The only opportunities for the study of aesthetics5 or art criticism, fifty years ago, were to be found in German universities. Kugler’s handbook of painting was the chief authority in use, rather academic, but correct enough in a general way. Ruskin, a more eloquent6 and discriminating7 writer, had devoted himself chiefly to celebrating the merits of Turner and Tintoretto, but was never quite just to Florentine art. Mrs. Jameson followed closely after Kugler, and was the only one of these that Hawthorne appears to have consulted. Winckelmann’s history of Greek sculpture, which was not a history in the proper sense of the word, had been translated by Lodge8, but Hawthorne does not mention it, and it would not have been much assistance to him if he had read it. Like Winckelmann and Lessing, however, he admired the “Laoco?n,”—an admiration9 now somewhat out of fashion.
There can be no final authority in art, for the most experienced critics still continue to differ in their estimates of the same painting or statue. More than this, it is safe to affirm that any one writer who makes a statement concerning a certain work of art at a given time, would have made a somewhat different statement at another time. In fact, this not unfrequently happens in actual practice; for all that any of us can do is, to reproduce the impression made on us at the moment, and this depends as much on our own state of mind, and on our peculiarities10, as on the peculiarities of the picture or statue that we criticise11. It is the same in art itself. If Raphael had not painted the “Sistine Madonna” at the time he did, he would have produced a different work. It was the concentration of that particular occasion, and if any accident had happened to prevent it, that pious12 and beautiful vision would have been lost to the world.
It requires years of study and observation of the best masters to become a trustworthy art critic, and then everything depends of course upon the genius of the individual. It has happened more than once that a wealthy American, with a certain kind of enthusiasm for art, has prepared himself at a German university, has studied the science of connoisseurship15, and has become associate member of a number of foreign societies, only to discover at length that he had no talent for the profession. Hawthorne enjoyed no such advantages, nor did he even think of becoming a connoisseur14. His whole experience in the art of design might be included within twelve months, and his original basis was nothing better than his wife’s water-color painting and the mediocre17 pictures in the Boston Athenaeum; but he brought to his subject an eye that was trained to the closest observation of Nature and a mind experienced beyond all others {Footnote: At least at that time.} in the mysteries of human life. He begins tentatively, and as might be expected makes a number of errors, but quite as often he hits the nail, where others have missed it. He learns by his mistakes, and steadily18 improves in critical faculty19. Hawthorne’s Italian Note-book is a unique record, in which the development of a highly organized mind has advanced from small beginnings to exceptional skill in a fresh department of activity.
Hawthorne brought with him to Italy the Yankee preference for newness and nicety, which our forefathers20 themselves derived21 from their residence in Holland, and there is no city in Europe where this sentiment could have troubled him so much as in Rome. He disliked the dingy22 picture-frames, the uncleanly canvases, the earth-stains and broken noses of the antique statues, the smoked-up walls of the Sistine Chapel23, and the cracks in Raphael’s frescos. He condemns24 everything as rubbish which has not an external perfection; forgetting that, as in human nature, the most precious treasures are sometimes allied25 with an ungainly exterior26. Yet in this he only echoes the impressions of thousands of others who have gone to the Vatican and returned disconsolate27, because amid a perplexing multitude of objects they knew not where to look for consummate28 art. One can imagine if an experienced friend had accompanied Hawthorne to the Raphael stanza29, and had pointed30 out the figures of the Pope, the cardinal31, and the angelic boys in the “Mass at Bolsena,” he would have admired them without limitation. He quickly discovered Raphael’s “Transfiguration,” and considered it the greatest painting that the world contains.
The paintings in the princely collections in Rome are, with the exception of those in the Borghese gallery, far removed from princely. A large proportion of their best paintings had long since been sold to the royal collections of northern Europe, and had been replaced either by copies or by works of inferior masters. In the Barberini palace there are not more than three or four paintings such as might reasonably detain a traveller, and it is about the same in the Ludovisi gallery. There was not a grain of affectation in Hawthorne; he never pretended to admire what he did not like, nor did he strain himself into liking32 anything that his inner nature rebelled against.
