Opera and Drama was written in the winter of 1850-1. As it is the most thorough and the most comprehensive statement that Wagner has given us of his theory of drama and music, it will be as well to summarise15 its arguments and conclusions for the reader.
I. Until the present time, men have indeed felt that the opera was a monument of the corruption16 of artistic taste, but criticism has not fully fathomed17 the matter: and it therefore becomes the task of the creative artist to practise criticism, in order at once to "annihilate18 error and uplift criticism." The writer of an article on modern opera in Brockhaus' Lexicon[347] has pointed19 out the defects of this form of art, showing its artificialities and conventions; but when he comes to the practical problem, "How is all this to be remedied?" he can only regret that Mendelssohn's too early death should have "prevented the solution of the riddle20." But this is still proceeding21 on the wrong track. Had Mendelssohn any musical gift which Mozart, for example, did not possess? Could anything, from the standpoint of music, be more perfect than each individual number of Don Giovanni? Plainly the critic cannot wish for better music than this. It is evident, then, that what he wants in opera is the power and force of drama. But he is blind enough still to expect this from the musician; that is, wanting a house built for him, he applies, not to the architect, but to the upholsterer. And by the very failure of the critic's effort to solve the problem in this way, there is driven home the conclusion that this way the problem is really insoluble. Yet the true solution, so far from being difficult of attainment23, simply stares one in the face; and the formula for it is that—
"The error in the art-genre of Opera consists in the fact that a Means of Expression (Music) has been made the object, while the Object of Expression (the Drama) has been made a means."
The truth of this formula can be attested24 by an appeal to the history of the opera. It arose, not from the folk-plays of the Middle Ages, in which there were the rudiments25 of a natural co-operation of music and drama, but at the luxurious26 courts of Italy, where the aristocrats27 engaged singers to entertain them with arias28, that is, with "folk-tunes stripped of their na?veté and natural truth," embroidered30 on a story whose only raison d'être was the occasional advent31 of these arias.[348] Music, in fact, was the all-in-all of opera, as is clearly shown by the old-time domination of the singer: while all the poet had to do was to stand as little as possible in the way of the musician. The great merit of Metastasio,[349] according to the standard of the practice of his own day, was that he almost effaced32 his own art in favour of music—"never embarrassed the musician in the least, never advanced any unusual claim upon him from the dramatic standpoint." Nor has the situation changed, in its main features, down even to the present day. It still is held to be necessary for the poet to shape his material according to the necessities of the musician from first to last. The whole aim of the opera is simply music, the dramatic story being only utilised to serve music as a means for its own display. The anomaly has finally become so fundamental a part of men's lives that they no longer realise that it is an anomaly: and accordingly they still have hopes of erecting33 the genuine drama on the basis of absolute music—that is, of achieving the impossible. The object of Opera and Drama is to prove that great artistic results can follow from the collaboration34 of music with dramatic poetry, while from the unnatural35 position which music bears towards opera in our present system nothing but sterility36 can result.
Let us, then, in the first place, consider "Opera and the Nature of Music."
Music has been betrayed into a position where she has lost sight of her own limitations; although in herself she is simply an "organ of expression," she has fallen into "the error of desiring to define with perfect clearness the thing to be expressed." The musical basis of the opera was the aria29, that is, the folk-song deprived of its own original words, and adapted at once to the vanity of the singer and the luxurious tastes of the world of rank. Aria and dance-tune, with an admixture of recitative, made up an opera, into the musical domain37 of which the poet was only allowed to enter in order to supply a little narrative38 cohesion39. The significance of the so-called reformation of Gluck has been greatly exaggerated. All he did was to curtail40 the arrogant41 pretensions42 of the singer, while leaving the texture43 and plan of opera untouched. His was a revolt of the composer fighting merely for his own hand, not for the ends of drama: and every means by which he increased the power of music in opera was necessarily a further shackle45 on the limbs of the poet. Méhul, Cherubini and Spontini in their turn broadened the old musical forms of opera, and made the musical expression more consonant46 with that of the words, but did nothing for opera except from the standpoint of music. The poet may now have had to provide a slightly better and firmer groundwork for the musician, but it was to the musician, and to him alone, that he still owed his existence in opera. People failed to see that the source of regenerative power could be nowhere but in the drama: and the trouble was that music tried by itself to perform the functions of drama, to be a "content" instead of mere44 "expression."
Mozart, again, was so entirely47 a musician that his work throws the clearest light on the relations of musician and poet; and we find him unable to write at his best where the poem was flat and meaningless. He could not write music for Tito like that of Don Giovanni, or for Cosi fan tutte like that of Figaro. He, the most absolute of all musicians, would long ago have solved the operatic problem had he met the proper poet. This poet he was never fortunate enough to meet: all his "poets" did was to give him a medley48 of arias, duets, and ensembles49 to set to music. But the flood of beauty and expression which Mozart poured into opera was too great for that narrow bed; the stream overflowed50 into wider and freer channels, until it became a mighty51 sea in the symphonies of Beethoven.
The aria was a degeneration of the folk-song, in which poetry and music had been spontaneously one. The operatic aria was the music of the folk-song, arbitrarily wrested52 from the words, and made to serve the indolent pleasure of the man of luxury. In course of time people forgot that a word-stave should by rights go with the melody. It was Rossini who took this artificial flower, drenched53 it with manufactured perfume, and gave it the semblance54 of life. Rossini saw that the life-blood of ordinary opera was melody—"naked, ear-tickling, absolute-melodic55 melody." Spontini erred56 in imagining the "dramatic tendency" to be the essence of opera: the real essence, as Rossini showed, and as the future history of opera proves, was simply absolute melody.
