎沸 | |
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179 jumbling | |
混杂( jumble的现在分词 ); (使)混乱; 使混乱; 使杂乱 | |
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180 preposterous | |
adj.荒谬的,可笑的 | |
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181 notably | |
adv.值得注意地,显著地,尤其地,特别地 | |
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182 ridicule | |
v.讥讽,挖苦;n.嘲弄 | |
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183 pontifical | |
adj.自以为是的,武断的 | |
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184 rebuke | |
v.指责,非难,斥责 [反]praise | |
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185 illustrate | |
v.举例说明,阐明;图解,加插图 | |
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186 lust | |
n.性(淫)欲;渴(欲)望;vi.对…有强烈的欲望 | |
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187 chaotic | |
adj.混沌的,一片混乱的,一团糟的 | |
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188 adoption | |
n.采用,采纳,通过;收养 | |
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189 persistent | |
adj.坚持不懈的,执意的;持续的 | |
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190 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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191 patronage | |
n.赞助,支援,援助;光顾,捧场 | |
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192 dominions | |
统治权( dominion的名词复数 ); 领土; 疆土; 版图 | |
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193 actively | |
adv.积极地,勤奋地 | |
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194 corrupt | |
v.贿赂,收买;adj.腐败的,贪污的 | |
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195 hymns | |
n.赞美诗,圣歌,颂歌( hymn的名词复数 ) | |
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196 chamber | |
n.房间,寝室;会议厅;议院;会所 | |
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197 worthily | |
重要地,可敬地,正当地 | |
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198 cultivation | |
n.耕作,培养,栽培(法),养成 | |
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199 canonical | |
n.权威的;典型的 | |
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200 precisely | |
adv.恰好,正好,精确地,细致地 | |
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201 craftiest | |
狡猾的,狡诈的( crafty的最高级 ) | |
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202 guileful | |
adj.狡诈的,诡计多端的 | |
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203 brutal | |
adj.残忍的,野蛮的,不讲理的 | |
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204 zealous | |
adj.狂热的,热心的 | |
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205 zeal | |
n.热心,热情,热忱 | |
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206 slaughter | |
n.屠杀,屠宰;vt.屠杀,宰杀 | |
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207 misery | |
n.痛苦,苦恼,苦难;悲惨的境遇,贫苦 | |
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208 supremacy | |
n.至上;至高权力 | |
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209 vassals | |
n.奴仆( vassal的名词复数 );(封建时代)诸侯;从属者;下属 | |
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210 steadily | |
adv.稳定地;不变地;持续地 | |
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211 accomplished | |
adj.有才艺的;有造诣的;达到了的 | |
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212 nurture | |
n.养育,照顾,教育;滋养,营养品;vt.养育,给与营养物,教养,扶持 | |
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213 nurtured | |
养育( nurture的过去式和过去分词 ); 培育; 滋长; 助长 | |
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214 pliable | |
adj.易受影响的;易弯的;柔顺的,易驾驭的 | |
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215 artifice | |
n.妙计,高明的手段;狡诈,诡计 | |
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216 cloisters | |
n.(学院、修道院、教堂等建筑的)走廊( cloister的名词复数 );回廊;修道院的生活;隐居v.隐退,使与世隔绝( cloister的第三人称单数 ) | |
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217 adepts | |
n.专家,能手( adept的名词复数 ) | |
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218 improvise | |
v.即兴创作;临时准备,临时凑成 | |
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219 Augmented | |
adj.增音的 动词augment的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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220 inverted | |
adj.反向的,倒转的v.使倒置,使反转( invert的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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221 portentous | |
adj.不祥的,可怕的,装腔作势的 | |
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222 faculty | |
n.才能;学院,系;(学院或系的)全体教学人员 | |
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223 labored | |
adj.吃力的,谨慎的v.努力争取(for)( labor的过去式和过去分词 );苦干;详细分析;(指引擎)缓慢而困难地运转 | |
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224 revelled | |
v.作乐( revel的过去式和过去分词 );狂欢;着迷;陶醉 | |
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225 subtlety | |
n.微妙,敏锐,精巧;微妙之处,细微的区别 | |
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226 perfectly | |
adv.完美地,无可非议地,彻底地 | |
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227 labyrinths | |
迷宫( labyrinth的名词复数 ); (文字,建筑)错综复杂的 | |
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228 dwelling | |
n.住宅,住所,寓所 | |
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229 poetic | |
adj.富有诗意的,有诗人气质的,善于抒情的 | |
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230 pertinent | |
adj.恰当的;贴切的;中肯的;有关的;相干的 | |
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231 promotion | |
n.提升,晋级;促销,宣传 | |
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232 syllable | |
n.音节;vt.分音节 | |
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233 pier | |
n.码头;桥墩,桥柱;[建]窗间壁,支柱 | |
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234 majesty | |
n.雄伟,壮丽,庄严,威严;最高权威,王权 | |