Hawthorne’s taste in art was much in advance of his time. His quick appreciation33 of the colossal34 statues of Castor and Pollux on the Quirinal is the best proof of this. Ten years later it was the fashion in Rome to deride35 those statues, as a late work of the empire and greatly lacking in artistic36 style. Brunn, in his history of ancient sculpture, attributes them to the school of Lysippus, a contemporary of Alexander, which Brunn certainly would not have done if he had possessed37 a good eye for form. Vasari, on the contrary, a surer critic, considered them worthy13 to be placed beside Michel Angelo’s “David”; but it remained for Furtw?ngler to restore them to their true position as a work of the Periclean age, although copied by Italian sculptors39. They must have been the product of a single mind, {Footnote: On the base of one is Opus Phidiae, and on that of the other, Opus Praxitelis.} either Phidias, Alcameres, or the elder Praxiteles—if there ever was such a person; and they have the finest figures of any statues in Rome (much finer than the dandified “Apollo Belvedere”) and also the most spirited action.
Hawthorne went to the Villa40 Ludovisi to see the much-vaunted bas-relief of Antinous, which fifty years ago was considered one of the art treasures of the city; but a more refined taste has since discovered that in spite of the rare technical skill, its hard glassy finish gives it a cold and conventional effect. Hawthorne returned from it disappointed, and wrote in his diary:
“This Antinous is said to be the finest relic41 of antiquity42 next to the Apollo and the Laoco?n; but I could not feel it to be so, partly, I suppose, because the features of Antinous do not seem to me beautiful in themselves; and that heavy, downward look is repeated till I am more weary of it than of anything else in sculpture.”
The Greek artist of Adrian’s time attempted to give the face a pensive43 expression, but only succeeded in this heavy downward look.
Hawthorne felt the same disappointment after his first visit to the sculpture-gallery of the Vatican. “I must confess,” he wrote, “taking such transient glimpses as I did, I was more impressed with the extent of the Vatican, and the beautiful order in which it is kept and its great sunny, open courts, with fountains, grass, and shrubs44 ... than with the statuary.” The Vatican collection has great archaeological value, but, with the exception of the “Laoco?n,” the “Meleager,” the “Apollo,” and a few others, little or no artistic value. The vast majority of the statues there are either late Roman works or cheap Roman copies of second-rate Hellenic statues. Some of them are positively45 bad and others are archaic46, and Hawthorne was fully47 justified48 in his disatisfaction with them. He noticed, however, a decided49 difference between the original “Apollo” and the casts of it with which he was familiar. On a subsequent visit he fails to observe the numerous faults in Canova’s “Perseus,” and afterwards writes this original statement concerning the “Laoco?n”:
“I felt the Laoco?n very powerfully, though very quietly; an immortal50 agony with a strange calmness diffused51 through it, so that it resembles the vast age of the sea, calm on account of its immensity; as the tumult52 of Niagara, which does not seem to be tumult, because it keeps pouring on forever and ever.”
Professor E. A. Gardner and the more fastidious school of critics have recently decided that the action of the “Laoco?n” is too violent to be contained within the proper boundaries of sculpture; but Hawthorne controverts53 this view in a single sentence. The action is violent, it is true, but the impression which the statue makes on him is not a violent one; for the greatness of the art sublimates54 the motive55. It is a tragedy in marble, and Pliny, who had seen the works of Phidias and Praxiteles, placed Agesander’s “Laoco?n” above them all. This, however, is a Roman view. What Hawthorne wrote in his diary should not always be taken literally57. When he declares that he would like to have every artist that perpetrates an allegory put to death, he merely expresses the puzzling effects which such compositions frequently exercise on the weary-minded traveller; and when he wishes that all the frescos on Italian walls could be obliterated58, he only repeats a sentiment of similar strain. Perhaps we should class in the same category Hawthorne’s remark concerning the Elgin marbles in the British Museum, that “it would be well if they were converted into paving-stones.” There are no grander monuments of ancient art than those battered59 and headless statues from the pediment of the Parthenon (the figures of the so-called “Three Fates” surpass the “Venus of Melos”), and archaeologists are still in dispute as to what they may have represented; but the significance of the subject before him was always the point in which Hawthorne was interested. Julian Hawthorne says of his father, in regard to a similar instance:
“Of technicalities,—difficulties overcome, harmony of lines, and so forth,—he had no explicit60 knowledge; they produced their effect upon him of course, but without his recognizing the manner of it. All that concerned him was the sentiment which the artist had meant to express; the means and method were comparatively unimportant.” {Footnote: J. Hawthorne, ii. 193.}
The technicalities of art differ with every clime and every generation. They belong chiefly to the connoisseur, and have their value, but the less a critic thinks of them in making a general estimate of a painting or statue, the more likely he is to render an impartial61 judgment62. Hawthorne’s analysis of Praxiteles’s “Faun,” in his “Romance of Monte Beni,” being a subject in which he was particularly interested, is almost without a rival in the literature of its kind; and this is the more remarkable63 since the copy of the “Faun” in the museum of the Capitol is not one of the best, at least it is inferior to the one in the Glyptothek at Munich. It seems as if Hawthorne had penetrated64 to the first conception of it in the mind of Praxiteles.