Earnest composers, however, while by no means denying the claims of melody, held that Rossini's melody was cheap and superficial, and endeavoured to derive57 theirs more directly from the fountains of expression of the Folk. This was the course taken by Weber, who gave opera-aria the deep and genuine feeling of the folk-song; though the flower, thus torn from its native meadow, could not thrive in the salons58 of modern luxury and artificiality. And Weber, no less than Rossini, made his melody the main factor of opera, though of course it was far worthier59 and more honest than the melody of the Italian composer. Weber directed and constrained60 the poet of Der Freischütz as emphatically as Rossini did the poet of Tancredi. And Weber's failure proves afresh the assertion that instead of the drama being taken up into the being of music, music must be taken up into the drama.
Weber's success in harking back to the Folk was envied by the composers of other nationalities, and a number of operas were produced which tried to proceed on similar lines—such as Masaniello and William Tell. The Folk, in fact, was exploited, but its real inspiration could not, from the very nature of the case, be embodied61 in opera. In the epic62 and the drama the Folk celebrated63 the deeds of the Hero, and in true drama the action and the character are recognised as necessary; but under the influence of the modern State, dramatic characters lose their personality and become mere masks. This was particularly the case in opera, where the folk-song has degenerated64 into the aria, and the Folk itself has become the Mass, the Chorus. "Historic" opera became the fashion, and even Religion was dragged upon the stage, as in the operas of Meyerbeer. But the outlandishness thus imported into opera led in its turn to worse degeneration: and the "historic" mania65 became "hysteric" mania—in other words, Neo-romanticism.
Up to this time, every influence that had shaped the course of opera had come from the domain of absolute music alone. After Rossini, operatic melody was varied66 by the introduction of instrumental melody. People had not perceived that instrumental music was also unfruitful, by reason of its not expressing the purely67-human in the form of definite, individual feelings.
"That the expression of an absolutely definite and clearly-understandable individual Content was in truth impossible in this language that was capable only of generalised emotional expression, could not be demonstrated until the coming of that instrumental composer in whom the longing68 to express such a Content became the burning, consuming motive-force of all artistic conception."
It was the function of Beethoven to show what music can do if it confines itself to its true sphere, that of expression. In his later works, Beethoven, having his mind filled with a definite content, burst the bounds of many of the old absolute forms, and stammered69 through tentative new ones. Future symphonists followed him from this point, without seeing what it was in Beethoven that made him act in this way; they consequently misapplied his forms, copying the externals only. Hence the vogue71 of programme music, of which the great representative is Berlioz. Then there came an influx72 of the wealth of instrumental music (developed independently of vocal73 music) into operatic melody. This is modern characteristic, of which Meyerbeer, the cosmopolitan74 Jew, is the great exploiter, and which differs from that of Gluck and Mozart in that the poet is infinitely75 more degraded, and absolute melody more exalted76. This held good even in Paris, where the poet had hitherto always had some rights; but now Meyerbeer forced Scribe, his librettist77, to run wherever he chose to drive him. The secret of his music is "Effect without Cause." Yet even Meyerbeer wrote fine music where he allowed the poet to guide him—as in parts of the great love-scene in the fourth act of Les Huguenots.
To sum up, then, Music has tried to be the drama, and the attempt has ended in impotence. The only salvation78 for it lies in sensible co-operation with the poet. This may be seen by a glance at the nature of our present music. The most perfect expression of the inner being of music is melody; it is to harmony and rhythm what the external side of the organism is to the internal. Now the Folk's melodies were a revelation of the nature of things. Christianity, however, with its anxiety to lay bare the soul, found itself face to face not with life but death; and the Folk-song, the indivorcible union of poetry and music, almost died out. In the ages of human mechanism80 the longing of things was to produce the real man, which man "was really none other than Melody, i.e. the moment of most definite, most convincing manifestation81 of Music's actual, living organism." The struggle of Beethoven's great works is the struggle of mechanism to become a man, an organism, uttering itself in melody. Thus while other composers merely took melody, ready-made, from the mouth of the Folk, and applied70 it to their own purposes, Beethoven's melody was the spontaneous effort of Music's inner organism to find expression. But it is only in the verbal outburst of the Ninth Symphony that Beethoven brings melody to true life; music was sterile82 until fertilised by the poet. The error had always been that operatic melody, coming as it did from the Folk-song, ran on certain rhythmical83 and structural84 lines, beyond which the musician could not stray; so that melody had no chance to be born spontaneously out of poetry, for the poet had simply to adapt his words to the one invariable musical scaffolding. "Every musical organism is by its nature a womanly; it is merely a bearer, not a begetter86; the begetting87 force lies outside it, and without fecundation by this force it cannot bear." In the Choral Symphony Beethoven had to call in the poet to fertilise absolute music; and the folly88 of the latter is seen in its attempts not only to bear but also to beget85. "Music is a woman," whose nature is to surrender in love. Who now is to be the Man to whom this surrender is to be made? Let us look at the Poet.
II. When Lessing tries to mark out the boundaries of poetry and painting in the Laoc?on, he has in his eye merely descriptive, literary poetry, not "the dramatic art-work brought immediately into view by physical performance." Now the literary poem is an artificial art, appealing to the imagination instead of to the senses. All the egoistically severed89 arts, indeed, appeal only to the force of imagination. They "merely suggest; an actual presentation would be possible to them only if they could address themselves to the totality of man's artistic receptivity, communicate with his entire perceptive90 organism, instead of merely his faculty91 of imagination; for the real art-work only comes into being when it passes from imagination into actuality, i.e. physical presentation." There should be no arts, there should be one veritable Art. It is an error to look upon Drama as merely a branch of literature; although it is true that our drama is no more true Drama than a single musical instrument is an orchestra.