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235 devoted | |
adj.忠诚的,忠实的,热心的,献身于...的 | |
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236 shrine | |
n.圣地,神龛,庙;v.将...置于神龛内,把...奉为神圣 | |
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237 judgment | |
n.审判;判断力,识别力,看法,意见 | |
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238 cardinals | |
红衣主教( cardinal的名词复数 ); 红衣凤头鸟(见于北美,雄鸟为鲜红色); 基数 | |
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239 contented | |
adj.满意的,安心的,知足的 | |
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240 bishops | |
(基督教某些教派管辖大教区的)主教( bishop的名词复数 ); (国际象棋的)象 | |
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241 impure | |
adj.不纯净的,不洁的;不道德的,下流的 | |
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242 lascivious | |
adj.淫荡的,好色的 | |
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243 jurisdiction | |
n.司法权,审判权,管辖权,控制权 | |
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244 minor | |
adj.较小(少)的,较次要的;n.辅修学科;vi.辅修 | |
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245 propriety | |
n.正当行为;正当;适当 | |
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246 profane | |
adj.亵神的,亵渎的;vt.亵渎,玷污 | |
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247 profanation | |
n.亵渎 | |
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248 strenuous | |
adj.奋发的,使劲的;紧张的;热烈的,狂热的 | |
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249 abolition | |
n.废除,取消 | |
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250 inevitably | |
adv.不可避免地;必然发生地 | |
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251 elevation | |
n.高度;海拔;高地;上升;提高 | |
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252 potent | |
adj.强有力的,有权势的;有效力的 | |
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253 renown | |
n.声誉,名望 | |
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254 dubiously | |
adv.可疑地,怀疑地 | |
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255 versed | |
adj. 精通,熟练 | |
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256 culmination | |
n.顶点;最高潮 | |
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257 essentially | |
adv.本质上,实质上,基本上 | |
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258 condemned | |
adj. 被责难的, 被宣告有罪的 动词condemn的过去式和过去分词 | |
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259 subdued | |
adj. 屈服的,柔和的,减弱的 动词subdue的过去式和过去分词 | |
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260 abounding | |
adj.丰富的,大量的v.大量存在,充满,富于( abound的现在分词 ) | |
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261 tinted | |
adj. 带色彩的 动词tint的过去式和过去分词 | |
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262 embodied | |
v.表现( embody的过去式和过去分词 );象征;包括;包含 | |
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263 sensuous | |
adj.激发美感的;感官的,感觉上的 | |
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264 condemnation | |
n.谴责; 定罪 | |
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265 avarice | |
n.贪婪;贪心 | |
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266 corruption | |
n.腐败,堕落,贪污 | |
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267 indifference | |
n.不感兴趣,不关心,冷淡,不在乎 | |
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268 humiliation | |
n.羞辱 | |
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269 accusations | |
n.指责( accusation的名词复数 );指控;控告;(被告发、控告的)罪名 | |
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270 unimpeachable | |
adj.无可指责的;adv.无可怀疑地 | |
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271 enjoyments | |
愉快( enjoyment的名词复数 ); 令人愉快的事物; 享有; 享受 | |
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272 aggrandizement | |
n.增大,强化,扩大 | |
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273 sufficiently | |
adv.足够地,充分地 | |
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274 sublime | |
adj.崇高的,伟大的;极度的,不顾后果的 | |
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275 founders | |
n.创始人( founder的名词复数 ) | |
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276 Founder | |
n.创始者,缔造者 | |
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277 agitated | |
adj.被鼓动的,不安的 | |
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278 ferment | |
vt.使发酵;n./vt.(使)激动,(使)动乱 | |
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279 mundane | |
adj.平凡的;尘世的;宇宙的 | |
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280 engrossing | |
adj.使人全神贯注的,引人入胜的v.使全神贯注( engross的现在分词 ) | |
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281 sanctuary | |
n.圣所,圣堂,寺庙;禁猎区,保护区 | |
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282 affected | |
adj.不自然的,假装的 | |
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283 luxurious | |
adj.精美而昂贵的;豪华的 | |
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284 inordinate | |
adj.无节制的;过度的 | |
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285 liturgy | |
n.礼拜仪式 | |
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286 impelled | |
v.推动、推进或敦促某人做某事( impel的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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287 consummate | |
adj.完美的;v.成婚;使完美 [反]baffle | |
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288 attainment | |
n.达到,到达;[常pl.]成就,造诣 | |
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289 tonic | |
n./adj.滋补品,补药,强身的,健体的 | |
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290 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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291 modulation | |
n.调制 | |
