Such, at least, were my own feelings when on a morning I awoke and remembered (what at first seemed incredible) that there was to be no opera that day, and that the curtain was down on the stage at Bayreuth for two years. The little backwater of a town, which on arrival had seemed so instinct with such sweet repose17 and tranquillity18, was insupportable: its tranquillity was the stagnation19 of decay; its repose a creeping death-trance, with gray nightmare to ride its rest. Instead of finding that the fiery20 dreams of the last fortnight had gilded21 its streets and woven themselves into its gardens and trellises, it appeared to me merely the most dismal22 little sun-baked suburb I had{202} ever seen. A glorious lamp had burned there, but the lamp was quenched23, and instead of a reflection of its light lingering there, there was only a smell of oil. But the immediate24 and vital question was what to do and where to go. I could not imagine myself finding existence tolerable anywhere, and least of all, perhaps, could I imagine myself back in England in my own quiet little house in the country town, since for the time being, at any rate, all the minute pleasures which had built up that delightful25 life and made it so full of happiness were incomprehensible. Not long ago a quiet morning of work, with glances into the garden to see what new plant had flowered, a game of golf over the breezy down, the face of a friend, the hundred details of my life which I have tried to describe in these pages, were overflowingly sufficient to make me more than content. But now there was exasperation26 in the very multitude of them. And all the time there were, so to speak, images of glorious brightness shut away in some dark place of my brain. The Valkyries were there and Parsifal, Hans Sachs, mellow27 and unembittered, looked on the love of others and{203} smiled, and Walter sang of spring-time, and everywhere was melody.
Here, if you please, is egotism in excelsis, for I solemnly told myself that, instead of going back home like a sober and average person, I was bound—no less—to go somewhere and to do something by which I could the more fully28 apprehend29 and crystallize these images; and the grounds on which I put this to myself—that is my only excuse—were genuine. For I believe that one of the main duties of man to God and to himself is to realize beauty and understand it, and that one of his main duties to his neighbour is to produce beauty in some shape or form, moral, mental, or physical—if, indeed, there is any real difference between them. The last fortnight had given me new material; that part of me which is capable in its small way of feeling beauty had been shown wonderful things. If I went back home to the ordinary routine of daily life, I felt that I should not only do my part in it exceedingly ill, but also that the monotony and triviality of it would tarnish30 and dull the brightness of my new possessions. In other words, I began—a solemn{204} prig—to think about my artistic31 temperament32, and make plans for its well-being33. And that confession34 made—in the hope that Qui s’accuse s’excuse in some small degree—the mind-narrative can go on its way. My body—after an effusion of telegrams—sped South to the house of a friend in Capri, where it arrived two days later.
Here in this remote island, separated by a few leagues of sea only from that vividly35 modern and restless place called Naples, can be recaptured without effort something of the early days of the world, and from the steamer one steps out of all the responsibilities and codes which the stupidity and wickedness of mankind have built up, into paganism and fairyland. The gray walls compounded of priggishness and puritanism (yet knitted together with the mortar36 of good intentions and morality) with which this civilized37 century has fortressed itself fall as the walls of Jericho fell at the blast of the trumpet5, and there is left sunlight and sea and the beauty of the seven days of creation, which was pronounced by God to be good.
The red, waxlike flowers of the pomegranate are{205} in full bloom, and as evening falls they glow like hot coals over the rough stone walls that bound the path up to Capri, where the green lizards38 slip in and out. The smell of the vines is in the air, heavy and warm, and once or twice as I walked through the dusky trellises my heart hammered in me, for I knew that but a little more and I should see Dionysus himself, with the vine-leaves in his hair, and delicate hand holding the cup that brimmed with purple; and at noonday often have I all but seen in the briar-decked clefts39 of rock the great god Pan himself, to the music of whose fluting40 the whole world dances. Up and down their steep paths, with head erect41 beneath the wine-jars, walk the maidens42 of Capri, and something of Aphrodite lives in their wine-painted faces and moulded bosoms44; and young Apollo, bare-footed and splashed to the knee in the trodden vats45, strips the nut-husks off with his gleaming teeth, and looks at the passer-by with brown soft eye. He has pushed a pomegranate flower behind his ear, and his shirt is open, so that the smooth brown breast is seen. What thoughts fill day by day that gay, lazy Italian brain? He is not{206} religious, although he goes to Mass most regularly, for from Mass he passes back again to paganism; and he only goes there because he is a child and is vaguely46 afraid—or would be if he did not go to Mass—of what the priests have told him about a remote bogie—for so God seems to him—who can make him burn in unquenchable fires if he does not. Nor does he weary his mind with any question of morality or code of ethics47: the sun is warm to him, or, if the sun be hot, the shade is cool, and the almond fruit is sweet, and the fumes48 of the fermenting49 vats mysteriously exciting, and the maiden43 with whom he is in treaty to wed50 very fair and loving, and her dowry is good. And for the passer-by he has his bright smile, and the expression of his hope that I have enjoyed my bathe. No, he has not bathed to-day, for the work of the vintage is heavy, and he is paid by the hour. Ah, a cigarette? The signor is too kind. Will not the signor take his pomegranate flower? Indeed the signor will.