The modern drama has a two-fold origin—in Romance, and in the Greek drama; the flower of the former being Shakespeare—of the latter, Racine. Our dramatic literature hovers92 undecidedly between these two extremes. The romance was not the portrayal94 of the complete man; this only became possible in drama, which actualised life, presented it visibly to the senses. Shakespeare "condensed the narrative romance into the drama"—made it, that is, suitable for stage representation. The great characteristic of his art was that human actions did not come before us merely in descriptive poetry, but by the actors addressing themselves directly to the actual eye, and the poet had to narrow down the diversity of the old Folk-stage to suit the scenic95 and other demands of the theatre. The action and the characters had to be made more definite, more individual, more circumstantial, in order to give the spectators the impression of an artistic whole. The appeal, in short, was no longer to fancy but to sense, the only domain left to fancy being the imagining the scene itself—for the stage-craft of those days fell short of actually representing reality. This mixture of fancy and sense-presentation in the drama was the source of endless future confusion in dramatic art; the giving-up to fancy of the representation of the scene left an open door in drama through which romance and history might pass in and out at pleasure.
In the French drama, outward unity96 of scene determined97 the whole structure of the play, diminishing the part played by action, and increasing the function of "mere delivery of speeches." For the same reason, the French dramatists could not choose for representation the romance, with its bewildering multiplicity of incident; they had to fall back on the already condensed plots which they found in Greek mythology98. Instead of dealing99 with his own people's life, then, as Shakespeare had tried to do, the French tragedian merely imitated the finished Greek drama. This unnatural, artificial world was reproduced in French opera, and most saliently in the French opera of Gluck.
"Opera was thus the premature100 bloom on an unripe101 fruit grown from an unnatural,[350] artificial soil. The outer form, with which the Italian and French drama began, must be attained102 by the new drama by organic evolution from within, on the path of the Shakespearean drama; then first will ripen103, also, the natural fruit of musical drama."
German dramatic art found itself between the Shakespearean play on the one side and the scenic Southern opera on the other—between the appeal to hearing, aided slightly by fancy in the representation of the scene, and the appeal to the eye alone. There were two final courses open: either, as Tieck suggested, to act Shakespeare with no more scenery than was employed in Shakespeare's own theatre, or to represent each change of scene in the plays—that is, employ the gigantic apparatus104 of scenic opera.
The result to the modern poet was perplexity and disillusion105. The play was neither literature—as it was when men merely read it, allowing their imagination to represent the scene—nor actual, visualised drama. Hence the poet either wrote plays simply to be read, not acted, or, if he wrote for the stage, he employed the reflective type of drama, the modern origin of which may be traced to the pseudo-antique drama, constructed according to Aristotle's rules of unity. These results and tendencies are exhibited in Goethe and Schiller. Goethe, after various experiments, found his full expression in Faust, which makes no pretence106 of stage-representation, and is therefore really neither romance nor drama. Faust is "the point of separation between the medi?val romance ... and the real dramatic matter of the future." Schiller was always perplexed107 by the contradiction between history and drama. The whole dilemma108 is this. On the one side are romance and history, with all their multiplicity of character and action: on the other is the ideal dramatic form, presenting a simple, definite action and real moving characters visibly to the eye; and a compromise has to be effected between these two. The plain truth is "that we have no drama, and can have no drama; that our literary-drama is as far removed from the genuine drama as the pianoforte from the symphonic song of human voices; that in the modern drama we can arrive at the production of poetry only by the most calculated devices of literary mechanism, just as on the pianoforte we only arrive at the production of music by means of the most complicated devices of technical mechanism—that is to say, a soulless poetry, a toneless music." With this drama true music can have nothing to do.
Man, conceiving the external world, is impelled110 to reproduce his conceptions in art in a mode that shall be intelligible111 to others. This has only once been done thoroughly—in the expression of the Greek world-view in the Greek drama. The material of this drama was the myth—the Folk's mode of condensation112 of the phenomena113 of life—"the poem of a life-view in common." The Christian79 myth was concerned with death where the Greek had been concerned with life. It could therefore be painted or described, but not represented in drama. The Germanic myth, like the Greek, was in its essence a religious intuition, a life-view in common; but Christianity laid hold of it and dispersed114 it into fragments of fable115 and legend—the Romance of the Middle Ages. What the artist had to do was to find Man under all this débris. Now whereas the drama selects an action from a mass of actions, and limits the surroundings to just so much as will illuminate116 and justify117 this action, the romance has to enter circumstantially and at great length into the surrounding circumstances, in order to make the action and the character artistically118 convincing. The drama goes from within outwards119, the romance from without inwards: the drama lays bare the organism of mankind, the romance shows us merely the mechanism of history; the art-procedure in drama is organic, in romance merely mechanical; the drama gives us the man, the romance the citizen; the drama exhibits the fullness of human nature, the romance the penury120 of the State. In the evolution that has gone on since the Middle Ages, Burgher-society has come uppermost; but it offers nothing to romance but unloveliness. Everything in life is being disintegrated121 past the capacity of art to reunite it; the poet's art has turned to politics, and until we have no more politics the poet cannot come to light again. As Napoleon said, the r?le of Fate in the ancient world is filled in the modern by politics; and this is what we shall have to comprehend before we can discover the true content and form of drama.
