Media, Babbalanja, Mohi, And Yoomy
Abrazza had a cool retreat—a grove1 of dates; where we were used to lounge of noons, and mix our converse3 with the babble4 of the rills; and mix our punches in goblets5 chased with grapes. And as ever, King Abrazza was the prince of hosts.
"Be not ceremonious:" and stretched his royal legs upon the turf.
"Wine!" and his pages poured it out.
So on the grass we lounged; and King Abrazza, who loved his antique ancestors; and loved old times; and would not talk of moderns;—bade Yoomy sing old songs; bade Mohi rehearse old histories; bade Babbalanja tell of old ontologies; and commanded all, meanwhile, to drink his old, old wine.
At last, we talked of old Homeric bards:—those who, ages back, harped10, and begged, and groped their blinded way through all this charitable Mardi; receiving coppers11 then, and immortal12 glory now.
ABRAZZA—How came it, that they all were blind?
BABBALANJA—It was endemical, your Highness. Few grand poets have good eyes; for they needs blind must be, who ever gaze upon the sun. Vavona himself was blind: when, in the silence of his secret bower13, he said—"I will build another world. Therein, let there be kings and slaves, philosophers and wits; whose checkered14 actions—strange, grotesque15, and merry-sad, will entertain my idle moods." So, my lord, Vavona played at kings and crowns, and men and manners; and loved that lonely game to play.
ABRAZZA—Vavona seemed a solitary16 Mardian; who seldom went abroad; had few friends; and shunning17 others, was shunned18 by them.
BABBALANJA—But shunned not himself, my lord; like gods, great poets dwell alone; while round them, roll the worlds they build.
MEDIA—You seem to know all authors:—you must have heard of Lombardo, Babbalanja; he who flourished many ages since.
BABBALANJA—I have; and his grand Kortanza know by heart.
MEDIA (to Abrazza.)—A very curious work, that, my lord.
ABRAZZA—Yes, my dearest king. But, Babbalanja, if Lombardo had aught to tell to Mardi—why choose a vehicle so crazy?
BABBALANJA—It was his nature, I suppose.
ABRAZZA—But so it would not have been, to me.
BABBALANJA—Nor would it have been natural, for my noble lord Abrazza, to have worn Lombardo's head:—every man has his own, thank Oro!
ABBRAZZA—A curious work: a very curious work. Babbalanja, are you acquainted with the history of Lombardo?
BABBALANJA—None better. All his biographies have I read.
ABRAZZA—Then, tell us how he came to write that work. For one, I can not imagine how those poor devils contrive19 to roll such thunders through all Mardi.
MEDIA—Their thunder and lightning seem spontaneous combustibles, my lord.
ABRAZZA—With which, they but consume themselves, my prince beloved.
BABBALANJA—In a measure, true, your Highness. But pray you, listen; and I will try to tell the way in which Lombardo produced his great Kortanza.
MEDIA—But hark you, philosopher! this time no incoherencies; gag that devil, Azzageddi. And now, what was it that originally impelled20 Lombardo to the undertaking21?
BABBALANJA—Primus and forever, a full heart:—brimful, bubbling, sparkling; and running over like the flagon in your hand, my lord. Secundo, the necessity of bestirring himself to procure22 his yams.
BABBALANJA—Doubtful. More conduits than one to drain off the soul's overflowings. Besides, the greatest fullnesses overflow24 not spontaneously; and, even when decanted25, like rich syrups26, slowly ooze27; whereas, poor fluids glibly28 flow, wide-spreading. Hence, when great fullness weds29 great indolence;—that man, to others, too often proves a cipher30; though, to himself, his thoughts form an Infinite Series, indefinite, from its vastness; and incommunicable;—not for lack of power, but for lack of an omnipotent31 volition33, to move his strength. His own world is full before him; the fulcrum34 set; but lever there is none. To such a man, the giving of any boor's resoluteness35, with tendons braided, would be as hanging a claymore to Valor's side, before unarmed. Our minds are cunning, compound mechanisms37; and one spring, or wheel, or axle wanting, the movement lags, or halts. Cerebrum must not overbalance cerebellum; our brains should be round as globes; and planted on capacious chests, inhaling38 mighty39 morning- inspirations. We have had vast developments of parts of men; but none of manly40 wholes. Before a full-developed man, Mardi would fall down and worship. We are idiot, younger-sons of gods, begotten41 in dotages divine; and our mothers all miscarry. Giants are in our germs; but we are dwarfs42, staggering under heads overgrown. Heaped, our measures burst. We die of too much life.
MEDIA (to Abrazza)—Be not impatient, my lord; he'll recover presently. You were talking of Lombardo, Babbalanja.