The Sistine Chapel, like the Italian scenery, only unfolds its beauties on a bright day, and Hawthorne happened to go there when the sky was full of drifting clouds, a time when it is difficult to see any object as it really is. It may have been on this account that he entirely65 mistook the action of the Saviour66 in Michel Angelo’s “Last Judgment.” Christ has raised his arm above his head in order to display the mark where he was nailed to the cross, and Hawthorne presumed this, as many others have done, to be an angry threatening gesture of condemnation67, which would not accord with his merciful spirit. He appreciated the symmetrical figure of Adam, and the majestic68 forms of the prophets and sibyls encircling the ceiling, and if he had seen the face of the Saviour in a fair light, he might have recognized that such divine calmness of expression could not coexist with a vindictive69 motive. This, however, can be seen to better advantage in a Braun photograph than in the painting itself.
Hawthorne goes to the Church of San Pietro in Vincolo to see Michel Angelo’s “Moses,” but he does not moralize before it, like a certain Concord70 artist, on “the weakness of exaggeration;” nor does he consider, like Ruskin, that its conventional horns are a serious detriment71. On the contrary he finds it “grand and sublime72, with a beard flowing down like a cataract73; a truly majestic figure, but not so benign74 as it were desirable that such strength should hold.” An Englishman present remarked that the “Moses” had very fine features,—“a compliment,” says Hawthorne, “for which the colossal Hebrew ought to have made the Englishman a bow.”
{Footnote: Italian Note-book, p. 164.}
Perhaps the Englishman really meant that the face had a noble expression. The somewhat satyr-like features of the “Moses” would seem to have been unconsciously adopted, together with the horns, from a statue of the god Pan, which thus serves as an intermediate link between the “Moses” and the “Faun” of Praxiteles; but he who cannot appreciate Michel Angelo’s “Moses” in spite of this, knows nothing of the Alpine75 heights of human nature.
Of all the paintings that Hawthorne saw in Rome none impressed him so deeply as Guido’s portrait of Beatrice Cenci, and none more justly. If the “Laoco?n” is the type of an old Greek tragedy, a strong man strangled in the coils of Fate, the portrait of Beatrice represents the tragedy of mediaeval Italy, a beautiful woman crushed by the downfall of a splendid civilization. The fate of Joan of Arc or of Madame Roland was merciful compared to that of poor Beatrice. Religion is no consolation76 to her, for it is the Pope himself who signs her death-warrant. She is massacred to gratify the avarice77 of the Holy See. Yet in this last evening of her tragical78 life, she does find strength and consolation in her dignity as a woman. Never was art consecrated79 to a higher purpose; Guido rose above himself; and, as Hawthorne says, it seems as if mortal man could not have wrought80 such an effect. It has always been the most popular painting in Rome, but Hawthorne was the first to celebrate its unique superiority in writing, and his discourse81 upon it in various places leaves little for those that follow.
It may have been long since discovered that Hawthorne’s single weakness was a weakness for his friends; certainly an amiable82 weakness, but nevertheless that is the proper name for it. When Phocion was Archon of Athens, he said that a chief magistrate83 should know no friends; and the same should be true of an authoritative84 writer. Hawthorne has not gone so far in this direction as many others have who had less reason to speak with authority than he; but he has indicated his partiality for Franklin Pierce plainly enough, and his over-praise of Hiram Powers and William Story, as well as his under-praise of Crawford, will go down to future generations as something of an injustice85 to those three artists.
