This violent reversal of the traditions of Catholic music was simply a detail of that universal revolution in musical practice and ideal which marked the passage from the sixteenth century to the seventeenth. The learned music of Europe had been for centuries almost exclusively in the care of ecclesiastical and princely chapels28, and its practitioners29 held offices that were primarily clerical. The professional musicians, absorbed in churchly functions, had gone on adding masses to masses, motets to motets, and hymns30 to hymns, until the Church had accumulated a store of sacred song so vast that it remains32 the admiration33 and despair of modern scholars. These works, although exhibiting every stage of construction from the simplest to the most intricate, were all framed in accordance with principles derived34 from the mediaeval conception [185] of melodic35 combination. The secular songs which these same composers produced in great numbers, notwithstanding their greater flexibility36 and lightness of touch, were also written for chorus, usually unaccompanied, and were theoretically constructed according to the same system as the church pieces. Nothing like operas or symphonies existed; there were no orchestras worthy37 of the name; pianoforte, violin, and organ playing, in the modern sense, had not been dreamed of; solo singing was in its helpless infancy38. When we consider, in the light of our present experience, how large a range of emotion that naturally utters itself in tone was left unrepresented through this lack of a proper secular art of music, we can understand the urgency of the demand which, at the close of the sixteenth century, broke down the barriers that hemmed39 in the currents of musical production and swept music out into the vast area of universal human interests. The spirit of the Renaissance40 had led forth41 all other art forms to share in the multifarious activities and joys of modern life at a time when music was still the satisfied inmate42 of the cloister43. But it was impossible that music also should not sooner or later feel the transfiguring touch of the new human impulse. The placid44, austere45 expression of the clerical style, the indefinite forms, the Gregorian modes precluding46 free dissonance and regulated chromatic47 change, were incapable48 of rendering49 more than one order of ideas. A completely novel system must be forthcoming, or music must confess its impotence to enter into the fuller emotional life which had lately been revealed to mankind.
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The genius of Italy was equal to the demand. Usually when any form of art becomes complete a period of degeneracy follows; artists become mere50 imitators, inspiration and creative power die out, the art becomes a handicraft; new growth appears only in another period or another nation, and under altogether different auspices. Such would perhaps have been the case with church music in Italy if a method diametrically opposed to that which had so long prevailed in the Church had not inaugurated a new school and finally extended its conquest into the venerable precincts of the Church itself. The opera and instrumental music—the two currents into which secular music divided—sprang up, as from hidden fountains, right beside the old forms which were even then just attaining51 their full glory, as if to show that the Italian musical genius so abounded52 in energy that it could never undergo decay, but when it had gone to its utmost limits in one direction could instantly strike out in another still more brilliant and productive.
The invention of the opera about the year 1600 is usually looked upon as the event of paramount53 importance in the transition period of modern music history, yet it was only the most striking symptom of a radical54, sweeping tendency. Throughout the greater part of the sixteenth century a search had been in progress after a style of music suited to the solo voice, which could lend itself to the portrayal of the change and development of emotion involved in dramatic representation. The folk-song, which is only suited to the expression of a single simple frame of mind, was of course inadequate55. The old church music was admirably adapted to the expression [187] of the consciousness of man in his relations to the divine—what was wanted was a means of expressing the emotions of man in his relations to his fellow-men. Lyric56 and dramatic poetry flourished, but no proper lyric or dramatic music. The Renaissance had done its mighty57 work in all other fields of art, but so far as music was concerned in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries a Renaissance did not exist. Many reasons might be given why the spirit of the Renaissance had no appreciable58 effect in the musical world until late in the sixteenth century. Musical forms are purely subjective59 in their conception; they find no models or even suggestions in the natural world, and the difficulty of choosing the most satisfactory arrangements of tones out of an almost endless number of possible combinations, together with the necessity of constantly new adjustments of the mind in order to appreciate the value of the very forms which itself creates, makes musical development a matter of peculiar60 slowness and difficulty. The enthusiasm for the antique, which gave a definite direction to the revival61 of learning and the new ambitions in painting and sculpture, could have little practical value in musical invention, since the ancient music, which would otherwise have been chosen as a guide, had been completely lost. The craving62 for a style of solo singing suited to dramatic purposes tried to find satisfaction by means that were childishly insufficient63. Imitations of folk-songs, the device of singing one part in a madrigal64, while the other parts were played by instruments, were some of the futile65 efforts to solve the problem. The sense of disappointment broke forth in bitter wrath66 [188] against the church counterpoint, and a violent conflict raged between the bewildered experimenters and the adherents67 of the scholastic68 methods.
The discovery that was to satisfy the longings69 of a century and create a new art was made in Florence. About the year 1580 a circle of scholars, musicians, and amateurs began to hold meetings at the house of a certain Count Bardi, where they discussed, among other learned questions, the nature of the music of the Greeks, and the possibility of its restoration. Theorizing was supplemented by experiment, and at last Vincenzo Galilei, followed by Giulio Caccini, hit upon a mode of musical declamation71, half speech and half song, which was enthusiastically hailed as the long-lost style employed in the Athenian drama. A somewhat freer and more melodious72 manner was also admitted in alternation with the dry, formless recitation, and these two related methods were employed in the performance of short lyric, half-dramatic monologues73. Such were the Monodies of Galilei and the Nuove Musiche of Caccini. More ambitious schemes followed. Mythological74 masquerades and pastoral comedies, which had held a prominent place in the gorgeous spectacles and pageants75 of the Italian court festivals ever since the thirteenth century, were provided with settings of the new declamatory music, or stile recitativo, and behold76, the opera was born.
The Florentine inventors of dramatic music builded better than they knew. They had no thought of setting music free upon a new and higher flight; they never dreamed of the consequences of releasing melody from [189] the fetters77 of counterpoint. Their sole intention was to make poetry more expressive78 and emphatic79 by the employment of tones that would heighten the natural inflections of speech, and in which there should be no repetition or extension of words (as in the contrapuntal style) involving a subordination of text to musical form. The ideal of recitative was the expression of feeling by a method that permits the text to follow the natural accent of declamatory speech, unrestrained by a particular musical form or tonality, and dependent only upon the support of the simplest kind of instrumental accompaniment. In this style of music, said Caccini, speech is of the first importance, rhythm second, and tone last of all. These pioneers of dramatic music, as they declared over and over again, simply desired a form of music that should allow the words to be distinctly understood. They condemned81 counterpoint, not on musical grounds, but because it allowed the text to be obscured and the natural rhythm broken. There was no promise of a new musical era in such an anti-musical pronunciamento as this. But a relation between music and poetry in which melody renounces83 all its inherent rights could not long be maintained. The genius of Italy in the seventeenth century was musical, not poetic84. Just so soon as the infinite possibilities of charm that lie in free melody were once perceived, no theories of Platonizing pedants85 could check its progress. The demands of the new age, reinforced by the special Italian gift of melody, created an art form in which absolute music triumphed over the feebler claims of poetry and rhetoric87. The cold, calculated Florentine [190] music-drama gave way to the vivacious88, impassioned opera of Venice and Naples. Although the primitive89 dry recitative survived, the far more expressive accompanied recitative was evolved from it, and the grand aria90 burst into radiant life out of the brief lyrical sections which the Florentines had allowed to creep into their tedious declamatory scenes. Vocal colorature, which had already appeared in the dramatic pieces of Caccini, became the most beloved means of effect. The little group of simple instruments employed in the first Florentine music-dramas was gradually merged91 in the modern full orchestra. The original notion of making the poetic and scenic93 intention paramount was forgotten, and the opera became cultivated solely94 as a means for the display of all the fascinations95 of vocalism.
Thus a new motive97 took complete possession of the art of music. By virtue of the new powers revealed to them, composers would now strive to enter all the secret precincts of the soul and give a voice to every emotion, simple or complex, called forth by solitary98 meditation99 or by situations of dramatic stress and conflict. Music, like painting and poetry, should now occupy the whole world of human experience. The stupendous achievements of the tonal art of the past two centuries are the outcome of this revolutionary impulse. But not at once could music administer the whole of her new possession. She must pass through a course of training in technic, to a certain extent as she had done in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, but under far more favorable conditions and quite different circumstances. The shallowness of the greater part [191] of the music of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries is partly due to the difficulty that composers found in mastering the new forms. A facility in handling the material must be acquired before there could be any clear consciousness of the possibilities of expression which the new forms contained. The first problem in vocal music was the development of a method of technic; and musical taste, fascinated by the new sensation, ran into an extravagant100 worship of the human voice. There appeared in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries the most brilliant group of singers, of both sexes, that the world has ever seen. The full extent of the morbid101, we might almost say the insane, passion for sensuous102, nerve-exciting tone is sufficiently103 indicated by the encouragement in theatre and church of those outrages104 upon nature, the male soprano and alto. A school of composers of brilliant melodic genius appeared in Italy, France, and Germany, who supplied these singers with showy and pathetic music precisely105 suited to their peculiar powers. Italian melody and Italian vocalism became the reigning sensation in European society, and the opera easily took the primacy among fashionable amusements. The Italian grand opera, with its solemn travesty106 of antique characters and scenes, its mock heroics, its stilted107 conventionalities, its dramatic feebleness and vocal glitter, was a lively reflection of the taste of this age of “gallant” poetry, rococo108 decoration, and social artificiality. The musical element consisted of a succession of arias109 and duets stitched together by a loose thread of secco recitative. The costumes were those of contemporary fashion, although the characters [192] were named after worthies110 of ancient Greece and Rome. The plots were in no sense historic, but consisted of love tales and conspiracies111 concocted112 by the playwright113. Truth to human nature and to locality was left to the despised comic opera. Yet we must not suppose that the devotees of this music were conscious of its real superficiality. They adored it not wholly because it was sensational114, but because they believed it true in expression; and indeed it was true to those light and transient sentiments which the voluptuaries of the theatre mistook for the throbs115 of nature. Tender and pathetic these airs often were, but it was the affected116 tenderness and pathos117 of fashionable eighteenth-century literature which they represented. To the profounder insight of the present they seem to express nothing deeper than the make-believe emotions of children at their play.