BABBALANJA—I was, your Highness. Of all Mardians, by nature, he was the most inert43. Hast ever seen a yellow lion, all day basking44 in the yellow sun:—in reveries, rending45 droves of elephants; but his vast loins supine, and eyelids46 winking47? Such, Lombardo; but fierce Want, the hunter, came and roused his roar. In hairy billows, his great mane tossed like the sea; his eyeballs flamed two hells; his paw had stopped a rolling world.
ABRAZZA—In other words, yams were indispensable, and, poor devil, he roared to get them.
BABBALANJA (bowing)—Partly so, my literal lord. And as with your own golden scepter, at times upon your royal teeth, indolent tattoos48 you beat; then, potent32, sway it o'er your isle49; so, Lombardo. And ere Necessity plunged50 spur and rowel into him, he knew not his own paces. That churned him into consciousness; and brought ambition, ere then dormant51, seething52 to the top, till he trembled at himself. No mailed hand lifted up against a traveler in woods, can so, appall53, as we ourselves. We are full of ghosts and spirits; we are as grave-yards full of buried dead, that start to life before us. And all our dead sires, verily, are in us; that is their immortality54. From sire to son, we go on multiplying corpses55 in ourselves; for all of which, are resurrections. Every thought's a soul of some past poet, hero, sage57. We are fuller than a city. Woe58 it is, that reveals these things. He knows himself, and all that's in him, who knows adversity. To scale great heights, we must come out of lowermost depths. The way to heaven is through hell. We need fiery59 baptisms in the fiercest flames of our own bosoms60. We must feel our hearts hot—hissing in us. And ere their fire is revealed, it must burn its way out of us; though it consume us and itself. Oh, sleek-cheeked Plenty! smiling at thine own dimples;—vain for thee to reach out after greatness. Turn! turn! from all your tiers of cushions of eider-down—turn! and be broken on the wheels of many woes61. At white-heat, brand thyself; and count the scars, like old war-worn veterans, over camp-fires. Soft poet! brushing tears from lilies—this way! and howl in sackcloth and in ashes! Know, thou, that the lines that live are turned out of a furrowed62 brow. Oh! there is a fierce, a cannibal delight, in the grief that shrieks63 to multiply itself. That grief is miserly of its own; it pities all the happy. Some damned spirits would not be otherwise, could they.
ABRAZZA (to Media)—Pray, my lord, is this good gentleman a devil?
MEDIA.—No, my lord; but he's possessed64 by one. His name is Azzageddi. You may hear more of him. But come, Babbalanja, hast forgotten all about Lombardo? How set he about that great undertaking, his Kortanza?
ABRAZZA (to Media)—Oh, for all the ravings of your Babbalanja, Lombardo took no special pains; hence, deserves small commendation. For, genius must be somewhat like us kings,—calm, content, in consciousness of power. And to Lombardo, the scheme of his Kortanza must have come full-fledged, like an eagle from the sun.
BABBALANJA—No, your Highness; but like eagles, his thoughts were first callow; yet, born plumeless65, they came to soar.
ABRAZZA—Very fine. I presume, Babbalanja, the first thing he did, was to fast, and invoke66 the muses67.
BABBALANJA—Pardon, my lord; on the contrary he first procured68 a ream of vellum, and some sturdy quills69: indispensable preliminaries, my worshipful lords, to the writing of the sublimest71 epics72.
BABBALANJA—Pardon again. Lombardo next sat down to a fine plantain pudding.
YOOMY—When the song-spell steals over me, I live upon olives.
BABBALANJA—Yoomy, Lombardo eschewed75 olives. Said he, "What fasting soldier can fight? and the fight of all fights is to write." In ten days Lombardo had written—
ABRAZZA—Dashed off, you mean.
BABBALANJA—He never dashed off aught.
ABRAZZA—As you will.
BABBALANJA—In ten days, Lombardo had written full fifty folios; he loved huge acres of vellum whereon to expatiate76.
MEDIA—What then?
BABBALANJA—He read them over attentively77; made a neat package of the whole: and put it into the fire.
ALL—How?
MEDIA—What! these great geniuses writing trash?
ABRAZZA—I thought as much.
BABBALANJA—My lords, they abound78 in it! more than any other men in Mardi. Genius is full of trash. But genius essays its best to keep it to itself; and giving away its ore, retains the earth; whence, the too frequent wisdom of its works, and folly79 of its life.
ABRAZZA—Then genius is not inspired, after all. How they must slave in their mines! I weep to think of it.