{Illustration: GUIDO RENI’S PORTRAIT OF BEATRICE CENCI, PAINTED WHILE SHE WAS IN PRISON, WHICH SUGGESTED TO HAWTHORNE THE PLOT OF “THE MARBLE FAUN"}
It is not necessary to repeat here what Hawthorne wrote concerning Powers’ Webster. The statue stands in front of the State House at Boston, and serves as a good likeness86 of the famous orator87, but more than that one cannot say for it. The face has no definable expression, and those who have looked for a central motive in the figure will be pleased to learn what it is by reading Hawthorne’s description of it, as he saw it in Powers’ studio at Florence. A sculptor38 of the present day can find no better study for his art than the attitudes and changes of countenance88 in an eloquent speaker; but which of them can be said to have taken advantage of this? Story made an attempt in his statue of Everett, but even his most indulgent friends did not consider it a success. His “George Peabody,” opposite the Bank of England, could not perhaps have been altogether different from what it is.
What chiefly interested Story in his profession seems to have been the modelling of unhappy women in various attitudes of reflection. He made a number of these, of which his “Cleopatra” is the only one known to fame, and in the expression of her face he has certainly achieved a high degree of excellence89. Neither has Hawthorne valued it too highly,—the expression of worldly splendor90 incarnated91 in a beautiful woman on the tragical verge92 of an abyss. If she only were beautiful! Here the limitations of the statue commence. Hawthorne says, “The sculptor had not shunned93 to give the full, Nubian lips and other characteristics of the Egyptian physiognomy.”
Here he follows the sculptor himself, and it is remarkable that a college graduate like William Story should have made so transparent94 a mistake. Cleopatra was not an Egyptian at all. The Ptolemies were Greeks, and it is simply impossible to believe that they would have allied themselves with a subject and alien race. This kind of small pedantry95 has often led artists astray, and was peculiarly virulent96 during the middle of the past century. The whole figure of Story’s “Cleopatra” suffers from it. Hawthorne says again, “She was draped from head to foot in a costume minutely and scrupulously97 studied from that of ancient Egypt.” In fact, the body and limbs of the statue are so closely shrouded98 as to deprive the work of that sense of freedom of action and royal abandon which greets us in Shakespeare’s and Plutarch’s “Cleopatra.” Story might have taken a lesson from Titian’s matchless “Cleopatra” in the Cassel gallery, or from Marc Antonio’s small woodcut of Raphael’s “Cleopatra.”
Perhaps it is not too much to say of Crawford that he was the finest plastic genius of the Anglo-Saxon race. His technique may not have been equal to Flaxman’s or St. Gaudens’, but his designs have more of grandeur99 than the former, and he is more original than the latter. There are faults of modelling in his “Orpheus,” and its attitude resembles that of the eldest100 son of Niobe in the Florentine gallery,—although the Niobe youth looks upward and Orpheus is peering into darkness,—its features are rather too pretty; but the statue has exactly what Powers’ “Greek Slave” lacks, a definite motive,—that of an earnest seeker,—which pervades101 it from head to foot; and it is no imaginary pathos102 that we feel in its presence. There is, at least, no imitation of the antique in Crawford’s “Beethoven,” for its conception, the listening to internal harmonies, would never have occurred to a Greek or a Roman. Even Hawthorne admits Crawford’s skill in the treatment of drapery; and this is very important, for it is in his drapery quite as much as in the nude103 that we recognize the superiority of Michel Angelo to Raphael; and the folds of Beethoven’s mantle104 are as rhythmical105 as his own harmonies. The features lack something of firmness, but it is altogether a statue in the grand manner.
Hawthorne is rather too exacting106 in his requirements of modern sculptors. Warrington Wood, who commenced life as a marble-worker, always employed Italian workmen to carve his statues, although he was perfectly107 able to do it himself, and always put on the finishing touches,—as I presume they all do. Bronze statues are finished with a file, and of course do not require any knowledge of the chisel108.
