His diminutive9 appearance was a sore point with Hearn. "Armadale" depicts10 Midwinter as "young and slim and under-sized."
There was something foreign-looking about Hearn. His fictional11 hero was thus described: "His tawny12 complexion13, his large bright brown eyes, and his black beard gave him something of a foreign look.... His dusky hands were wiry and nervous."
Hearn, by reason of the peculiar appearance of his eyes, more often repelled14 than attracted people. He could therefore sympathize with Midwinter, who says:"I produced a disagreeable impression at first sight. I couldn't mend it afterwards."
A few more quotations17 will complete the picture and further make clear the fascination this character in a poor novel had for Hearn. The latter was from the start remarkably shy. He avoided the generality of men. For years he had been a failure in life. Everything he had tried had somehow fallen far below his expectations. Indeed, at the very time he was writing the Midwinter letters he was tramping the streets, going from newspaper office to office in New Orleans seeking work. Let us see now how these things in the life of Hearn correspond with the description of Midwinter: "From first to last the man's real character shrank back with a savage18 shyness from the rector's touch."
And again: "It mattered little what he tried: failure (for which nobody was ever to blame but himself) was sure to be the end of it, sooner or later. Friends to assist him he had none to apply to; and as for relations, he wished to be excused from speaking of them. For all he knew of them they might be dead, and for all they knew he might be dead."
And finally: "Ozias Midwinter at twenty spoke20 of his life as Ozias Midwinter at seventy might have spoken, with a long weariness of years on him which he had learned to bear patiently."
So much for the pseudonym21. Now for the work to which it was attached. In after years, when Hearn had begun to attain22 a degree of prosperity, he either forgot something of the hard days, or, for some reason known to himself, told a pleasing fiction about them. Thus, in one letter that was made public shortly after his death, he says he went South from Cincinnati on a vacation, saw the blue and gold of Southern days, and determined23 to abide24 in such a climate forever. It has already been made clear in his letters to Mr. Watkin that he went South because the wanderlust was upon him, because he had begun to hate Cincinnati, because he felt that he must find more congenial work elsewhere. Whatever enthusiasts25 in Cincinnati and New Orleans may say now, he was not a good reporter in the present-day acceptance of the term. There was, on his part, a fancy for fine writing, for rhetoric26, which the city editors of three decades ago may have admired, but which at present would be most vigorously blue-pencilled. A youthful Hearn to-day would have a rather hard time in Cincinnati, where the cry is for facts and again facts, and then for brevity and then once more for brevity. If Hearn did not come up to the modern standards of newspaper reporting, neither did he come up to the modern ideals of newspaper correspondence. It is probable that few papers to-day would tolerate the particular kind of "news letter" that Hearn sent to the Cincinnati Commercial in the years 1877 and 1878. It was in a day when the telegraph service was not so well developed as at present, and the news letters from Washington, Boston, New York, New Orleans, and London were a regular feature. There are few newspapers to-day which contain letters by men so eminent27 in after years as two of the Commercial correspondents became,—Hearn and Moncure D. Conway, also for some time a resident of Cincinnati and afterwards correspondent from London.
Few if any of Hearn's "news letters" made any pretence28 at giving news. As far as the style of them was concerned, they might have been written for his friend Watkin alone, instead of for a great Ohio valley newspaper, catering29 to a considerable clientèle. He chose what subjects interested him, not what were presumed to interest the readers of the paper. In days when Louisiana's political affairs were still in the turmoil30 of the reconstruction31 period, when the North was still keenly watching events in the "rebel" South, Hearn had few if any references to these matters.
As near an approach as any to a news letter was his first one, sent from Memphis, November 6, 1877, when he wrote some "Notes on Forrest's Funeral." In this he related how he saw the funeral of General N. B. Forrest, the great Confederate cavalryman32, told some anecdotes33 of the dead man's bravery and savagery34, and gave his ancestry35 and an outline of his life.
Then he proceeded: "Old citizens of Memphis mildly described him to me as a 'terror.' He would knock a man down upon the least provocation36, and whether with or without weapons, there were few people in the city whom he could not worst in a fight. Imagine a man about six feet three inches in height, very sinewy37 and active, with a vigorous, rugged38 face, bright grey eyes that almost always look fierce, eyebrows39 that seem always on the verge40 of a frown, and dark brown hair and chin beard, with strong inclination41 to curl, and you have some idea of Forrest's appearance before his last illness. He was, further, one of the most arbitrary, imperious, and determined men that it is possible to conceive of holding a high position in a civilized42 community. Rough, rugged, desperate, uncultured, his character fitted him rather for the life of the borderer than the planter; he seemed by nature a typical pioneer,—one of those fierce and terrible men who form in themselves a kind of protecting fringe to the borders of white civilization."
This is straightforward43 and vivid enough. But it was impossible for this dreamer of weird44 dreams to go through a whole letter in this fashion, and so we have the following, which, well written as it is, would scandalize the modern telegraph editor handling the correspondence: "The same night they buried him, there came a storm. From the same room whence I had watched the funeral, I saw the Northern mists crossing the Mississippi into Arkansas like an invading army; then came grey rain, and at last a fierce wind, making wild charges through it all. Somehow or other the queer fancy came to me that the dead Confederate cavalrymen, rejoined by their desperate leader, were fighting ghostly battles with the men who died for the union."
The hustling45, bustling46 Memphis of to-day is a far different place from the decayed, war-stricken town that the vagrant47 newspaper man saw. Its ruin, its damp days and nights, depressed48 him. In a letter of November 23, 1877, he recorded his impressions in a way that would doubtless to-day appeal strongly to the memory of the older generation of Memphians, who have not become used to the new order of things:
"The antiquity49 of the name of Memphis—a name suggesting vastness and ruin—compels something of a reverential feeling; and I approached the Memphis of the Mississippi dreaming solemnly of the Memphis of the Nile. I found the great cotton mart truly Egyptian in its melancholy50 decay, and not, therefore, wholly unworthy of its appellation52. Tenantless53 warehouses54 with shattered windows; poverty-stricken hotels that vainly strive to keep up appearances; rows of once splendid buildings, from whose fa?ades the paint has almost all scaled off; mock stone fronts, whence the stucco has fallen in patches, exposing the humble55 brick reality underneath56; dinginess57, dirt, and dismal58 dilapidation59 greet the eye at every turn. The city's life seems to have contracted about its heart, leaving the greater portion of its body paralyzed. Its commercial pulse appears to beat very feebly. It gives one the impression of a place that had been stricken by some great misfortune beyond hope of recovery. Yet Memphis still handles one fifth of the annual cotton crop,—often more than a million bales in a season,—and in this great branch of commerce the city will always hold its own, though fine buildings crumble60 and debts accumulate and warehouses lie vacant.... But when rain and white fogs come, the melancholy of Memphis becomes absolutely Stygian: all things wooden utter strange groans61 and crackling sounds; all things of stone or of stucco sweat as in the agony of dissolution, and beyond the cloudy brow of the bluffs62 the Mississippi flows dimly,—a spectral63 river, a Styx-flood, with pale mists lingering like Shades upon its banks, waiting for that ghostly ferryman, the wind."
In this letter occurred a quaint64 passage, illustrating65 at the same time the wide range of Hearn's reading and the curious paths into which he had allowed his mind to stray: "Elagabalus, wishing to obtain some idea of the vastness of imperial Rome, ordered all the cobwebs in the city to be collected together and heaped up before him. Estimated by such a method, the size of Memphis would appear vast enough to have astonished even Elagabalus."
However, brief as was his stay in Memphis, disagreeable as were most of his impressions, he found time to fall in love with one little piece of sculpture, thus charmingly described as "a little nude66 Venus at the street fountain, who has become all of one dusky greyish-green hue67, preserving her youth only in the beauty of her rounded figure and unwrinkled comeliness68 of face." In this letter he detailed69 something of his journey down the river, chronicled his delight in the Southern sunsets, and finally arrived at the first of his promised lands: "The daylight faded away, and the stars came out, but that warm glow in the southern horizon only paled so that it seemed a little further off. The river broadened till it looked, with the tropical verdure of its banks, like the Ganges, until at last there loomed70 up a vast line of shadows, dotted with points of light, and through a forest of masts and a host of phantom71-white river boats and a wilderness72 of chimneys the Thompson Dean, singing her cheery challenge, steamed up to the mighty73 levee of New Orleans."
In his next letter, dated November 26, 1877, he described his first impressions "at the gates of the Tropics." He came across things that reminded him of London and of Paris and evoked74 memories of his youth:
"Eighteen miles of levee! London, with all the gloomy vastness of her docks and her 'river of ten thousand masts,' can offer no spectacle so picturesquely76 attractive and so varied77 in the attraction." And again: "Canal Street, with its grand breadth and imposing78 fa?ades, gives one recollections of London and Oxford79 Street and Regent Street." He went to the French market, still one of the great sights of the city, and could not write enough about it:
"The markets of London are less brightly clean and neatly80 arranged; the markets of Paris are less picturesque75." Even a cotton-press seen at the cotton landing was an event to be celebrated81. The thing was to him not merely a piece of ingenious machinery83; it was something weird, something demoniac: "Fancy a monstrous84 head of living iron and brass85, fifty feet high from its junction86 with the ground, having jointed87 gaps in its face like Gothic eyes, a mouth five feet wide, opening six feet from the mastodon teeth in the lower jaw88 to the mastodon teeth in the upper jaw. The lower jaw alone moves, as in living beings, and it is worked by two vast iron tendons, long and thick and solid as church pillars. The surface of this lower jaw is equivalent to six square feet. The more I looked at the thing, the more I felt as though its prodigious89 anatomy90 had been studied after the anatomy of some extinct animal,—the way those jaws91 worked, the manner in which those muscles moved. Men rolled a cotton bale to the mouth of the monster. The jaws opened with a low roar, and so remained. The lower jaw had descended92 to the level with the platform on which the bale was lying. It was an immense plantation93 bale. Two black men rolled it into the yawning mouth. The titan muscles contracted, and the jaws closed, silently, steadily94, swiftly. The bale flattened95, flattened, flattened down to sixteen inches, twelve inches, eight inches, five inches,—positively less than five inches! I thought it was going to disappear altogether. But after crushing it beyond five inches the jaw remained stationary96 and the monster growled97 like rumbling98 thunder. I thought the machine began to look as hideous99 as one of those horrible yawning heads which formed the gates of the teocallis at Palenque, and through whose awful jaws the sacrificial victims passed."
On December 7, 1877, he dived into more serious and even more practical things. This man, to whom colored races were always of the deepest interest, who had prowled around the negro quarters of Cincinnati for songs and melodies and superstitions100, around the Chinese laundries for chance discoveries of strange musical instruments from the Orient, after a residence in the South of one month, discussed a question which is still agitating101 the country and which threatens to trouble it for many years to come,—the negro question. Charles Gayarré of Louisiana had written an article for the North American Review entitled "The Southern Question." Hearn, who certainly cannot be accused of prejudice against colored peoples, agreed with the Southern writer that white supremacy102 was necessary for Southern peace and prosperity. He felt that the particular menace of the whites was from the mixed breeds, whose black blood had just enough alloy103 to make them despise the simplicity104 and faithfulness of the lowly "darky" of the old régime and aspire105 to more rights and more privileges. Recently a Southern thinker has written a book to show that, in the inexorable law of the survival of the fittest, the ten million negroes must be swept aside by the seventy million whites of this land, and finally perish from the face of the earth, as do all the weaker races. Nearly three decades ago Hearn came to the same conclusion,—a conclusion not expressed without some feeling of fondness for the race: "As for the black man, he must disappear with the years. Dependent like the ivy106, he needs some strong oak-like friend to cling to. His support has been cut from him, and his life must wither107 in its prostrate108 helplessness. Will he leave no trace of his past in the fields made fertile by his mighty labors109, no memory of his presence in this fair land he made rich in vain? Ah, yes! the echo of the sweetly melancholy songs of slavery,—the weird and beautiful melodies born in the hearts of the poor, childlike people to whom freedom was destruction."
By the time he sent his next letter, dated December 10, 1877, he had again been wandering about the city. He visited the old Spanish cathedral founded by Don Andre Almonaster, Regidor and Alferez Real of his Most Catholic Majesty110. This is the church that is always referred to as the "French cathedral." Hearn described its two ancient tombs,—that of Almonaster, who died in 1708, and then that of the French noble family of De Marigny de Mandeville, scions111 of which died and were buried there in 1728, 1779, and 1800. Hearn had his own reflections over the matter just as Irving had in Westminster Abbey:
"O Knights112 of the Ancient Régime, the feet of the plebeians113 are blotting114 out your escutcheons; the overthrowers of throned Powers pass by your tombs with a smile of complacency; the callous115 knees of the poorest poor will erelong obliterate116 your carven memory from the stone; the very places of your dwelling117 have crumbled118 out of sight and out of remembrance. The glory of Versailles has passed away; 'the spider taketh hold with his hands, and is in the palaces of Kings.'"
From musings in the cathedral he passed into a disquisition on language. He held that the French tongue sounded better to him from the mouth of a negro than did the harsher English. Southern speech flows melodiously119 from the negro's lips, being musically akin19 to the many-vowelled120 languages of Africa. The th's and thr's, the difficult diphthongs and guttural rr's of English and German, have a certain rude Northern strength beyond the mastery of Ethiopian lips. He finds that the Louisiana blacks speak a corrupted121 French, often called "Creole," which is not the Creole of the Antilles. This recalls to him a memory of his childhood in England and gives also a foretaste of what he was to do ten years later, when Harpers gave him a chance to describe what he felt and saw in the French West Indies:
"Yesterday evening, the first time for ten years, I heard again that sweetest of all dialects, the Creole of the Antilles. I had first heard it spoken in England by the children of an English family from Trinidad, who were visiting relatives in the mother country, and I could never forget its melody. In Martinique and elsewhere it has almost a written dialect; the school-children used to study the 'Creole catechism,' and priests used to preach to their congregations in Creole. You cannot help falling in love with it after having once heard it spoken by young lips, unless indeed you have no poetry in your composition, no music in your soul. It is the most liquid, mellow122, languid language in the world. It is especially a language for love-making. It sounds like pretty baby-talk; it woos like the cooing of a dove. It seems to be a mixture of French, a little Spanish, and West African dialects,—those negro dialects that are voluminous with vowels123. You can imagine how smooth it is from the fact that in West Indian Creole the letter r is never pronounced; and the Europeans of the Indies complain that once their children have learned to speak Creole, it is hard to teach them to pronounce any other language correctly. They will say 'b'ed' for bread and 't'ed' for thread. So that it is a sort of wopsy-popsy-ootsy-tootsy language."
And from this affectionate passage he is led to speak of Creole satires124. During the Republican régime in New Orleans after the Civil War there was a witty126, bitter, and brilliant French paper called Le Carillon, which designated Republicans by a new term, "Radicanailles," which seemed exceedingly satisfying to the proud aristocracy,—this word compounded of "radical127" and "canaille" The paper used to print Creole satires. One was on ex-Governor Antoine, in the form of a parody128 upon "La Fille de Madame Angot." Now Hearn's ambition was to write a sinuous129, silvern, poetical130 prose. He rarely attempted verse. In his better known books on Japan his versions of Japanese songs and poems are in prose. So, too, in these letters all his renderings131 of the things that attracted him are in prose. Here is his version of the satire125 just mentioned, redolent as it is of an era of bitterness:
I
"In the old days before the war, I was a slave at Caddo [Parish]. I tilled the earth and raised sweet potatoes and water-melons. Then afterwards I left the plough and took up the razor to shave folks in the street,—white and black, too. But that, that was before the war.
II
"When Banks went up the river (Red River) with soldiers and with cannon132, I changed my career. Then I became a runaway133 slave. I married my own cousin, who is at this hour my wife. She—she attended to the kitchen. I—I sought for honors. But that, that was during the war.
III
"And then afterward16 in the custom-house men called me Collector; and then Louisiana named me her Senator; and then to show her confidence the people made me Governor and called me His Eminence134; and that is what I am at this present hour. And that, that is since the war."
From this, with the inconsequential air of a butterfly, he turned to the subject of the Greeks of New Orleans,—a subject that must have lain near to his heart by reason of the deep love he bore for his Greek mother. Among the New Orleans people he mentioned was one Greek gentleman: "I never met a finer old man. Though more than seventy years of age, his face was still as firmly outlined, as clearly cut, as an antique cameo; its traits recalled memories of old marbles, portraits in stone of Aristophanes and Sophocles; it bespoke135 a grand blending of cynicism and poetry."