BABBALANJA—My lord, all men are inspired; fools are inspired; your highness is inspired; for the essence of all ideas is infused. Of ourselves, and in ourselves, we originate nothing. When Lombardo set about his work, he knew not what it would become. He did not build himself in with plans; he wrote right on; and so doing, got deeper and deeper into himself; and like a resolute36 traveler, plunging80 through baffling woods, at last was rewarded for his toils82. "In good time," saith he, in his autobiography83, "I came out into a serene84, sunny, ravishing region; full of sweet scents85, singing birds, wild plaints, roguish laughs, prophetic voices. "Here we are at last, then," he cried; "I have created the creative." And now the whole boundless86 landscape stretched away. Lombardo panted; the sweat was on his brow; he off mantle87; braced88 himself; sat within view of the ocean; his face to a cool rushing breeze; placed flowers before him; and gave himself plenty of room. On one side was his ream of vellum—
ABBRAZZA—And on the other, a brimmed beaker.
BABBALANJA—No, your Highness; though he loved it, no wine for Lombardo while actually at work.
MOHI—Indeed? Why, I ever thought that it was to the superior quality of Lombardo's punches, that Mardi was indebted for that abounding89 humor of his.
BABBALANJA—Not so; he had another way of keeping himself well braced.
YOOMY—Quick! tell us the secret.
BABBALANJA—He never wrote by rush-light. His lamp swung in heaven.— He rose from his East, with the sun; he wrote when all nature was alive.
MOHI—Doubtless, then, he always wrote with a grin; and none laughed louder at his quips, than Lombardo himself.
BABBALANJA—Hear you laughter at the birth of a man child, old man? The babe may have many dimples; not so, the parent. Lombardo was a hermit90 to behold91.
MEDIA—What! did Lombardo laugh with a long face?
BABBALANJA—His merriment was not always merriment to him, your Highness. For the most part, his meaning kept him serious. Then he was so intensely riveted92 to his work, he could not pause to laugh.
MOHI—My word for it; but he had a sly one, now and then.
YOOMY—Inspiration, that!
BABBALANJA.—Call it as you will, Yoomy, it was a sort of sleep- walking of the mind. Lombardo never threw down his pen: it dropped from him; and then, he sat disenchanted: rubbing his eyes; staring; and feeling faint—sometimes, almost unto death.
MEDIA—But pray, Babbalanja, tell us how he made acquaintance with some of those rare worthies94, he introduces us to, in his Koztanza.
BABBALANJA—He first met them in his reveries; they were walking about in him, sour and moody95: and for a long time, were shy of his advances; but still importuned96, they at last grew ashamed of their reserve; stepped forward; and gave him their hands. After that, they were frank and friendly. Lombardo set places for them at his board; when he died, he left them something in his will.
MEDIA—What! those imaginary beings?
MEDIA—But, Babbalanja; after all, the Koztanza found no favor in the eyes of some Mardians.
ABRAZZA—Ay: the arch-critics Verbi and Batho denounced it.
BABBALANJA—Yes: on good authority, Verbi is said to have detected a superfluous99 comma; and Batho declared that, with the materials he could have constructed a far better world than Lombardo's. But, didst ever hear of his laying his axis100?
BABBALANJA—Your Highness; upon that point, Lombardo was frank. Saith he, in his autobiography: "For some time, I endeavored to keep in the good graces of those nymphs; but I found them so captious102, and exacting103; they threw me into such a violent passion with their fault- findings; that, at last, I renounced104 them."
ABRAZZA—Very rash!
BABBALANJA—No, your Highness; for though Lombardo abandoned all monitors from without; he retained one autocrat105 within—his crowned and sceptered instinct. And what, if he pulled down one gross world, and ransacked106 the etherial spheres, to build up something of his own—a composite:—what then? matter and mind, though matching not, are mates; and sundered107 oft, in his Koztanza they unite:—the airy waist, embraced by stalwart arms.
MEDIA—Incoherent again! I thought we were to have no more of this!
BABBALANJA—My lord Media, there are things infinite in the finite; and dualities in unities. Our eyes are pleased with the redness of the rose, but another sense lives upon its fragrance108. Its redness you must approach, to view: its invisible fragrance pervades109 the field. So, with the Koztanza. Its mere beauty is restricted to its form: its expanding soul, past Mardi does embalm110. Modak is Modako; but fogle- foggle is not fugle-fi.
MEDIA (to Abrazza)—My lord, you start again; but 'tis only another phase of Azzageeddi; sometimes he's quite mad. But all this you must needs overlook.
ABRAZZA—I will, my dear prince; what one can not see through, one must needs look over, as you say.
YOOMY—But trust me, your Highness, some of those strange things fall far too melodiously111 upon the ear, to be wholly deficient112 in meaning.
ABRAZZA—Your gentle minstrel, this must be, my lord. But Babbalanja, the Koztanza lacks cohesion113; it is wild, unconnected, all episode.
BABBALANJA—And so is Mardi itself:—nothing but episodes; valleys and hills; rivers, digressing from plains; vines, roving all over; boulders114 and diamonds; flowers and thistles; forests and thickets115; and, here and there, fens116 and moors117. And so, the world in the Koztanza.
MEDIA—Now, Babbalanja, away with your tropes; and tell us of the work, directly it was done. What did Lombardo then? Did he show it to any one for an opinion?