Day by day this sunny and innocent paganism gets more possession of me, and day by day the beauty of that which I saw at Bayreuth{207} glows more brightly. Yesterday, about evening, a sudden summer squall came storming over from Posillippo, gleaming with lightning and riotous51 with thunder, and to me it was Wotan who steered52 from the north. On Monte Solaro the Valkyries awaited his coming, and when the whistling winds had passed away over our heads, while the house shuddered53, and the moon again rose in a velvet54 sky with stars swarming55 thick round her, I knew that on the mountain-top Brunehilde slept within a ring of fire, waiting for the man who should claim her with his kiss. But the morning again to-day was very clear and hot, and instead of going up Mount Solaro, as I had intended, I went, as usual, down to the Bagno, a white pebbly57 beach with pockets of sand to lie on. I took with me a basket of figs59 and a flask60 of wine stoppered with vine-leaves, and my friend took a book which we often read and a straw case of cigarettes. And together we swam through the chrysoprase of sunlit sea far out to a brown, seaweed-covered rock. The water was very deep round it, and fathoms61 down something shone very brightly with wavering, subaqueous gleam, and,{208} half laughing at myself, I dived and dived—for I knew it was the Rhinegold that shone there—until I could dive no more. Yet still I could not get deep enough. Then, having rested, we swam back, and lay on pockets of hot sand, and drank from the leaf-stoppered bottle, and ate the purple of the figs; and my friend read in the book which he had brought, beginning at the seventh chapter, and to this effect:
‘Did I seriously believe that that contemplation of God which is the prime duty laid on us by religion must, or even could, legitimately62 give us any touch of sadness of whatever kind, I would throw religion away as heedlessly as I throw away the end of a smoked-out cigarette, for I have no use for it. Yet although on every side, and most of all in every pulpit, I see the lamentable63 Puritan jowl, and hear the lamentable Puritan whine64, which bids me look with horror on the sin of the world and with sorrow on its sufferings, I do not for a moment believe that this impious gabble is the result of religion, but rather of grossest irreligion, on the part of its exponents65. For me, I know that the contemplation of God is my duty, and if{209} I make it my whole and absorbing duty I cannot go very far astray. For above all things is God love, and above all things is He beauty, and the love which engirdles Him joins without break to the human love which it is our duty always to give and take, giving with both hands and taking by the armful. So, too, His beauty joins without break to the beauty of all He has made, and in the golden hair of women and in the rose-petal, in the smooth swift limbs of youth and in the faceted66 diamond, in the curve of a girl’s lips and in the rose-flushed clouds, in the blue chalice67 of the sky of morning, equally and everywhere must we look for and absorb the beauty which is implanted there.
‘It is here that Christianity, with its mournful, man-invented morality, has gone so far astray from its Founder68 that many Christians69 turn from beauty as if beauty was evil, instead of ever seeking it and worshipping it, find it where they will, until the dross70 of their gross minds is burned up in that fine fire. Hence, too, sprang—by “hence,” I mean from impious Puritanism—such phrases as the “temptations and dangers of physical beauty,” whereas to the man whose mind is set on God it{210} is by and through beauty that the uttermost death-stroke is dealt to the writhing71 earthworm of carnalism. For the truth is that no beauty of soul, and no completeness, was ever framed on the mutilation or starvation of self, and at the Last Day the gray and pallid72 ascetic73 will find that what he thought was virtue74, and what he taught as self-control, was sheer darkness of soul and purblind75 vision.