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292 concoction | |
n.调配(物);谎言 | |
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293 strictly | |
adv.严厉地,严格地;严密地 | |
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294 monotonous | |
adj.单调的,一成不变的,使人厌倦的 | |
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295 cohesion | |
n.团结,凝结力 | |
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296 chromatic | |
adj.色彩的,颜色的 | |
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297 cadence | |
n.(说话声调的)抑扬顿挫 | |
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298 obviate | |
v.除去,排除,避免,预防 | |
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299 revolving | |
adj.旋转的,轮转式的;循环的v.(使)旋转( revolve的现在分词 );细想 | |
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300 systematically | |
adv.有系统地 | |
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301 tranquil | |
adj. 安静的, 宁静的, 稳定的, 不变的 | |
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302 serene | |
adj. 安详的,宁静的,平静的 | |
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303 repose | |
v.(使)休息;n.安息 | |
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304 apparently | |
adv.显然地;表面上,似乎 | |
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305 onward | |
adj.向前的,前进的;adv.向前,前进,在先 | |
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306 fixed | |
adj.固定的,不变的,准备好的;(计算机)固定的 | |
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307 constituent | |
n.选民;成分,组分;adj.组成的,构成的 | |
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308 constituents | |
n.选民( constituent的名词复数 );成分;构成部分;要素 | |
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309 thither | |
adv.向那里;adj.在那边的,对岸的 | |
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310 throbbing | |
a. 跳动的,悸动的 | |
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311 analyzing | |
v.分析;分析( analyze的现在分词 );分解;解释;对…进行心理分析n.分析 | |
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312 conspicuous | |
adj.明眼的,惹人注目的;炫耀的,摆阔气的 | |
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313 aesthetic | |
adj.美学的,审美的,有美感 | |
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314 modulated | |
已调整[制]的,被调的 | |
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315 timbre | |
n.音色,音质 | |
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316 analogous | |
adj.相似的;类似的 | |
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317 mere | |
adj.纯粹的;仅仅,只不过 | |
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318 components | |
(机器、设备等的)构成要素,零件,成分; 成分( component的名词复数 ); [物理化学]组分; [数学]分量; (混合物的)组成部分 | |
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319 sonority | |
n.响亮,宏亮 | |
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320 elimination | |
n.排除,消除,消灭 | |
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321 concord | |
n.和谐;协调 | |
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322 lustrous | |
adj.有光泽的;光辉的 | |
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323 tints | |
色彩( tint的名词复数 ); 带白的颜色; (淡色)染发剂; 痕迹 | |
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324 engraver | |
n.雕刻师,雕工 | |
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325 compensating | |
补偿,补助,修正 | |
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326 delicacy | |
n.精致,细微,微妙,精良;美味,佳肴 | |
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327 distinguished | |
adj.卓越的,杰出的,著名的 | |
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328 splendors | |
n.华丽( splendor的名词复数 );壮丽;光辉;显赫 | |
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329 emulated | |
v.与…竞争( emulate的过去式和过去分词 );努力赶上;计算机程序等仿真;模仿 | |
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330 ineffable | |
adj.无法表达的,不可言喻的 | |
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331 impersonal | |
adj.无个人感情的,与个人无关的,非人称的 | |
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332 impersonality | |
n.无人情味 | |
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333 attaining | |
(通常经过努力)实现( attain的现在分词 ); 达到; 获得; 达到(某年龄、水平、状况) | |
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334 intensity | |
n.强烈,剧烈;强度;烈度 | |
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335 unprecedented | |
adj.无前例的,新奇的 | |
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336 pageants | |
n.盛装的游行( pageant的名词复数 );穿古代服装的游行;再现历史场景的娱乐活动;盛会 | |
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337 climax | |
n.顶点;高潮;v.(使)达到顶点 | |
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338 adventurous | |
adj.爱冒险的;惊心动魄的,惊险的,刺激的 | |
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339 cumulative | |
adj.累积的,渐增的 | |
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340 grandeur | |
n.伟大,崇高,宏伟,庄严,豪华 | |
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341 profusion | |
n.挥霍;丰富 | |
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342 fervent | |
adj.热的,热烈的,热情的 | |
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343 resounds | |
v.(指声音等)回荡于某处( resound的第三人称单数 );产生回响;(指某处)回荡着声音 | |
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344 fiery | |
adj.燃烧着的,火红的;暴躁的;激烈的 | |
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345 eminent | |
adj.显赫的,杰出的,有名的,优良的 | |
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346 embryo | |
n.胚胎,萌芽的事物 | |
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347 amorphous | |
adj.无定形的 | |
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348 potency | |
n. 效力,潜能 | |
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349 disciples | |