BABBALANJA—Yes, to Zenzori; who asked him where he picked up so much trash; to Hanto, who bade him not be cast down, it was pretty good; to Lucree, who desired to know how much he was going to get for it; to Roddi, who offered a suggestion.
MEDIA—And what was that?
BABBALANJA—That he had best make a faggot of the whole; and try again.
ABRAZZA—Very encouraging.
MEDIA—Any one else?
BABBALANJA—To Pollo; who, conscious his opinion was sought, was thereby119 puffed120 up; and marking the faltering121 of Lombardo's voice, when the manuscript was handed him, straightway concluded, that the man who stood thus trembling at the bar, must needs be inferior to the judge. But his verdict was mild. After sitting up all night over the work; and diligently122 taking notes:—"Lombardo, my friend! here, take your sheets. I have run through them loosely. You might have done better; but then you might have done worse. Take them, my friend; I have put in some good things for you:"
MEDIA—And who was Pollo?
BABBALANJA—Probably some one who lived in Lombardo's time, and went by that name. He is incidentally mentioned, and cursorily123 immortalized in one of the posthumous124 notes to the Koztanza.
MEDIA—What is said of him there?
BABBALANJA—Not much. In a very old transcript125 of the work—that of Aldina—the note alludes126 to a brave line in the text, and runs thus:— "Diverting to tell, it was this passage that an old prosodist127, one Pollo, claimed for his own. He maintained he made a free-will offering of it to Lombardo. Several things are yet extant of this Pollo, who died some weeks ago. He seems to have been one of those, who would do great things if they could; but are content to compass the small. He imagined, that the precedence of authors he had established in his library, was their Mardi order of merit. He condemned128 the sublime70 poems of Vavona to his lowermost shelf. 'Ah,' thought he, 'how we library princes, lord it over these beggarly authors!' Well read in the history of their woes, Pollo pitied them all, particularly the famous; and wrote little essays of his own, which he read to himself."
MEDIA—Well: and what said Lombardo to those good friends of his,— Zenzori, Hanto, and Roddi?
BABBALANJA—Nothing. Taking home his manuscript, he glanced it over; making three corrections.
ABRAZZA—And what then?
BABBALANJA—Then, your Highness, he thought to try a conclave129 of professional critics; saying to himself, "Let them privately130 point out to me, now, all my blemishes131; so that, what time they come to review me in public, all will be well." But curious to relate, those professional critics, for the most part, held their peace, concerning a work yet unpublished. And, with some generous exceptions, in their vague, learned way, betrayed such base, beggarly notions of authorship, that Lombardo could have wept, had tears been his. But in his very grief, he ground his teeth. Muttered he, "They are fools. In their eyes, bindings not brains make books. They criticise132 my tattered133 cloak, not my soul, caparisoned like a charger. He is the great author, think they, who drives the best bargain with his wares134: and no bargainer am I. Because he is old, they worship some mediocrity of an ancient, and mock at the living prophet with the live coal on his lips. They are men who would not be men, had they no books. Their sires begat them not; but the authors they have read. Feelings they have none: and their very opinions they borrow. They can not say yea, nor nay135, without first consulting all Mardi as an Encyclopedia136. And all the learning in them, is as a dead corpse56 in a coffin137. Were they worthy138 the dignity of being damned, I would damn them; but they are not. Critics?—Asses! rather mules139!—so emasculated, from vanity, they can not father a true thought. Like mules, too, from dunghills, they trample140 down gardens of roses: and deem that crushed fragrance their own.—Oh! that all round the domains141 of genius should lie thus unhedged, for such cattle to uproot142! Oh! that an eagle should be stabbed by a goose-quill! But at best, the greatest reviewers but prey143 on my leavings. For I am critic and creator; and as critic, in cruelty surpass all critics merely, as a tiger, jackals. For ere Mardi sees aught of mine, I scrutinize144 it myself, remorseless as a surgeon. I cut right and left; I probe, tear, and wrench145; kill, burn, and destroy; and what's left after that, the jackals are welcome to. It is I that stab false thoughts, ere hatched; I that pull down wall and tower, rejecting materials which would make palaces for others. Oh! could Mardi but see how we work, it would marvel146 more at our primal147 chaos148, than at the round world thence emerging. It would marvel at our scaffoldings, scaling heaven; marvel at the hills of earth, banked all round our fabrics149 ere completed.—How plain the pyramid! In this grand silence, so intense, pierced by that pointed150 mass,—could ten thousand slaves have ever toiled151? ten thousand hammers rung?—There it stands, —part of Mardi: claiming kin6 with mountains;—was this thing piecemeal152 built?—It was. Piecemeal?—atom by atom it was laid. The world is made of mites153."
YOOMY (musing.)—It is even so.