Now the myth is true for all time, and its content forever inexhaustible. Understanding it well, we see in it "an intelligible picture of the whole history of mankind, from the beginnings of society to the necessary downfall of the State." The political State lives on the vices109 of society; salvation and art are only to be found in the free, purely-human individual. The essence of the State is caprice, of the free individual, necessity. It is then essential for us to annul122 the State and create afresh the free individual. The poet who tried to portray93 this individual found that he was face to face with him only as he had been shaped by the State; he could not then portray him, but only imagine him; could only represent him to thought, not to feeling. Our drama, in consequence, has been forced to make its appeal to the understanding instead of the feeling. Out of the mass of man's modern surroundings the poet has to reconstruct the individual, and present him to feeling, to sense, instead of to understanding. But this the poet cannot do; he can only address the understanding, and that through the organ of understanding "abstract and conditioned word-speech." "The course to be taken by the drama of the future will be a return from understanding to feeling, in so far as we advance from the mentally-conceived individuality to an actual individuality." By the annihilation of the State, society will realise its purely-human essence, and determine the free individual. And it is only in the most perfect art-work, the drama, that the poet's insight into life can find complete expression, because this drama will address not the understanding, but the feeling, through the senses. It will present the poet's view of life physically123 to the eye; it will be a true emotionalisation of the intellect. It must present things to us in such a manner that we cannot help realising their necessity. This can only be done by avoiding the by-paths of the intellect, and by appealing directly to the feeling. The action, then, must be so chosen as to make this appeal instinctively124. Now an historic action, or one "which can only be justified126 from the standpoint of the State," is only representable to the understanding, not to the feeling; that is, by its very multiplicity and lack of warmth it cannot be seized definitely and quickly by the senses, but needs the combining function of thought. The true dramatic "action" must be seen at once to be the essential centre of the periphery127 of circumstance. Man and nature, as cognised by the understanding, are split up into fragments; it is the feeling that grasps the organic unity of things, and it is from this point outwards that the true drama must work. In other words, it must be generated from the myth.
Up to a certain point the intellect can work in the selection of material, and express itself through its own organ, word-speech; but for the full realisation of the action and the motives128 to the feeling, the organ of feeling—tone-speech—has to be called in. "Tone-speech is the beginning and end of word-speech, as the feeling is beginning and end of the understanding, as myth is beginning and end of history, as lyric129 is beginning and end of poetry." The lyric "holds within itself all the germs of the essential art of poetry, which in the end can only be the justification130 of the lyric; and the work that accomplishes this justification is nothing but the highest human art-work, the complete drama."
The primal131 organ of utterance132 of the inner man is tone-speech, the fundamental nature of which may be seen by removing the consonants133 from our word-speech. The latter is the result of the addition of prefixes134 and suffixes135 to the open sound, as distinguishing and delimiting signs of objects. In this way speech-roots were formed from the primal melody of tone-speech. In alliteration136, or Stabreim, speech, by combining these roots according to similarity and kinship, "made equally plain to the feeling both the impression of the object and its corresponding expression, through an increased strengthening of that expression"; showed, that is, the unity in multiplicity of the object. Stabreim's similarity of syllabic sounds brings a collective image to the feeling. The Stabreim and the word-verse were fundamentally conditioned by that melody which is the expression of primal human feeling, because the breathing-conditions of man's organism determined the duration and segmentation of the utterance. When poetry developed along the line of the understanding instead of that of the feeling, word-speech became dissociated from its sister, tone-speech; and having lost the instinctive125 sense of this bond, it tried to find "another bond of union with the melodic breathing-pauses." This was done in the end-rhyme, which was the sign that the natural bond of tone-speech and word-speech in the Stabreim had been forgotten. This line of degeneration ended in "the dreary137 turmoil138 of prose"; and the separation from the feeling was complete. We now go upon convention instead of upon conviction. We cannot properly express our emotions in our present language, for it allows us to speak only to the understanding, not to the feeling; which is why the feeling "has tried to escape from absolute intellectual-speech into absolute tone-speech—our music of to-day."
The poet, then, cannot realise his aim in modern speech, because he cannot speak directly to the feeling. Yet he must not simply work out his drama on the lines of the understanding, and then try to add expression to it by means of music. This was the error of opera. The emotional expression itself must also be governed by the poetical139 aim. "A tone-speech to be struck-into from the outset is therefore the organ of expression by means of which the poet must make himself intelligible by turning from the understanding to the feeling, and for this purpose he has to take his stand upon a soil on which he can have intercourse141 with feeling alone." We must go back, in fact, to the primal melodic faculty, to which is given the expression of the purely-human; the drama must utter itself in a form that shall be the marriage of understanding and feeling, of word-speech and tone-speech.
III. Until now the poet has tried in two ways to attune142 the organ of the understanding—word-speech—to an emotional expression which would find its way to the feeling; through rhyme and through melody. It was a mistake to try to import the rhythms of Greek verse into modern poetry, for these rhythms were conditioned by the gestures of the dance, and the dislocation of the speaking-accents was atoned143 for by melody. Our modern languages not being adapted to this ruling into longs and shorts, Greek prosody144 is impossible for us. Our iambic verse, for example, hobbles along mechanically, "putting grievous constraint145 upon the live accent of speech for the sake of this monotonous146 rhythm." "Longs" become "shorts," and "shorts" become "longs," simply to get the requisite147 number of feet into the line. On the other hand, where, as among the Romanic peoples, this kind of rhythm is not in vogue, the end-rhyme has been imported into poetry, and has become indispensable. The whole line is built up with reference to this end-rhyme, as the up-stroke to the down-stroke. The result is that the attention of the ear is only momentarily won, and the poet does not reach the feeling, for all he does is to make understanding speak to understanding.