‘It is this that must be cast away. We are people that sit in darkness, content that our religion should make us sad, and as such we have a lesson humbly76 to learn from paganism, and in particular from the paganism of the Greeks, whose hierarchy77 of gods were enthroned in brightness, and the name thereof was Beauty. And that Beauty, the search of which to them was worship and prayer and praise, they found everywhere: in the sunlight and the blue dome78 of heaven; in the crisp, curly acanthus leaf which they set to twine79 about the capitals of their marble-hewn columns and on the necks of the vases of the dead; in the radiance of jewels and in the tragedies of heroes; and above all in the beauty of the human form. Disfigured and astray{211} their worship often went, and it wore strange garbs80, but through all its sin and its misconceptions, its thousand errors and distortions, we can see gleaming, deep below, the bright shining of its truth. And this, to my mind, gleams less brightly in the sadder worship of to-day.
‘For I doubt very much whether anybody is in the least benefited by the actual sorrow or repentance81 of anyone, though no doubt such—especially to sour and brooding natures—is necessary. But the best repentance, if one has sufficient vitality82, will be momentary83, a fiery sword-thrust, which will leave no ache or throb84 behind. It is better, I dare say, that a man should suffer the fires of remorse85 for years rather than that he should not suffer them at all, but I think that the man who is capable of throwing his remorse off and starting fresh and unwounded is the more Godlike creature, for the reason that it is infinitely86 better to be happy and smiling than to go frowning through the world. For sin is seldom born of a happy impulse, stare as you may, unless from a happy impulse which has been, so to speak, shut up in the dark and has gone putrid87.{212}
‘And here in this divine place’ (the book I am quoting from was written at Athens), ‘where beauty is thrown broadcast over all one sees, and happiness is so easy, it seems to me to follow as a corollary that things which a Northern and gloomy people consider wrong are less wrong. For supposing in foggy London every shopkeeper tried to cheat one, one would say that the middle class was going to the dogs. Quite so—it would be. But the middle class is not in the least going to the dogs here. Why not? For a variety of reasons: partly because there is more sun here and no fog, and because the Parthenon is near at hand. Ah, yes, indeed it is so: Gaiety covers a multitude of sins, and while they are covered, Beauty blots88 them out.
‘O beautiful God of this beautiful world, let me make somebody laugh to-day. Amen.’
At that point I laughed.
‘So his prayer is heard,’ said my friend. ‘Have you eaten all the figs while I have been reading?’
‘Yes; but don’t be unhappy. Remember it is your duty to be happy. You may have the last cigarette. No—we’ll toss for it.{213}’
‘I’ll be shot if we do!’ said he.
‘Well, I’ll cut it in half.’
‘So that neither of us gets any,’ said he. ‘Give it me;’ and he very rudely snatched at it. Here ensued a scuffle, and, the bowels89 of the cigarette being scattered90 about the beach, neither of us got any, and the occasion gave rise to moral reflections. Also immoral91 ones. Then peace and plenty descended92 in the shape of a friend also coming down to bathe with a supply of fresh tobacco, and the sun was warm again and the sea blue. Then my friend (whom I must call Toby, because he objects to his real name being known, saying that I am certain to keep all the beautiful remarks for myself and give him all the idiocy) held forth93:
‘The man is shallow,’ he said; ‘it is only a gospel of surfaces he preaches, and you think it profound merely because he loads it with grave words. I have done for years exactly what he preaches: I have succeeded in being always happy and usually gay, and I spend my whole life in looking for what I consider beautiful. Yet what did you call me last night? A second-hand94 sensualist, I think.{214}’
‘Very likely. That is because you are not strenuous95. Your pursuit of beauty must be passionate96, and the pursuit must be an act of worship. Your pursuit of beauty is not an act of worship; it is more like sucking sweets.’
Toby laughed loudly and idiotically.
‘Or eating all the figs,’ said he, and the discussion ended.
It is close on noon, and only the faintest breeze is stirring. The bay is silent and waveless, except that at intervals97 a ripple98 falls like the happy sigh of some beautiful basking99 creature on to the hot, white pebbles100 of the beach. There, like a living sapphire101, lies the dear sea, the thing in this world I love best and understand best, though I do not understand it at all. Never have I seen it so luminous102 as it is to-day; you would say that the sunlight of centuries had been lit in its depths. Gray rocks run out from the precipitous land, fringed with seaweed, and under the water the seaweed shows purple. A brown-sailed fishing-boat lies becalmed a mile out, and across the bay Naples sparkles white and remote, and only the thin line of smoke streaming upwards103 from{215} Vesuvius speaks of the fierce and everlasting104 stir of forces which underlie105 the world. In the thickets106 which come down to the water’s edge of this tideless sea there is now no sound of life, though an hour ago they were resonant107 with the whirring of the cicalas. The lizards have crept out in the stillness and bask58 on the white stones, as still as if once more Orpheus charmed them; and high above me a hawk108, with wings motionless, floats slowly, in seeming sleep, down some breeze in the upper air.
And what if my nameless author is right? What if—this is the upshot—happiness is our first duty? It is certainly not true that if you are good you are happy; but may it not be true that by being happy you are in some degree good? The Puritan interpretation109 of Christianity has had a fair trial, and, indeed, it seems to have made but a poor job out of it. What is the result of all these sadnesses and renunciations? Nothing but starved lives and unrealized ideals. Such self-denial is touching110, beautiful in theory, and based, of course, on Christ’s teaching. But it is based awry111 if it brings sadness with it, if it sees in{216} beauty only a lure112 to lead the soul astray, rather than the signpost which points by no winding113 road, but a royal highway, straight to God. And that road resounds114 with praise, and the birds of St. Francis sit in the pleasant boughs115 of the trees that grow beside it, and the dear saint smiles at them, and says: ‘Sing, my sisters, and praise the Lord.’ And at his bidding they fill their throats with bubbling song, and thank God for their warm feathers and the green habitations He has builded for them. Then St. Francis, so the legend tells us, sits down at table with St. Blaise and others, the friends of St. Francis, and feeds his dear birds, so that they become very strong. That saint is more to my mind than that foolish fellow Stylites, or the dour116 St. Bernard, who, being plagued with the flies on a hot day, excommunicated them, and they all dropped down dead. For love, joy, and peace are the gifts of the Spirit, but we are too much given to let the joy take care of itself, to check it even, as if salvation117 was clothed in sackcloth.
Happiness is a home product. We cannot im{217}port it into ourselves, nor by multiplying our pleasures can we come one whit56 nearer to it. But by being dull, by being slow to perceive, or having perceived to receive, we can, and we often do, succeed in closing the doors of our souls to it. Yet, though it comes not from without, nor is it the sum or product of any pleasures, our soul must sit with doors and windows open to catch if it be but one-millionth of the myriad118 sweet and beautiful things that stir and shine about us, or else, as in the darkness and stagnation of some closed house, dust and airlessness overlay us. For there is nothing in the world, except only that which the sin and folly119 of man have wrought120, which is not wholesome121 and innocent. It is our grossness which makes things gross, our rebellion which makes us say that in beauty there lurk122 any seeds or germs that can ripen123 into or go to form anything that is not beautiful.
‘O world as God has made it, all is beauty,
And knowing this is love, and love is duty:
What further can be sought for or declared?’
{218}
* * * * *
Seraphina and Francesco, with outside help when they want it, are the domestic staff of Toby’s house. They are engaged to be married, and, in fact, the marriage is going to come off in three months’ time. Domestically speaking, this is an ideal arrangement, because if Seraphina’s work happens on any day to be heavy (she cooks, though I cannot call her a cook) Francesco delights to help her; while, on the other hand, if her work is light, she lends her aid in the cleaning and embellishment of the house, for thus she is with her promesso. And in the evening, as often as not, when their work is finished, they stroll and sit in the garden as we do, and with a little encouragement join in our talk, and tell us the strange legends of the saints common to this countryside, or with bated breath speak of the days of the Emperor Tiberius, who still is the bogie of the island, so that a mother even to-day, if a child is troublesome, warns it that Tiberius is coming. High on the eastward124 end of Capri stand the ruins of one of his palaces; the walls are built to the sheer edge of the precipitous rock, and it was from here that he used to hurl125 down{219} his victims when he was satiated with them, flinging them headlong, a glimmer126 of white limbs that turned over and over in the air till they splashed on the rocks three hundred feet below. Round this crag still hovers127 some poisonous breath of crime; sudden shrieks128 are heard of nights, so Francesco says, and shadows pace in the shadows. Here, too, that dark soul used to walk up and down in his corridor of mirrors, so that he could see that none came up behind him with the assassin’s knife; weary of life, he yet clung to it with a maniac129 force; longing130 for death, he fenced himself from it with a thousand guards. ‘And on us,’ said Francesco, when he told us of these things, with the poet that lurks131 in the Italian blood suddenly inspiring his tongue—‘on us, signor, those same stars look down that beheld132 Tiberius. Yet they do not care.’