In regard to the imitation of antique attitudes, there has certainly been too much of it, as Hawthorne supposes; but the Greeks themselves were given to this form of plagiarism109, and even Praxiteles sometimes adopted the motives110 of his predecessors111; but Hawthorne praises Powers, Story, and Harriet Hosmer above their merits.
The whole brotherhood112 of artists and their critical friends might rise up against me, if I were to support Hawthorne’s condemnation of modern Venuses, and “the guilty glimpses stolen at hired models.” They are not necessarily guilty glimpses. To an experienced artist the customary study from a naked figure, male or female, is little more than what a low-necked dress at a party would be to many others. Yet the instinct of the age shrinks from this exposure. We can make pretty good Venuses, but we cannot look at them through the same mental and moral atmosphere as the contemporaries of Scopas, or even with the same eyes that Michel Angelo saw them. We feel the difference between a modern Venus and an ancient one. There is a statue in the Vatican of a Roman emperor, of which every one says that it ought to wear clothes; and the reason is because the face has such a modern look. A raving113 Bacchante may be a good acquisition to an art museum, but it is out of place in a public library. A female statue requires more or less drapery to set off the outlines of the figure and to give it dignity. We feel this even in the finest Greek work—like the “Venus of Cnidos.”
In this matter Hawthorne certainly exposes his Puritanic education, and he also places too high a value on the carving114 of button-holes and shoestrings115 by Italian workmen. Such things are the fag-ends of statuary.
His judgment, however, is clear and convincing in regard to the tinted116 Eves and Venuses of Gibson. Whatever may have been the ancient practice in this respect, Gibson’s experiment proved a failure. Nobody likes those statues; and no other sculptor has since followed Gibson’s example. The tinting117 of statues by the Greeks did not commence until the time of Aristotle, and does not seem to have been very general. Their object evidently was, not so much to imitate flesh as to tone down the crystalline glare of the new marble. Pausanias speaks of a statue in Arcadia, the drapery of which was painted with vermilion, “so as to look very gay.” This was of course the consequence of a late and degraded taste. That traces of paint should have been discovered on Greek temples is no evidence that the marble was painted when they were first built.
It may be suspected that Hawthorne was one of the very few who have seen the “Venus dé Medici” and recognized the true significance of the statue. The vast majority of visitors to the Uffizi only see in it the type of a perfectly symmetrical woman bashfully posing for her likeness in marble, but Hawthorne’s perception in it went much beyond that, and the fact that he attempts no explanation of its motive is in accordance with the present theory. He also noticed that statues had sometimes exercised a potent118 spell over him, and at others a very slight influence.
Froude says that a man’s modesty119 is the best part of him. Notice that, ye strugglers for preferment, and how beautifully modest Hawthorne is, when he writes in his Florentine diary:
“In a year’s time, with the advantage of access to this magnificent gallery, I think I might come to have some little knowledge of pictures. At present I still know nothing; but am glad to find myself capable, at least, of loving one picture better than another. I am sensible, however, that a process is going on, and has been ever since I came to Italy, that puts me in a state to see pictures with less toil120, and more pleasure, and makes me more fastidious, yet more sensible of beauty where I saw none before.”
Hawthorne belongs to the same class of amateur critics as Shelley and Goethe, who, even if their opinions cannot always be accepted as final, illuminate121 the subject with the radiance of genius and have an equal value with the most experienced connoisseurs16.
The return of the Hawthornes to Rome through Tuscany was even more interesting than their journey to Florence in the spring, and they enjoyed the inestimable advantage of a vetturino who would seem to have been the Sir Philip Sidney of his profession, a compendium122 of human excellences123. There are such men, though rarely met with, and we may trust Hawthorne’s word that Constantino Bacci was one of them; not only a skilful124 driver, but a generous provider, honest, courteous125, kindly126, and agreeable. They went first to Siena, where they were entertained for a week or more by the versatile127 Mr. Story, and where Hawthorne wrote an eloquent description of the cathedral; then over the mountain pass where Radicofani nestles among the iron-browed crags above the clouds; past the malarious128 Lake of Bolsena, scene of the miracle which Raphael has commemorated129 in the Vatican; through Viterbo and Sette Vene; and finally, on October 16, into Rome, through the Porta’ del Popolo, designed by Michel Angelo in his massive style,—Donati’s comet flaming before them every night. Thompson, the portrait painter, had already secured a furnished house, No. 68 Piazza130 Poli, for the Hawthornes, to which they went immediately.