ABRAZZA—Lombardo was severe upon the critics; and they as much so upon him;—of that, be sure.
BABBALANGA—Your Highness, Lombardo never presumed to criticise true critics; who are more rare than true poets. A great critic is a sultan among satraps; but pretenders are thick as ants, striving to scale a palm, after its aerial sweetness. And they fight among themselves. Essaying to pluck eagles, they themselves are geese, stuck full of quills, of which they rob each other.
ABRAZZA (to Media.)—Oro help the victim that falls in Babbalanja's hands!
MEDIA.—Ay, my lord; at times, his every finger is a dagger154: every thought a falling tower that whelms! But resume, philosopher—what of Lombardo now?
BABBALANJA—"For this thing," said he, "I have agonized155 over it enough.—I can wait no more. It has faults—all mine;—its merits all its own;—but I can toil81 no longer. The beings knit to me implore156; my heart is full; my brain is sick. Let it go—let it go—and Oro with it. Somewhere Mardi has a mighty heart—-that struck, all the isles157 shall resound158!"
ABRAZZA—Poor devil! he took the world too hard.
MEDIA.-As most of these mortals do, my lord. That's the load, self- imposed, under which Babbalanja reels. But now, philosopher, ere Mardi saw it, what thought Lombardo of his work, looking at it objectively, as a thing out of him, I mean.
ABRAZZA—No doubt, he hugged it.
BABBALANJA—Hard to answer. Sometimes, when by himself, he thought hugely of it, as my lord Abrazza says; but when abroad, among men, he almost despised it; but when he bethought him of those parts, written with full eyes, half blinded; temples throbbing159; and pain at the heart—
ABRAZZA—Pooh! pooh!
BABBALANJA—He would say to himself, "Sure, it can not be in vain!" Yet again, when he bethought him of the hurry and bustle160 of Mardi, dejection stole over him. "Who will heed161 it," thought he; "what care these fops and brawlers for me? But am I not myself an egregious162 coxcomb163? Who will read me? Say one thousand pages—twenty-five lines each—every line ten words—every word ten letters. That's two million five hundred thousand a's, and i's, and o's to read! How many are superfluous? Am I not mad to saddle Mardi with such a task? Of all men, am I the wisest, to stand upon a pedestal, and teach the mob? Ah, my own Kortanza! child of many prayers!—in whose earnest eyes, so fathomless164, I see my own; and recall all past delights and silent agonies-thou may'st prove, as the child of some fond dotard:— beauteous to me; hideous165 to Mardi! And methinks, that while so much slaving merits that thou should'st not die; it has not been intense, prolonged enough, for the high meed of immortality. Yet, things immortal have been written; and by men as me;—men, who slept and waked; and ate; and talked with tongues like mine. Ah, Oro! how may we know or not, we are what we would be? Hath genius any stamp and imprint166, obvious to possessors? Has it eyes to see itself; or is it blind? Or do we delude167 ourselves with being gods, and end in grubs? Genius, genius?—a thousand years hence, to be a household-word?—I?— Lombardo? but yesterday cut in the market-place by a spangled fool!— Lombardo immortal?—Ha, ha, Lombardo! but thou art an ass8, with vast ears brushing the tops of palms! Ha, ha, ha! Methinks I see thee immortal! 'Thus great Lombardo saith; and thus; and thus; and thus:— thus saith he—illustrious Lombardo!—Lombardo, our great countryman! Lombardo, prince of poets—Lombardo! great Lombardo!'—Ha, ha, ha!— go, go! dig thy grave, and bury thyself!"
ABRAZZA—He was very funny, then, at times.
BABBALANJA—Very funny, your Highness:—amazing jolly! And from my nethermost168 soul, would to Oro, thou could'st but feel one touch of that jolly woe! It would appall thee, my Right Worshipful lord Abrazza!
ABRAZZA (to Media)—My dear lord, his teeth are marvelously white and sharp: some she-shark must have been his dam:—does he often grin thus? It was infernal!
MEDIA—Ah! that's Azzageddi. But, prithee, Babbalanja, proceed.
BABBALANJA—Your Highness, even in his calmer critic moods, Lombardo was far from fancying his work. He confesses, that it ever seemed to him but a poor scrawled169 copy of something within, which, do what he would, he could not completely transfer. "My canvas was small," said he; "crowded out were hosts of things that came last. But Fate is in it." And Fate it was, too, your Highness, which forced Lombardo, ere his work was well done, to take it off his easel, and send it to be multiplied. "Oh, that I was not thus spurred!" cried he; "but like many another, in its very childhood, this poor child of mine must go out into Mardi, and get bread for its sire."
ABRAZZA (with a sigh)—Alas, the poor devil! But methinks 'twas wondrous arrogant170 in him to talk to all Mardi at that lofty rate.—Did he think himself a god?