But the sons of Hellas were not all alike satisfactory to his fastidious taste: "There are many Greeks, sailors and laborers136, in New Orleans; but I cannot say that they inspire one with dreams of Athens or of Corinth, of Panathenaic processions or Panhellenic games. Their faces are not numismatic; their forms are not athletic137. Sometimes you can discern a something national about a Greek steamboatman,—a something characteristic which distinguishes him from the equally swarthy Italian, Spaniard, 'Dago.' But that something is not of antiquity; it is not inspirational. It is Byzantine, and one is apt to dislike it. It reminds one of Taine's merciless criticism of the faces of Byzantine art. But I have seen a few rare Hellenic types here, and among these some beautiful Romaic girls,—maidens with faces to remind you of the gracious vase paintings of antiquity." One would think he had crammed138 this letter full enough of topics, but he had one more. Throughout his life ghost stories were an obsession139 with him. They run all through his books on Japan. Three decades ago he lamented140: "In these days ghosts have almost lost the power to interest us, for we have become too familiar with their cloudy faces, and familiarity begetteth contempt. An original ghost story is a luxury, and a rare luxury at that."
He then told of a house on Melpomene Street, New Orleans, in which no one could dwell in peace. If a person were so hardy141 and so skeptical142 as to move in, he soon found his furniture scattered143, and his carpets torn up by invisible hands. Ghostly feet shook the house with their terrible steps; ghostly hands opened bolted doors as if locks did not exist,—so that by and by no one came to live in the old place any more:
"As the years flitted by the goblin of Decay added himself to the number of the Haunters; the walls crumbled, and the floors yielded, and grass, livid and ghastly looking grass, forced its pale way between the chinks of the planks144 in the parlor145. The windows fell into ruin, and the wind entered freely to play with the ghosts, and cried weirdly146 in the vacant room.'
Then one night Chief of Police Leary and six of his most stalwart men determined to stand watch in the building and solve the mystery. They placed candles in one of the rooms, and towards midnight stood in a hollow square, with Chief Leary in the middle, so that he could aid his men to repel15 an attack from any quarter whatsoever147. The ghosts blew out the lighted candles and, to this extent, were commonplace enough. But the next instant they displayed their complete ingenuity148 and originality149 by seizing the seven guardians150 of the peace and hurling151 them violently against the ceiling. Hearn adds, with a touch of playful humor: "The city of New Orleans would not pay the doctors' bills of men injured while in the discharge of their duty."
By December 17, 1877, he had become interested in the past and present of "Los Criollos," the Creoles, who were to be such a fascinating subject to him when he visited Martinique and other enchanted152 isles153 of the Caribbean.
In this first letter on the subject he corrected the common error of speaking of mulattoes, quadroons, and octaroons of Louisiana as Creoles,—a mistake which curiously154 enough he himself made in his book, "Ghombo Zhebes," several years later. In this letter, however, he correctly pointed155 out that no person with the slightest taint156 of negro blood was a Creole, and that the common mistake was made not only in the North, but also often in the South, where they should know better; not only in America, but also in England, France, and Spain, the former mother countries of all the West Indian colonists157. "Creole," properly speaking, is the term applied158 to the pure-blooded offspring of Europeans born in the colonies of South America or the West Indies, to distinguish them from children of mixed blood born in the colonies or of pure blood born in the mother country. In Louisiana, he pointed out that it usually meant they were of French, more rarely of Spanish, descent. He paid a tribute to the Creole society of New Orleans which was made up of the descendants of all the early European settlers: "Something of all that was noble and true and brilliant in the almost forgotten life of the dead South lives here still (its atmosphere is European; its tastes are governed by European literature and the art culture of the Old World)." Hethen quoted some of the poems in the patois159 of Louisiana and also some from Martinique that he had already picked up.
On December 22 he devoted160 his attention to "New Orleans in Wet Weather." He had much to say of its dampness and chills and fogs: "Strange it is to observe the approach of one of these eerie161 fogs on some fair night. The blue deeps above glow tenderly beyond the sharp crescent of the moon; the heavens seem transformed to an infinite ocean of liquid turquoise162, made living with the palpitating life of the throbbing163 stars. In this limpid164 clearness, this yellow, tropical moonlight, objects are plainly visible at a distance of miles; far sounds come to the ear with marvellous distinctness,—the clarion165 calls of the boats, the long, loud panting of the cotton-presses, exhaling166 steaming breath from their tireless lungs of steel.
"Suddenly sounds become fainter and fainter, as though the atmosphere were made feeble by unaccountable enchantment167; distant objects lose distinctness; the heaven is cloudless, but her lights, low-burning and dim, no longer make the night transparent168, and a chill falls upon the city, such as augurs169 the coming of a ghost. Then the ghost appears; the invisible makes itself visible; a vast form of thin white mist seems to clasp the whole night in its deathly embrace; the face of the moon is hidden as with a grey veil, and the spectral fog extinguishes with its chill breath the trembling flames of the stars."
Turning his thought to grave matters, he refers to the elevated tombs in the cemeteries170, which some irreverently call "bake ovens." Then comes a touch of the playful, familiar enough to those who read the present volume, but rare in his other books: "Fancy being asked by a sexton whether you wished to have the remains171 of your wife or child deposited in 'one of them bake ovens.'"
Again, with a swift turn of thought and subject, as if in conversation with a friend or as if in a letter to him, he reverts172 to "Beast Ben Butler" and his needless brutality173 in having carved on one of the New Orleans statues, Clay's declaration against slavery and Andrew Jackson's famous saying, "Our federal union: it must be preserved." The sight of Levantine sailors selling fruit in the markets caused him to rhapsodize on the sea, giving the first of those prose poems in which he was to wax almost lyrical in so many of his works: "If you, O reader, chance to be a child of the sea; if, in earliest childhood, you listened each morning and evening to that most ancient and mystic hymn-chant of the waves, which none can hear without awe174, and which no musician can learn; if you have ever watched wonderingly the far sails of the fishing vessels175 turn rosy176 in the blush of the sunset, or silver under the moon, or golden in the glow of sunrise; if you once breathed as your native air the divine breath of the ocean, and learned the swimmer's art from the hoary177 breakers, and received the Ocean god's christening, the glorious baptism of salt,—then perhaps you know only too well why those sailors of the Levant cannot seek homes within the heart of the land. Twenty years may have passed since your ears last caught the thunder of that mighty ode of hexameters which the sea has always sung and will sing forever,—since your eyes sought the far line where the vaulted178 blue of heaven touches the level immensity of rolling waters,—since you breathed the breath of the ocean, and felt its clear ozone179 living in your veins180 like an elixir181. Have you forgotten the mighty measure of that mighty song? Have you forgotten the divine saltiness of that unfettered wind? Is not the spell of the sea strong upon you still?...
"And I think that the Levantine sailors dare not dwell in the midst of the land, for fear lest dreams of a shadowy sea might come upon them in the night, and phantom winds call wildly to them in their sleep, and they might wake to find themselves a thousand miles beyond the voice of the breakers."
On December 27, 1877, already deeply interested in the niceties of language, Hearn gave his Cincinnati readers a dissertation182 upon the curiosities of Creole grammar, and quoted in Creole a weird love-song, said to be of negro origin. He doubted whether it was really composed by a negro, but remarked that its spirit was undoubtedly183 African. Then he gave the following prose version of this exotic:
"Since first I beheld184 you, Adele,
While dancing the calinda,
I have remained faithful to the thought of you;
My freedom has departed from me,
I care no longer for all other negresses;
I have no heart left for them;—
You have such grace and cunning:—
You are like the Congo serpent.
"I love you too much, my beautiful one:—
I am not able to help it.
My heart has become just like a grasshopper,—
It does nothing but leap.
I have never met any woman
Who has so beautiful a form as yours.
Your eyes flash flame;
Your body has enchained me captive.
"Ah, you are so like the serpent-of-the-rattles
Who knows how to charm the little bird,
And who has a mouth ever ready for it
Yo serve it for a tomb.
I have never known any negress
Who could walk with such grace as you can.
Or who could make such beautiful gestures;
Your body is a beautiful doll.
"When I cannot see you, Adele,
I feel myself ready to die;
My life becomes like a candle
Which has almost burned itself out.
I cannot then find anything in the world
Which is able to give me pleasure:—
I could well go down to the river
And throw myself in it that I might cease to suffer.
Tell me if you have a man,
And I will make an ouanga charm for him:
I will make him turn into a phantom,
If you will only take me for your husband.
I will not go to see you when you are cross;
Other women are mere82 trash to me;
I will make you very happy
And I will give you a beautiful Madras handkerchief."
He freely admitted that the poem was untranslatable, that it lost its weird beauty, its melody, its liquid softness, its languor185, when put into English. Then came a characteristic bit in which he displayed the man who dwelt with delight upon the inner meaning of words,—the delight felt only by the artist in language: "I think there is some true poetry in these allusions186 to the snake. Is not the serpent a symbol of grace? Is not the so-called 'line of beauty' serpentine187? And is there not something of the serpent in the beauty of all graceful188 women? something of undulating shapeliness, something of silent fascination? something of Lilith and Lamia? The French have a beautiful verb expressive189 of this idea,—serpenter, 'to serpent,' to curve in changing undulations like a lithe190 snake. The French artist speaks of the outlines of a beautiful human body as serpenting,' curving and winding191 like a serpent. Do you not like the word? I think it is so expressive of flowinglines of elegance,—so full of that mystery of grace which puzzled Solomon: 'the way of a serpent upon a rock.'"
On January 7, 1878, came a picture in prose, which now reminds us of William Ernest Henley's "London Voluntary," in which the latter described the splendor192 of a golden October day in the metropolis193 of the world. Here is Christmas Eve in New Orleans: "Christmas Eve came in with a blaze of orange glory in the west, and masses of lemon-colored clouds piled up above the sunset. The whole city was filled with orange-colored light, just before the sun went down; and between the lemon-hued clouds and the blue were faint tints194 of green. The colors of that sunset seemed a fairy mockery of the colors of the fruit booths throughout the city; where the golden fruit lay piled up in luxuriant heaps, and where the awnings195 of white canvas had been replaced by long archways of interwoven orange branches with the fruit still glowing upon them. It was an Orange Christmas."
Then at nightfall he passed the French opera house on Bourbon Street. It was "dark and dead and silent," and as a matter of course the dreamer had another vision: "Sometimes, when passing under the sharply cut shadows of the building in a night of tropical moonlight, I fancy that a shadowy performance of 'Don Giovanni' or 'Masaniello' must be going on within for the entertainment of a ghostly audience; and that if somebody would but open the doors an instant, one might catch a glimpse of spectral splendor, of dusky-eyed beauties long dead,—of forgotten faces pale with the sleep of battlefields,—of silks that should be mouldering196 in mouldering chests with the fashions of twenty years ago."
And finally this letter contained the following prophetic utterance197 concerning the new South,—the South then not yet in existence, the South that so nearly approximates what Hearn said it would be: "It is the picturesqueness198 of the South, the poetry, the traditions, the legends, the superstitions, the quaint faiths, the family prides, the luxuriousness199, the splendid indolence and the splendid sins of the old social system which have passed, or which are now passing, away forever.... The new South may, perhaps, become far richer than the old South; but there will be no aristocracy, no lives of unbridled luxury, no reckless splendors200 of hospitality, no mad pursuit of costliest201 pleasures. The old hospitality has been starved to death, and leaves no trace of its former being save the thin ghost of a romance. The new South will be less magnificent, though wealthier; less generous, though more self-denying; less poetical, though more cultured. The new cities will be, probably, more prosperous and less picturesque than the old."
January 14,1878, Hearn devoted his entire letter to W. C. C. Claiborne, the first American governor of Louisiana. He told in what hostile manner the American was received by the haughty202 Creole gentry203, and how he was alleged204 to have worn his hat at the theatre. It is in the comment on this that Hearn most amusingly displays himself as an Englishman, with the dim-seeing eyes of a Dickens or a saucy205 Kipling rather than the clear-headed, clear-eyed American, or the adopted citizen, understanding this country and its people: "I fancy that wearing of the hat before those terribly cultivated and excruciatingly courteous206 Creole audiences must have been at first a mere oversight207; but that poor Claiborne naturally got stubborn when such an outcry was raised about it and, with an angry pride of manhood peculiar to good American blood, swore 'by the Eternal' that he would wear his hat wherever he pleased. Don't you almost wish you could slap him on the shoulder with that truly American slap of approbation208?" Of course that is pure Dickens, the Dickens of "American Notes," just as is the following rather amusing description of American newspapers in the good years 1804, 1805, and 1806: "In those days the newspaper seems to have been neither more nor less than a public spittoon,—every man flung his quid of private opinion into it."
Hearn went to look at the Claiborne graves in the old St. Louis cemetery209 on Basin Street. Throughout his life graveyards210 seemed to have a fascination for him; but the following description of the St. Louis cemetery is interesting because it proves, what has often been denied, that part of Hearn's boyhood was spent in Wales: "This cemetery is one of the most curious, and at the same time one of the most dilapidated, in the world. I have seen old graveyards in the north of England, and tombs in Wales, where names of the dead of three hundred years ago may yet be read upon the mossy stones; but I have never seen so grim a necropolis as the ruined Creole cemetery at New Orleans. There is no order there, no regularity212, no long piles of white obelisks213, no even ranks of grey tablets. The tombs seem to jostle one another; the graveyard211 is a labyrinth214 in which one may easily lose oneself. Some of the tombs are Roman in size and design; some are mere heaps of broken brick; some are of the old-fashioned table form."
Readers of Hearn's books are familiar with those pages in which he speaks of Japanese female names, and studies appellations215 in general. This fancy was no new thing with him. As long ago as February 18, 1878, he studied the curious nomenclature of New Orleans streets, revealing, as it does, part of the history of the city, something of its old gallant216 life, something of its old classical culture. He told how Burgundy Street was named after the great duke; Dauphine is, of course, self-explanatory, as are Louis XV and Royal and Bourbon. Governors are represented by Carondelet, Galvez, and others; French and Spanish piety217, by such names as St. Bartholomy, St. Charles, and Annunciata. The classicism, which so affected218 the traditions of French poetry and the French stage, is here represented by-streets named Calliope, Clio, Dryades, &c. Gallantry, "often wicked gallantry, I fear," is commemorated219 by a number of streets christened with "the sweetest and prettiest feminine names imaginable,—Adele, Celeste, Suzette, and Annette."
Then he gave his readers some more of those Creole songs he was always collecting, some of which as rich treasure he was afterwards to give to his friend, Mr. H. E. Krehbiel, the musical critic. In this letter he told how, when for the first time he read Daudet's novel, translated under the title of "Sidonie," he was charmed with the refrain of a Creole song, and determined, when in New Orleans, to procure220 the whole poem. He recorded his disappointment in being able only to get one stanza221, which he translated as follows:
"Others say it is your happiness;
I say, it is your sorrow:
When we are enchanted by love,
Farewell to all happiness!
Poor little Miss Zizi!
Poor little Miss Zizi!
Poor little Miss Zizi!
She has sorrow, sorrow, sorrow;—
She has sorrow in her heart!"
Here is another bit, which seems to the Anglo-Saxon very uncouth and unpoetical when given in bare, bald English, robbed of the oft-lisping Creole melody:
"If thou wert a little bird,
And I were a little gun,
I would shoot thee—bang!
Ah, dear little
Mahogany jewel,
I love thee as a little pig loves the mud?'
The next is more charming. It is only a snatch, but it hints delicious romance:
"Delaide, my queen, the way is too long for me to travel;—
That way leads far up yonder.
But, little as I am, I am going to stem the stream up there.
'I, Liron, am come,' is what I shall say to them.
'My queen, good night; 'tis I, Liron, who have come.'"
And finally there is this one, evidently of negro origin, made to ridicule222 a mulatto girl named Toucouton, who tried to pass as white:
"Ah, Toucouton!
I know you well:
You are like a blackamoor;
There is no soap
Which is white enough
To wash your skin.
"When the white folks give a ball,
You are not able to go there;
Ah, how will you be able to play the flirt223!
You who so love to shine?
Ah, Toucouton, &c.
"Once you used to take a seat
Among the fashionable people;
Now you must take leave, decamps
Without any delay whatever.
Ah, Toucouton," &c.
We have seen that all these letters by Hearn were as if written for his own pleasure or for the pleasure of a friend, but decidedly not for a newspaper clientèle. After the "news" just referred to, there followed two letters which would seem to indicate that the patient editor besought225 his correspondent to come nearer to hard, prosaic226 news matters and treat of the turmoil of Louisiana state affairs. Accordingly, on March 24, 1878, there was a screed227 on of "Louisiana as It Is," treating of the political questions, and finally another, on March 31, scouting228 the possibility of forming a Hayes party in Louisiana. These letters were written in so half-hearted a way that it was not at all surprising to see the next letter from New Orleans signed by a new and more ordinary name. Hearn was no longer the representative of the paper. He went on record to the effect that he quit because the paper was slow about paying him money, although he demanded the arrears229 time and time again. The chances are that the Commercial's readers stupidly wanted more about politics and less about Creole love poetry. With the close of this correspondence Hearn thus definitely closed all connexion with the Cincinnati newspaper world.
We have seen now, from the Midwinter letters, how the Hearn of New Orleans was the father of the Hearn of the West Indies and of Japan. Indeed, so far as his work was concerned, the same subjects interested him throughout his life. This is not to say that he remained at a standstill. On the contrary, he was constantly growing. Despite his bad eyesight, he read incessantly230, and his reading took a very wide range. He labored231 to perfect his style. He struggled with words; he used the file after a fashion to remind one of what Flaubert and Stevenson have told us of themselves. But with a very wise knowledge of his own sympathies and limitations, he chose exactly the topics for his pen that could most surely stir his imagination. It is a little singular, some seven years after his letters to the Cincinnati newspaper, to find him writing practically the same kind of articles and on the same subjects for Harper's Weekly. Hearn, then at the age of thirty-five, anxious to have his things appear in some publication with a circulation other than purely232 local, and anxious likewise to eke233 out his slender income, managed to secure a commission from the house of Harper. The firm had sent a staff artist to New Orleans to draw sketches234 of the exposition of 1885. Hearn was to supply the descriptive articles. His first appeared in Harper's Weekly of January 3, 1885, and was a straightforward account of the exposition. Of course with a man of Hearn's temperament235 this could not last long, so it is not surprising to see the next letter, which appeared on January 10, 1885, devoted to "The Creole Patois."
"Although," he writes, "the pure Creole element is disappearing from the 'Vie Faubon,' as Creole children call the antiquated236 part of New Orleans, it is there, nevertheless, that the patois survives as a current idiom; it is there one must dwell to hear it spoken in its purity and to study its peculiarities237 of intonation238 and construction. The patois-speaking inhabitants, dwelling mostly in those portions of the quadrilateral furthest from the river and from the broad American boundary of Canal Street,—which many of them never cross when they can help it,—are not less bizarre than the architectural background of their picturesque existence. The visitor is surrounded by a life motley-colored as those fantastic populations described in the Story of the Young King of the Black Isles; the African ebon is least visible, but of bronze browns, banana yellows, orange golds, there are endless varieties, paling off into faint lemon tints and even dead silver whites. The paler the shade, the more strongly do Latin characteristics show themselves; and the oval faces, with slender cheeks and low, broad brows, prevail. Sometimes in the yellower types a curious Sphinx visage appears, dreamy as Egypt. Occasionally also one may encounter figures so lithe, so animal, as to recall the savage grace of Piou's 'Satyress.' For the true colorist the contrast of a light saffron skin with dead black hair and eyes of liquid jet has a novel charm, as of those descriptions in the Malay poem, Bida-sari,' of 'women like statues of gold.' It is hard to persuade oneself that such types do not belong to one distinct race, the remnant of some ancient island tribe, and the sound of their richly vowelled Creole speech might prolong the pleasant illusion."
Happening to mention an ocoroon, the very term starts him on a rhapsody:
"That word reminds one of a celebrated and vanished type,—never mirrored upon canvas, yet not less physically239 worthy51 of artistic240 preservation241 than those amber-tinted beauties glorified242 in the Oriental studies of Ingres, of Richter, of Gér?me! Uncommonly243 tall were those famous beauties, citrine-hued, elegant of stature244 as palmettoes, lithe as serpents; never again will such types reappear upon American soil. Daughters of luxury, artificial human growths, never organized to enter the iron struggle for life unassisted and unprotected, they vanished forever with the social system which made them a place apart as for splendid plants reared within a conservatory245. With the fall of American feudalism the dainty glass house was dashed to pieces; the species it contained have perished utterly246; and whatever morality may have gained, one cannot help thinking that art has lost something by their extinction247. What figures for designs in bronze! What tints for canvas!"
Then Hearn returns to the subject of the Creoles, and speaks of the compilation248 of Creole proverbs of the Antilles and other places, but of the lack of a similar work in Louisiana. It foreshadowed his own "Ghombo Zhebes," then in the making. Reading his description of the fugitive249 Creole literature, one regrets that Hearn did not find time and opportunity to collect: it as he did the proverbs.
"The inedited Creole literature," says he, "comprised songs, satires in rhyme, proverbs, fairy tales,—almost everything commonly included under the term of folk-lore. The lyrical portion of it is opulent in oddities, in melancholy beauties; Alphonse Daudet has frequently borrowed therefrom, using Creole refrains in his novels with admirable effect. Some of the popular songs possess a unique and almost weird pathos250; there is a strange, na?ve sorrow in their burdens, as of children sobbing251 for lonesomeness in the night. Others, on the contrary, are inimitably comical. There are many ditties or ballads252 devoted to episodes of old plantation life, to surreptitious frolic, to description of singular industries and callings, to commemoration of events which had strongly impressed the vivid imagination of negroes,—a circus show, an unexpected holiday, the visit of a beautiful stranger to the planter's home, or even some one of those incidents indelibly marked with a crimson253 spatter upon the fierce history of Louisiana politics."
On January 17, under the same caption254, Hearn continued the subject, giving some of the songs and speaking of their probable African ancestry.
On January 31, once more under the general title of "The New Orleans Exposition," Hearn turns with avidity to musings on the Japanese exhibit. Right in the beginning we have this on art, remarkable255, as so much of Hearn's work was, for a vivid sense of color and form despite his own difficulty in seeing: "What Japanese art of the best era is unrivalled in—that characteristic in which, according even to the confession256 of the best French art connoisseurs257, it excels all other art—is movement, the rhythm, the poetry of visible motion. Great masters of the antique Japanese schools have been known to devote a whole lifetime to the depiction258 of one kind of bird, one variety of insect or reptile259, alone. This specialization of art, as Ary Renan admirably showed us in a recent essay, produced results that no European master has ever been able to approach. A flight of gulls260 sweeping261 through the gold light of a summer morning; a long line of cranes sailing against a vermilion sky; a swallow twirling its kite shape against the disk of the sun; the heavy, eccentric, velvety262 flight of bats under the moon; the fairy hoverings of moths263 or splendid butterflies,—these are subjects the Japanese brush has rendered with a sublimity264 of realism which might be imitated, perhaps, but never surpassed. Except in the statues of gods or goddesses (Buddhas which almost compel the Christian265 to share the religious awe of their worshippers, or those charming virgins266 of the Japanese heaven, 'slenderly supple267 as a beautiful lily'), the Japanese have been far from successful in delineation268 of the human figure. But their sculpture or painting of animal forms amazes by its grace; their bronze tortoises, crabs269, storks270, frogs, are not mere copies of nature: they are exquisite271 idealizations of it."
Almost every paragraph seems to foreshadow some chapter in some one of Hearn's future books on Japan. With a memory of his papers on Japanese inserts, this, written in 1885, is significant:
"Perhaps it is bad taste on the writer's part, but the bugs272 and reptiles273 in cotton attracted his attention even more than the cranes. You see a Japanese tray covered with what appear to be dead and living bugs and beetles,—some apparently274 about to fly away; others with upturned abdomen275, legs shrunk up, antennae276 inert277. They are so life-like that you may actually weigh one in your hand a moment before you find that it is made of cotton. Everything, even to the joints278 of legs or abdomen, is exquisitely279 imitated: the metallic280 lustre281 of the beetle's armor is reproduced by a bronze varnish282. There are cotton crickets with the lustre of lacquer, and cotton grasshoppers283 of many colors: the korogi, whose singing is like to the sound of a weaver284, weaving rapidly ('ko-ro-ru, ko-ro-ru'), and the kirigisi, whose name is an imitation of its own note."
Or again, remembering his masterly description of an ascent285 of the famous Japanese mountain, read this, written long before he had ever seen it in the reality: "Splendid silks were hanging up everywhere, some exquisitely embroidered286 with attractive compositions, figures, landscapes, and especially views of Fusiyama, the matchless mountain, whose crater287 edges are shaped like the eight petals288 of the Sacred Lotos; Fusiyama, of which the great artist Houkousai alone drew one hundred different views; Fusiyama, whose snows may only be compared for pearly beauty to 'the white teeth of a young girl,' and whose summit magically changes its tints through the numberless variations of light. Everywhere it appears,—the wonderful mountain,—on fans, behind rains of gold, or athwart a furnace light of sunset, or against an immaculate blue, or gold burnished289 by some wizard dawn; in bronze, exhaling from its mimic290 crater a pillar of incense291 smoke; on porcelain292, towering above stretches of vineyard and city-speckled plains, or perchance begirdled by a rich cloud sash of silky, shifting tints, like some beauty of Yosiwara."