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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350 fervor | |
n.热诚;热心;炽热 | |
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351 lavish | |
adj.无节制的;浪费的;vt.慷慨地给予,挥霍 | |
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352 permeated | |
弥漫( permeate的过去式和过去分词 ); 遍布; 渗入; 渗透 | |
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353 penetrate | |
v.透(渗)入;刺入,刺穿;洞察,了解 | |
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354 devout | |
adj.虔诚的,虔敬的,衷心的 (n.devoutness) | |
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355 supplication | |
n.恳求,祈愿,哀求 | |
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356 liturgical | |
adj.礼拜仪式的 | |
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357 ordinances | |
n.条例,法令( ordinance的名词复数 ) | |
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358 albeit | |
conj.即使;纵使;虽然 | |
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359 followers | |
追随者( follower的名词复数 ); 用户; 契据的附面; 从动件 | |
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360 inviolate | |
adj.未亵渎的,未受侵犯的 | |
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361 irresistible | |
adj.非常诱人的,无法拒绝的,无法抗拒的 | |
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362 precept | |
n.戒律;格言 | |
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363 secularization | |
n.凡俗化,还俗,把教育从宗教中分离 | |
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364 authoritative | |
adj.有权威的,可相信的;命令式的;官方的 | |
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365 derive | |
v.取得;导出;引申;来自;源自;出自 | |
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366 solely | |
adv.仅仅,唯一地 | |
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367 accretion | |
n.自然的增长,增加物 | |
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368 justification | |
n.正当的理由;辩解的理由 | |
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369 emblem | |
n.象征,标志;徽章 | |
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370 emblematic | |
adj.象征的,可当标志的;象征性 | |
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371 definitive | |
adj.确切的,权威性的;最后的,决定性的 | |
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372 symbolic | |
adj.象征性的,符号的,象征主义的 | |
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373 liberates | |
解放,释放( liberate的第三人称单数 ) | |
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374 edifying | |
adj.有教训意味的,教训性的,有益的v.开导,启发( edify的现在分词 ) | |
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375 pervasive | |
adj.普遍的;遍布的,(到处)弥漫的;渗透性的 | |
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376 motive | |
n.动机,目的;adv.发动的,运动的 | |
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377 civic | |
adj.城市的,都市的,市民的,公民的 | |
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378 distinctive | |
adj.特别的,有特色的,与众不同的 | |
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379 rivalry | |
n.竞争,竞赛,对抗 | |
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380 awe | |
n.敬畏,惊惧;vt.使敬畏,使惊惧 | |
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381 laity | |
n.俗人;门外汉 | |
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382 clergy | |
n.[总称]牧师,神职人员 | |
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383 isolated | |
adj.与世隔绝的 | |
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384 conformity | |
n.一致,遵从,顺从 | |
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385 exalted | |
adj.(地位等)高的,崇高的;尊贵的,高尚的 | |
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386 reverberate | |
v.使回响,使反响 | |
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387 symbolized | |
v.象征,作为…的象征( symbolize的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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388 cloistral | |
adj.修道院的,隐居的,孤独的 | |
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389 exultation | |
n.狂喜,得意 | |
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390 yearns | |
渴望,切盼,向往( yearn的第三人称单数 ) | |
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391 alleged | |
a.被指控的,嫌疑的 | |
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392 latitude | |
n.纬度,行动或言论的自由(范围),(pl.)地区 | |
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393 nuance | |
n.(意义、意见、颜色)细微差别 | |
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394 license | |
n.执照,许可证,特许;v.许可,特许 | |
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395 improvised | |
a.即席而作的,即兴的 | |
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396 supplanted | |
把…排挤掉,取代( supplant的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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397 detailed | |
adj.详细的,详尽的,极注意细节的,完全的 | |
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398 mantle | |
n.斗篷,覆罩之物,罩子;v.罩住,覆盖,脸红 | |
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399 scanty | |
adj.缺乏的,仅有的,节省的,狭小的,不够的 | |
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400 embellished | |
v.美化( embellish的过去式和过去分词 );装饰;修饰;润色 | |
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401 receding | |
v.逐渐远离( recede的现在分词 );向后倾斜;自原处后退或避开别人的注视;尤指问题 | |
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402 stimulating | |
adj.有启发性的,能激发人思考的 | |
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403 revival | |
n.复兴,复苏,(精力、活力等的)重振 | |
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404 erecting | |
v.使直立,竖起( erect的现在分词 );建立 | |
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405 virtuoso | |
n.精于某种艺术或乐器的专家,行家里手 | |
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