BABBALANJA—He himself best knew what he thought; but, like all others, he was created by Oro to some special end; doubtless, partly answered in his Koztanza.
MEDIA—And now that Lombardo is long dead and gone—and his work, hooted171 during life, lives after him—what think the present company of it? Speak, my lord Abrazza! Babbalanja! Mohi! Yoomy!
ABRAZZA (_tapping his sandal with his scepter__)—I never read it.
BABBALANJA (looking upward)—It was written with a divine intent.
Mohi (stroking his beard)—I never hugged it in a corner, and ignored it before Mardi.
Yoomy (musing)—It has bettered my heart.
MEDIA (rising)—And I have read it through nine times.
BABBALANJA (starting up)—Ah, Lombardo! this must make thy ghost glad!
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grove
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| n.林子，小树林，园林 | |
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groves
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| 树丛，小树林( grove的名词复数 ) | |
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converse
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| vi.谈话，谈天，闲聊；adv.相反的，相反 | |
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babble
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| v.含糊不清地说，胡言乱语地说，儿语 | |
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goblets
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| n.高脚酒杯( goblet的名词复数 ) | |
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kin
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| n.家族，亲属，血缘关系；adj.亲属关系的，同类的 | |
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bough
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| n.大树枝，主枝 | |
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ass
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| n.驴；傻瓜，蠢笨的人 | |
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quaffed
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| v.痛饮( quaff的过去式和过去分词 )；畅饮；大口大口将…喝干；一饮而尽 | |
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harped
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| vi.弹竖琴（harp的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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coppers
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| 铜( copper的名词复数 )； 铜币 | |
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immortal
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| adj.不朽的；永生的，不死的；神的 | |
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bower
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| n.凉亭，树荫下凉快之处；闺房；v.荫蔽 | |
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checkered
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| adj.有方格图案的 | |
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grotesque
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| adj.怪诞的，丑陋的；n.怪诞的图案，怪人（物） | |
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solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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shunning
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| v.避开，回避，避免( shun的现在分词 ) | |
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shunned
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| v.避开，回避，避免( shun的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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contrive
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| vt.谋划，策划；设法做到；设计，想出 | |
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impelled
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| v.推动、推进或敦促某人做某事( impel的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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21
undertaking
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| n.保证，许诺，事业 | |
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22
procure
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| vt.获得，取得，促成；vi.拉皮条 | |
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23
motive
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| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
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overflow
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| v.(使)外溢，(使)溢出；溢出，流出，漫出 | |
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25
decanted
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| v.将（酒等）自瓶中倒入另一容器( decant的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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26
syrups
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| n.糖浆，糖汁( syrup的名词复数 )；糖浆类药品 | |
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27
ooze
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| n.软泥，渗出物；vi.渗出，泄漏；vt.慢慢渗出，流露 | |
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28
glibly
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| adv.流利地，流畅地；满口 | |
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29
weds
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| v.嫁，娶，（与…）结婚( wed的第三人称单数 ) | |
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30
cipher
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| n.零；无影响力的人；密码 | |
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31
omnipotent
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| adj.全能的，万能的 | |
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32
potent
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| adj.强有力的，有权势的；有效力的 | |
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33
volition
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| n.意志；决意 | |
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34
fulcrum
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| n.杠杆支点 | |
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35
resoluteness
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36
resolute
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| adj.坚决的，果敢的 | |
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37
mechanisms
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| n.机械( mechanism的名词复数 )；机械装置；[生物学] 机制；机械作用 | |
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38
inhaling
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| v.吸入( inhale的现在分词 ) | |
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39
mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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40
manly
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| adj.有男子气概的；adv.男子般地，果断地 | |
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41
begotten
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| v.为…之生父( beget的过去分词 )；产生，引起 | |
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42
dwarfs
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| n.侏儒，矮子（dwarf的复数形式）vt.（使）显得矮小（dwarf的第三人称单数形式） | |
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43
inert
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| adj.无活动能力的，惰性的；迟钝的 | |
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44
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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45
rending
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| v.撕碎( rend的现在分词 )；分裂；（因愤怒、痛苦等而）揪扯（衣服或头发等）；（声音等）刺破 | |
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46
eyelids
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| n.眼睑( eyelid的名词复数 )；眼睛也不眨一下；不露声色；面不改色 | |
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47
winking
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| n.瞬眼，目语v.使眼色( wink的现在分词 )；递眼色（表示友好或高兴等）；（指光）闪烁；闪亮 | |
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48
tattoos
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| n.文身( tattoo的名词复数 )；归营鼓；军队夜间表演操；连续有节奏的敲击声v.刺青，文身( tattoo的第三人称单数 )；连续有节奏地敲击；作连续有节奏的敲击 | |
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49
isle
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| n.小岛，岛 | |
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50
plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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51
dormant
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| adj.暂停活动的；休眠的；潜伏的 | |
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52
seething
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| 沸腾的，火热的 | |
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53
appall
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| vt.使惊骇，使大吃一惊 | |
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54
immortality
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| n.不死，不朽 | |