We have seen that word-speech and melody have travelled along divergent lines of development, and now neither can be properly applied to the other. Even where, as in Gluck's music, the composer tries to find a bond of union in the speaking-accent of the word-speech, his selection of this mere rhetorical accent leads to a disintegration148 of the rest of the line as poetry; it becomes dissolved into prose, and the melody itself becomes merely musical prose. The usual course is for the melody to do what it likes with the verse; to dislocate its rhythm, ignore its accents, and drown its end-rhyme, according to its own pleasure. The poet ought really "so to employ the speaking accent as the only determinative 'moment' for his verse, that in its symmetrical return it should clearly define a wholesome149 rhythm, as necessary to the verse itself as to the melody." Instead of this, we find on the one hand that many of Goethe's verses are declared too beautiful to be set to music, while on the other hand Mendelssohn writes Songs without Words.
We shall have to deal with speech as we dealt with action and the content of the drama. Just as we took away from the action all that was extraneous150 and accidental; just as we took away from the content all that savoured of the State or of history, in order to reach simply the purely-human; so we must "cut away from the verbal expression all that springs from and answers to these disfigurements of the purely-human and emotionally necessary," so that only the purely-human core shall remain. Thus we shall arrive "at the natural basis of rhythm in the spoken verse, as revealed in the liftings and lowerings of the accent," which in turn can only find full expression when intensified151 into musical rhythm. The strong and weak accents must correspond to the "good" and "bad" halves of the musical bar. We must reach back through the understanding and its organ to "the sensuous152 substance of our roots of speech"; we must breathe the breath of life into the defunct153 organism of speech. This breath is music. The roots of words were brought into being by the Folk's primal emotional stress; the essence of these roots is the open vowel154 sound, which finds its fullest sensuous uplifting in music; while the function of the consonants is to determine the general expression to a particular one. The Stabreim indicates to the feeling the unity of sensation underlying155 the roots—shows their emotional kinship. It appeals, as it were, to the "eye" of hearing, while the vowel is addressed to the "ear" of hearing. And as a man only reveals himself fully to us by addressing both eye and ear at once, so "the communicating-organ of the inner man only completely convinces our hearing when it addresses itself with equal persuasiveness156 to both 'eye and ear' of this hearing. But this is possible only in word-tone-speech. Poet and musician have hitherto each addressed no more than half the man: the poet turned towards this hearing's eye alone, the musician only to its ear." The musician will take the vowel-sounds of the poet, and display their fundamental kinship by giving them their full emotional value by means of musical tone. Here then the word-poet ends, and the tone-poet begins. The melody of the musician is "the redemption of the endlessly-conditioned poetic140 thought into a deep-felt consciousness of the highest emotional freedom." This was the melody that rose from Beethoven's Ninth Symphony to the light of day.
When Beethoven wrote the simple melody with which he accompanies the "Freude, sch?ner G?tterfunken," he was writing as an absolute musician. This melody "did not arise out of the poem of Schiller, but rather was invented outside the word-verse and merely spread above it." But in the "Seid umschlungen, Millionen," and the "Ahnest du den22 Sch?pfer, Welt?" he obeys the dictates157 of the poetic aim, and the broadening of the key-kinship leads the feeling back to the purely-human.
The kinship of feeling which the poet can only approximately express by Stabreim, the musician can bring to full expression by key-modulation158. Take, for example, the line "Liebe giebt Lust5 zum Leben." The one emotion being expressed throughout, the musician would keep in one key. When setting "Die Liebe bringt Lust und Leid," however, the change of feeling at the end of the line would be expressed by a modulation; while if this line were followed by "Doch in ihr Weh auch webt sie Wonnen,"[351] at the webt a modulation would be effected back into the original key. It is from this poetico-musical "period" that the true art-work, the perfected drama, must take its rise.
Melody is the horizontal surface of harmony; and in harmony "the ear ... obtains an entire fulfilling—and thus a satisfying—of its capacity for sensuous impression, and consequently can devote itself with the necessary composure to the apt emotional expression of the melody." But harmony in absolute music has existed solely159 for and in itself: whereas the melody ought to be conditioned by the speaking-verse, and the concurrent160 harmony be used for making this obvious to the feeling.
In the drama of the future there must be no characters whose only function is to swell161 the harmonic volume of sound; there must only be such characters as are essential in themselves to the plot. The chorus, then, "as hitherto employed in opera, ... will have to disappear from our drama." Neither the chorus nor the main characters "are to be used by the poet as a musical symphonic tone-body for making the underlying harmonic conditions of the melody perceptible." The musician, however, possesses an organ which can make plain the harmony and characterise the melody in a far superior way to that of the vocal mass. This organ is the orchestra, which is an immense aid in the realisation of the poetic aim. Until now the error has consisted in writing absolute melody in opera—melody, that is, which was conditioned by the orchestra itself, not by the word-verse, and which was therefore only "vocal" melody in the sense that it was given to the voice. It ought really to come from "an announcement of the purely emotional content of the verse, through a dissolution of the vowel into the musical tone"; the verse melody in this way becoming the mediator162 and bond of union between word-speech and tone-speech, the offspring of the marriage of poetry and music.
The great value of the orchestra is its power of uttering the unspeakable, i.e. that which is unutterable through the organ of the understanding. It may do this in three ways—by its organic alliance with gesture, by bringing up the remembrance of an emotion, when the singer is not giving voice to it, and by giving a foreboding of moods as yet unspoken.
All the constituents163 of drama have now been enumerated164. It only remains165 to consider how they are to be knit together into a single form corresponding to the single substance. Just as the poet obtained his action by compressing all the motives into an easily comprehended content, so, for the realisation of this action, must he proceed with the composition on the same principles. The expression, like the action, must be free from the accidental, the contingent166, the superfluous167.