Under such sanctions the Italian grand aria became the dominant118 form of melody. Not the appeal to the intellect and the genuine experiences of the heart was required of the musical performer, but rather brilliancy of technic and seductiveness of tone. Ephemeral nerve excitement, incessant119 novelty within certain conventional bounds, were the demands laid by the public upon composer and singer. The office of the poet became hardly less mechanical than that of the costumer or the decorator. Composers, with a few exceptions, yielded to the prevailing120 fashion, and musical dramatic art lent itself chiefly to the portrayal of stereotyped121 sentiments and the gratification of the sense. I would not be understood as denying the germ of truth that lay in this art element contributed by Italy to the modern [193] world. Its later results were sublime122 and beneficent, for Italian melody has given direction to well-nigh all the magnificent achievements of secular music in the past two centuries. I am speaking here of the first outcome of the infatuation it produced, in the breaking down of the taste for the severe and elevated, and the production of a transient, often demoralizing intoxication123.
It was not long before the charming Italian melody undertook the conquest of the Church. The popular demand for melody and solo singing overcame the austere traditions of ecclesiastical song. The dramatic and concert style invaded the choir124 gallery. The personnel of the choirs125 was altered, and women, sometimes male sopranos and altos, took the place of boys. The prima donna, with her trills and runs, made the choir gallery the parade ground for her arts of fascination96. The chorus declined in favor of the solo, and the church aria vied with the opera aria in bravura126 and languishing127 pathos. Where the chorus was retained in mass, motet, or hymn31, it abandoned the close-knit contrapuntal texture128 in favor of a simple homophonic structure, with strongly marked rhythmical movement. The orchestral accompaniment also lent to the composition a vivid dramatic coloring, and brilliant solos for violins and flutes129 seemed often to convert the sanctuary130 into a concert hall. All this was inevitable131, for the Catholic musicians of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries were artists as well as churchmen; they shared the aesthetic132 convictions of their time, and could not be expected to forego the opportunities for effect which the new methods put into their hands. They were [194] no longer dependent upon the Church for commissions; the opera house and the salon133 gave them sure means of subsistence and fame. The functions of church and theatre composers were often united in a single man. The convents and cathedral chapels were made training-schools for the choir and the opera stage on equal terms. It was in a monk’s cell that Bernacchi and other world-famous opera singers of the eighteenth century were educated. Ecclesiastics134 united with aristocratic laymen135 in the patronage136 of the opera; cardinals137 and archbishops owned theatre boxes, and it was not considered in the least out of character for monks138 and priests to write operas and superintend their performance. Under such conditions it is not strange that church and theatre reacted upon each other, and that the sentimental139 style, beloved in opera house and salon, should at last be accepted as the proper vehicle of devotional feeling.
In this adornment140 of the liturgy in theatrical141 costume we find a singular parallel between the history of church music in the transition period and that of religious painting in the period of the Renaissance. Pictorial142 art had first to give concrete expression to the conceptions evolved under the influence of Christianity, and since the whole intent of the pious144 discipline was to turn the thought away from actual mundane145 experience, art avoided the representation of ideal physical loveliness on the one hand and a scientific historical correctness on the other. Hence arose the na?ve, emblematic146 pictures of the fourteenth century, whose main endeavor was to attract and indoctrinate with delineations that were [195] symbolic147 and intended mainly for edification. Painting was one of the chief means employed by the Church to impart instruction to a constituency to whom writing was almost inaccessible148. Art, therefore, even when emancipated149 from Byzantine formalism, was still essentially150 hieratic, and the painter willingly assumed a semi-sacerdotal office as the efficient coadjutor of the preacher and the confessor. With the fifteenth century came the inrush of the antique culture, uniting with native Italian tendencies to sweep art away into a passionate151 quest of beauty wherever it might be found. The conventional religious subjects and the traditional modes of treatment could no longer satisfy those whose eyes had been opened to the magnificent materials for artistic152 treatment that lay in the human form, draped and undraped, in landscape, atmosphere, color, and light and shade, and who had been taught by the individualistic trend of the age that the painter is true to his genius only as be frees himself from formulas and follows the leadings of his own instincts. But art could not wholly renounce82 its original pious mission. The age was at least nominally153 Christian143, sincerely so in many of its elements, and the patronage of the arts was still to a very large extent in the hands of the clergy154. And here the Church prudently155 consented to a modification156 of the established ideals of treatment of sacred themes. The native Italian love of elegance157 of outline, harmony of form, and splendor158 of color, directed by the study of the antique, overcame the earlier austerity and effected a combination of Christian tradition and pagan sensuousness159 which, in such work as that of Correggio and the [196] great Venetians, and even at times in the pure Raphael and the stern Michael Angelo, quite belied160 the purpose of ecclesiastical art, aiming not to fortify161 dogma and elevate the spirit, but to gratify the desire of the eye and the delight in the display of technical skill. Painting no longer conformed to a traditional religious type; it followed its genius, and that genius was really inspired by the splendors162 of earth, however much it might persuade itself that it ministered to holiness.
A noted163 example of this self-deception, although an extreme one, is the picture entitled “The Marriage at Cana,” by Paolo Veronese. Christ is the central figure, but his presence has no vital significance. He is simply an imposing164 Venetian grandee165, and the enormous canvas, with its crowd of figures elegantly attired166 in fashionable sixteenth-century costume, its profusion167 of sumptuous168 dishes and gorgeous tapestries169, is nothing more or less than a representation of a Venetian state banquet. Signorelli and Michael Angelo introduced naked young men into pictures of the Madonna and infant Christ. Others, such as Titian, lavished170 all the resources of their art with apparently172 equal enthusiasm upon Madonnas and nude173 Venuses. The other direction which was followed by painting, aiming at historical verity174 and rigid175 accuracy in anatomy176 and expression, may be illustrated177 by comparing Rubens’s “Crucifixion” in the Antwerp Museum with a crucifixion, for example, by Fra Angelico. Each motive was sincere, but the harsh realism of the Fleming shows how far art, even in reverent179 treatment of religious themes, had departed from the unhistoric symbolism formerly180 imposed by the [197] Church. In all this there was no disloyal intention; art had simply issued its declaration of independence; its sole aim was henceforth beauty and reality; the body as well as the soul seemed worthy of study and adoration182; and the Church adopted the new skill into its service, not seeing that the world was destined183 to be the gainer, and not religion.
The same impulse produced analogous184 results in the music of the Catholic Church. The liturgic texts that were appropriated to choral setting remained, as they had been, the place and theoretic function of the musical offices in the ceremonial were not altered, but the music, in imitating the characteristics of the opera and exerting a somewhat similar effect upon the mind, became animated185 by an ideal of devotion quite apart from that of the liturgy, and belied that unimpassioned, absorbed and universalized mood of worship of which the older forms of liturgic art are the most complete and consistent embodiment. Herein is to be found the effect of the spirit of the Renaissance upon church music. It is not simply that it created new musical forms, new styles of performance, and a more definite expression; the significance of the change lies rather in the fact that it transformed the whole spirit of devotional music by endowing religious themes with sensuous charm, and with a treatment inspired by the arbitrary will of the composer and not by the traditions of the Church.
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At this point we reach the real underlying186 motive, however unconscious of it individual composers may have been, which compelled the revolution in liturgic music. A new ideal of devotional expression made inevitable the abandonment of the formal, academic style of the Palestrina school. The spirit of the age which required a more subjective expression in music, involved a demand for a more definite characterization in the setting of the sacred texts. The composer could no longer be satisfied with a humble187 imitation of the forms which the Church had sealed as the proper expression of her attitude toward the divine mysteries, but claimed the privilege of coloring the text according to the dictates189 of his own feeling as a man and his peculiar method as an artist. The mediaeval music was that of the cloister and the chapel27. It was elevated, vague, abstract; it was as though it took up into itself all the particular and temporary emotions that might be called forth by the sacred history and articles of belief, and sifted190 and refined them into a generalized type, special individual experience being dissolved in the more diffused191 sense of awe192 and rapture193 which fills the hearts of an assembly in the attitude of worship. It was the mood of prayer which this music uttered, and that not the prayer of an individual agitated194 by his own personal hopes and fears, but the prayer of the Church, which embraces all the needs which the believers share in common, and offers them at the Mercy Seat with the calmness that comes of reverent confidence. Thus in the old masses the Kyrie eleison and the Miserere nobis are never agonizing195; the Crucifixus does not attempt to portray9 the grief of an imaginary spectator of the scene on Calvary; the Gloria in excelsis and the Sanctus never force the jubilant tone into a frenzied196 excitement; the setting of the Dies Irae in the Requiem197 mass makes no attempt to paint a realistic picture of the terrors of the day of judgment198.