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55
corpses
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| n.死尸，尸体( corpse的名词复数 ) | |
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56
corpse
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| n.尸体，死尸 | |
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57
sage
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| n.圣人，哲人；adj.贤明的，明智的 | |
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58
woe
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| n.悲哀，苦痛，不幸，困难；int.用来表达悲伤或惊慌 | |
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59
fiery
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| adj.燃烧着的，火红的；暴躁的；激烈的 | |
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60
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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61
woes
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| 困境( woe的名词复数 )； 悲伤； 我好苦哇； 某人就要倒霉 | |
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62
furrowed
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| v.犁田，开沟( furrow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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63
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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64
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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65
plumeless
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| 深不可测的 | |
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66
invoke
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| v.求助于(神、法律)；恳求，乞求 | |
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67
muses
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| v.沉思，冥想( muse的第三人称单数 )；沉思自语说（某事） | |
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68
procured
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| v.（努力）取得， （设法）获得( procure的过去式和过去分词 )；拉皮条 | |
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69
quills
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| n.（刺猬或豪猪的）刺( quill的名词复数 )；羽毛管；翮；纡管 | |
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70
sublime
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| adj.崇高的，伟大的；极度的，不顾后果的 | |
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71
sublimest
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| 伟大的( sublime的最高级 )； 令人赞叹的； 极端的； 不顾后果的 | |
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72
epics
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| n.叙事诗( epic的名词复数 )；壮举；惊人之举；史诗般的电影（或书籍） | |
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73
afterward
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| adv.后来；以后 | |
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74
invoked
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| v.援引( invoke的过去式和过去分词 )；行使（权利等）；祈求救助；恳求 | |
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75
eschewed
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| v.（尤指为道德或实际理由而）习惯性避开，回避( eschew的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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76
expatiate
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| v.细说，详述 | |
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77
attentively
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| adv.聚精会神地；周到地；谛；凝神 | |
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78
abound
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| vi.大量存在；(in，with)充满，富于 | |
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79
folly
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| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
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80
plunging
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| adj.跳进的，突进的v.颠簸( plunge的现在分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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81
toil
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| vi.辛劳工作，艰难地行动；n.苦工，难事 | |
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82
toils
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| 网 | |
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83
autobiography
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| n.自传 | |
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84
serene
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| adj. 安详的，宁静的，平静的 | |
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85
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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86
boundless
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| adj.无限的；无边无际的；巨大的 | |
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87
mantle
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| n.斗篷，覆罩之物，罩子；v.罩住，覆盖，脸红 | |
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88
braced
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| adj.拉牢的v.支住( brace的过去式和过去分词 )；撑牢；使自己站稳；振作起来 | |
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89
abounding
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| adj.丰富的，大量的v.大量存在，充满，富于( abound的现在分词 ) | |
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90
hermit
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| n.隐士，修道者；隐居 | |
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91
behold
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| v.看，注视，看到 | |
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92
riveted
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| 铆接( rivet的过去式和过去分词 )； 把…固定住； 吸引； 引起某人的注意 | |
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93
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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94
worthies
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| 应得某事物( worthy的名词复数 )； 值得做某事； 可尊敬的； 有（某人或事物）的典型特征 | |
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95
moody
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| adj.心情不稳的，易怒的，喜怒无常的 | |
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96
importuned
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| v.纠缠，向（某人）不断要求( importune的过去式和过去分词 )；（妓女）拉（客） | |
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97
wondrous
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| adj.令人惊奇的，奇妙的；adv.惊人地；异乎寻常地；令人惊叹地 | |
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98
witty
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| adj.机智的，风趣的 | |
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99
superfluous
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| adj.过多的，过剩的，多余的 | |
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100
axis
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| n.轴，轴线，中心线；坐标轴，基准线 | |
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101
unities
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| n.统一体( unity的名词复数 )；（艺术等） 完整；（文学、戏剧） （情节、时间和地点的）统一性；团结一致 | |
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102
captious
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| adj.难讨好的，吹毛求疵的 | |
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103
exacting
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| adj.苛求的，要求严格的 | |
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104
renounced
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| v.声明放弃( renounce的过去式和过去分词 )；宣布放弃；宣布与…决裂；宣布摒弃 | |
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105
autocrat
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| n.独裁者；专横的人 | |
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106
ransacked
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| v.彻底搜查( ransack的过去式和过去分词 )；抢劫，掠夺 | |
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107
sundered
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| v.隔开，分开( sunder的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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108
fragrance
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| n.芬芳，香味，香气 | |
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109
pervades
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| v.遍及，弥漫( pervade的第三人称单数 ) | |
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110
embalm
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| v.保存（尸体）不腐 | |
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111
melodiously
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112
deficient
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| adj.不足的，不充份的，有缺陷的 | |
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113