We approach the drama in a mood of expectancy168, that is ministered to by the orchestra in its quality of a producer of foreboding—although this preliminary utterance of the orchestra must by no means be interpreted to mean the ordinary "overture169." This expectancy is afterwards satisfied by the word-speech of the performer, lifted into the higher emotional sphere of tone-speech. The unity of content in the drama must be made evident in a unity of artistic expression; that is, the expression "must convey to the feeling the most comprehensive aim of the poetic understanding." Wherever the word-speech approaches the language of ordinary life—the organ of understanding—the orchestra must keep the expression still on the higher plane, by means of its faculty of conveying foreboding or remembrance. Yet it must assume this function not through the mere caprice of the musician, but in obedience170 only to the poet's aim. Unity of content and unity of expression must go hand in hand. These melodic moments of the orchestra will take their rise only from the weightiest motives of the drama, which are the pillars of the edifice171. In this way a binding172 principle of musical form may be obtained which springs directly from the poetic aim, and far surpasses the arbitrary, merely musical form of the old opera, which was loose, uncentralised, and inorganic173.
Finally let us ask, "Has the poet to restrict himself in presence of the musician, and the musician in presence of the poet?" The answer is that they ought not to restrict each other, but raise each other to higher potency174, in order thus to generate the true drama. If both the poet's aim and the musician's expression are visible, the necessary inspiration of each by each has not been effected. We must not be reminded of either aim or expression, "but the content must instinctively take possession of us as a human action fully justified to our feeling." In every moment of the musician's expression the poetic aim must be contained; and this poetic aim must always find complete realisation in the musician's expression. Whereas Voltaire said, "When a thing is too silly to be said, one sings it," we now may say "What is not worth being sung is not worth the poet's pains to tell."
There is no need to assume that poet and musician must necessarily be one person. Only in the present egoistic relations of these two—who are types of the egoism of the modern State—does it seem necessary for one man to become the unit of creation.
Three nations—the Italian, French and German—have contributed to the evolution of opera; but the German language alone "still coheres175 directly and unmistakably with its roots," and therefore is alone adapted for the new art-work. But the practice of singing operas with German words merely translated from the French or Italian, and therefore not coinciding in meaning and accent with the music, has mis educated and demoralised German singers. In the new drama, the melody will always be conditioned by the word-verse, and singers must learn to render it intelligently, bringing out not merely the melodic sequence but the verbal sense of the melody. And gesture must be employed with intelligent understanding, in order to make the orchestral moments of foreboding and remembrance[352] in their turn intelligible. But the primary condition for this new drama is a new public, that shall look at it seriously, as at an organism; a public that wants an art-work, not a mere evening's distraction176. We are less fortunate than the older artists, whose audience, whatever its social faults may have been, had at least delicacy177 and high breeding; whereas we are ruled by the vulgar and ignorant Philistine178, the characteristic product of our commercial civilisation179. Yet even under the débris of modern life the artist can see the primal source of things, can reach to the human being, to whom the future belongs.
点击
收听单词发音
收听单词发音 |
1
versatility
|
|
| n.多才多艺，多样性，多功能 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
stimuli
|
|
| n.刺激（物） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
abstained
|
|
| v.戒（尤指酒），戒除( abstain的过去式和过去分词 )；弃权（不投票） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
fully
|
|
| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
lust
|
|
| n.性(淫)欲；渴(欲)望；vi.对…有强烈的欲望 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
postpone
|
|
| v.延期，推迟 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
treatise
|
|
| n.专著；(专题)论文 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
futility
|
|
| n.无用 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
artistic
|
|
| adj.艺术(家)的，美术(家)的；善于艺术创作的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
imperative
|
|
| n.命令，需要；规则；祈使语气；adj.强制的；紧急的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
vaguely
|
|
| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
testimonies
|
|
| （法庭上证人的）证词( testimony的名词复数 )； 证明，证据 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
dire
|
|
| adj.可怕的，悲惨的，阴惨的，极端的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
wrung
|
|
| 绞( wring的过去式和过去分词 )； 握紧（尤指别人的手）； 把（湿衣服）拧干； 绞掉（水） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
summarise
|
|
| vt.概括，总结 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
corruption
|
|
| n.腐败，堕落，贪污 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
fathomed
|
|
| 理解…的真意( fathom的过去式和过去分词 )； 彻底了解； 弄清真相 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
annihilate
|
|
| v.使无效；毁灭；取消 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
pointed
|
|
| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
riddle
|
|
| n.谜，谜语，粗筛；vt.解谜，给…出谜，筛，检查，鉴定，非难，充满于；vi.出谜 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
proceeding
|
|
| n.行动，进行，(pl.)会议录，学报 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
den
|
|
| n.兽穴；秘密地方；安静的小房间，私室 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
attainment
|
|
| n.达到，到达；［常pl.］成就，造诣 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
attested
|
|
| adj.经检验证明无病的，经检验证明无菌的v.证明( attest的过去式和过去分词 )；证实；声称…属实；使宣誓 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
rudiments
|
|
| n.基础知识，入门 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
luxurious
|
|
| adj.精美而昂贵的；豪华的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
aristocrats
|
|
| n.贵族( aristocrat的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
arias
|
|
| n.咏叹调( aria的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
aria
|
|
| n.独唱曲，咏叹调 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
embroidered
|
|
| adj．绣花的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
advent
|
|
| n.(重要事件等的)到来，来临 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
effaced