Since the death of Julius C?sar, comets have always been looked upon as the forerunners131 of pestilence132 and war, but wars are sometimes blessings133, and Donati’s discovery proved a harbinger of good to Italy,—but to the Hawthornes, a prediction of evil. Continually in Hawthorne’s Italian journal we meet with references to the Roman malaria134, as if it were a subject that occupied his thoughts, and nowhere is this more common than during the return-journey from Florence. Did it occur to him that the lightning might strike in his own house? No sensible American now would take his children to Rome unless for a very brief visit; and yet William Story brought up his family there with excellent success, so far as health was concerned.
We can believe that Hawthorne took every possible precaution, so far as he knew, but in spite of that on November 1 his eldest daughter was seized with Roman fever, and for six weeks thereafter lay trembling between life and death, so that it seemed as if a feather might turn the balance.
She does not appear to have been imprudent. Her father believed that the “old hag” breathed upon her while she was with her mother, who was sketching135 in the Palace of the C?sars; but the Palatine Hill is on high ground, with a foundation of solid masonry136, and was guarded by French soldiers, and it would have been difficult to find a more cleanly spot in the city. A German count, who lived in a villa on the C?lian Hill, close by, considered his residence one of the most healthful in Rome. Miss Una had a passionate137 attachment138 for the capital of the ancient world; and it seems as if the evil spirit of the place had seized upon her, as the Ice Maiden139 is supposed to entrap140 chamois hunters in the Alps.
One of the evils attendant on sickness in a foreign country is, the uncertainty141 in regard to a doctor, and this naturally leads to a distrust and suspicion of the one that is employed. Even so shrewd a man as Bismarck fell into the hands of a charlatan142 at St. Petersburg and suffered severely143 in consequence. Hawthorne either had a similar experience, or, what came to the same thing, believed that he did. He considered himself obliged to change doctors for his daughter, and this added to his care and anxiety. During the next four months he wrote not a word in his journal (or elsewhere, so far as we know), and he visibly aged56 before his wife’s eyes. He went to walk on occasion with Story or Thompson, but it was merely for the preservation144 of his own health. His thoughts were always in his daughter’s chamber145, and this was so strongly marked upon his face that any one could read it. Toward the Ides of March, Miss Una was sufficiently146 improved to take a short look at the carnival147, but it was two months later before she was in a condition to travel, and neither she nor her father ever wholly recovered from the effects of this sad experience.
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devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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penetrating
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| adj.（声音）响亮的，尖锐的adj.（气味）刺激的adj.（思想）敏锐的，有洞察力的 | |
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previously
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| adv.以前，先前（地） | |
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biased
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aesthetics
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| n.(尤指艺术方面之)美学，审美学 | |
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eloquent
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| adj.雄辩的，口才流利的；明白显示出的 | |
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discriminating
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lodge
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| v.临时住宿，寄宿，寄存，容纳；n.传达室，小旅馆 | |
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admiration
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peculiarities
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| n. 特质, 特性, 怪癖, 古怪 | |
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criticise
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pious
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| adj.虔诚的；道貌岸然的 | |
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worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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connoisseur
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| n.鉴赏家，行家，内行 | |
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connoisseurship
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| n.鉴赏家（或鉴定家、行家）身份，鉴赏（或鉴定）力 | |
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connoisseurs
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| n.鉴赏家，鉴定家，行家( connoisseur的名词复数 ) | |
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mediocre
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steadily
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faculty
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| n.才能；学院，系；(学院或系的)全体教学人员 | |
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forefathers
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derived
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| vi.起源；由来；衍生；导出v.得到( derive的过去式和过去分词 )；（从…中）得到获得；源于；（从…中）提取 | |
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dingy
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chapel
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condemns
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| v.（通常因道义上的原因而）谴责( condemn的第三人称单数 )；宣判；宣布…不能使用；迫使…陷于不幸的境地 | |
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allied
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exterior
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| adj.外部的，外在的；表面的 | |
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disconsolate
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consummate
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| adj.完美的；v.成婚；使完美 [反]baffle | |
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29
stanza
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| n.（诗）节，段 | |
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30
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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31
cardinal
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| n.(天主教的)红衣主教；adj.首要的，基本的 | |
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32
liking
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| n.爱好；嗜好；喜欢 | |
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33
appreciation
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| n.评价；欣赏；感谢；领会，理解；价格上涨 | |
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34
colossal
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| adj.异常的，庞大的 | |
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35
deride
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| v.嘲弄，愚弄 | |
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36
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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37
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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38
sculptor
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| n.雕刻家，雕刻家 | |
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39
sculptors
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| 雕刻家，雕塑家( sculptor的名词复数 )； [天]玉夫座 | |
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40
villa