In this manner we were sitting in the garden on the evening of the day which I have been speaking of. There had been some small festa in the town, and Seraphina, to make herself the more comely133 in her lover’s eyes, had put on, when her kitchen work was over, her festa clothes, even{220} though they would only glimmer for an hour in the dusk, before she went to bed. Her olive skin, flushed with the warm tints134 of wind and sun, was dusky in the moonlight, and her brown eyes, underneath135 her thin, straight eyebrows136, were big and soft, as if made of velvet. But all the gaiety of the South was set in her laughing mouth, and her teeth were a band of ivory in the red of pomegranate. Her arms were bare above the elbows almost to the shoulder, and beneath the smooth satiny skin, as she moved them in Southern gesticulation at some story she was telling us, I could see the swift and supple137 play of the muscles. Round us the night was pricked138 with a thousand remote stars, and the warm, languid air stirred in the bushes and sighed among the vineyards like a lingering caress139. Now and then a handful of hot air would be tossed over us from the veranda140, where the sun had grilled141 the flagstones all the afternoon; now and then a breath of coolness—a handful of air that had been shaded all day by the thick vine-leaves—stirred from its place and refreshed us. Below gleamed the lights of Capri, and the murmur of the town{221} stole softly to us, or a gay stanza142 would be flung into the air from some homeward-going peasant as he passed up the cobbled ways. To the north a great emptiness of gray showed where the Gulf143 of Naples basked144 beneath the moon, and high up on the horizon a thin necklace of light lying along the edge of the sea showed the town. This hour of warm night, especially with such a setting, is, to my mind, the most animal of all. In the moon-dusk a thousand subtle scents145 and hints float round one, not consciously perceived, but exciting to the primeval animal instincts which ?ons of evolution have not yet eradicated146 from our nature; and at such an hour the beast within us, prowling, predatory, hot on its slinking errands, is more than ever dominant147.
Soon Toby got up, stretching himself.
‘Mail-day to-morrow,’ he said, ‘and I have two letters to write. Just get me some paper and envelopes, Francesco; there were none this morning.’
Francesco jumped up.
‘Eh, signor, I forgot,’ he said; ‘there are none in the house. I will run over to Capri; the shops{222} are still open. Two minutes only;’ and he vaulted148 over the wall into the road.
Toby strolled towards the house.
‘Are you coming in?’ he said to me over his shoulder.
‘Yes, in ten minutes,’ I answered, and he disappeared.
Seraphina rose also, resting her weight for a moment on her arm.
‘It is good beneath the stars in the evening, is it not?’ she said. ‘I must go in. Happy dreams, signor!’
‘No; tell me one more story about Tiberius,’ I said.
She laughed.
‘Surely the signor is like a child,’ she said: ‘he is so fond of stories. Will he not tell me an English story for a change?’
‘About what?’
‘About yourself or your friends—about your customs in England. I like the ways of English folk;’ and she sat down again close to me, eager-eyed, with smiling mouth.
Suddenly it seemed to me that the whole spirit{223} of all I saw and felt was changed. The soft, innocent Southern night was alive with voices. No longer did a child sit by me, but a woman—dark-eyed like a stag, intoxicating149 to the sense. Passion and desire, those headlong twins, rushed down on me, with arms intertwined and purple-stained mouth, chanting with a meaning that was new to me, ‘All is beauty, and knowing this is love; and love——’ There she sat, exquisite150, trembling between girlhood and womanhood, the eternal riddle151 of life, to solve which men have gladly died, and lightly dismissed honour, like a stale piece of unlikely gossip. But——
‘It is mail-day to-morrow,’ I said, and I heard how unsteady was my voice; ‘I also have letters to write.’
She rose at once.
‘Good-night, signor,’ she said, and turned to go to the house.
As she got further on her way, I think I would have given all I had for her to turn back again, so that I might say—well, nothing particular, {224}but just let her guess, no more, that—— But she did not turn.
So, then, what of my gospel about beauty? It remains152 exactly where it was, true, I believe, in every respect. Only in me, at any rate, there lurks the beast. To-night he growled153 and pulled at his chain.
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sterile
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| adj.不毛的，不孕的，无菌的，枯燥的，贫瘠的 | |
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motifs
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| n. （文艺作品等的）主题( motif的名词复数 )；中心思想；基本模式；基本图案 | |
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3
strings
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| n.弦 | |
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flutes
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| 长笛( flute的名词复数 )； 细长香槟杯（形似长笛） | |
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5
trumpet
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| n.喇叭，喇叭声；v.吹喇叭，吹嘘 | |
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6
trumpets
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| 喇叭( trumpet的名词复数 )； 小号； 喇叭形物； （尤指）绽开的水仙花 | |
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cymbals
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| pl.铙钹 | |
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ecstasies
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| 狂喜( ecstasy的名词复数 )； 出神； 入迷； 迷幻药 | |
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withers
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| 马肩隆 | |
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mimic
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| v.模仿，戏弄；n.模仿他人言行的人 | |
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agonized
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| v.使（极度）痛苦，折磨( agonize的过去式和过去分词 )；苦斗；苦苦思索；感到极度痛苦 | |
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monstrous
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| adj.巨大的；恐怖的；可耻的，丢脸的 | |
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intelligible
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| adj.可理解的，明白易懂的，清楚的 | |
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murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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enthralled
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| 迷住，吸引住( enthrall的过去式和过去分词 )； 使感到非常愉快 | |
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accomplishment
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| n.完成，成就，（pl.）造诣，技能 | |
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repose
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| v.(使)休息；n.安息 | |
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tranquillity
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| n. 平静, 安静 | |
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stagnation
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| n. 停滞 | |
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fiery
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| adj.燃烧着的，火红的；暴躁的；激烈的 | |
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gilded
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| a.镀金的，富有的 | |
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dismal
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| adj.阴沉的，凄凉的，令人忧郁的，差劲的 | |
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quenched
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| 解（渴）( quench的过去式和过去分词 )； 终止（某事物）； （用水）扑灭（火焰等）； 将（热物体）放入水中急速冷却 | |
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immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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exasperation
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| n.愤慨 | |
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mellow
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| adj.柔和的；熟透的；v.变柔和；(使)成熟 | |
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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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apprehend
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| vt.理解，领悟，逮捕，拘捕，忧虑 | |
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30
tarnish
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| n.晦暗，污点；vt.使失去光泽；玷污 | |
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31
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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32
temperament
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| n.气质，性格，性情 | |
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33
well-being
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| n.安康，安乐，幸福 | |
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34
confession
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| n.自白，供认，承认 | |
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35
vividly
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| adv.清楚地，鲜明地，生动地 | |
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36
mortar
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| n.灰浆，灰泥；迫击炮；v.把…用灰浆涂接合 | |
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37
civilized
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| a.有教养的，文雅的 | |
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38
lizards
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| n.蜥蜴( lizard的名词复数 ) | |
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39
clefts
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| n.裂缝( cleft的名词复数 )；裂口；cleave的过去式和过去分词；进退维谷 | |
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40
fluting
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| 有沟槽的衣料； 吹笛子； 笛声； 刻凹槽 | |
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41
erect
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| n./v.树立，建立，使竖立；adj.直立的，垂直的 | |
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42
maidens
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| 处女( maiden的名词复数 )； 少女； 未婚女子； （板球运动）未得分的一轮投球 | |
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43
maiden
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| n.少女，处女；adj.未婚的，纯洁的，无经验的 | |
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44
bosoms
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| 胸部( bosom的名词复数 )； 胸怀； 女衣胸部（或胸襟）； 和爱护自己的人在一起的情形 | |
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45
vats
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| varieties 变化，多样性，种类 | |
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46
vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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47
ethics
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| n.伦理学；伦理观，道德标准 | |
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48
fumes
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| n.(强烈而刺激的)气味，气体 | |
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49
fermenting
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| v.（使）发酵( ferment的现在分词 )；（使）激动；骚动；骚扰 | |
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50
wed
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| v.娶，嫁，与…结婚 | |
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51
riotous
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| adj.骚乱的；狂欢的 | |
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52
steered
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| v.驾驶( steer的过去式和过去分词 )；操纵；控制；引导 | |
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53
shuddered
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| v.战栗( shudder的过去式和过去分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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54
velvet
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| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
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55
swarming
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| 密集( swarm的现在分词 )； 云集； 成群地移动； 蜜蜂或其他飞行昆虫成群地飞来飞去 | |
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56
whit
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| n.一点，丝毫 | |
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57
pebbly
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| 多卵石的，有卵石花纹的 | |
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58
bask
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| vt.取暖，晒太阳，沐浴于 | |
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59
figs
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| figures 数字，图形，外形 | |
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60
flask
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| n.瓶，火药筒，砂箱 | |
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61
fathoms
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| 英寻( fathom的名词复数 ) | |
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62
legitimately
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| ad.合法地；正当地，合理地 | |
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63
lamentable
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|
| adj.令人惋惜的，悔恨的 | |
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64
whine
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|
| v.哀号，号哭；n.哀鸣 | |
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65
exponents
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| n.倡导者( exponent的名词复数 )；说明者；指数；能手 | |
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66
faceted
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| adj. 有小面的，分成块面的 | |
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67
chalice
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| n.圣餐杯；金杯毒酒 | |
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68
Founder
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| n.创始者，缔造者 | |
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69
Christians
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| n.基督教徒( Christian的名词复数 ) | |
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70
dross
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| n.渣滓；无用之物 | |
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71
writhing
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| （因极度痛苦而）扭动或翻滚( writhe的现在分词 ) | |
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72
pallid
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|
| adj.苍白的，呆板的 | |
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73
ascetic
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| adj.禁欲的；严肃的 | |
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74
virtue
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| n.德行，美德；贞操；优点；功效，效力 | |
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75
purblind
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|
| adj.半盲的；愚笨的 | |
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76
humbly
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|
| adv. 恭顺地，谦卑地 | |
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77
hierarchy
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|
| n.等级制度；统治集团，领导层 | |
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78
dome
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| n.圆屋顶，拱顶 | |
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79
twine
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|
| v.搓，织，编饰；（使）缠绕 | |
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80
garbs
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| vt.装扮（garb的第三人称单数形式） | |
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81
repentance
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| n.懊悔 | |
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82
vitality
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|
| n.活力，生命力，效力 | |
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83
momentary
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|
| adj.片刻的，瞬息的；短暂的 | |
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84
throb
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| v.震颤，颤动；(急速强烈地)跳动，搏动 | |
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85
remorse
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|
| n.痛恨，悔恨，自责 | |
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86
infinitely
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|
| adv.无限地，无穷地 | |
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87
putrid
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|
| adj.腐臭的；有毒的；已腐烂的；卑劣的 | |
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88
blots
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|
| 污渍( blot的名词复数 )； 墨水渍； 错事； 污点 | |
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89
bowels
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|
| n.肠，内脏，内部；肠( bowel的名词复数 )；内部，最深处 | |
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90
scattered
|
|
| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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91
immoral
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| adj.不道德的，淫荡的，荒淫的，有伤风化的 | |
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92
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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93
forth
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|
| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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94
second-hand
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|
| adj.用过的，旧的，二手的 | |
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95
strenuous
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|
| adj.奋发的，使劲的；紧张的；热烈的，狂热的 | |
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96
passionate
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|
| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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97
intervals
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|
| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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98
ripple
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|
| n.涟波，涟漪，波纹，粗钢梳；vt.使...起涟漪，使起波纹； vi.呈波浪状，起伏前进 | |
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99
basking
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|
| v.晒太阳，取暖( bask的现在分词 )；对…感到乐趣；因他人的功绩而出名；仰仗…的余泽 | |
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100
pebbles
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|
| [复数]鹅卵石； 沙砾； 卵石，小圆石( pebble的名词复数 ) | |
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101
sapphire
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|
| n.青玉，蓝宝石；adj.天蓝色的 | |
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102
luminous
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|
| adj.发光的，发亮的；光明的；明白易懂的；有启发的 | |
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103
upwards
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|
| adv.向上，在更高处...以上 | |
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104
everlasting
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|
| adj.永恒的，持久的，无止境的 | |
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105
underlie
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| v.位于...之下，成为...的基础 | |
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106
thickets
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| n.灌木丛( thicket的名词复数 )；丛状物 | |
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107
resonant
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| adj.(声音)洪亮的，共鸣的 | |
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108
hawk
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| n.鹰，骗子；鹰派成员 | |
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109
interpretation
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| n.解释，说明，描述；艺术处理 | |
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110
touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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111
awry
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| adj.扭曲的，错的 | |
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112
lure
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| n.吸引人的东西，诱惑物；vt.引诱，吸引 | |
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113
winding
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| n.绕，缠，绕组，线圈 | |
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114
resounds
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| v.（指声音等）回荡于某处( resound的第三人称单数 )；产生回响；（指某处）回荡着声音 | |
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115
boughs
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| 大树枝( bough的名词复数 ) | |
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116
dour
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| adj.冷酷的，严厉的；（岩石）嶙峋的；顽强不屈 | |
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117
salvation
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| n.（尤指基督）救世，超度，拯救，解困 | |
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118
myriad
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| adj.无数的；n.无数，极大数量 | |
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119
folly
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| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
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120
wrought
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| v.引起；以…原料制作；运转；adj.制造的 | |
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121
wholesome
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| adj.适合；卫生的；有益健康的；显示身心健康的 | |
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122
lurk
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| n.潜伏，潜行；v.潜藏，潜伏，埋伏 | |
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123
ripen
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| vt.使成熟；vi.成熟 | |
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124
eastward
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| adv.向东；adj.向东的；n.东方，东部 | |
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125
hurl
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| vt.猛投，力掷，声叫骂 | |
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126
glimmer
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| v.发出闪烁的微光；n.微光，微弱的闪光 | |
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127
hovers
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| 鸟( hover的第三人称单数 )； 靠近（某事物）； （人）徘徊； 犹豫 | |
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128
shrieks
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| n.尖叫声( shriek的名词复数 )v.尖叫( shriek的第三人称单数 ) | |
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129
maniac
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| n.精神癫狂的人；疯子 | |
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130
longing
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| n.（for）渴望 | |
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131
lurks
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| n.潜在，潜伏；（lurk的复数形式）vi.潜伏，埋伏（lurk的第三人称单数形式） | |
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132
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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133
comely
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| adj.漂亮的，合宜的 | |
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134
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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135
underneath
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|
| adj.在...下面，在...底下；adv.在下面 | |
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136
eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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137
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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138
pricked
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| 刺，扎，戳( prick的过去式和过去分词 )； 刺伤； 刺痛； 使剧痛 | |
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139
caress
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| vt./n.爱抚，抚摸 | |
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140
veranda
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| n.走廊；阳台 | |
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141
grilled
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|
| adj. 烤的, 炙过的, 有格子的 动词grill的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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142
stanza
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| n.（诗）节，段 | |
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143
gulf
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| n.海湾；深渊，鸿沟；分歧，隔阂 | |
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144
basked
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|
| v.晒太阳，取暖( bask的过去式和过去分词 )；对…感到乐趣；因他人的功绩而出名；仰仗…的余泽 | |
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145
scents
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| n.香水( scent的名词复数 )；气味；（动物的）臭迹；（尤指狗的）嗅觉 | |
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146
eradicated
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| 画着根的 | |
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147
dominant
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|
| adj.支配的，统治的；占优势的；显性的；n.主因，要素，主要的人(或物)；显性基因 | |
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148
vaulted
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| adj.拱状的 | |
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149
intoxicating
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| a. 醉人的,使人兴奋的 | |
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150
exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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151
riddle
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|
| 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 | |
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152
remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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153
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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