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Now compare a typical mass of the modern dramatic school and see how different is the conception. The music of Gloria and Credo revels199 in all the opportunities for change and contrast which the varied200 text supplies; the Dona nobis pacem dies away in strains of tender longing70. Consider the mournful undertone that throbs through the Crucifixus of Schubert’s Mass in A flat, the terrifying crash that breaks into the Miserere nobis in the Gloria of Beethoven’s Mass in D, the tide of ecstasy201 that surges through the Sanctus of Gounod’s St. Cecilia Mass and the almost cloying202 sweetness of the Agnus Dei, the uproar203 of brass204 instruments in the Tuba mirum of Berlioz’s Requiem. Observe the strong similarity of style at many points between Verdi’s Requiem and his opera “A?da.” In such works as these, which are fairly typical of the modern school, the composer writes under an independent impulse, with no thought of subordinating himself to ecclesiastical canons or liturgic usage. He attempts not only to depict205 his own state of mind as affected by the ideas of the text, but he also often aims to make his music picturesque207 according to dramatic methods. He does not seem to be aware that there is a distinction between religious concert music and church music. The classic example of this confusion is in the Dona nobis pacem of Beethoven’s Missa Solemnis, where the composer introduces a train of military music in order to suggest the contrasted horrors of war. This device, as Beethoven employs it, is exceedingly striking and beautiful, but it is precisely antagonistic208 to the [200] meaning of the text and the whole spirit of the liturgy. The conception of a large amount of modern mass music seems to be, not that the ritual to which it belongs is prayer, but rather a splendid spectacle intended to excite the imagination and fascinate the sense. It is this altered conception, lying at the very basis of the larger part of modern church music, that leads such writers as Jakob to refuse even to notice the modern school in his sketch209 of the history of Catholic church music, just as Rio condemns210 Titian as the painter who mainly contributed to the decay of religious painting.
In the Middle Age artists were grouped in schools or in guilds211, each renouncing213 his right of initiative and shaping his productions in accordance with the legalized formulas of his craft. The modern artist is a separatist, his glory lies in the degree to which he rises above hereditary214 technic, and throws into his work a personal quality which becomes his own creative gift to the world. The church music of the sixteenth century was that of a school; the composers, although not actually members of a guild212, worked on exactly the same technical foundations, and produced masses and motets of a uniformity that often becomes academic and monotonous215. The modern composer carries into church pieces his distinct personal style. The grandeur216 and violent contrasts of Beethoven’s symphonies, the elegiac tone of Schubert’s songs, the enchantments217 of melody and the luxuries of color in the operas of Verdi and Gounod, are also characteristic marks of the masses of these composers. The older music could follow the text submissively, for there was no prescribed musical form to be worked out, and [201] cadences could occur whenever a sentence came to an end. The modern forms, on the other hand, consisting of consecutive218 and proportional sections, imply the necessity of contrast, development, and climax—an arrangement that is not necessitated219 by any corresponding system in the text. This alone would often result in a lack of congruence between text and music, and the composer would easily fall into the way of paying more heed220 to the sheer musical working out than to the meaning of the words. Moreover, in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries there was no radical conflict between the church musical style and the secular; so far as secular music was cultivated by the professional composers it was no more than a slight variation from the ecclesiastical model. Profane221 music may be said to have been a branch of religious music. In the modern period this relationship is reversed; secular music in opera and instrumental forms has remoulded church music, and the latter is in a sense a branch of the former.
Besides the development of the sectional form, another technical change acted to break down the old obstacles to characteristic expression. An essential feature of the mediaeval music, consequent upon the very nature of the Gregorian modes, was the very slight employment of chromatic alteration222 of notes, and the absence of free dissonances. Modulation223 in the modern sense cannot exist in a purely diatonic scheme. The breaking up of the modal system was foreshadowed when composers became impatient with the placidity224 and colorlessness of the modal harmonies and began to introduce unexpected dissonances for the sake of variety. The [202] chromatic changes that occasionally appear in the old music are scattered225 about in a hap-hazard fashion; they give an impression of helplessness to the modern ear when the composer seems about to make a modulation and at once falls back again into the former tonality. It was a necessity, therefore, as well as a virtue, that the church music of the old régime should maintain the calm, equable flow that seems to us so pertinent226 to its liturgic intention. For these reasons it may perhaps be replied to what has been said concerning the devotional ideal embodied227 in the calm, severe strains of the old masters, that they had no choice in the matter. Does it follow, it may be asked, that these men would not have written in the modern style if they had had the means? Some of them probably would have done so, others almost certainly would not. Many writers who carried the old form into the seventeenth century did have the choice and resisted it; they stanchly defended the traditional principles and condemned the new methods as destructive of pure church music. The laws that work in the development of ecclesiastical art also seem to require that music should pass through the same stages as those that sculpture and painting traversed,—first, the stage of symbolism, restraint within certain conventions in accordance with ecclesiastical prescription228; afterwards, the deliverance from the trammels of school formulas, emancipation230 from all laws but those of the free determination of individual genius. At this point authority ceases, dictation gives way to persuasion231, and art still ministers to the higher ends of the Church, not through fear, but through reverence232 for the teachings and appeals which the Church sends forth as her contribution to the nobler influences of the age.
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The writer who would trace the history of the modern musical mass has a task very different from that which meets the historian of the mediaeval period. In the latter case, as has already been shown, generalization233 is comparatively easy, for we deal with music in which differences of nationality and individual style hardly appear. The modern Catholic music, on the other hand, follows the currents that shape the course of secular music. Where secular music becomes formalized, as in the early Italian opera, religious music tends to sink into a similar routine. When, on the other hand, men of commanding genius, such as Beethoven, Berlioz, Liszt, Verdi, contribute works of a purely individual stamp to the general development of musical art, their church compositions form no exception, but are likewise sharply differentiated234 from others of the same class. The influence of nationality makes itself felt—there is a style characteristic of Italy, another of South Germany and Austria, another of Paris, although these distinctions tend to disappear under the solvent235 of modern cosmopolitanism236. The Church does not positively237 dictate188 any particular norm or method, and hence local tendencies have run their course almost unchecked.
Catholic music has shared all the fluctuations238 of European taste. The levity239 of the eighteenth and early part of the nineteenth centuries was as apparent in the mass as in the opera. The uplift in musical culture during the last one hundred years has carried church composition along with it, so that almost all the works [204] produced since Palestrina, of which the Church has most reason to be proud, belong to the nineteenth century. One of the ultimate results of the modern license240 in style and the tendency toward individual expression is the custom of writing masses as free compositions rather than for liturgic uses, and of performing them in public halls or theatres in the same manner as oratorios241. Mozart wrote his Requiem to the order of a private patron. Beethoven’s Missa Solemnis, not being ready when wanted for a consecration243 ceremony, outgrew244 the dimensions of a service mass altogether, and was finished without any liturgic purpose in view. Cherubini’s mass in D minor245 and Liszt’s Gran Mass were each composed for a single occasion, and both of them, like the Requiems246 of Berlioz and Dvo?ák, although often heard in concerts, have but very rarely been performed in church worship. Masses have even been written by Protestants, such as Bach, Schumann, Hauptmann, Richter, and Becker. Masses that are written under the same impulse as ordinary concert and dramatic works easily violate the ecclesiastical spirit, and pass into the category of religious works that are non-churchly, and it may often seem necessary to class them with cantatas247 on account of their semi-dramatic tone. In such productions as Bach’s B minor Mass, Beethoven’s Missa Solemnis, and Berlioz’s Requiem we have works that constitute a separate phase of art, not masses in the proper sense, for they do not properly blend with the church ceremonial nor contribute to the special devotional mood which the Church aims to promote, while yet in their general conception they are held by a loose band to the altar. So apart do these mighty creations stand that they may almost be said to glorify248 religion in the abstract rather than the confession249 of the Catholic Church.
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The changed conditions in respect to patronage have had the same effect upon the mass as upon other departments of musical composition. In former periods down to the close of the eighteenth century, the professional composer was almost invariably a salaried officer, attached as a personal retainer to a court, lay or clerical, and bound to conform his style of composition in a greater or less degree to the tastes of his employer. A Sixtus V. could reprove Palestrina for failing to please with a certain mass and admonish250 him to do better work in the future. Haydn could hardly venture to introduce any innovation into the style of religious music sanctioned by his august masters, the Esterhazys. Mozart wrote all his masses, with the exception of the Requiem, for the chapel of the prince archbishop of Salzburg. In this establishment the length of the mass was prescribed, the mode of writing and performance, which had become traditional, hindered freedom of development, and therefore Mozart’s works of this class everywhere give evidence of constraint251. On the other hand, the leading composers of the present century that have occupied themselves with the mass have been free from such arbitrary compulsions. They have written masses, not as a part of routine duty, but as they were inspired by the holy words and by the desire to offer the free gift of their genius at the altar of the Church. They have been, as a rule, devoted252 churchmen, but they [206] have felt that they had the sympathy of the Church in asserting the rights of the artist as against prelatical conservatism and local usage. The outcome is seen in a group of works which, whatever the strict censors253 may deem their defects in edifying254 quality, at least indicate that in the field of musical art there is no necessary conflict between Catholicism and the free spirit of the age.
Under these conditions the mass in the modern musical era has taken a variety of directions and assumed distinct national and individual complexions255. The Neapolitan school, which gave the law to Italian opera in the eighteenth century, endowed the mass with the same soft sensuousness of melody and sentimental pathos of expression, together with a dry, calculated kind of harmony in the chorus portions, the work never touching256 deep chords of feeling, and yet preserving a tone of sobriety and dignity. As cultivated in Italy and France the mass afterward229 degenerated257 into rivalry258 on equal terms with the shallow, captivating, cloying melody of the later Neapolitans and their successors, Rossini and Bellini. In this school of so-called religious music all sense of appropriateness was often lost, and a florid, profane treatment was not only permitted but encouraged. Perversions259 which can hardly be called less than blasphemous260 had free rein86 in the ritual music. Franz Liszt, in a letter to a Paris journal, written in 1835, bitterly attacks the music that flaunted261 itself in the Catholic churches of the city. He complains of the sacrilegious virtuoso262 displays of the prima donna, the wretched choruses, the vulgar antics of the organist playing galops and variations from comic operas in the most solemn [207] moments of the holy ceremony. Similar testimony263 has from time to time come from Italy, and it would appear that the most lamentable264 lapses266 from the pure church tradition have occurred in some of the very places where one would expect that the strictest principles would be loyally maintained. The most celebrated267 surviving example of the consequences to which the virtuoso tendencies in church music must inevitably268 lead when unchecked by a truly pious criticism is Rossini’s Stabat Mater. This frivolous269 work is frequently performed with great éclat in Catholic places of worship, as though the clergy were indifferent to the almost incredible levity which could clothe the heart-breaking pathos of Jacopone’s immortal270 hymn—a hymn properly honored by the Church with a place among the five great Sequences—with strains better suited to the sprightly271 abandon of opera buffa.
Another branch of the mass was sent by the Neapolitan school into Austria, and here the results, although unsatisfactory to the better taste of the present time, were far nobler and more fruitful than in Italy and France. The group of Austrian church composers, represented by the two Haydns, Mozart, Eybler, Neukomm, Sechter and others of the period, created a form of church music which partook of much of the dry, formal, pedantic272 spirit of the day, in which regularity273 of form, scientific correctness, and a conscious propriety274 of manner were often more considered than emotional fervor275. Certain conventions, such as a florid contrapuntal treatment of the Kyrie with its slow introduction followed by an Allegro276, the fugues at the Cum Sanctu Spiritu [208] and the Et Vitam, the regular alternation of solo and chorus numbers, give the typical Austrian mass a somewhat rigid, perfunctory air, and in practice produce the effect which always results when expression becomes stereotyped and form is exalted277 over substance. Mozart’s masses, with the exception of the beautiful Requiem (which was his last work and belongs in a different category), were the production of his boyhood, written before his genius became self-assertive and under conditions distinctly unfavorable to the free exercise of the imagination.
The masses of Joseph Haydn stand somewhat apart from the strict Austrian school, for although as a rule they conform externally to the local conventions, they are far more individual and possess a freedom and buoyancy that are decidedly personal. It has become the fashion among the sterner critics of church music to condemn80 Haydn’s masses without qualification, as conspicuous278 examples of the degradation279 of taste in religious art which is one of the depressing legacies280 of the eighteenth century. Much of this censure281 is deserved, for Haydn too often loses sight of the law which demands that music should reinforce, and not contradict, the meaning and purpose of the text. Haydn’s mass style is often indistinguishable from his oratorio242 style. His colorature arias are flippant, often introduced at such solemn moments as to be offensive. Even where the voice part is subdued282 to an appropriate solemnity, the desired impression is frequently destroyed by some tawdry flourish in the orchestra. The brilliancy of the choruses is often pompous283 and hollow. Haydn’s genius [209] was primarily instrumental; he was the virtual creator of the modern symphony and string quartet; his musical forms and modes of expression were drawn284 from two diverse sources which it was his great mission to conciliate and idealize, viz., the Italian aristocratic opera, and the dance and song of the common people. An extraordinary sense of form and an instinctive285 sympathy with whatever is spontaneous, genial286, and racy made him what he was. The joviality287 of his nature was irrepressible. To write music of a sombre cast was out of his power. There is not a melancholy288 strain in all his works; pensiveness289 was as deep a note as he could strike. He tried to defend the gay tone of his church music by saying that he had such a sense of the goodness of God that he could not be otherwise than joyful290 in thinking of him. This explanation was perfectly sincere, but Haydn was not enough of a philosopher to see the weak spot in this sort of aesthetics291. Yet in spite of the obvious faults of Haydn’s mass style, looking at it from a historic point of view, it was a promise of advance, and not a sign of degeneracy. For it marked the introduction of genuine, even if misdirected feeling into worship music, in the place of dull conformity292 to routine. Haydn was far indeed from solving the problem of church music, but he helped to give new life to a form that showed danger of becoming atrophied293.
Two masses of world importance rise above the mediocrity of the Austrian school, like the towers of some Gothic cathedral above the monotonous tiled roofs of a mediaeval city,—the Requiem of Mozart and the Missa Solemnis of Beethoven. The unfinished masterpiece [210] of Mozart outsoars all comparison with the religious works of his youth, and as his farewell to the world he could impart to it a tone of pathos and exaltation which had hardly been known in the cold, objective treatment of the usual eighteenth-century mass. The hand of death was upon Mozart as he penned the immortal pages of the Requiem, and in this crisis he could feel that he was free from the dictation of fashion and precedent294. This work is perhaps not all that we might look for in these solemn circumstances. Mozart’s exquisite295 genius was suited rather to the task, in which lies his true glory, of raising the old Italian opera to its highest possibilities of grace and truth to nature. He had not that depth of feeling and sweep of imagination which make the works of Bach, H?ndel, and Beethoven the sublimest296 expression of awe in view of the mysteries of life and death. Yet it is wholly free from the fripperies which disfigure the masses of Haydn, as well as from the dry scholasticism of much of Mozart’s own early religious work. Such movements as the Confutatis, the Recordare, and the Lacrimosa—movements inexpressibly earnest, consoling, and pathetic—gave evidence that a new and loftier spirit had entered the music of the Church.
The Missa Solemnis of Beethoven, composed 1818-1822, can hardly be considered from the liturgic point of view. In the vastness of its dimensions it is quite disproportioned to the ceremony to which it theoretically belongs, and its almost unparalleled difficulty of execution and the grandeur of its choral climaxes297 remove it beyond the reach of all but the most exceptional [211] choirs. It is, therefore, performed only as a concert work by choral societies with a full orchestral equipment. For these reasons it is not to be classed with the service masses of the Catholic Church, but may be placed beside the B minor Mass of Sebastian Bach, both holding a position outside all ordinary comparisons. Each of these colossal298 creations stands on its own solitary eminence299, the projection300 in tones of the religious conceptions of two gigantic, all-comprehending intellects. For neither of these two works is the Catholic Church strictly301 responsible. They do not proceed from within the Church. Bach was a strict Protestant; Beethoven, although nominally a disciple302 of the Catholic Church, had almost no share in her communion, and his religious belief, so far as the testimony goes, was a sort of pantheistic mysticism. Both these supreme303 artists in the later periods of their careers gave free rein to their imaginations and not only well-nigh exceeded all available means of performance, but also seemed to strive to force musical forms and the powers of instruments and voices beyond their limits in the efforts to realize that which is unrealizable through any human medium. In this endeavor they went to the very verge6 of the sublime, and produced achievements which excite wonder and awe. These two masses defy all imitation, and represent no school. The spirit of individualism in religious music can go no further.
The last masses of international importance produced on Austrian soil are those of Franz Schubert. Of his six Latin masses four are youthful works, pure and graceful304, but not especially significant. In his E flat [212] and A flat masses, however, he takes a place in the upper rank of mass composers of this century. The E flat Mass is weakened by the diffuseness305 which was Schubert’s besetting306 sin; the A flat is more terse307 and sustained in excellence308, and thoroughly309 available for practical use. Both of them contain movements of purest ideal beauty and sincere worshipful spirit, and often rise to a grandeur that is unmarred by sensationalism and wholly in keeping with the tone of awe which pervades310 even the most exultant312 moments of the liturgy.
The lofty idealism exemplified in such works as Mozart’s Requiem, Beethoven’s Mass in D, Schubert’s last two masses, and in a less degree in Weber’s Mass in E flat has never since been lost from the German mass, in spite of local and temporary reactions. Such composers as Kiel, Havert, Grell, and Rheinberger have done noble service in holding German Catholic music fast to the tradition of seriousness and truth which has been taking form all through this century in German secular music. It must be said, however, that the German Catholic Church at large, especially in the country districts, has been too often dull to the righteous claims of the profounder expression of devotional feeling, and has maintained the vogue313 of the Italian mass and the shallower products of the Austrian school. Against this indifference314 the St. Cecilia Society has directed its noble missionary315 labors316, with as yet but partial success.
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If we turn our observation to Italy and France we find that the music of the Church is at every period sympathetically responsive to the fluctuations in secular music. Elevated and dignified317, if somewhat cold and constrained318, in the writings of the nobler spirits of the Neapolitan school such as Durante and Jomelli, sweet and graceful even to effeminacy in Pergolesi, sensuous and saccharine319 in Rossini, imposing and massive, rising at times to epic206 grandeur, in Cherubini, by turns ecstatic and voluptuous320 in Gounod, ardent321 and impassioned in Verdi—the ecclesiastical music of the Latin nations offers works of adorable beauty, sometimes true to the pure devotional ideal, sometimes perverse322, and by their isolation323 serving to illustrate178 the dependence181 of the church composer’s inspiration upon the general conditions of musical taste and progress. Not only were those musicians of France and Italy who were prominent as church composers also among the leaders in opera, but their ideals and methods in opera were closely paralleled by those displayed in their religious productions. It is impossible to separate the powerful masses of Cherubini, with their pomp and majesty324 of movement, their reserved and pathetic melody, their grandiose325 dimensions and their sumptuous orchestration, from those contemporary tendencies in dramatic art which issued in the “historic school” of grand opera as exemplified in the pretentious326 works of Spontini and Meyerbeer. They may be said to be the reflection in church art of the hollow splendor of French imperialism327. Such an expression, however, may be accused of failing in justice to the undeniable merits of Cherubini’s masses. As a man and as a musician Cherubini commands unbounded respect for his unswerving [214] sincerity328 in an age of sham329, his uncompromising assertion of his dignity as an artist in an age of sycophancy330, and the solid worth of his achievement in the midst of shallow aims and mediocre331 results. As a church composer he towers so high above his predecessors332 of the eighteenth century in respect to learning and imagination that his masses are not unworthy to stand beside Beethoven’s Missa Solemnis as auguries333 of the loftier aims that were soon to prevail in the realm of religious music. His Requiem in C minor, particularly, by reason of its exquisite tenderness, breadth of thought, nobility of expression, and avoidance of all excess either of agitation334 or of gloom, must be ranked among the most admirable modern examples of pure Catholic art.
The effort of Lesueur (1763-1837) to introduce into church music a picturesque and imitative style—which, in spite of much that was striking and attractive in result, must be pronounced a false direction in church music—was characteristically French and was continued in such works as Berlioz’s Requiem and to a certain extent in the masses and psalms335 of Liszt. The genius of Liszt, notwithstanding his Hungarian birth, was closely akin92 to the French in his tendency to connect every musical impulse with a picture or with some mental conception which could be grasped in distinct concrete outline. In his youth Liszt, in his despair over the degeneracy of liturgic music in France and its complete separation from the real life of the people, proclaimed the necessity of a rapprochement between church music and popular music. In an article written [215] for a Paris journal in 1834, which remains a fragment, he imagined a new style of religious music which should “unite in colossal relations theatre and church, which should be at the same time dramatic and solemn, imposing and simple, festive336 and earnest, fiery337 and unconstrained, stormy and reposeful338, clear and fervent339.” These expressions are too vague to serve as a program for a new art movement. They imply, however, a protest against the one-sided operatic tendency of the day, at the same time indicating the conviction that the problem is not to be solved in a pedantic reaction toward the ancient austere ideal, and yet that the old and new endeavors, liturgic appropriateness and characteristic expression, reverence of mood and recognition of the claims of contemporary taste, should in some way be made to harmonize. The man who all his life conceived the theatre as a means of popular education, and who strove to realize that conception as court music director at Weimar, would also lament265 any alienation340 between the church ceremony and the intellectual and emotional habitudes and inclinations342 of the people. A devoted churchman reverencing343 the ancient ecclesiastical tradition, and at the same time a musical artist of the advanced modern type, Liszt’s instincts yearned344 more or less blindly towards an alliance between the sacerdotal conception of religious art and the general artistic spirit of the age. Some such vision evidently floated before his mind in the masses, psalms, and oratorios of his later years, as shown in their frequent striving after the picturesque, together with an inclination341 toward the older ecclesiastical forms. These two ideals are probably incompatible345; at any rate Liszt did not possess the genius to unite them in a convincing manner.
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Among the later ecclesiastical composers of France, Gounod shines out conspicuously346 by virtue of those fascinating melodic gifts which have made the fame of the St. Cecilia mass almost conterminous with that of the opera “Faust.” Indeed, there is hardly a better example of the modern propensity347 of the dramatic and religious styles to reflect each other’s lineaments than is found in the close parallelism which appears in Gounod’s secular and church productions. So liable, or perhaps we might say, so neutral is his art, that a similar quality of melting cadence21 is made to portray the mutual348 avowals of love-lorn souls and the raptures349 of heavenly aspiration350. Those who condemn Gounod’s religious music on this account as sensuous have some reason on their side, yet no one has ever ventured to accuse Gounod of insincerity, and it may well be that his wide human sympathy saw enough correspondence between the worship of an earthly ideal and that of a heavenly—each implying the abandonment of self-consciousness in the yearning351 for a happiness which is at the moment the highest conceivable—as to make the musical expression of both essentially similar. This is to say that the composer forgets liturgic claims in behalf of the purely human. This principle no doubt involves the destruction of church music as a distinctive352 form of art, but it is certain that the world at large, as evinced by the immense popularity of Gounod’s religious works, sees no incongruity353 and does not feel that such [217] usage is profane. Criticism on the part of all but the most austere is disarmed354 by the pure, seraphic beauty which this complacent355 art of Gounod often reveals. The intoxicating356 sweetness of his melody and harmony never sinks to a Rossinian flippancy357. Of Gounod’s reverence for the Church and for its art ideals, there can be no question. A man’s views of the proper tone of church music will be controlled largely by his temperament358, and Gounod’s temperament was as warm as an Oriental’s. He offered to the Church his best, and as the Magi brought gold, frankincense, and myrrh to a babe born among cattle in a stable, so Gounod, with a consecration equally sincere, clothed his prayers in strains so ecstatic that compared with them the most impassioned accents of “Faust” and “Romeo and Juliet” are tame. He was a profound student of Palestrina, Mozart, and Cherubini, and strong traces of the styles of these masters are apparent in his works.
Somewhat similar qualities, although far less sensational, are found in the productions of that admirable band of organists and church composers that now lends such lustre359 to the art life of the French capital. The culture of such representatives of this school as Guilmant, Widor, Saint-Sa?ns, Dubois, Gigout is so solidly based, and their views of religious music so judicious360, that the methods and traditions which they are conscientiously361 engaged in establishing need only the reinforcement of still higher genius to bring forth works which will confer even greater honor upon Catholicism than she has yet received from the devotion of her [218] musical sons in France. No purer or nobler type of religious music has appeared in these latter days than is to be found in the compositions of César Franck (1822-1890). For the greater part of his life overlooked or disdained362 by all save a devoted band of disciples363, in spirit and in learning he was allied364 to the Palestrinas and the Bachs, and there are many who place him in respect to genius among the foremost of the French musicians of the nineteenth century.
The religious works of Verdi might be characterized in much the same terms as those of Gounod. In Verdi also we have a truly filial devotion to the Catholic Church, united with a temperament easily excited to a white heat when submitted to his musical inspiration, and a genius for melody and seductive harmonic combinations in which he is hardly equalled among modern composers. In his Manzoni Requiem, Stabat Mater, and Te Deum these qualities are no less in evidence than in “Aida” and “Otello,” and it would be idle to deny their devotional sincerity on account of their lavish171 profusion of nerve-exciting effects. The controversy365 between the contemners and the defenders366 of the Manzoni Requiem is now somewhat stale and need not be revived here. Any who may wish to resuscitate367 it, however, on account of the perennial368 importance of the question of what constitutes purity and appropriateness in church art, must in justice put themselves into imaginative sympathy with the racial religious feeling of an Italian, and make allowance also for the undeniable suggestion of the dramatic in the Catholic ritual, and for the natural effect of the Catholic ceremonial and its peculiar atmosphere upon the more ardent, enthusiastic order of minds.
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The most imposing contributions that have been made to Catholic liturgic music since Verdi’s Requiem are undoubtedly369 the Requiem Mass and the Stabat Mater of Dvo?ák. All the wealth of tone color which is contained upon the palette of this master of harmony and instrumentation has been laid upon these two magnificent scores. Inferior to Verdi in variety and gorgeousness of melody, the Bohemian composer surpasses the great Italian in massiveness, dignity, and in unfailing good taste. There can be no question that Dvo?ák’s Stabat Mater is supreme over all other settings—the only one, except Verdi’s much shorter work, that is worthy of the pathos and tenderness of this immortal Sequence. The Requiem of Dvo?ák in spite of a tendency to monotony, is a work of exceeding beauty, rising often to grandeur, and is notable, apart from its sheer musical qualities, as the most precious gift to Catholic art that has come from the often rebellious370 land of Bohemia.
It would be profitless to attempt to predict the future of Catholic church music. In the hasty survey which we have made of the Catholic mass in the past three centuries we have been able to discover no law of development except the almost unanimous agreement of the chief composers to reject law and employ the sacred text of Scripture371 and liturgy as the basis of works in which not the common consciousness of the Church shall be expressed, but the emotions aroused by the action of sacred ideas upon different temperaments372 and [220] divergent artistic methods. There is no sign that this principle of individual liberty will be renounced373. Nevertheless, the increasing deference374 that is paid to authority, the growing study of the works and ideals of the past which is so apparent in the culture of the present day, will here and there issue in partial reactions. The mind of the present, having seen the successful working out of certain modern problems and the barrenness of others, is turning eclectic. Nowhere is this more evident than in the field of musical culture, both religious and secular. We see that in many influential375 circles the question becomes more and more insistent376, what is truth and appropriateness?—whereas formerly the demand was for novelty and “effect.” Under this better inspiration many beautiful works are produced which are marked by dignity, moderation, and an almost austere reserve, drawing a sharp distinction between the proper ecclesiastical tone and that suited to concert and dramatic music, restoring once more the idea of impersonality377, expressing in song the conception of the fathers that the Church is a refuge, a retreat from the tempests of the world, a place of penitence378 and restoration to confidence in the near presence of heaven.
Such masses as the Missa Solemnis of Beethoven, the D minor of Cherubini, the Messe Solennelle of Rossini, the St. Cecilia of Gounod, the Requiems of Berlioz and Verdi, sublime and unspeakably beautiful as they are from the broadly human standpoint, are yet in a certain sense sceptical. They reveal a mood of agitation which is not that intended by the ministrations of the Church in her organized acts of worship. And yet such works will [221] continue to be produced, and the Church will accept them, in grateful recognition of the sincere homage379 which their creation implies. It is of the nature of the highest artistic genius that it cannot restrain its own fierce impulses out of conformity to a type or external tradition. It will express its own individual emotion or it will become paralyzed and mute. The religious compositions that will humbly380 yield to a strict liturgic standard in form and expression will be those of writers of the third or fourth grade, just as the church hymns have been, with few exceptions, the production, not of the great poets, but of men of lesser381 artistic endowment, and who were primarily churchmen, and poets only by second intention. This will doubtless be the law for all time. The Michael Angelos, the Dantes, the Beethovens will forever break over rules, even though they be the rules of a beloved mother Church.
The time is past, however, when we may fear any degeneracy like to that which overtook church music one hundred or more years ago. The principles of such consecrated382 church musicians as Witt, Tinel, and the leaders of the St. Cecilia Society and the Paris Schola Cantorum, the influence of the will of the Church implied in all her admonitions on the subject of liturgic song, the growing interest in the study of the masters of the past, and, more than all, the growth of sound views of art as a detail of the higher and the popular education, must inevitably promote an increasing conviction among clergy, choir leaders, and people of the importance of purity and appropriateness in the music of the Church. The need of reform in many of the Catholic churches of this and other [222] countries is known to every one. Doubtless one cause of the frequent indifference, of priests to the condition of the choir music in their churches is the knowledge that the chorus and organ are after all but accessories; that the Church possesses in the Gregorian chant a form of song that is the legal, universal, and unchangeable foundation of the musical ceremony, and that any corruption383 in the gallery music can never by any possibility extend to the heart of the system. The Church is indeed fortunate in the possession of this altar song, the unifying384 chain which can never be loosened. All the more reason, therefore, why this consciousness of unity385 should pervade311 all portions of the ceremony, and the spirit of the liturgic chant should blend even with the large freedom of modern musical experiment.
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1
reigning
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| adj.统治的，起支配作用的 | |
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onward
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| adj.向前的，前进的；adv.向前，前进，在先 | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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vocal
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| adj.直言不讳的；嗓音的；n.[pl.]声乐节目 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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verge
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| n.边，边缘；v.接近，濒临 | |
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abounding
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| 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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portrayal
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| n.饰演；描画 | |
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portray
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| v.描写，描述；画(人物、景象等) | |
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predecessor
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| n.前辈，前任 | |
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ripened
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| v.成熟，使熟( ripen的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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immutability
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| n.不变(性) | |
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cardinal
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| n.(天主教的)红衣主教；adj.首要的，基本的 | |
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sweeping
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| adj.范围广大的，一扫无遗的 | |
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tenacious
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| adj.顽强的，固执的，记忆力强的，粘的 | |
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violation
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| n.违反(行为)，违背(行为)，侵犯 | |
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purely
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| adv.纯粹地，完全地 | |
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secular
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| n.牧师，凡人；adj.世俗的，现世的，不朽的 | |
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auspices
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| n.资助，赞助 | |
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nurtured
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| 养育( nurture的过去式和过去分词 )； 培育； 滋长； 助长 | |
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cadence
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| n.（说话声调的）抑扬顿挫 | |
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cadences
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| n.（声音的）抑扬顿挫( cadence的名词复数 )；节奏；韵律；调子 | |
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rhythmical
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| adj.有节奏的，有韵律的 | |
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liturgy
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| n.礼拜仪式 | |
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affiliations
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| n.联系( affiliation的名词复数 )；附属机构；亲和性；接纳 | |
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virtue
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| n.德行，美德；贞操；优点；功效，效力 | |
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chapel
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| n.小教堂，殡仪馆 | |
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chapels
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| 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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practitioners
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| n.习艺者，实习者( practitioner的名词复数 )；从业者（尤指医师） | |
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hymns
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| n.赞美诗，圣歌，颂歌( hymn的名词复数 ) | |
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hymn
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| n.赞美诗，圣歌，颂歌 | |
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32
remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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33
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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34
derived
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| vi.起源；由来；衍生；导出v.得到( derive的过去式和过去分词 )；（从…中）得到获得；源于；（从…中）提取 | |
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35
melodic
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| adj.有旋律的，调子美妙的 | |
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36
flexibility
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| n.柔韧性，弹性，（光的）折射性，灵活性 | |
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37
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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38
infancy
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| n.婴儿期；幼年期；初期 | |
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39
hemmed
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| 缝…的褶边( hem的过去式和过去分词 )； 包围 | |
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40
renaissance
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| n.复活，复兴，文艺复兴 | |
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41
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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42
inmate
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| n.被收容者；(房屋等的)居住人；住院人 | |
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43
cloister
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| n.修道院；v.隐退，使与世隔绝 | |
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44
placid
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| adj.安静的，平和的 | |
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45
austere
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| adj.艰苦的；朴素的，朴实无华的；严峻的 | |
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46
precluding
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| v.阻止( preclude的现在分词 )；排除；妨碍；使…行不通 | |
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47
chromatic
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| adj.色彩的，颜色的 | |
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48
incapable
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| adj.无能力的，不能做某事的 | |
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49
rendering
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| n.表现，描写 | |
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50
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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51
attaining
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| （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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52
abounded
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| v.大量存在，充满，富于( abound的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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53
paramount
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| a.最重要的，最高权力的 | |
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54
radical
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| n.激进份子，原子团，根号；adj.根本的，激进的，彻底的 | |
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55
inadequate
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| adj.(for,to)不充足的，不适当的 | |
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56
lyric
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| n.抒情诗，歌词；adj.抒情的 | |
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57
mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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58
appreciable
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| adj.明显的，可见的，可估量的，可觉察的 | |
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59
subjective
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| a.主观(上)的，个人的 | |
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60
peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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61
revival
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| n.复兴，复苏，（精力、活力等的）重振 | |
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62
craving
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| n.渴望,热望 | |
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63
insufficient
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| adj.(for，of)不足的，不够的 | |
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64
madrigal
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| n.牧歌；（流行于16和17世纪无乐器伴奏的）合唱歌曲 | |
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65
futile
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| adj.无效的，无用的，无希望的 | |
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66
wrath
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| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
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67
adherents
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| n.支持者，拥护者( adherent的名词复数 )；党羽；徒子徒孙 | |
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68
scholastic
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| adj.学校的，学院的，学术上的 | |
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69
longings
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| 渴望，盼望( longing的名词复数 ) | |
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70
longing
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| n.（for）渴望 | |
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71
declamation
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| n. 雄辩，高调 | |
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72
melodious
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| adj.旋律美妙的，调子优美的，音乐性的 | |
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73
monologues
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| n.（戏剧）长篇独白( monologue的名词复数 )；滔滔不绝的讲话；独角戏 | |
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74
mythological
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| adj.神话的 | |
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75
pageants
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| 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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76
behold
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| v.看，注视，看到 | |
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77
fetters
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| n.脚镣( fetter的名词复数 )；束缚v.给…上脚镣，束缚( fetter的第三人称单数 ) | |
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78
expressive
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| adj.表现的，表达…的，富于表情的 | |
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79
emphatic
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| adj.强调的，着重的；无可置疑的，明显的 | |
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80
condemn
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| vt.谴责，指责；宣判(罪犯)，判刑 | |
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81
condemned
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| 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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82
renounce
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| v.放弃；拒绝承认，宣布与…断绝关系 | |
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83
renounces
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| v.声明放弃( renounce的第三人称单数 )；宣布放弃；宣布与…决裂；宣布摒弃 | |
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84
poetic
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| adj.富有诗意的，有诗人气质的，善于抒情的 | |
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85
pedants
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| n.卖弄学问的人，学究，书呆子( pedant的名词复数 ) | |
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86
rein
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| n.疆绳，统治，支配；vt.以僵绳控制，统治 | |
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87
rhetoric
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| n.修辞学，浮夸之言语 | |
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88
vivacious
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| adj.活泼的，快活的 | |
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89
primitive
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| adj.原始的；简单的；n.原(始)人，原始事物 | |
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90
aria
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| n.独唱曲，咏叹调 | |
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91
merged
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| （使）混合( merge的过去式和过去分词 )； 相融； 融入； 渐渐消失在某物中 | |
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92
akin
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| adj.同族的，类似的 | |
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93
scenic
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| adj.自然景色的，景色优美的 | |
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94
solely
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| adv.仅仅，唯一地 | |
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95
fascinations
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| n.魅力( fascination的名词复数 )；有魅力的东西；迷恋；陶醉 | |
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96
fascination
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| n.令人着迷的事物，魅力，迷恋 | |
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97
motive
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| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
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98
solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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99
meditation
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| n.熟虑，（尤指宗教的）默想，沉思，（pl.）冥想录 | |
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100
extravagant
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| adj.奢侈的；过分的；(言行等)放肆的 | |
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101
morbid
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| adj.病的；致病的；病态的；可怕的 | |
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102
sensuous
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| adj.激发美感的；感官的，感觉上的 | |
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103
sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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104
outrages
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| 引起…的义愤，激怒( outrage的第三人称单数 ) | |
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105
precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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106
travesty
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| n.歪曲，嘲弄，滑稽化 | |
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107
stilted
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| adj.虚饰的；夸张的 | |
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108
rococo
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| n.洛可可；adj.过分修饰的 | |
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109
arias
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| n.咏叹调( aria的名词复数 ) | |
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110
worthies
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| 应得某事物( worthy的名词复数 )； 值得做某事； 可尊敬的； 有（某人或事物）的典型特征 | |
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111
conspiracies
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| n.阴谋，密谋( conspiracy的名词复数 ) | |
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112
concocted
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| v.将（尤指通常不相配合的）成分混合成某物( concoct的过去式和过去分词 )；调制；编造；捏造 | |
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113
playwright
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| n.剧作家，编写剧本的人 | |
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114
sensational
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| adj.使人感动的，非常好的，轰动的，耸人听闻的 | |
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115
throbs
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| 体内的跳动( throb的名词复数 ) | |
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116
affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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117
pathos
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| n.哀婉，悲怆 | |
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118
dominant
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| 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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119
incessant
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| adj.不停的，连续的 | |
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120
prevailing
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| adj.盛行的；占优势的；主要的 | |
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121
stereotyped
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| adj.(指形象、思想、人物等)模式化的 | |
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122
sublime
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| adj.崇高的，伟大的；极度的，不顾后果的 | |
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123
intoxication
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| n.wild excitement;drunkenness；poisoning | |
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124
choir
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| n.唱诗班，唱诗班的席位，合唱团，舞蹈团；v.合唱 | |
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125
choirs
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| 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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126
bravura
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| n.华美的乐曲；勇敢大胆的表现；adj.壮勇华丽的 | |
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127
languishing
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| a. 衰弱下去的 | |
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128
texture
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| n.(织物)质地；(材料)构造；结构；肌理 | |
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129
flutes
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| 长笛( flute的名词复数 )； 细长香槟杯（形似长笛） | |
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130
sanctuary
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| n.圣所，圣堂，寺庙；禁猎区，保护区 | |
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131
inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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132
aesthetic
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| adj.美学的，审美的，有美感 | |
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133
salon
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| n.[法]沙龙；客厅；营业性的高级服务室 | |
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134
ecclesiastics
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| n.神职者，教会，牧师( ecclesiastic的名词复数 ) | |
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135
laymen
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| 门外汉，外行人( layman的名词复数 )； 普通教徒（有别于神职人员） | |
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136
patronage
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| n.赞助，支援，援助；光顾，捧场 | |
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137
cardinals
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| 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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138
monks
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| n.修道士，僧侣( monk的名词复数 ) | |
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139
sentimental
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| adj.多愁善感的，感伤的 | |
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140
adornment
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| n.装饰；装饰品 | |
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141
theatrical
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| adj.剧场的，演戏的；做戏似的，做作的 | |
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142
pictorial
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| adj.绘画的；图片的；n．画报 | |
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143
Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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144
pious
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| adj.虔诚的；道貌岸然的 | |
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145
mundane
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| adj.平凡的；尘世的；宇宙的 | |
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146
emblematic
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| adj.象征的，可当标志的；象征性 | |
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147
symbolic
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| adj.象征性的，符号的，象征主义的 | |
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148
inaccessible
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| adj.达不到的，难接近的 | |
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149
emancipated
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|
| adj.被解放的，不受约束的v.解放某人（尤指摆脱政治、法律或社会的束缚）( emancipate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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150
essentially
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| adv.本质上，实质上，基本上 | |
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151
passionate
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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152
artistic
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| adj.艺术(家)的，美术(家)的；善于艺术创作的 | |
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153
nominally
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| 在名义上，表面地； 应名儿 | |
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154
clergy
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| n.[总称]牧师，神职人员 | |
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155
prudently
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| adv. 谨慎地，慎重地 | |
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156
modification
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| n.修改，改进，缓和，减轻 | |
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157
elegance
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| n.优雅；优美，雅致；精致，巧妙 | |
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158
splendor
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| n.光彩；壮丽，华丽；显赫，辉煌 | |
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159
sensuousness
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| n.知觉 | |
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160
belied
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| v.掩饰( belie的过去式和过去分词 )；证明（或显示）…为虚假；辜负；就…扯谎 | |
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161
fortify
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| v.强化防御，为…设防；加强，强化 | |
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162
splendors
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| n.华丽( splendor的名词复数 )；壮丽；光辉；显赫 | |
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163
noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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164
imposing
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| adj.使人难忘的，壮丽的，堂皇的，雄伟的 | |
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165
grandee
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| n.贵族；大公 | |
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166
attired
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| adj.穿着整齐的v.使穿上衣服，使穿上盛装( attire的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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167
profusion
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| n.挥霍；丰富 | |
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168
sumptuous
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| adj.豪华的，奢侈的，华丽的 | |
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169
tapestries
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| n.挂毯( tapestry的名词复数 )；绣帷，织锦v.用挂毯（或绣帷）装饰( tapestry的第三人称单数 ) | |
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170
lavished
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| v.过分给予，滥施( lavish的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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171
lavish
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| adj.无节制的；浪费的；vt.慷慨地给予，挥霍 | |
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172
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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173
nude
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| adj.裸体的；n.裸体者，裸体艺术品 | |
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174
verity
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| n.真实性 | |
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175
rigid
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| adj.严格的，死板的；刚硬的，僵硬的 | |
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176
anatomy
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| n.解剖学，解剖；功能，结构，组织 | |
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177
illustrated
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| adj. 有插图的，列举的 动词illustrate的过去式和过去分词 | |
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178
illustrate
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| v.举例说明，阐明；图解，加插图 | |
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179
reverent
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| adj.恭敬的，虔诚的 | |
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180
formerly
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| adv.从前，以前 | |
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181
dependence
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| n.依靠，依赖；信任，信赖；隶属 | |
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182
adoration
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| n.爱慕，崇拜 | |
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183
destined
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| adj.命中注定的；(for)以…为目的地的 | |
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184
analogous
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| adj.相似的；类似的 | |
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185
animated
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| adj.生气勃勃的，活跃的，愉快的 | |
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186
underlying
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| adj.在下面的，含蓄的，潜在的 | |
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187
humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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188
dictate
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| v.口授；(使)听写；指令，指示，命令 | |
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189
dictates
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| n.命令，规定，要求( dictate的名词复数 )v.大声讲或读( dictate的第三人称单数 )；口授；支配；摆布 | |
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190
sifted
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| v.筛( sift的过去式和过去分词 )；筛滤；细查；详审 | |
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191
diffused
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| 散布的，普及的，扩散的 | |
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192
awe
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| n.敬畏，惊惧；vt.使敬畏，使惊惧 | |
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193
rapture
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| n.狂喜；全神贯注；着迷；v.使狂喜 | |
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194
agitated
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| adj.被鼓动的，不安的 | |
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195
agonizing
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| adj.痛苦难忍的；使人苦恼的v.使极度痛苦；折磨(agonize的ing形式) | |
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196
frenzied
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| a.激怒的；疯狂的 | |
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197
requiem
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| n.安魂曲，安灵曲 | |
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198
judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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199
revels
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| n.作乐( revel的名词复数 )；狂欢；着迷；陶醉v.作乐( revel的第三人称单数 )；狂欢；着迷；陶醉 | |
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200
varied
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| adj.多样的，多变化的 | |
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201
ecstasy
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| n.狂喜，心醉神怡，入迷 | |
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202
cloying
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| adj.甜得发腻的 | |
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203
uproar
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| n.骚动，喧嚣，鼎沸 | |
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204
brass
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| n.黄铜；黄铜器，铜管乐器 | |
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205
depict
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| vt.描画，描绘；描写，描述 | |
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206
epic
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| n.史诗，叙事诗；adj.史诗般的，壮丽的 | |
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207
picturesque
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| adj.美丽如画的，（语言）生动的，绘声绘色的 | |
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208
antagonistic
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| adj.敌对的 | |
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209
sketch
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| n.草图；梗概；素描；v.素描；概述 | |
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210
condemns
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| v.（通常因道义上的原因而）谴责( condemn的第三人称单数 )；宣判；宣布…不能使用；迫使…陷于不幸的境地 | |
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211
guilds
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| 行会，同业公会，协会( guild的名词复数 ) | |
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212
guild
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| n.行会，同业公会，协会 | |
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213
renouncing
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| v.声明放弃( renounce的现在分词 )；宣布放弃；宣布与…决裂；宣布摒弃 | |
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214
hereditary
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| adj.遗传的，遗传性的，可继承的，世袭的 | |
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215
monotonous
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| adj.单调的，一成不变的，使人厌倦的 | |
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216
grandeur
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| n.伟大，崇高，宏伟，庄严，豪华 | |
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217
enchantments
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| n.魅力( enchantment的名词复数 )；迷人之处；施魔法；着魔 | |
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218
consecutive
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| adj.连续的，联贯的，始终一贯的 | |
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219
necessitated
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| 使…成为必要，需要( necessitate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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220
heed
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| v.注意，留意；n.注意，留心 | |
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221
profane
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| adj.亵神的，亵渎的；vt.亵渎，玷污 | |
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222
alteration
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| n.变更，改变；蚀变 | |
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223
modulation
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| n.调制 | |
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224
placidity
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| n.平静，安静，温和 | |
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225
scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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226
pertinent
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| adj.恰当的；贴切的；中肯的；有关的；相干的 | |
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227
embodied
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| v.表现( embody的过去式和过去分词 )；象征；包括；包含 | |
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228
prescription
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| n.处方，开药；指示，规定 | |
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229
afterward
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| adv.后来；以后 | |
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230
emancipation
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| n.（从束缚、支配下）解放 | |
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231
persuasion
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| n.劝说；说服；持有某种信仰的宗派 | |
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232
reverence
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| 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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233
generalization
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| n.普遍性，一般性，概括 | |
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234
differentiated
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| 区分，区别，辨别( differentiate的过去式和过去分词 )； 区别对待； 表明…间的差别，构成…间差别的特征 | |
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235
solvent
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| n.溶剂；adj.有偿付能力的 | |
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236
cosmopolitanism
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| n. 世界性,世界主义 | |
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237
positively
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| adv.明确地，断然，坚决地；实在，确实 | |
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238
fluctuations
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| 波动，涨落，起伏( fluctuation的名词复数 ) | |
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239
levity
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| n.轻率，轻浮，不稳定，多变 | |
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240
license
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| n.执照，许可证，特许；v.许可，特许 | |
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241
oratorios
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| n.（以宗教为主题的）清唱剧，神剧( oratorio的名词复数 ) | |
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242
oratorio
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| n.神剧，宗教剧，清唱剧 | |
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243
consecration
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| n.供献，奉献，献祭仪式 | |
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244
outgrew
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| 长[发展] 得超过（某物）的范围( outgrow的过去式 )； 长[发展]得不能再要（某物）； 长得比…快； 生长速度超过 | |
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245
minor
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| adj.较小(少)的，较次要的；n.辅修学科；vi.辅修 | |
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246
requiems
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| （天主教）安魂弥撒仪式，安魂曲( requiem的名词复数 ) | |
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247
cantatas
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| n.大合唱( cantata的名词复数 )；清唱剧 | |
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248
glorify
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| vt.颂扬，赞美，使增光，美化 | |
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249
confession
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| n.自白，供认，承认 | |
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250
admonish
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| v.训戒；警告；劝告 | |
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251
constraint
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| n.(on)约束，限制；限制(或约束)性的事物 | |
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252
devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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253
censors
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| 删剪（书籍、电影等中被认为犯忌、违反道德或政治上危险的内容）( censor的第三人称单数 ) | |
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254
edifying
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| 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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255
complexions
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| 肤色( complexion的名词复数 )； 面色； 局面； 性质 | |
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256
touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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257
degenerated
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| 衰退，堕落，退化( degenerate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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258
rivalry
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| n.竞争，竞赛，对抗 | |
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259
perversions
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| n.歪曲( perversion的名词复数 )；变坏；变态心理 | |
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260
blasphemous
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| adj.亵渎神明的，不敬神的 | |
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261
flaunted
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| v.炫耀，夸耀( flaunt的过去式和过去分词 )；有什么能耐就施展出来 | |
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262
virtuoso
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| n.精于某种艺术或乐器的专家，行家里手 | |
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263
testimony
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| n.证词；见证，证明 | |
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264
lamentable
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| adj.令人惋惜的，悔恨的 | |
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265
lament
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| n.悲叹，悔恨，恸哭；v.哀悼，悔恨，悲叹 | |
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266
lapses
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| n.失误，过失( lapse的名词复数 )；小毛病；行为失检；偏离正道v.退步( lapse的第三人称单数 )；陷入；倒退；丧失 | |
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267
celebrated
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| adj.有名的，声誉卓著的 | |
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268
inevitably
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| adv.不可避免地；必然发生地 | |
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269
frivolous
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| adj.轻薄的；轻率的 | |
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270
immortal
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| adj.不朽的；永生的，不死的；神的 | |
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271
sprightly
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| adj.愉快的，活泼的 | |
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272
pedantic
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| adj.卖弄学问的；迂腐的 | |
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273
regularity
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| n.规律性，规则性；匀称，整齐 | |
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274
propriety
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| n.正当行为；正当；适当 | |
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275
fervor
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| n.热诚；热心；炽热 | |
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276
allegro
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| adj. 快速而活泼的；n.快板；adv.活泼地 | |
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277
exalted
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| adj.(地位等)高的，崇高的；尊贵的，高尚的 | |
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278
conspicuous
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| adj.明眼的，惹人注目的；炫耀的，摆阔气的 | |
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279
degradation
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| n.降级；低落；退化；陵削；降解；衰变 | |
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280
legacies
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| n.遗产( legacy的名词复数 )；遗留之物；遗留问题；后遗症 | |
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281
censure
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| v./n.责备；非难；责难 | |
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282
subdued
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| 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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283
pompous
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| adj.傲慢的，自大的；夸大的；豪华的 | |
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284
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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285
instinctive
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| adj.(出于)本能的；直觉的；(出于)天性的 | |
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286
genial
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| adj.亲切的，和蔼的，愉快的，脾气好的 | |
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287
joviality
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| n.快活 | |
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288
melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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289
pensiveness
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| n.pensive（沉思的）的变形 | |
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290
joyful
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| adj.欢乐的，令人欢欣的 | |
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291
aesthetics
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| n.(尤指艺术方面之)美学，审美学 | |
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292
conformity
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| n.一致，遵从，顺从 | |
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293
atrophied
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| adj.萎缩的，衰退的v.（使）萎缩，（使）虚脱，（使）衰退( atrophy的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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294
precedent
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| n.先例，前例；惯例；adj.在前的，在先的 | |
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295
exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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296
sublimest
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| 伟大的( sublime的最高级 )； 令人赞叹的； 极端的； 不顾后果的 | |
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297
climaxes
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| n.顶点( climax的名词复数 )；极点；高潮；性高潮 | |
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298
colossal
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| adj.异常的，庞大的 | |
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299
eminence
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| n.卓越，显赫；高地，高处；名家 | |
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300
projection
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| n.发射，计划，突出部分 | |
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301
strictly
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| adv.严厉地，严格地；严密地 | |
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302
disciple
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| n.信徒，门徒，追随者 | |
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303
supreme
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| adj.极度的，最重要的；至高的，最高的 | |
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304
graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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305
diffuseness
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| 漫射，扩散 | |
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306
besetting
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| adj.不断攻击的v.困扰( beset的现在分词 )；不断围攻；镶；嵌 | |
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307
terse
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| adj.(说话，文笔)精炼的，简明的 | |
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308
excellence
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| n.优秀，杰出，(pl.)优点，美德 | |
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309
thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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310
pervades
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| v.遍及，弥漫( pervade的第三人称单数 ) | |
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311
pervade
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| v.弥漫，遍及，充满，渗透，漫延 | |
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312
exultant
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| adj.欢腾的，狂欢的，大喜的 | |
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313
Vogue
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| n.时髦，时尚；adj.流行的 | |
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314
indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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315
missionary
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| adj.教会的，传教(士)的；n.传教士 | |
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316
labors
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| v.努力争取(for)( labor的第三人称单数 )；苦干；详细分析；（指引擎）缓慢而困难地运转 | |
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317
dignified
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| a.可敬的，高贵的 | |
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318
constrained
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| adj.束缚的,节制的 | |
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319
saccharine
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| adj.奉承的，讨好的 | |
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320
voluptuous
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|
| adj.肉欲的，骄奢淫逸的 | |
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321
ardent
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|
| adj.热情的，热烈的，强烈的，烈性的 | |
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322
perverse
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| adj.刚愎的；坚持错误的，行为反常的 | |
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323
isolation
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| n.隔离，孤立，分解，分离 | |
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324
majesty
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|
| n.雄伟，壮丽，庄严，威严；最高权威，王权 | |
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325
grandiose
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|
| adj.宏伟的，宏大的，堂皇的，铺张的 | |
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326
pretentious
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|
| adj.自命不凡的，自负的，炫耀的 | |
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327
imperialism
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| n.帝国主义，帝国主义政策 | |
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328
sincerity
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| n.真诚，诚意；真实 | |
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329
sham
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| n./adj.假冒(的)，虚伪(的) | |
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330
sycophancy
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|
| n.拍马屁，奉承，谄媚；吮痈舐痔 | |
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331
mediocre
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| adj.平常的，普通的 | |
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332
predecessors
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| n.前任( predecessor的名词复数 )；前辈；（被取代的）原有事物；前身 | |
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333
auguries
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| n.（古罗马）占卜术，占卜仪式( augury的名词复数 )；预兆 | |
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334
agitation
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| n.搅动；搅拌；鼓动，煽动 | |
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335
psalms
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| n.赞美诗( psalm的名词复数 )；圣诗；圣歌；(中的) | |
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336
festive
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| adj.欢宴的，节日的 | |
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337
fiery
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| adj.燃烧着的，火红的；暴躁的；激烈的 | |
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338
reposeful
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| adj.平稳的，沉着的 | |
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339
fervent
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| adj.热的，热烈的，热情的 | |
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340
alienation
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| n.疏远；离间；异化 | |
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341
inclination
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| n.倾斜；点头；弯腰；斜坡；倾度；倾向；爱好 | |
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342
inclinations
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| 倾向( inclination的名词复数 )； 倾斜； 爱好； 斜坡 | |
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343
reverencing
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| v.尊敬，崇敬( reverence的现在分词 )；敬礼 | |
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344
yearned
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| 渴望，切盼，向往( yearn的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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345
incompatible
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| adj.不相容的，不协调的，不相配的 | |
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346
conspicuously
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| ad.明显地，惹人注目地 | |
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347
propensity
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| n.倾向；习性 | |
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348
mutual
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| adj.相互的，彼此的；共同的，共有的 | |
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349
raptures
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| 极度欢喜( rapture的名词复数 ) | |
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350
aspiration
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|
| n.志向，志趣抱负；渴望；(语)送气音；吸出 | |
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351
yearning
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| a.渴望的；向往的；怀念的 | |
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352
distinctive
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|
| adj.特别的，有特色的，与众不同的 | |
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353
incongruity
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| n.不协调，不一致 | |
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354
disarmed
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| v.裁军( disarm的过去式和过去分词 )；使息怒 | |
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355
complacent
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| adj.自满的；自鸣得意的 | |
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356
intoxicating
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| a. 醉人的,使人兴奋的 | |
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357
flippancy
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| n.轻率；浮躁；无礼的行动 | |
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358
temperament
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| n.气质，性格，性情 | |
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359
lustre
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| n.光亮，光泽；荣誉 | |
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360
judicious
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| adj.明智的，明断的，能作出明智决定的 | |
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361
conscientiously
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| adv.凭良心地；认真地，负责尽职地；老老实实 | |
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362
disdained
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|
| 鄙视( disdain的过去式和过去分词 )； 不屑于做，不愿意做 | |
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363
disciples
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| n.信徒( disciple的名词复数 )；门徒；耶稣的信徒；（尤指）耶稣十二门徒之一 | |
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364
allied
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| adj.协约国的；同盟国的 | |
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365
controversy
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| n.争论，辩论，争吵 | |
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366
defenders
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| n.防御者( defender的名词复数 )；守卫者；保护者；辩护者 | |
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367
resuscitate
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| v.使复活，使苏醒 | |
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368
perennial
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| adj.终年的；长久的 | |
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369
undoubtedly
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| adv.确实地，无疑地 | |
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370
rebellious
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| adj.造反的，反抗的，难控制的 | |
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371
scripture
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| n.经文，圣书，手稿；Scripture:(常用复数)《圣经》，《圣经》中的一段 | |
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372
temperaments
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|
| 性格( temperament的名词复数 )； （人或动物的）气质； 易冲动； （性情）暴躁 | |
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373
renounced
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| v.声明放弃( renounce的过去式和过去分词 )；宣布放弃；宣布与…决裂；宣布摒弃 | |
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374
deference
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| n.尊重，顺从；敬意 | |
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375
influential
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| adj.有影响的，有权势的 | |
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376
insistent
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| adj.迫切的，坚持的 | |
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377
impersonality
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| n.无人情味 | |
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378
penitence
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| n.忏悔，赎罪；悔过 | |
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379
homage
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| n.尊敬，敬意，崇敬 | |
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380
humbly
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| adv. 恭顺地，谦卑地 | |
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381
lesser
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| adj.次要的，较小的；adv.较小地，较少地 | |
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382
consecrated
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| adj.神圣的，被视为神圣的v.把…奉为神圣，给…祝圣( consecrate的过去式和过去分词 )；奉献 | |
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383
corruption
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| n.腐败，堕落，贪污 | |
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384
unifying
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| 使联合( unify的现在分词 )； 使相同； 使一致； 统一 | |
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385
unity
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| n.团结，联合，统一；和睦，协调 | |
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