|
|
| v.擦掉( efface的过去式和过去分词 )；抹去；超越；使黯然失色 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
erecting
|
|
| v.使直立，竖起( erect的现在分词 )；建立 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
collaboration
|
|
| n.合作，协作；勾结 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
unnatural
|
|
| adj.不自然的；反常的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
sterility
|
|
| n.不生育，不结果，贫瘠，消毒，无菌 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
domain
|
|
| n.(活动等)领域，范围；领地，势力范围 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
narrative
|
|
| n.叙述，故事；adj.叙事的，故事体的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
cohesion
|
|
| n.团结，凝结力 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
curtail
|
|
| vt.截短，缩短；削减 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
arrogant
|
|
| adj.傲慢的，自大的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
pretensions
|
|
| 自称( pretension的名词复数 )； 自命不凡； 要求； 权力 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
texture
|
|
| n.(织物)质地；(材料)构造；结构；肌理 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
mere
|
|
| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
shackle
|
|
| n.桎梏，束缚物；v.加桎梏，加枷锁，束缚 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
consonant
|
|
| n.辅音；adj.[音]符合的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
entirely
|
|
| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
medley
|
|
| n.混合 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
ensembles
|
|
| 整体( ensemble的名词复数 )； 合奏； 乐团； 全套服装（尤指女装） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
overflowed
|
|
| 溢出的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
51
mighty
|
|
| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
52
wrested
|
|
| （用力）拧( wrest的过去式和过去分词 )； 费力取得； （从…）攫取； （ 从… ） 强行取去… | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
53
drenched
|
|
| adj.湿透的；充满的v.使湿透( drench的过去式和过去分词 )；在某人（某物）上大量使用（某液体） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
54
semblance
|
|
| n.外貌，外表 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
55
melodic
|
|
| adj.有旋律的，调子美妙的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
56
erred
|
|
| 犯错误，做错事( err的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
57
derive
|
|
| v.取得；导出；引申；来自；源自；出自 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
58
salons
|
|
| n.（营业性质的）店( salon的名词复数 )；厅；沙龙（旧时在上流社会女主人家的例行聚会或聚会场所）；（大宅中的）客厅 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
59
worthier
|
|
| 应得某事物( worthy的比较级 )； 值得做某事； 可尊敬的； 有（某人或事物）的典型特征 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
60
constrained
|
|
| adj.束缚的,节制的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
61
embodied
|
|
| v.表现( embody的过去式和过去分词 )；象征；包括；包含 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
62
epic
|
|
| n.史诗，叙事诗；adj.史诗般的，壮丽的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
63
celebrated
|
|
| adj.有名的，声誉卓著的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
64
degenerated
|
|
| 衰退，堕落，退化( degenerate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
65
mania
|
|
| n.疯狂；躁狂症，狂热，癖好 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
66
varied
|
|
| adj.多样的，多变化的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
67
purely
|
|
| adv.纯粹地，完全地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
68
longing
|
|
| n.（for）渴望 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
69
stammered
|
|
| v.结巴地说出( stammer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
70
applied
|
|
| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
71
Vogue
|
|
| n.时髦，时尚；adj.流行的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
72
influx
|
|
| n.流入，注入 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
73
vocal
|
|
| adj.直言不讳的；嗓音的；n.[pl.]声乐节目 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
74
cosmopolitan
|
|
| adj.世界性的，全世界的，四海为家的，全球的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
75
infinitely
|
|
| adv.无限地，无穷地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
76
exalted
|
|
| adj.(地位等)高的，崇高的；尊贵的，高尚的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
77
librettist
|
|
| n.(歌剧、音乐剧等的)歌词作者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
78
salvation
|
|
| n.（尤指基督）救世，超度，拯救，解困 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
79
Christian
|
|
| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
80
mechanism
|
|
| n.机械装置；机构，结构 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
81
manifestation
|
|
| n.表现形式；表明；现象 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
82
sterile
|
|
| adj.不毛的，不孕的，无菌的，枯燥的，贫瘠的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
83
rhythmical
|
|
| adj.有节奏的，有韵律的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
84
structural
|
|
| adj.构造的，组织的，建筑（用）的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
85
beget
|
|
| v.引起；产生 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
86
begetter
|
|
| n.生产者，父 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
87
begetting
|
|
| v.为…之生父( beget的现在分词 )；产生，引起 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
88
folly
|
|
| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
89
severed
|
|
| v.切断，断绝( sever的过去式和过去分词 )；断，裂 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
90
perceptive
|
|
| adj.知觉的，有洞察力的，感知的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
91
faculty
|
|
| n.才能；学院，系；(学院或系的)全体教学人员 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
92
hovers
|
|
| 鸟( hover的第三人称单数 )； 靠近（某事物）； （人）徘徊； 犹豫 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
93
portray
|
|
| v.描写，描述；画(人物、景象等) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
94
portrayal
|
|
| n.饰演；描画 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
95
scenic
|
|
| adj.自然景色的，景色优美的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
96
unity
|
|
| n.团结，联合，统一；和睦，协调 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
97
determined
|
|
| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
98
mythology
|
|
| n.神话，神话学，神话集 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
99
dealing
|
|
| n.经商方法，待人态度 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
100
premature
|
|
| adj.比预期时间早的；不成熟的，仓促的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
101
unripe
|
|
| adj.未成熟的；n.未成熟 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
102
attained
|
|
| （通常经过努力）实现( attain的过去式和过去分词 )； 达到； 获得； 达到（某年龄、水平、状况） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
103
ripen
|
|
| vt.使成熟；vi.成熟 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
104
apparatus
|
|
| n.装置，器械；器具，设备 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
105
disillusion
|
|
| vt.使不再抱幻想，使理想破灭 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
106
pretence
|
|
| n.假装，作假；借口，口实；虚伪；虚饰 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