At this period in his life there was not only a love of Creole folk-lore and a longing293 for Japan, but a very decided224 and deep interest in things Chinese. Not only was Hearn preparing himself for the writing of "Some Chinese Ghosts," but it is altogether probable that his dreams of a trip to Asia contemplated294 a sojourn295 in China as well as in Japan. The daintiness, the fairy-like beauty of the Island Empire won him, and China lost its chance for interpretation296 by a master. However, in his letter of March 7, 1885, telling of "The East at New Orleans," we find this relative to China:
"At either side of the main entrance is a great vase, carved from lips to base with complex designs in partial relief and enamelled in divers297 colors. In general effect of coloration the display is strictly298 Chinese; the dominating tone is yellow,—bright yellow, the sacred and cosmogonic color according to Chinese belief. When the Master of Heaven deigns299 to write, He writes with yellow ink only, save when He takes the lightning for His brush to trace a white sentence of destruction. So at least we are told in the book called Kan-ing p'ien,—the 'Book of Rewards and Punishments,' which further describes the writing of God as being in tchouen,—those antique 'seal-characters' now rarely seen except in jewel engraving300, signatures stamped on works of art, or inscriptions301 upon monuments,—those primitive302 ideographic characters dating back perhaps to that age of which we have no historic record, but of which Chinese architecture, with its strange peaks and curves, offers us more than a suggestion,—the great Nomad303 Era."
There were only two more of Hearn's letters on the exposition, one on March 14, on Mexico at New Orleans, telling of the wax figures, depicting304 various Mexican types, and describing the feather-work, imitated from that of the Aztecs; the other, appearing April 11, 1885, telling of the government exhibit. On November 7 he wound up his letters for Harper's by telling something about "The Last of the Voudoos,"—Jean Montanet, or Voudoo John, or Bayou John, who had just died in New Orleans.
On March 28 and April 4 there appeared in Harper's Bazar, some "Notes of a Curiosity Hunter," in which he described some of the things that interested him most in the Japanese and Mexican exhibits.
The End
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vein
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| n.血管，静脉；叶脉，纹理；情绪；vt.使成脉络 | |
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decry
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| v.危难，谴责 | |
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fascination
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| n.令人着迷的事物，魅力，迷恋 | |
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adoption
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| n.采用，采纳，通过；收养 | |
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peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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uncouth
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| adj.无教养的，粗鲁的 | |
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remarkably
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| ad.不同寻常地，相当地 | |
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sane
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| adj.心智健全的，神志清醒的，明智的，稳健的 | |
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diminutive
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| adj.小巧可爱的，小的 | |
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depicts
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| 描绘，描画( depict的第三人称单数 )； 描述 | |
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fictional
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| adj.小说的，虚构的 | |
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tawny
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| adj.茶色的，黄褐色的；n.黄褐色 | |
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complexion
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| n.肤色；情况，局面；气质，性格 | |
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repelled
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| v.击退( repel的过去式和过去分词 )；使厌恶；排斥；推开 | |
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repel
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| v.击退，抵制，拒绝，排斥 | |
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afterward
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| adv.后来；以后 | |
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quotations
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| n.引用( quotation的名词复数 )；[商业]行情（报告）；（货物或股票的）市价；时价 | |
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savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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akin
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| adj.同族的，类似的 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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pseudonym
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| n.假名，笔名 | |
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attain
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| vt.达到，获得，完成 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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abide
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| vi.遵守；坚持；vt.忍受 | |
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enthusiasts
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| n.热心人，热衷者( enthusiast的名词复数 ) | |
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rhetoric
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| n.修辞学，浮夸之言语 | |
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eminent
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| adj.显赫的，杰出的，有名的，优良的 | |
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pretence
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| n.假装，作假；借口，口实；虚伪；虚饰 | |
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catering
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| n. 给养 | |
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turmoil
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| n.骚乱，混乱，动乱 | |
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reconstruction
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| n.重建，再现，复原 | |
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cavalryman
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| 骑兵 | |
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anecdotes
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| n.掌故，趣闻，轶事( anecdote的名词复数 ) | |
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savagery
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| n.野性 | |
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ancestry
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| n.祖先，家世 | |
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provocation
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| n.激怒，刺激，挑拨，挑衅的事物，激怒的原因 | |
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sinewy
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| adj.多腱的，强壮有力的 | |
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rugged
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| adj.高低不平的，粗糙的，粗壮的，强健的 | |
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eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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verge
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| n.边，边缘；v.接近，濒临 | |
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inclination
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| n.倾斜；点头；弯腰；斜坡；倾度；倾向；爱好 | |
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civilized
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| a.有教养的，文雅的 | |
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straightforward
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| adj.正直的，坦率的；易懂的，简单的 | |
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weird
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| adj.古怪的，离奇的；怪诞的，神秘而可怕的 | |
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hustling
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| 催促（hustle的现在分词形式） | |
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bustling
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| adj.喧闹的 | |
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vagrant
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| n.流浪者，游民；adj.流浪的，漂泊不定的 | |
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depressed
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| adj.沮丧的，抑郁的，不景气的，萧条的 | |
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antiquity
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| n.古老；高龄；古物，古迹 | |
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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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worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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appellation
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| n.名称，称呼 | |
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tenantless
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| adj.无人租赁的，无人居住的 | |
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warehouses
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| 仓库，货栈( warehouse的名词复数 ) | |
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55
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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56
underneath
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| adj.在...下面，在...底下；adv.在下面 | |
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57
dinginess
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| n.暗淡，肮脏 | |
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58
dismal
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| adj.阴沉的，凄凉的，令人忧郁的，差劲的 | |
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59
dilapidation
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| n.倒塌；毁坏 | |
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60
crumble
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| vi.碎裂，崩溃；vt.弄碎，摧毁 | |
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61
groans
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| n.呻吟，叹息( groan的名词复数 )；呻吟般的声音v.呻吟( groan的第三人称单数 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
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62
bluffs
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| 恐吓( bluff的名词复数 )； 悬崖； 峭壁 | |
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63
spectral
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| adj.幽灵的，鬼魂的 | |
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64
quaint
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| adj.古雅的，离奇有趣的，奇怪的 | |
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65
illustrating
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| 给…加插图( illustrate的现在分词 )； 说明； 表明； （用示例、图画等）说明 | |
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66
nude
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| adj.裸体的；n.裸体者，裸体艺术品 | |
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67
hue
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| n.色度；色调；样子 | |
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68
comeliness
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| n. 清秀, 美丽, 合宜 | |
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69
detailed
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| adj.详细的，详尽的，极注意细节的，完全的 | |
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70
loomed
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| v.隐约出现，阴森地逼近( loom的过去式和过去分词 )；隐约出现，阴森地逼近 | |
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71
phantom
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| n.幻影，虚位，幽灵；adj.错觉的，幻影的，幽灵的 | |
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72
wilderness
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| n.杳无人烟的一片陆地、水等，荒漠 | |
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73
mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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74
evoked
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| [医]诱发的 | |
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75
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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76
picturesquely
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77
varied
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| adj.多样的，多变化的 | |
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78
imposing
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| adj.使人难忘的，壮丽的，堂皇的，雄伟的 | |
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79
Oxford
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| n.牛津（英国城市） | |
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80
neatly
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| adv.整洁地，干净地，灵巧地，熟练地 | |
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81
celebrated
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| adj.有名的，声誉卓著的 | |
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82
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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83
machinery
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| n.(总称)机械，机器；机构 | |
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84
monstrous
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|
| adj.巨大的；恐怖的；可耻的，丢脸的 | |
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85
brass
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| n.黄铜；黄铜器，铜管乐器 | |
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86
junction
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| n.连接，接合；交叉点，接合处，枢纽站 | |
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87
jointed
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| 有接缝的 | |
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88
jaw
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| n.颚，颌，说教，流言蜚语；v.喋喋不休，教训 | |
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89
prodigious
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| adj.惊人的，奇妙的；异常的；巨大的；庞大的 | |
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90
anatomy
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| n.解剖学，解剖；功能，结构，组织 | |
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91
jaws
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| n.口部；嘴 | |
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92
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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93
plantation
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| n.种植园，大农场 | |
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94
steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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95
flattened
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| [医]（水）平扁的，弄平的 | |
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96
stationary
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| adj.固定的，静止不动的 | |
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97
growled
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| v.（动物）发狺狺声， （雷）作隆隆声( growl的过去式和过去分词 )；低声咆哮着说 | |
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98
rumbling
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| n. 隆隆声, 辘辘声 adj. 隆隆响的 动词rumble的现在分词 | |
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99
hideous
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| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
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100
superstitions
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| 迷信，迷信行为( superstition的名词复数 ) | |
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101
agitating
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| 搅动( agitate的现在分词 )； 激怒； 使焦虑不安； （尤指为法律、社会状况的改变而）激烈争论 | |
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102
supremacy
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| n.至上；至高权力 | |
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103
alloy
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| n.合金，(金属的)成色 | |
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104
simplicity
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| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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105
aspire
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| vi.(to，after)渴望，追求，有志于 | |
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106
ivy
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| n.常青藤，常春藤 | |
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107
wither
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| vt.使凋谢，使衰退，(用眼神气势等)使畏缩；vi.枯萎，衰退，消亡 | |
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108
prostrate
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| v.拜倒，平卧，衰竭；adj.拜倒的，平卧的，衰竭的 | |
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109
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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110
majesty
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| n.雄伟，壮丽，庄严，威严；最高权威，王权 | |
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111
scions
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| n.接穗，幼枝( scion的名词复数 )；（尤指富家）子孙 | |
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112
knights
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| 骑士； （中古时代的）武士( knight的名词复数 )； 骑士； 爵士； （国际象棋中）马 | |
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113
plebeians
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| n.平民( plebeian的名词复数 )；庶民；平民百姓；平庸粗俗的人 | |
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114
blotting
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| 吸墨水纸 | |
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115
callous
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| adj.无情的，冷淡的，硬结的，起老茧的 | |
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116
obliterate
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| v.擦去，涂抹，去掉...痕迹，消失，除去 | |
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117
dwelling
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| n.住宅，住所，寓所 | |
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118
crumbled
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| （把…）弄碎， （使）碎成细屑( crumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 衰落； 坍塌； 损坏 | |
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119
melodiously
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120
vowelled
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| Vowelled | |
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121
corrupted
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| （使）败坏( corrupt的过去式和过去分词 )； （使）腐化； 引起（计算机文件等的）错误； 破坏 | |
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122
mellow
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| adj.柔和的；熟透的；v.变柔和；(使)成熟 | |
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123
vowels
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| n.元音，元音字母( vowel的名词复数 ) | |
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124
satires
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| 讽刺，讥讽( satire的名词复数 )； 讽刺作品 | |
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125
satire
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| n.讽刺，讽刺文学，讽刺作品 | |
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126
witty
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| adj.机智的，风趣的 | |
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127
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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128
parody
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| n.打油诗文，诙谐的改编诗文，拙劣的模仿；v.拙劣模仿，作模仿诗文 | |
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129
sinuous
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| adj.蜿蜒的，迂回的 | |
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130
poetical
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| adj.似诗人的；诗一般的；韵文的；富有诗意的 | |
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131
renderings
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| n.（戏剧或乐曲的）演奏( rendering的名词复数 )；扮演；表演；翻译作品 | |
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132
cannon
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| n.大炮，火炮；飞机上的机关炮 | |
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133
runaway
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| n.逃走的人，逃亡，亡命者；adj.逃亡的，逃走的 | |
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134
eminence
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| n.卓越，显赫；高地，高处；名家 | |
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135
bespoke
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| adj.（产品）订做的；专做订货的v.预定( bespeak的过去式 )；订（货）；证明；预先请求 | |
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136
laborers
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| n.体力劳动者，工人( laborer的名词复数 )；（熟练工人的）辅助工 | |
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137
athletic
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| adj.擅长运动的，强健的；活跃的，体格健壮的 | |
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138
crammed
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|
| adj.塞满的，挤满的；大口地吃；快速贪婪地吃v.把…塞满；填入；临时抱佛脚( cram的过去式) | |
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139
obsession
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| n.困扰，无法摆脱的思想(或情感) | |
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140
lamented
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| adj.被哀悼的，令人遗憾的v.（为…）哀悼，痛哭，悲伤( lament的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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141
hardy
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| adj.勇敢的，果断的，吃苦的；耐寒的 | |
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142
skeptical
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| adj.怀疑的，多疑的 | |
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143
scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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144
planks
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| （厚）木板( plank的名词复数 )； 政纲条目，政策要点 | |
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145
parlor
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| n.店铺，营业室；会客室，客厅 | |
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146
weirdly
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| 古怪地 | |
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147
whatsoever
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| adv.（用于否定句中以加强语气）任何；pron.无论什么 | |
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148
ingenuity
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| n.别出心裁；善于发明创造 | |
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149
originality
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| n.创造力，独创性；新颖 | |
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150
guardians
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| 监护人( guardian的名词复数 )； 保护者，维护者 | |
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151
hurling
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| n.爱尔兰式曲棍球v.猛投，用力掷( hurl的现在分词 )；大声叫骂 | |
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152
enchanted
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| adj. 被施魔法的，陶醉的，入迷的 动词enchant的过去式和过去分词 | |
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153
isles
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| 岛( isle的名词复数 ) | |
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154
curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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155
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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156
taint
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| n.污点；感染；腐坏；v.使感染；污染 | |
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157
colonists
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| n.殖民地开拓者，移民，殖民地居民( colonist的名词复数 ) | |
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158
applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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159
patois
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| n.方言；混合语 | |
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160
devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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161
eerie
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| adj.怪诞的；奇异的；可怕的；胆怯的 | |
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162
turquoise
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| n.绿宝石；adj.蓝绿色的 | |
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163
throbbing
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| a. 跳动的,悸动的 | |
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164
limpid
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| adj.清澈的，透明的 | |
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165
clarion
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| n.尖音小号声；尖音小号 | |
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166
exhaling
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| v.呼出，发散出( exhale的现在分词 )；吐出（肺中的空气、烟等），呼气 | |
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167
enchantment
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| n.迷惑，妖术，魅力 | |
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168
transparent
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| adj.明显的，无疑的；透明的 | |
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169
augurs
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| n.（古罗马的）占兆官( augur的名词复数 )；占卜师，预言者v.预示，预兆，预言( augur的第三人称单数 )；成为预兆；占卜 | |
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170
cemeteries
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| n.（非教堂的）墓地，公墓( cemetery的名词复数 ) | |
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171
remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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172
reverts
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| 恢复( revert的第三人称单数 )； 重提； 回到…上； 归还 | |
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173
brutality
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| n.野蛮的行为，残忍，野蛮 | |
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174
awe
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| n.敬畏，惊惧；vt.使敬畏，使惊惧 | |
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175
vessels
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| n.血管( vessel的名词复数 )；船；容器；（具有特殊品质或接受特殊品质的）人 | |
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176
rosy
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| adj.美好的，乐观的，玫瑰色的 | |
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177
hoary
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| adj.古老的；鬓发斑白的 | |
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178
vaulted
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| adj.拱状的 | |
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179
ozone
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| n.臭氧，新鲜空气 | |
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180
veins
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| n.纹理；矿脉( vein的名词复数 )；静脉；叶脉；纹理 | |
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181
elixir
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| n.长生不老药，万能药 | |
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182
dissertation
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| n.（博士学位）论文，学术演讲，专题论文 | |
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183
undoubtedly
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| adv.确实地，无疑地 | |
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184
beheld
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| v.看，注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
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185
languor
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| n.无精力，倦怠 | |
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186
allusions
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| 暗指，间接提到( allusion的名词复数 ) | |
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187
serpentine
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| adj.蜿蜒的，弯曲的 | |
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188
graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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189
expressive
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| adj.表现的，表达…的，富于表情的 | |
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190
lithe
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| adj.(指人、身体)柔软的，易弯的 | |
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191
winding
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| n.绕，缠，绕组，线圈 | |
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192
splendor
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| n.光彩；壮丽，华丽；显赫，辉煌 | |
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193
metropolis
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| n.首府；大城市 | |
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194
tints
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| 色彩( tint的名词复数 )； 带白的颜色； （淡色）染发剂； 痕迹 | |
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195
awnings
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| 篷帐布 | |
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196
mouldering
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| v.腐朽( moulder的现在分词 )；腐烂，崩塌 | |
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197
utterance
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| n.用言语表达，话语，言语 | |
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198
picturesqueness
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199
luxuriousness
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200
splendors
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| n.华丽( splendor的名词复数 )；壮丽；光辉；显赫 | |
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201
costliest
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| adj.昂贵的( costly的最高级 )；代价高的；引起困难的；造成损失的 | |
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202
haughty
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| adj.傲慢的，高傲的 | |
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203
gentry
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| n.绅士阶级，上层阶级 | |
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204
alleged
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| a.被指控的，嫌疑的 | |
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205
saucy
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| adj.无礼的；俊俏的；活泼的 | |
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206
courteous
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| adj.彬彬有礼的，客气的 | |
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207
oversight
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| n.勘漏，失察，疏忽 | |
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208
approbation
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| n.称赞；认可 | |
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209
cemetery
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| n.坟墓，墓地，坟场 | |
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210
graveyards
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| 墓地( graveyard的名词复数 )； 垃圾场； 废物堆积处； 收容所 | |
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211
graveyard
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| n.坟场 | |
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212
regularity
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| n.规律性，规则性；匀称，整齐 | |
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213
obelisks
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| n.方尖石塔，短剑号，疑问记号( obelisk的名词复数 ) | |
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214
labyrinth
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| n.迷宫；难解的事物；迷路 | |
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215
appellations
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| n.名称，称号( appellation的名词复数 ) | |
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216
gallant
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| adj.英勇的，豪侠的；(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
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217
piety
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| n.虔诚，虔敬 | |
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218
affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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219
commemorated
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| v.纪念，庆祝( commemorate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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220
procure
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| vt.获得，取得，促成；vi.拉皮条 | |
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221
stanza
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| n.（诗）节，段 | |
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222
ridicule
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| v.讥讽，挖苦；n.嘲弄 | |
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223
flirt
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| v.调情，挑逗，调戏；n.调情者，卖俏者 | |
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224
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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225
besought
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| v.恳求，乞求（某事物）( beseech的过去式和过去分词 )；(beseech的过去式与过去分词) | |
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226
prosaic
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| adj.单调的，无趣的 | |
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227
screed
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| n.长篇大论 | |
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228
scouting
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| 守候活动，童子军的活动 | |
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229
arrears
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| n.到期未付之债，拖欠的款项；待做的工作 | |
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230
incessantly
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| ad.不停地 | |
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231
labored
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| adj.吃力的，谨慎的v.努力争取(for)( labor的过去式和过去分词 )；苦干；详细分析；（指引擎）缓慢而困难地运转 | |
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232
purely
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| adv.纯粹地，完全地 | |
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233
eke
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| v.勉强度日，节约使用 | |
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234
sketches
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| n.草图( sketch的名词复数 )；素描；速写；梗概 | |
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235
temperament
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| n.气质，性格，性情 | |
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236
antiquated
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| adj.陈旧的，过时的 | |
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237
peculiarities
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| n. 特质, 特性, 怪癖, 古怪 | |
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238
intonation
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| n.语调，声调；发声 | |
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239
physically
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| adj.物质上，体格上，身体上，按自然规律 | |
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240
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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241
preservation
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| n.保护，维护，保存，保留，保持 | |
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242
glorified
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| 美其名的，变荣耀的 | |
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243
uncommonly
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| adv. 稀罕(极，非常) | |
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244
stature
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| n.（高度）水平，（高度）境界，身高，身材 | |
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245
conservatory
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| n.温室，音乐学院；adj.保存性的，有保存力的 | |
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246
utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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247
extinction
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| n.熄灭，消亡，消灭，灭绝，绝种 | |
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248
compilation
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| n.编译，编辑 | |
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249
fugitive
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| adj.逃亡的，易逝的；n.逃犯，逃亡者 | |
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250
pathos
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| n.哀婉，悲怆 | |
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251
sobbing
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| <主方>Ⅰ adj.湿透的 | |
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252
ballads
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| 民歌，民谣，特别指叙述故事的歌( ballad的名词复数 )； 讴 | |
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253
crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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254
caption
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| n.说明，字幕，标题；v.加上标题，加上说明 | |
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255
remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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256
confession
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| n.自白，供认，承认 | |
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257
connoisseurs
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| n.鉴赏家，鉴定家，行家( connoisseur的名词复数 ) | |
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258
depiction
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| n.描述 | |
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259
reptile
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| n.爬行动物；两栖动物 | |
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260
gulls
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| n.鸥( gull的名词复数 )v.欺骗某人( gull的第三人称单数 ) | |
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261
sweeping
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| adj.范围广大的，一扫无遗的 | |
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262
velvety
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| adj. 像天鹅绒的, 轻软光滑的, 柔软的 | |
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263
moths
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| n.蛾( moth的名词复数 ) | |
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264
sublimity
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| 崇高，庄严，气质高尚 | |
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265
Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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266
virgins
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| 处女，童男( virgin的名词复数 )； 童贞玛利亚（耶稣之母） | |
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267
supple
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| adj.柔软的，易弯的，逢迎的，顺从的，灵活的；vt.使柔软，使柔顺，使顺从；vi.变柔软，变柔顺 | |
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268
delineation
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| n.记述；描写 | |
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269
crabs
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| n.蟹( crab的名词复数 )；阴虱寄生病；蟹肉v.捕蟹( crab的第三人称单数 ) | |
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270
storks
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| n.鹳( stork的名词复数 ) | |
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271
exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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272
bugs
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| adj.疯狂的，发疯的n.窃听器( bug的名词复数 )；病菌；虫子；[计算机]（制作软件程序所产生的意料不到的）错误 | |
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273
reptiles
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| n.爬行动物，爬虫( reptile的名词复数 ) | |
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274
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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275
abdomen
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| n.腹，下腹(胸部到腿部的部分) | |
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276
antennae
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| n.天线；触角 | |
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277
inert
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| adj.无活动能力的，惰性的；迟钝的 | |
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278
joints
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| 接头( joint的名词复数 )； 关节； 公共场所（尤指价格低廉的饮食和娱乐场所） （非正式）； 一块烤肉 （英式英语） | |
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279
exquisitely
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| adv.精致地；强烈地；剧烈地；异常地 | |
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280
metallic
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| adj.金属的；金属制的；含金属的；产金属的；像金属的 | |
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281
lustre
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| n.光亮，光泽；荣誉 | |
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282
varnish
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| n.清漆；v.上清漆；粉饰 | |
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283
grasshoppers
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| n.蚱蜢( grasshopper的名词复数 )；蝗虫；蚂蚱；（孩子）矮小的 | |
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284
weaver
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| n.织布工；编织者 | |
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285
ascent
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| n.(声望或地位)提高；上升，升高；登高 | |
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286
embroidered
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| adj．绣花的 | |
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287
crater
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| n.火山口，弹坑 | |
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288
petals
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| n.花瓣( petal的名词复数 ) | |
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289
burnished
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| adj.抛光的，光亮的v.擦亮（金属等），磨光( burnish的过去式和过去分词 )；被擦亮，磨光 | |
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290
mimic
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| v.模仿，戏弄；n.模仿他人言行的人 | |
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291
incense
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| v.激怒；n.香，焚香时的烟，香气 | |
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292
porcelain
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| n.瓷；adj.瓷的，瓷制的 | |
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293
longing
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| n.（for）渴望 | |
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294
contemplated
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| adj. 预期的 动词contemplate的过去分词形式 | |
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295
sojourn
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| v./n.旅居，寄居；逗留 | |
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296
interpretation
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| n.解释，说明，描述；艺术处理 | |
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297
divers
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| adj.不同的；种种的 | |
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298
strictly
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| adv.严厉地，严格地；严密地 | |
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299
deigns
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| v.屈尊，俯就( deign的第三人称单数 ) | |
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300
engraving
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| n.版画；雕刻（作品）；雕刻艺术；镌版术v.在（硬物）上雕刻（字，画等）( engrave的现在分词 )；将某事物深深印在（记忆或头脑中） | |
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301
inscriptions
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| （作者）题词( inscription的名词复数 )； 献词； 碑文； 证劵持有人的登记 | |
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302
primitive
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| adj.原始的；简单的；n.原(始)人，原始事物 | |
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303
nomad
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| n.游牧部落的人，流浪者，游牧民 | |
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304
depicting
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| 描绘，描画( depict的现在分词 )； 描述 | |
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