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| n.别墅，城郊小屋 | |
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41
relic
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| n.神圣的遗物，遗迹，纪念物 | |
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42
antiquity
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| n.古老；高龄；古物，古迹 | |
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43
pensive
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| a.沉思的,哀思的,忧沉的 | |
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44
shrubs
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| 灌木( shrub的名词复数 ) | |
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45
positively
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| adv.明确地，断然，坚决地；实在，确实 | |
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46
archaic
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| adj.(语言、词汇等)古代的，已不通用的 | |
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47
fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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48
justified
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| a.正当的，有理的 | |
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49
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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50
immortal
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| adj.不朽的；永生的，不死的；神的 | |
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51
diffused
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| 散布的，普及的，扩散的 | |
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52
tumult
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| n.喧哗；激动，混乱；吵闹 | |
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53
controverts
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| v.争论，反驳，否定( controvert的第三人称单数 ) | |
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54
sublimates
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| v.（使某物质）升华( sublimate的第三人称单数 )；使净化；纯化 | |
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55
motive
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| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
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56
aged
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| adj.年老的，陈年的 | |
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57
literally
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| adv.照字面意义，逐字地；确实 | |
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58
obliterated
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| v.除去( obliterate的过去式和过去分词 )；涂去；擦掉；彻底破坏或毁灭 | |
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59
battered
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| adj.磨损的；v.连续猛击；磨损 | |
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60
explicit
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| adj.详述的，明确的；坦率的；显然的 | |
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61
impartial
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| adj.(in,to)公正的，无偏见的 | |
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62
judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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63
remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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64
penetrated
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| adj. 击穿的，鞭辟入里的 动词penetrate的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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65
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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66
saviour
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| n.拯救者，救星 | |
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67
condemnation
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| n.谴责; 定罪 | |
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68
majestic
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| adj.雄伟的，壮丽的，庄严的，威严的，崇高的 | |
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69
vindictive
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| adj.有报仇心的，怀恨的，惩罚的 | |
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70
concord
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| n.和谐；协调 | |
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71
detriment
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| n.损害；损害物，造成损害的根源 | |
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72
sublime
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| adj.崇高的，伟大的；极度的，不顾后果的 | |
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73
cataract
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| n.大瀑布，奔流，洪水，白内障 | |
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74
benign
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| adj.善良的，慈祥的；良性的，无危险的 | |
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75
alpine
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| adj.高山的；n.高山植物 | |
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76
consolation
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| n.安慰，慰问 | |
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77
avarice
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| n.贪婪；贪心 | |
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78
tragical
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| adj. 悲剧的, 悲剧性的 | |
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79
consecrated
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| adj.神圣的，被视为神圣的v.把…奉为神圣，给…祝圣( consecrate的过去式和过去分词 )；奉献 | |
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80
wrought
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| v.引起；以…原料制作；运转；adj.制造的 | |
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81
discourse
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| n.论文，演说；谈话；话语；vi.讲述，著述 | |
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82
amiable
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| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
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83
magistrate
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| n.地方行政官，地方法官，治安官 | |
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84
authoritative
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| adj.有权威的，可相信的；命令式的；官方的 | |
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85
injustice
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| n.非正义，不公正，不公平，侵犯（别人的）权利 | |
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86
likeness
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| n.相像，相似（之处） | |
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87
orator
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| n.演说者，演讲者，雄辩家 | |
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88
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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89
excellence
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| n.优秀，杰出，(pl.)优点，美德 | |
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90
splendor
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| n.光彩；壮丽，华丽；显赫，辉煌 | |
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91
incarnated
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| v.赋予（思想、精神等）以人的形体( incarnate的过去式和过去分词 )；使人格化；体现；使具体化 | |
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92
verge
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| n.边，边缘；v.接近，濒临 | |
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93
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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94
transparent
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| adj.明显的，无疑的；透明的 | |
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95
pedantry
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| n.迂腐，卖弄学问 | |
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96
virulent
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| adj.有毒的，有恶意的，充满敌意的 | |
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97
scrupulously
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| adv.一丝不苟地；小心翼翼地，多顾虑地 | |
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98
shrouded
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| v.隐瞒( shroud的过去式和过去分词 )；保密 | |
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99
grandeur
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| n.伟大，崇高，宏伟，庄严，豪华 | |
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100
eldest
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| adj.最年长的，最年老的 | |
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101
pervades
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| v.遍及，弥漫( pervade的第三人称单数 ) | |
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102
pathos
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| n.哀婉，悲怆 | |
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103
nude
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| adj.裸体的；n.裸体者，裸体艺术品 | |
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104
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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105
rhythmical
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| adj.有节奏的，有韵律的 | |
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106
exacting
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| adj.苛求的，要求严格的 | |
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107
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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108
chisel
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| n.凿子；v.用凿子刻，雕，凿 | |
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109
plagiarism
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| n.剽窃，抄袭 | |
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110
motives
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| n.动机，目的( motive的名词复数 ) | |
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111
predecessors
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| n.前任( predecessor的名词复数 )；前辈；（被取代的）原有事物；前身 | |
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112
brotherhood
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| n.兄弟般的关系，手中情谊 | |
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113
raving
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| adj.说胡话的；疯狂的，怒吼的；非常漂亮的；令人醉心[痴心]的v.胡言乱语(rave的现在分词)n.胡话；疯话adv.胡言乱语地；疯狂地 | |
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114
carving
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| n.雕刻品，雕花 | |
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115
shoestrings
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| n.以极少的钱( shoestring的名词复数 ) | |
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116
tinted
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| adj. 带色彩的 动词tint的过去式和过去分词 | |
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117
tinting
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| 着色，染色（的阶段或过程） | |
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118
potent
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| adj.强有力的，有权势的；有效力的 | |
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119
modesty
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| n.谦逊，虚心，端庄，稳重，羞怯，朴素 | |
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120
toil
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| vi.辛劳工作，艰难地行动；n.苦工，难事 | |
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121
illuminate
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| vt.照亮，照明；用灯光装饰；说明，阐释 | |
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122
compendium
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| n.简要，概略 | |
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123
excellences
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| n.卓越( excellence的名词复数 )；（只用于所修饰的名词后）杰出的；卓越的；出类拔萃的 | |
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124
skilful
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| (=skillful)adj.灵巧的，熟练的 | |
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125
courteous
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| adj.彬彬有礼的，客气的 | |
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126
kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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127
versatile
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| adj.通用的，万用的；多才多艺的，多方面的 | |
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128
malarious
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| （患）疟疾的，（有）瘴气的 | |
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129
commemorated
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| v.纪念，庆祝( commemorate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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130
piazza
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| n.广场；走廊 | |
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131
forerunners
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| n.先驱( forerunner的名词复数 )；开路人；先兆；前兆 | |
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132
pestilence
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| n.瘟疫 | |
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133
blessings
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| n.（上帝的）祝福( blessing的名词复数 )；好事；福分；因祸得福 | |
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134
malaria
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| n.疟疾 | |
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135
sketching
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| n.草图 | |
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136
masonry
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| n.砖土建筑；砖石 | |
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137
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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138
attachment
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| n.附属物，附件；依恋；依附 | |
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139
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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140
entrap
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| v.以网或陷阱捕捉，使陷入圈套 | |
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141
uncertainty
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| n.易变，靠不住，不确知，不确定的事物 | |
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142
charlatan
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| n.骗子；江湖医生；假内行 | |
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143
severely
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| adv.严格地；严厉地；非常恶劣地 | |
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144
preservation
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| n.保护，维护，保存，保留，保持 | |
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145
chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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146
sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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147
carnival
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| n.嘉年华会，狂欢，狂欢节，巡回表演 | |
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