cohesion
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| n.团结，凝结力 | |
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114
boulders
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| n.卵石( boulder的名词复数 )；巨砾；（受水或天气侵蚀而成的）巨石；漂砾 | |
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115
thickets
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| n.灌木丛( thicket的名词复数 )；丛状物 | |
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116
fens
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| n.（尤指英格兰东部的）沼泽地带( fen的名词复数 ) | |
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117
moors
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| v.停泊，系泊（船只）( moor的第三人称单数 ) | |
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118
wade
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| v.跋涉，涉水；n.跋涉 | |
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119
thereby
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| adv.因此，从而 | |
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120
puffed
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| adj.疏松的v.使喷出( puff的过去式和过去分词 )；喷着汽（或烟）移动；吹嘘；吹捧 | |
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121
faltering
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| 犹豫的，支吾的，蹒跚的 | |
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122
diligently
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| ad.industriously;carefully | |
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123
cursorily
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| adv.粗糙地，疏忽地，马虎地 | |
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124
posthumous
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| adj.遗腹的；父亡后出生的；死后的，身后的 | |
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125
transcript
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| n.抄本，誊本，副本，肄业证书 | |
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126
alludes
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| 提及，暗指( allude的第三人称单数 ) | |
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127
prosodist
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| n.诗体学者，韵律学者 | |
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128
condemned
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| adj. 被责难的, 被宣告有罪的 动词condemn的过去式和过去分词 | |
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129
conclave
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| n.秘密会议，红衣主教团 | |
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130
privately
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| adv.以私人的身份，悄悄地，私下地 | |
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131
blemishes
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| n.（身体的）瘢点( blemish的名词复数 )；伤疤；瑕疵；污点 | |
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132
criticise
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| v.批评，评论；非难 | |
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133
tattered
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| adj.破旧的，衣衫破的 | |
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134
wares
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| n. 货物, 商品 | |
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135
nay
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| adv.不；n.反对票，投反对票者 | |
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136
encyclopedia
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| n.百科全书 | |
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137
coffin
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| n.棺材，灵柩 | |
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138
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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139
mules
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| 骡( mule的名词复数 )； 拖鞋； 顽固的人； 越境运毒者 | |
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140
trample
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| vt.踩，践踏；无视，伤害，侵犯 | |
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141
domains
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| n.范围( domain的名词复数 )；领域；版图；地产 | |
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142
uproot
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| v.连根拔起，拔除；根除，灭绝；赶出家园，被迫移开 | |
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143
prey
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| n.被掠食者，牺牲者，掠食；v.捕食，掠夺，折磨 | |
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144
scrutinize
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| n.详细检查，细读 | |
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145
wrench
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| v.猛拧；挣脱；使扭伤；n.扳手；痛苦，难受 | |
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146
marvel
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| vi.(at)惊叹vt.感到惊异；n.令人惊异的事 | |
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147
primal
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| adj.原始的；最重要的 | |
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148
chaos
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| n.混乱，无秩序 | |
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149
fabrics
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| 织物( fabric的名词复数 )； 布； 构造； （建筑物的）结构（如墙、地面、屋顶）：质地 | |
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150
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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151
toiled
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| 长时间或辛苦地工作( toil的过去式和过去分词 )； 艰难缓慢地移动，跋涉 | |
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152
piecemeal
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| adj.零碎的；n.片，块；adv.逐渐地；v.弄成碎块 | |
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153
mites
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| n.（尤指令人怜悯的）小孩( mite的名词复数 )；一点点；一文钱；螨 | |
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154
dagger
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| n.匕首，短剑，剑号 | |
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155
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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156
implore
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| vt.乞求，恳求，哀求 | |
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157
isles
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| 岛( isle的名词复数 ) | |
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158
resound
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| v.回响 | |
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159
throbbing
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| a. 跳动的,悸动的 | |
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160
bustle
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| v.喧扰地忙乱，匆忙，奔忙；n.忙碌；喧闹 | |
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161
heed
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| v.注意，留意；n.注意，留心 | |
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162
egregious
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| adj.非常的，过分的 | |
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163
coxcomb
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| n.花花公子 | |
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164
fathomless
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| a.深不可测的 | |
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165
hideous
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| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
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166
imprint
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| n.印痕，痕迹；深刻的印象；vt.压印，牢记 | |
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167
delude
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| vt.欺骗；哄骗 | |
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168
nethermost
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| adj.最下面的 | |
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169
scrawled
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| 乱涂，潦草地写( scrawl的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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170
arrogant
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| adj.傲慢的，自大的 | |
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171
hooted
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| （使）作汽笛声响，作汽车喇叭声( hoot的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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