107
perplexed
|
|
| adj.不知所措的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
108
dilemma
|
|
| n.困境，进退两难的局面 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
109
vices
|
|
| 缺陷( vice的名词复数 )； 恶习； 不道德行为； 台钳 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
110
impelled
|
|
| v.推动、推进或敦促某人做某事( impel的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
111
intelligible
|
|
| adj.可理解的，明白易懂的，清楚的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
112
condensation
|
|
| n.压缩，浓缩；凝结的水珠 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
113
phenomena
|
|
| n.现象 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
114
dispersed
|
|
| adj. 被驱散的, 被分散的, 散布的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
115
fable
|
|
| n.寓言；童话；神话 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
116
illuminate
|
|
| vt.照亮，照明；用灯光装饰；说明，阐释 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
117
justify
|
|
| vt.证明…正当(或有理)，为…辩护 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
118
artistically
|
|
| adv.艺术性地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
119
outwards
|
|
| adj.外面的，公开的，向外的；adv.向外；n.外形 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
120
penury
|
|
| n.贫穷，拮据 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
121
disintegrated
|
|
| v.（使）破裂[分裂，粉碎]，（使）崩溃( disintegrate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
122
annul
|
|
| v.宣告…无效，取消，废止 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
123
physically
|
|
| adj.物质上，体格上，身体上，按自然规律 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
124
instinctively
|
|
| adv.本能地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
125
instinctive
|
|
| adj.(出于)本能的；直觉的；(出于)天性的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
126
justified
|
|
| a.正当的，有理的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
127
periphery
|
|
| n.(圆体的)外面；周围 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
128
motives
|
|
| n.动机，目的( motive的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
129
lyric
|
|
| n.抒情诗，歌词；adj.抒情的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
130
justification
|
|
| n.正当的理由；辩解的理由 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
131
primal
|
|
| adj.原始的；最重要的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
132
utterance
|
|
| n.用言语表达，话语，言语 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
133
consonants
|
|
| n.辅音，子音( consonant的名词复数 )；辅音字母 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
134
prefixes
|
|
| n.前缀( prefix的名词复数 )；人名前的称谓；前置代号（置于前面的单词或字母、数字） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
135
suffixes
|
|
| n.后缀，词尾( suffix的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
136
alliteration
|
|
| n.（诗歌的）头韵 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
137
dreary
|
|
| adj.令人沮丧的，沉闷的，单调乏味的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
138
turmoil
|
|
| n.骚乱，混乱，动乱 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
139
poetical
|
|
| adj.似诗人的；诗一般的；韵文的；富有诗意的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
140
poetic
|
|
| adj.富有诗意的，有诗人气质的，善于抒情的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
141
intercourse
|
|
| n.性交；交流，交往，交际 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
142
attune
|
|
| v.使调和 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
143
atoned
|
|
| v.补偿，赎（罪）( atone的过去式和过去分词 )；补偿，弥补，赎回 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
144
prosody
|
|
| n.诗体论，作诗法 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
145
constraint
|
|
| n.(on)约束，限制；限制(或约束)性的事物 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
146
monotonous
|
|
| adj.单调的，一成不变的，使人厌倦的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
147
requisite
|
|
| adj.需要的，必不可少的；n.必需品 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
148
disintegration
|
|
| n.分散，解体 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
149
wholesome
|
|
| adj.适合；卫生的；有益健康的；显示身心健康的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
150
extraneous
|
|
| adj.体外的；外来的；外部的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
151
intensified
|
|
| v.（使）增强， （使）加剧( intensify的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
152
sensuous
|
|
| adj.激发美感的；感官的，感觉上的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
153
defunct
|
|
| adj.死亡的；已倒闭的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
154
vowel
|
|
| n.元音；元音字母 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
155
underlying
|
|
| adj.在下面的，含蓄的，潜在的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
156
persuasiveness
|
|
| 说服力 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
157
dictates
|
|
| n.命令，规定，要求( dictate的名词复数 )v.大声讲或读( dictate的第三人称单数 )；口授；支配；摆布 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
158
modulation
|
|
| n.调制 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
159
solely
|
|
| adv.仅仅，唯一地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
160
concurrent
|
|
| adj.同时发生的，一致的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
161
swell
|
|
| vi.膨胀，肿胀；增长，增强 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
162
mediator
|
|
| n.调解人，中介人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
163
constituents
|
|
| n.选民( constituent的名词复数 )；成分；构成部分；要素 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
164
enumerated
|
|
| v.列举，枚举，数( enumerate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
165
remains
|
|
| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
166
contingent
|
|
| adj.视条件而定的；n.一组，代表团，分遣队 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
167
superfluous
|
|
| adj.过多的，过剩的，多余的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
168
expectancy
|
|
| n.期望，预期，（根据概率统计求得）预期数额 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
169
overture
|
|
| n.前奏曲、序曲，提议，提案，初步交涉 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
170
obedience
|
|
| n.服从，顺从 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
171
edifice
|
|
| n.宏伟的建筑物(如宫殿，教室) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
172
binding
|
|
| 有约束力的，有效的，应遵守的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
173
inorganic
|
|
| adj.无生物的；无机的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
174
potency
|
|
| n. 效力，潜能 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
175
coheres
|
|
| v.黏合( cohere的第三人称单数 )；联合；结合；（指看法、推理等）前后一致 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
176
distraction
|
|
| n.精神涣散，精神不集中，消遣，娱乐 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
177
delicacy
|
|
| n.精致，细微，微妙，精良；美味，佳肴 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
178
philistine
|
|
| n.庸俗的人；adj.市侩的，庸俗的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
179
civilisation
|
|
| n.文明，文化，开化，教化 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |