BOOK III. THE VICTIM HESITATES

 They had opened a wooden box which lay beside them.

 

“Ten years!” she said. “How they have faded!”

“And the creases¹ are tight,” said he; “they will be hard to read.”

“Letters! letters!” she exclaimed—“some of them sixty pages long! How much would they make?”

“Perhaps a quarter of a million words,” he said.

“What is to be done about it?”

“They must be selected, and then cut, and then trimmed and pruned².”

“And will that leave any idea of it?”

He answered with a simile³. “You wish to convey to a man how it feels to pound stone for twelve hours in the sun. The only way you could really do it would be to take him and let him pound for twelve hours. But he wouldn’t stand for that.”

“So you let him pound for one hour,” said she, with a smile.

“I will put up a sign,” he said—

   ‘HERE BEGINS THE STONE-POUNDING!’ 

And then those who are interested will come in and try it; and the rest will peer through the fence and pass on.”

To which she responded, “I would make the sign read,

   ‘ADMISSION TO LOVERS ONLY!’”

 

MY THYRSIS!

 

Oh, if I might only stay in a convent until you are ready to take me! Since I left you I find myself possessed⁵ of cravings, which, if I indulged them, might bring me the fate of the Maid of Neidpath!

Truly I have known some miserable⁷ moments. But I am trying very hard to cultivate a happy, confident activity. The people here are aggressive, and I am afraid I have been rude, which I never like to be. I just succeeded in getting away from a young man who wanted to walk to the village with me. Do you know, it would drive me absolutely mad to talk to anyone now!

My soul has only one cry, and I could sometimes go out on the mountain-side and scream it aloud to the winds. I fear I shall be a trifle wild, in fact utterly⁸ in pieces, until you come, with that wonderful recipe of yours for binding⁹ me together, and making me complete. I think of you in your house, and wish to God I were there, or out in the desert even, if you were with me.

When I passed through the city I felt exactly as if I were in Hades. The glaring lights and the fearful rattle¹⁰, the lazy, lounging men—I had dinner in a restaurant, in which all the people seemed to be feeding demons¹¹! It has been distinctly shown me why so many people have thought you a rude unmannerly boy! I don’t know what people would think, if I had to be amongst them long.

I have begun so many letters to you in my mind, and oh, the times I have told myself how much I loved you! I have read your letters and slept with them under my pillow, like the veriest love-lorn maiden¹². But all my happy thoughts are gone at present. It is distracting to me to have to come into such close contact with people.

Oh, tell me, dearest one, what I shall have to do to control myself and preserve the peace of my soul, until I go to you forever? I must not long to see you, it prevents me from studying. If you might only come to me at one moment in the day, and give me one kiss, and then go away! You see, I am conducting myself in a very unwise manner—and it is necessary I should study! I should love to have an indomitable capacity for work, and eat only two meals a day, and never have to think about my body.

I want to tell you what I feel, how utterly and absolutely I am yours, and how any image that comes between you and me enrages¹⁴ me. If only you knew how I give myself up to you in thought, word, and deed!—My one reason for acting¹³ now, is that I may show you something I have done, my one thought is to be what you would wish me. No one, no one understands, or ever will, what is in your heart and in mine—to be locked there for ages. There I have placed all my power of love and religion and hope of the life that is to be. To you I give all my trust, all my worship, you are the one link that binds¹⁵ me to myself and to God. Without you I feel now that I should be a poor wanderer.

You give me my feeling of wholeness, of the possibility of completion, that I never had before. In my best and truest moments I know that with you I can be what I have hoped. With you before my eyes I have a grim resolution to conquer or die. The one thing I am sure of always is my love for you. It might be possible for you to stop loving me; but I, now that I have begun, shall continue to love you to the day I die—and after, I hope. I do not love you for what you can give me, I love you because you are you, I must love you now no matter what you are. I believe Shakespeare was right when he said that “love is not love which alters, when it alteration¹⁶ finds.” I do not believe that a person can really love more than once.

I must go to my German again and leave you. Do you love me? Do you love me? Do you love me?

II. My dearest Corydon:

I received a letter from you before dinner, and as usual had one of my flights of emotion, and thought of many things to write to you. Now I am up on the mountain-side, trying to recall them. Dearest, you are, as always, more precious to me. I am glad to see that you are suffering some, and I think that it is well that you have to be away from me for awhile, to fight some of your own soul’s battles. You see that I am in my stern humor; as convinced as ever that the soul is to be deepened only by effort, and that the great glory of life cannot be bought or stolen, or even given for love, but must be earned.

I will tell you what I have been doing since you left. I spent three whole days in the most unimaginable wretchedness; I had no hindrances¹⁷ like yours—only the most fearful burden of dullness and sloth¹⁸, that had crept upon me and mastered me, during all the weeks that I had let myself be so upset and delayed. I cannot picture what I go through when I lose my self-command in that way, but it is like one who is tied down upon a railroad track and hears a train coming. He gets just as desperate as he pleases, and suffers anything you can imagine—but he does not get free. And always the book would be hanging before me, a kind of external conscience, to show me what I ought to have been.

Now I have gotten myself out of that, by an effort that has quite worn me out. When I found myself at work again, I felt a kind of savage¹⁹ joy of effort, a greater power than I ever knew before. In the reckless mood that I had got to, it seemed to me that I could keep so forever.

Now dearest, you must get the same unity²⁰ in your life; you must concentrate all your faculties²¹ upon that—get for yourself that precious habit of being “instant in prayer”, and “strenuous for the bright reward”. As Wordsworth has it, “Brook no continuance of weak-mindedness!” Let it come to you with a pang²² that hurts you, that for one minute you have been idle, that you have admitted to yourself that life is a thing of no consequence, and that you do not care for it. I shall have to talk to you that way—perhaps not so often as I do to myself, because I do not think you are really in your heart such a very dull and sodden²³ creature as I am.

I think the greatest trial we shall have will be our fondness for each other, and the possibility of being satisfied simply to hold each other in our arms. But we shall get the better of that, as of everything else; and that is not the problem now. You must learn to strive, learn to master yourself; you must prove your power so. Do not care how rude you have to be to those people; look upon the things about you as a kind of dream-world, and know that your own soul’s life is the one real thing for you. And don’t write any more about how circumstances hold you back. When you have got to work you will know that you are given your soul for no purpose but to fight circumstances; that they are the things to make you fight. When they are removed, as I know to my cost, there is still the same necessity of fighting; only it is like a horse who has to win a race without the spurs.

You must talk to yourself about this, night and day, until this desire is so awake in you that you can’t go idle many moments without its rushing into your mind, and giving you a kind of electric shock. And when that happens you fling aside every thing else, every idea but the work that you ought to be doing, and put all your faculties upon that; and every time that you catch them wandering, you do the same thing again, and again. Some times when I become very keenly aware of myself, and of what a shallow creature I really am, it seems to me that it is only by wearing myself out in that grim and savage way that I can make myself even tolerable.

I must stop. Do you know that for five precious hours by my watch I have sat up here thinking about you and writing to you? Dear me—and I am tired, and frozen, for there is a cold wind. I shall have, I see, to prove some of my powers, by not writing letters to you when I should be at the book.

I see that it takes four or five days for letters to come and go between us; and so if we write often, our letters will be crossing. Four or five days is time enough for us to change our moods a dozen times, so our correspondence will be apt to be complicated!

III. MY DEAREST THYRSIS:

 

It has worried me somewhat to-day that you might be utterly disappointed in the letter I wrote you. It was a wild jumble²⁴ of words, but I was fighting all sorts of uncomfortable things within me. To-day I have been anything but despairing, and have “gone at” the German. In fact, I quite lost myself in it, and believe I understand thoroughly²⁵ the construction of the first poem. Wonderful accomplishment²⁶!

Your words, as I read them again, dear heart, are full of a great beauty and fire and energy, and I only hope you may keep them always. I believe that the possibility of the marriage we both desire, depends greatly if not entirely²⁸ on your sternness. You must realize it.

I cannot tell with the proper conditions and training what energy I might be able to accumulate for myself, but in the meanwhile the thing that makes me most wretched is my utter incapacity at times, and my inability to share with you your work. In my weaker and more helpless moods, I ask myself with a pang, whether I ought to go with you at all, when I cannot help you. But I must stop fuming²⁹. I have come out of my mudpuddle for good and for all, and that is the main consideration. I don’t intend to go back.

We must not think of each other in any way but as co-workers in a great labor³⁰; we must simply know that our love is rooted deeply, and the harder we work the more firm it will be. There is no reason why we should not go to the altar with just this sternness, and from now on preserve this attitude until the day when we have earned the right to consider what love means. Can you do it? I will prove to you that I can.

IV. MY DEAR THYRSIS:

 

I am trying very dreadfully, and go away alone and pound at the German as if my life depended upon it. I go to bed every night with a tight feeling in my head, but I do not mind, as I take it for a guarantee that I have not rested.

And oh, my dearest, dearest and best, I am trying not to think of you too much—that is too much in a way that does not help me to study. But I love you really, yes, truly, and I know I would follow you anywhere. I am not particularly joyful³¹, but then I do not expect to be for a great many years.

V. DEAR THYRSIS:

 

Only a few words. I have been hovering³² to-day between spurts³³ of hopeful energy, and the most indescribable despair. It positively³⁴ freezes my heart, and I have been on the point of writing to you and telling you to relieve yourself of the responsibility of me. The reason is because it seems a perfectly³⁵ Herculean task to read “Egmont”. I have to look up words in the dictionary until I am absolutely so weary I care not about anything; and then I think of you, and what you are able to do, and at one word from you I would give up all idea of marrying you.

I tell you I am up and down in this mood. Great God, I could work all day and all night if I could do what you do, but to strain at iron fetters—a snail³⁶! Oh, I cannot tell you—I simply groan³⁷ under it. At such times I have no more idea of marrying you than of journeying to the moon. I repeat to you, to be constantly choked back, while you are rapidly advancing, will kill me. I don’t know what you will say to this, but it is intolerable, unendurable, to me. When I think of your ability and mine, I simply laugh about it—Thyrsis, it is simply ridiculous. I do not ask you to take me with you, Thyrsis.

Do you wonder at my writing all this? You would not if you understood. It is so hard for me to keep any joy in my heart, and I get tired of repeated failures, that is all. I thought I must write you this, and have it over with. This is the style of letter I have always torn up, but this time it goes. I think I will practice the piano now, and try to get some gladness into my soul again.

VI. MY DEAR, DEAR THYRSIS:

 

There is a dreadful sort of letter which I wrote you last night which I haven’t sent you yet.

I have been studying, or trying to most of the day, and my mind has wandered most painfully. There were two days in which I seemed to have hold of myself, but with an effort that was a fearful strain. I must try so, that it almost kills me, if I wish to accomplish even a little of what I ought. The heat here is almost insupportable, it is stifling³⁸, and I spent an hour or so in the water this afternoon.

And the thought is always torture to me—that you are accomplishing so much more than I! I was thinking of your letters to-night, and I recalled some words that seemed to speak more of your love for me. Oh, Thyrsis, if your letters are fiery³⁹ and passionate⁴⁰, is it for love of me that they are? I’m almost afraid at times, when I read your letters—when you tell me of the kind of woman you want to love.

I at present am certainly not she. And do you know that when we are married we shall be united forever? I don’t know why I write you these things, they are not at all inspiring thoughts to me.

And yet I was able to go in swimming this afternoon, and forget everything and frolic around as happily as any water-baby!

VII. MY DEAR CORYDON:

 

I came off to write my poem, but I have been thinking about you, and I must write a long letter. It is one of the kind that you do not like.

In the first place, you complain of the contradictions in my letters. I am sorry. I live so, struggling always with what is not best in me, and continually falling down. Also, in this matter I am an utter stranger, groping my way; and there is an element of passion in it, a dangerous element, which leads me continually astray.

I can only say that in my ideal of love, which is utter love and spiritual love, I think of living my life with you in entire nakedness of soul. Therefore, I shall always be before you exactly as I should be by myself. And I shall write you now exactly what I have been thinking, what is hard and unkind in it, as well as the rest. You will learn to know me as a man far from perfect, often going astray himself, often feeling wrong things, often leading you astray and making you wretched. But behind all this there is the thing often lost sight of, but always present—the iron duty that I have, and the force in me which drives me to it.

All this morning I have been thinking of my book, losing myself in it and filling myself with its glory. This afternoon I fell to thinking about us; and thoughts which have been lurking⁴¹ in my mind for a long time got the upper hand for the first time. They were that I did not love you as I ought to, that I could not; that the love which I felt was a thing from my own heart, and that it had carried me away because I was anxious to persuade myself I had found my ideal upon earth; that you could not satisfy the demands upon life that I made, and that if I married you it would be to make you wretched, and myself as well; that you had absolutely nothing of the things that I needed, and that the life which your nature required was entirely different from mine; that you had no realization⁴² of the madness that was driving me, could find and give me none of the power I needed; and that I ought to write and tell you this, no matter what it cost—that I owed it to the sacred possibility of my own soul, to live alone if I could live better alone. And when I had said these words, I felt a sense of relief, because they were haunting me, and had been for a long time.

How they will affect you I cannot tell, it depends upon deep your love for me is; certainly they mean for me that my love is not deep, that you have not made yourself necessary to me. I think that in that last phrase I put the whole matter in its essence—you have not bound yourself to me; I am always struggling to keep my love firm and right, to hold myself to you. The result is that there is no food for my soul in the thought of our love, in my thought of you; and therefore, I am continually dissatisfied and doubting, continually feeling the difference between the love I have dreamed and our love.

I tried to think the matter out, and get to the very bottom of it. The first thing that came to me on the other side was your absolute truth; your absolute devotion to what was right and noble in our ideal. So that, as I was thinking, I suddenly stopped short with this statement—“If you cannot find right love with that girl, it must be because you do not honor love, or care for it.” And then I thought of your helplessness, of your lack of training and opportunity for growth; and I told myself how absurd it was of me to expect satisfying love from you—when all that I knew about in life, and thought of, was entirely unknown to you. I realized that I was a man who had tasted more or less of all knowledge, and had an infinite vision of knowledge yet before him, and an infinite hunger for it; and that you were a school-girl, with all of a school-girl’s tasks on your hands. So I said to myself that the reason for the dissatisfaction was a fault of my own, that it had come from my own blindness. I had gone wrong in my attitude to you; I had failed in my sternness and my high devotion to perfection; I had contented⁴³ myself with lesser⁴⁴ things, had come down from my best self, and had failed to make you see what a task was before you, if you ever meant to know my best self. You perceive that this is a return to my old-time attitude; I am sorry if it makes you wretched, but I cannot help it. It is a surgical⁴⁵ operation that must be borne. I shall not make it necessary again, I hope.

Now, dear Corydon, I am not trying to choose pleasant words in this letter, this is the way I talk to myself. And if anything good comes from our love, it will be because of this letter. I challenge what is noblest in you to rise to meet the truth of it. I should not care to write to you if I did not feel that it would.

You have had a possibility offered to you, and because you are very hungry for life you have clasped it to you, placed all your happiness in it. The possibility is the love of a man whose heart has been filled with the fire of genius. There are few men whom life takes hold of as it does me, who sacrifice themselves for their duty as I do, who demand experience—knowledge, power, beauty—as I do. There are very few men who will wrest⁴⁶ out of existence as much as I will, or know and have as much of life. I am a boy just now, and only beginning to live; but I have my purpose in hand, and I know that if I am given health and life, there is nothing that men have known that I shall not know, nothing that is done in the world that I shall not do, or try to. I have a strong physique, and I labor day and night, and always shall. I shall always be hungry and restless, always dissatisfied with myself, and with everything about me, and acting and feeling most of the time like a person haunted by a devil. I make no apologies to you for the conceit⁴⁷ of what I am saying; it is what I think of myself, without caring what other people think. I know that I have a tremendous temperament⁴⁸, tremendous powers hidden within me, and they have got to come out. When they do, the world will know what I know now.

Now Corydon, as you understand, I dream love absolute, and would scorn any other kind. I can master my passion, if it be that upon earth there is no woman willing or able to go with me to the last inch of my journey. I dream a life-companion to follow wherever my duty drives me; to feel all the desperateness of desire that I feel, to be stern and remorseless as I must be, wild and savage as I must be; to race through knowledge with me and to share my passion for truth with me; a woman with whom I need have no shame in the duty of my genius! As I tell you, if I marry you, I expect to give myself to you as your own heart; and then I think of the gentle and mild existence you have led!

It is very hard for me even to tell about my life, or to explain this thing that drives me mad. But I am writing this letter to you for the purpose of making clear to you that there are two alternatives before you, and that you must choose one or the other and stick by it, and bear the consequences. It is painful to me to think that I have fascinated you by what opportunities I have, even by what power and passion and talents I have, and filled you with a hunger for me—when really you do not realize at all what I am, or what I must be, and when what I have to do will terrify you. I write in the thought of terrifying you now, and making you give up this red-hot iron that you are trying to hold on to; or else to show you my life so plainly that never afterwards can you blame me, or shrink back except by your own fault.

You must not blame me for writing these words, for wondering if a woman, if any woman has power to stand what I need to do. And when I talk to you about giving me up, you must not think that is cold, but know that it is my faithfulness to my vision, which is the one thing to which I owe any duty in the world. Nor is it right that you should expect to be essential to me, when I have labored⁴⁹ to be all to myself. You could become necessary to me in the years to come; if I marry you to-day I shall marry you for what you are to become, and for that alone—at any rate if I am true to myself.

If you are to be my wife you are to be my soul—to live my soul’s life and bear its pain. You are to understand that I talk to you as I talk to myself, call you the names I call myself, and if you cry, give you up in disgust; that I am to deny you all pleasure as I do myself, and what God knows will be ten thousand times harder, let you take pleasure, and then spring up in the very midst of it—you know what I mean! That I am to be ever dissatisfied with you, ever inconsiderate of your feelings, and ever declaring that you are failing! That however much I may love you, I am to be your conscience, and therefore keep you—just about as you are now, miserable! You told me that you would gladly be whipped to learn to live; and this can be the only thing to happen to you.

You must understand why I act in this way. I am a weak and struggling man, with a thousand temptations; and when I marry you, you will be the greatest temptation of all. You are a beautiful girl, and I love you, and every instinct of my nature drives me to you; for me to live with you without kissing you or putting my arms about you, will remain always difficult. It will be so for you, as for me, and it will always be our danger, and always make us wretched. Your soul rises in you as I write this, and you say (as you’ve said before) that if I offered to kiss you after it, it would be an insult. But only wait until we meet!

This is the one thing that has become clear to me: just as soon as there comes the least thought of satisfaction in our love, just so soon does it cease to satisfy my best self. You cannot satisfy my best self, you do not even know it; and if it were a question of that, I should never dream of marrying you! I love you for this and for this alone—because you are an undeveloped soul, the dream of whose infinite possibilities is my one delight in the matter. I think that you are perfect in character, that you are truth itself; and therefore, no matter how helpless you may be, I have no fear of failing to make you “all the world to me”, provided only that I am not false to my ideal. You must know from what I have written before that I can love, that I do know what love is, and that you may trust me. I am not trying to degrade passion—I simply see how passion throws the burden on the woman, and therefore it is utterly a crime with us—the least thought of it! I ought to consider you as a school-girl, really just that; and instead of that I write you love letters!

I tell you there is nothing more hateful for me to look back upon than that childish business of ours, that time when we went upstairs that we might kiss each other unseen. I tell you, it revolts my soul, from love and from you! I should be perfectly willing to take all the blame—I do; only I have led you to like that (or to act as if you did) and I must stop it. Can you not understand how hateful it is to me to think of making you anything that I should be disgusted with?

I expect you to read over this letter until you realize that it is, every word of it, completely true and noble, and until you can write me so. You and I are to feel ourselves two school-children and live just so. It is not usual for school-children to marry, but that we dare upon the strength of our purpose, and in defiance⁵⁰ of all counsel, and of every precedent⁵¹. We are to feel that we owe our duty to our ideal; and that simply because of the strength and passion of our love for each other, we demand perfection, each of the other. My setting this stern challenge before you is nothing but my determination to give you my right love, to demand that you be a perfect woman.

I promise you therefore no quarter; I shall make no sacrifice of my ideal for your sake. As I wrote you, I mean to be absolutely one with you, and I expect you to be the same. You shall have (if you wish it) all of my soul—I shall live my life with you and think all my thoughts aloud—study to give you everything that I have. And God only, who knows my heart, knows what utter love for you lies in those words, what utter trust of you—how I think of you as being purity and holiness itself. To offer to take any other being into my soul, to lay bare all the secret places of it to its gaze, all the weaknesses as well as all the strength, and all that is vain as well as all that is sacred! You cannot know how I feel about my heart, but this you may know, that no one else has had a glimpse of it, you are the first and the last; and so sure am I of you that I dare to say it, all my life will I live in your presence, and trust to your sympathy and truth—and feel that I am false to love if I do not. If there were anything in my heart so foul⁵² that I feared to speak of it, I should give you that first, as the sacrifice of love; or any vanity or foible—such things are really hardest to have others know, so great is our conceit.

If I could talk to you to-night, I should do just as I did up on the hill in the moonlight—frighten you, and make you wonder if there was any woman who wished to bear such a burden; and perhaps the saddest thing of all to me is that I do not bear it—instead I bear the gnawing⁵³ of a conscience bitter and ashamed of itself. And could you bear that burden? For Corydon, as I look at myself to-night, I am before God, a coward and a dastard⁵⁴! I have not done my work! I have not borne the pain He calls me to bear, I have not wrested⁵⁵ out the strength He put in my secret heart! And here I am chattering⁵⁶, talking about work to you! And these things are like a nightmare to me; they turn all my life’s happiness to gall⁵⁷. And you are taking upon yourself this same burden—coming to help me to get rid of it. Or if you do not wish to, for God’s sake, and mine, and yours, don’t come near me—you have come too near as it is! Can you not see that when I am face to face with these fearful things—and you come and ask me to give my life to you, to worship you with the best faculties I possess—that I have no right to say yes?

You once told me you were happy because I called you “mein guter Geist, mein bess’res Ich”; well, you are not in the least that. The name that I give you, and that you may keep, is “the beautiful possibility of a soul”. Remember a phrase I told you at the very beginning of our love, of the peril⁵⁸ of “ceasing to love perfection and coming to love a woman.” And read Shelley’s sad note to “Epipsychidion”!

VIII. Dear Corydon:

You tell me in your last letter that you are leaving all who love you; and you ask “How do you know that because you love beauty, you will love me?”

I have been thinking a good deal about this; I do not believe, Corydon, that a man more haunted by the madness of desire ever lived upon earth than I. And when I get at the essence of myself, I do not believe that I am a kind man; I think that a person with less patience for human hearts never existed, perhaps with less feeling. There is only one thing in the world that I can be sure of, or that you can, my fidelity⁵⁹ to my ideal! I know that however often I may fail or weaken, however many mistakes I may make, my hunger for the things of the soul will never leave me, and that night and day I shall work for them. I do not believe I have the right to promise you anything else, I have no right to dream of anything else; this is not my pleasure, as I feel it, it is a frenzy⁶⁰, it is that to which some blind and nameless and merciless impulse drives me. And I may try to persuade myself all my life that I love you, Corydon, and nothing else, and want nothing else; and all the time in the depths of my heart I hear these words from my conscience—“You are a fool.” I love power, I love life, and seek them and strive for them, and care for nothing else and never have; and nothing else can satisfy me. And I cannot give any other love than this, any other promise.

IX. My dear Corydon:

I have been taking a walk this morning, thinking about us, and that I had treated you fearfully. The whole truth of it all is this—that I am so raw and so young and so helpless (and you are as much, if not more so) that I cannot, to save my life, be sure if my love for you is what it ought to be, or even if I could love any one as I ought. And I am so wretchedly dissatisfied! Do you know that for two weeks I have been trying to write a passage of my book—and before God, I cannot! I have not the power, I have not the life!

Dear Corydon, it comes to me that you are miserable to be in love with me—that I had no right to put this burden on your shoulders. I would say better things if I could, but I think that our marriage will be a setting out across a wild ocean in the dark! It is for you to be the heroine, to dare the voyage if you choose. These sound like wild words, but they are the truth of my life, and I dare not say any others. Can a girl who has been brought up in gentleness and sweetness, in innocence⁶¹ of life and of pain—can she say things, feel things like these?

X. Thyrsis:

God did not endow me with your tongue, or else it would not be the great effort it is to me to tell you some of the thoughts that have rushed through my mind in the last hour.

It is an hour since I began to read your letter of Horrible Truth. Now it seems to me it might have been in the last year, in the last century. Actually I feel like a stranger to myself; and my movements are very slow. First, I will tell you that I believe in God, oh, so implicitly—this thought gives me infinite hope. I long to let you know as much of my heart as I can, if I am to be your life-companion, as I firmly believe I am to be. I have such a strange calmness now, and I imagine that I must feel very much the way Rip Van Winkle did when he awoke. I want to try to show you my heart—it is right that I should try, is it not?

Know that I have placed much faith and trust in you, in anything that you did. If you opened one door to me and told me it led to the great and permanent truth, I believed you absolutely. If you hauled me back and put me through an opposite one, telling me that there my road lay, I believed you with equal faith. Now, now, at the end of an hour, I am, through you, convinced of one door, the only and true entrance; and I am as sure as I am that the sun is shining at this moment, that nothing in God’s world can ever again make me lose sight of it. I have found that you can lose sight of it, Thyrsis,—something shows me that I have in the last month been more right than you. Yes, I have, Thyrsis, though you may not know it. And the reason I couldn’t stay right was because I am not strong enough to grasp my good impulses, and keep hold of them: because I have not enough faith in the soul within me.

I will try to tell you what I have felt since reading your letter. All is so disgustingly calm in me now. But listen, I believe I have had a little glimpse this afternoon of what it is to feel; and because of that knowledge I now am not afraid to tell you that I claim something of God and life—that I can get it if you can. This has been very strong in me at moments, but, as I tell you, I have not yet learned to hold my glimpses of truth—they seem to come to me, and as quickly disappear.

I began to read your letter, and I cannot describe to you the convulsion that came over me. It seemed that I had the feeling of an empty skull⁶² on a desert; such a feeling—you can never have it! All the horror and despair! I tried to form my thoughts and tell myself it was not true. I tried to pray, and I did pray—out loud—and asked God to give me strength to read the letter.

I tried to use all the penetration⁶³ I was capable of, to find out one thing, whether you were purely⁶⁴ and unreservedly sincere in it. I wondered whether you really wished to live your life alone, but could not find the courage to tell me so. I firmly believe that no failure in the future, no disgust or helplessness, could ever bring me the complete anguish⁶⁵ of those moments.

Can you realize what such a thing meant to me, Thyrsis?

Last spring, I had succeeded in bringing myself into an almost complete state of coma—I saw that I could do nothing, and because I would not endure such profitless pain I drugged myself to sleep. And you, you fiend, waked me up; and may your soul be thrice cursed if you have only pulled the doll to pieces to see what it was made of! Know, you that have a soul which says it lives and suffers—that I can’t go to sleep again! There is no joy for me in mother or father, in friends or admiration—I can tolerate nothing that I tolerated before you came with your cursed or blessed fire!

Also, if you do not marry me, or if I do not find some man who has your strength and desire for life, and who will take me and help me to learn, I shall die without having lived.—And I cried out in misery—only forty-two years, only forty-two little years, and I shall be an old woman of sixty! Only forty-two years in which to learn to live!

I believe if I had you here now I could almost strangle you. We may kill each other some day. I sometimes feel that there is nothing that will give me any relief, that I cannot breathe, I cannot support my body. But these are foolish and unprofitable feelings—and I believe I will yet be saved, if not by you, perhaps by myself. I think some heavenly aid came to me to-day. I asked for it, I simply said it must come—and now I am able to bear myself and look around me, and say that the secret of my liberation is not death but life.

Please realize, Thyrsis, that I know you do not need me, that I cannot either entertain you or help you. My dear, do you not know that I have been conscious of this from the very beginning—and it has been this thought that has often made me worry, and doubt, and question. And then I have told myself that you had found something in me to love; and that I also was very hungry to know about life and God; and that if you loved me enough to believe I was not dross⁶⁶, we might, with our untiring devotion—well, we might be right in going with each other. And now—would you rather I should tell you I will not marry you, be my desire, or effort, what it may? I do not know—even though I want to live so terribly. I have no word, no proof to give!

And now, Thyrsis, I have no more strength to write. I only wish I had some power to make you know what I have felt this afternoon—I think if I could, you would have no more doubt of me. And I believe it is my God-given right not to doubt myself.

I will write no more—I have written enough to make you answer one of two things. “Come with me,” or, “I would rather go alone.” I know which one it will be, even now in my wretchedness. The sky is so blue this evening, and everything is so beautiful—and I am trying so hard to be right, to feel strong and confident!

XI. Dear Thyrsis:

I have just arisen. I woke in the middle of the night, and there was a spectre sitting by my bedside to frighten me; he succeeded at first, but I managed finally to get rid of him, and to find some peace. Many of your sentences came to me, and I was able to get behind the words, and I saw plainly that the letters were just what you should have written, and that they could not but benefit me. They have accomplished⁶⁷ their purpose, I believe—they are burned into my soul, and have placed me rightly in our relation. I shall simply never trust the permission you may give me, in the future, to rest or be satisfied. I shall only hate you, for the pain of some of your words I shall never forget.

The memory of the first two pages of your letter will always put me in mortal terror of you. For the rest, I am very grateful, and I will try to show you how I love your ideal. I can never repay you as long as I live for letting me come with you. Oh Thyrsis, I am sure that I will never think or care whether you love me or not, if only I may go with you and learn how to strive!

I tore up all your love-letters this morning. I kept the last letter—though I do not think I could bear to read it over. I should be afraid of again going through with that despair. Oh, I beg for the time when I shall be obliged to waste none of my minutes—and when I shall have no opportunity of writing you! What time I have spent over your letters and mine!

XII. Dear Thyrsis:

I am restlessly waiting for the supper-bell to ring, and my head is aching intensely, and I am generally topsy-turvy. Alas⁶⁸! alas! the distance that separates us and our understanding!

I received a letter to-day while I was studying—but said I would not open it for a week, that I wanted strength to study. Well, I studied all the afternoon and found it none too easy. When I came home, I thought perhaps it was better to read your letter, which I grimly did.

Do you know, you are keeping me on the rack, literally⁶⁹ on the rack, and my flesh and blood do not seem to be able to stand it—my body seems to be the organ that first fails me, my brain is never so tired as my body. I love to think that you are not less merciful to me than you would be to yourself, I feel that you could not have used more cruel whips to yourself. Do you suppose that any disgust, scolding, or malediction⁷⁰ to me could, as your wife, hurt me, as your doubt of me hurts me now?

And I just begin to read your letter again, and I tell you, you are a fool. You say you do not know whether you could love any one as you ought—well, I, with all my weakness, know whether I can love, and I love you a thousand times more than you have given me cause to. And you are so hungry! Will you always starve because you are blind? As to being satisfied, how could you be? But you say you will love me as much as I deserve. How much do I deserve—do you know? I sometimes cry out against you and long to get hold of you. If you have genius, why doesn’t it give you some inkling whether you are a man with a heart, not only a stupid boy? And then I see it all plainly, or think I do, and know that you are trying so hard to be right towards us, because you think you love me the way other people love; and you know if I am weak, it would degrade your genius; and you cannot be sure of my character or strength. You cannot know whether I realize the life I am selecting—you have found it hard, and you have every reason to think that I will find it ten times harder; and you love me in a way that is not the highest,—but yet you love me enough, thank God, to tell me the whole truth!

I have come to a pass where I can say to myself with truth, that I do not care how much or how little you love me. That depends upon you, as well as myself. I believe the time will come, when you will love me as you ought, and I say this in perfect calm conviction, in all my weakness, and with all my maudlin⁷¹ habits clinging to me. Strangely enough your doubt of me has made me rise up in arms to champion my cause, or else I should lie down forever in the dust, and deny my God.

I wonder whether it is my love for you that makes me believe? I cling to you, as a mother might cling to her child; I cling to you as the embodiment, the promise, of all I will ever find true in life. I look to live in you, to fulfil all my possibilities in you, and if you die or forsake⁷² me, all my hope is gone, and I am dead. This is a letter in which I have no scorn or doubt, or ridicule⁷³ of myself, as formerly⁷⁴.

And then you ask me, “Can a girl brought up in gentleness and sweetness, and innocence of life and of pain, can she say things, feel things like these?” It is the gentleness and sweetness and innocence that are galling⁷⁵ to me. I can tolerate no more of them. They have warped⁷⁶ me, they have given me no chance. But I have had some pain in my life, and since I have known you I have known more about pain and what it brings, and leaves.—And now I am feeling ill, and I cannot control that. Oh, God!

XIII. Dearest Corydon:

I have a chance to finish the first part of my book to-day, and save myself from Hades; and here I am writing to you—just a line. (Of course it turned out to be six pages!)

Your last letter was very noble; I can only say to you, that the treatment which makes you upbraid⁷⁷ me is not done for my sake; that the life which I live is not lived for my sake. You say perhaps you are better than I; it is very possible—I often think so myself; but that is nothing to the point. I should be very wretched if I sat down to think what I am. Oblige me by being better than my ideal—if you can! You must understand, dearest, that behind all that I am doing, there is truth to the soul; and that truth to the soul is love, and the only love. I am seeking for nothing but the privilege of treating you as myself; and rest assured, that if I treat you any differently it will be better than I treat myself! There is no peril in our life except that!

Some day you will understand that I can sometimes feel about myself that I am utterly hateful, utterly false, utterly shallow and bad; and that to get away from myself would be all that I desire in life. I cannot imagine my having such opinion of you; but some dissatisfaction—just a little—I may have. Only let us love perfection, you and I, with all our souls, and I think our love for each other may safely be allowed to take care of itself. Remember the two ships in Clough’s poem, which parted, but sailed by the compass, and reached the same port.

I shall spend no more time comforting you about this.

And dear Corydon, when you are angry at my doubting your power, and say that I do not know you, I can only reply—Why of course I don’t, and neither do you. You find your own self out little by little—why get angry with me because I don’t know it until you tell me? You are a grown woman compared to what you were three months ago; and this character that you ask me to know—well, it takes years of hard labor to prove a character.

XIV. Dearest Corydon:

Do you ever realize how much faith in you I have? As utterly different is your whole life, as if you had been in another world; and through all the wilderness⁷⁸ that I have travelled, I hope to drag you. But I cannot carry you, or take you; I must trust in the frenzy of your grip upon me. There is nothing else you could have that I would trust. You might be wonderfully clever and wonderfully wise—and I could do nothing with you. Do you remember Beethoven’s saying, that he would like to take a certain woman, if he had time, and marry her and break her heart, so that she might be able to sing?

Ah dear heart, I wish you could read in my words what I feel! I wonder if I am dreaming when I live in this ideal of what a woman’s love can be—so complete and so utter a surrender, so complete a forgetting, a losing of the self, so complete a living in another heart! I am not afraid to ask just this from a woman—from you! For I have enough heart’s passion to satisfy every thirst that you may feel. Ah, Corydon, I want you! I am drunk with the thought of making a woman to love. I wonder if any man ever thought of that before! Artists go about the world with the great hunger of their hearts, and expecting to find by chance another soul like the one they have spent years in making beautiful and swift and strong; but has anyone ever thought that instead of writing books that no one understands, he might be making another kind of an artwork—one that would be alive, and with sacred possibilities of its own?

XV. DEAR THYRSIS:

 

Your last letters have been very beautiful. I see one thing—though you inform me that you believe you are a hard man, your natural gentleness and sympathy of heart would be the ruin of both of us in the future if I would permit it. But I think you can trust me, not ever as long as I live to lead you into weakness. My desperateness, before I received your letter saying that I might come with you, was rather dreadful; it made me doubt myself, for it was so difficult to keep myself from going to pieces. I have been wicked enough, to wonder whether I could ever make you feel as I felt for two days—if I could only bring to your heart that one pang, the only real one I ever felt in my life! But it taught me one thing, that the only road toward realization of life and one’s self is through suffering. I found out that I could bear, for it seems to me as I look back at that horrible nightmare, that it was almost by a superhuman effort I was able to read the letter at all. But enough of that!

I think I have effectually cured myself of any weak yearning⁷⁹ for your love. I go to you in gratefulness, knowing what I lack and what you need. Anything my love can do for you, it shall do. It may have some power—I sometimes think that it could have more than you realize.

I suppose every woman has thought that the man she loved was her very life, but I do not think it of you, I simply know it. I must go with you, whether I loved you or not.

Meanwhile my love has assumed a strength to me that I never felt before. I don’t know how my wild and incoherent letters have affected⁸⁰ you, but there were many times when I longed to get hold of you, literally, and simply shake into you some recognition of my soul. Oh, I am afraid you couldn’t get away from me; the more merciless you are to me, the wilder I get.

I am possessed by so many opposite moods and influences. I am afraid of you a little. I never know what you are going to do to me.

I feel, I cannot help but feel, that I am part of your life, now, you could not neglect me any more than you could your own soul. I consider you just as responsible for mine as you are for your own. I say this with no doubts, but know that it is true, and you must know it.

XVI. DEAR THYRSIS:

 

You certainly have a wonderful task in store for me, and I pray God to give me strength for it. I can see very plainly that you expect to find the essence of my soul better than yours, because it seems that you are making my task harder than yours.

Do you know, I have actually found myself asking, at times, with a certain defiant⁸¹ rage—if you were actually going to give love to your princess before you had made her suffer! So far you have not made her suffer at all. I had become quite excited over this idea—though perhaps I had no right to. I suppose it is all right, because she is an imaginary person, and you can endow her with all the perfections you please. She is triumphant⁸² and thrilling, and worthy⁸³ of love—whereas I am just little Corydon, whom you have known all your life, and who is stupid and helpless, and impossible to imagine romances about! Is that the way of it?

XVII. MY DEAREST THYRSIS:

 

A long letter has just come to me. I always receive your letters with many palpitations, and by the time I get through reading, my cheeks are flaming. It is too bad it takes letters so long to go to and fro.

I have finally come to bear the attitude towards myself, that I would to a naughty child. I will have no nonsense, and all my absurdities⁸⁴ and inefficiencies must be cured. I think I have come to know myself a little better within the last few days. I know that I have no right to quick victories, or any happiness at all, even your love. I tell you truly, if it were only possible, I would go away this minute—do you hear?—oh! to some lonely place, and then I would do something with myself. I want to be alone, alone—I want to be face to face with myself, and God, if possible! I have come to the conclusion that I can do anything I must do. I think (I am not sure) I could give you up, if I were obliged to, and go away by myself and try alone. If I do not have you, I must have solitude⁸⁵.

XVIII. MY DEAREST CORYDON:

 

Thinking about my work this morning, and how hard it was, and how much strength it would take, my thoughts turned to you, and I discovered, as never before, just how I like to think of you. It seemed to me that you were part of the raw material that I had to use; that I had mastered you, and was going to make you what you had to be. And there woke in my heart at those words a fierceness of purpose that I had never felt in my life before—I was quite mad with it; and you cried out to escape me, but I would not let you go, but held you right tightly in my arms. And so—I do not mean to let you go! I shall bear you away with me, and make you what I wish. And the promise of marriage that I make you is just this: not that I love you—I do not love you; but what I wish the woman to be whom I am to love—that I will make you!

And do not ever dare to ask me for any other promise, for you will not get it. You will come with this.

XIX. MY THYRSIS:

 

I had an iron grip at my heart just now, as I was trying to study. I had a foreboding of something—and then I came home and found your letter telling me I was yours, and I must. At last I may go to you the way I wish! My love, my love, I do not care what you are, or what you do to me, as long as I may go with you.

How I laugh at myself as I say it! You have mastered me to worship your life—not you. I shall not work for your love, I shall work to live. Our love will be one of the incidents of our life. Meanwhile, I may go with you, that is all that I say—I sing it. I may go with you, not to happiness, but to necessity!

And now that cursed German! It hangs over my head like a sword of Damocles I have heard of—though I don’t know why it was held over his head!

You think our love was settling into the cooing state! Dear me, Thyrsis, I hope I will not always have to yell to you over a foggy ocean!

XX. DEAR THYRSIS:

 

Can you imagine what it must be to be shut up in a little room on a rainy night, with the children and people screaming under your window? That is my position now.

I find myself hard to manage at times. I want to become discouraged or melancholy⁸⁶ or disgusted, but I drive myself better than I used to. I even was happy a little for a few moments to-night. I was playing one of my piano-pieces, and I found myself imagining all sorts of things. But this happens very seldom, and only lasts for a moment. I often wonder at myself. Two months ago I did not love you one particle; I love you now, so that—so that it is impossible for me to do anything else. In fact I did not realize how much I loved you until that terrible moment when I read you did not love me. I saw how impossible it will be to cease to love you, no matter what you do to me. I do not know why it is; I simply know it is, and perhaps some day I may teach you how to love. I do not imagine you know how very well, at present—no, Thyrsis, I don’t.

I know your true self now, and I love it better than ever I loved the other. I say it with a certain grimness. I know you, your real self, and I love it.

Know, oh, my Beloved, that in the last three months you have grown to me from a boy into a man, into my husband! When I think of you as you were at first you seem a child compared to what you are now.

XXI. DEAREST LOVE:

 

Last night, as I went to sleep, I was thinking of you and our problem, and there were all sorts of uncertainties⁸⁷; but one thing I have to tell you, my Corydon—that it came to me how sweet and true, and how pure and good you have been; and I loved you very, very much indeed. I thought: I should like to tell her that, and ask her always to be so noble and unselfish. Can you not realize how all your deficiencies are as nothing to me, in the sight of that one unapproachable perfection? For my Corydon is all devotion and love, and pure, pure, maiden goodness! And there is quite a whole heart full of feeling for you in that, and I wish I had you here to tell you.

XXII. MY CORYDON:

 

I am coming more and more to realize myself, and what is the single faculty⁸⁸ I have been given. I think of a dear clergyman friend I used to have, and I realize what a loving heart is—what it is to delight in a human soul for its own sake, and to be kind to it, fond of it. And I know that there could not be a man with less of that than I have. Certainly I know this, I never did love a soul for its own sake, and don’t think I could. I love beauty, and truth, and power, and I hate everything else, if it come across my way. If I had to live the life of that clergyman friend I should be insane in a month. I see this as something very hateful; but there is only one thing I can do, to see that I hate my own self more than I hate any other self—and work, work, for the thing I love.

You asked me once to tell you if your death would make any difference to me. If you were to die to-morrow I should feel that a sacred opportunity was gone out of my life, that all my efforts must have less result forever after. But I do not think I should stop working a day.

I love you because you are something upon which I may exert the force of my will. I honestly believe that the truest word, the nearest to my character, I ever spoke⁸⁹. If I care about you it is for one thing, and one only—because you are a soul hungry for life, because you are capable of sacrifice and high effort, because you are sensitive and eager. I love you and honor you for this; I take you to my bosom⁹⁰, I give all my life to your service; and I shall make you a perfect woman, or else kill you.

You must understand what I want; I want no concrete thing, no dozen languages to throw you into despair. I want effort, effort, effort! That’s all. And I believe that you might be a stronger soul than I at this moment, if only you chose to hunt yourself out and fight! That is truly what I feel about you, and that is why I love you.

XXIII. DEAREST THYRSIS:

 

I have no more to say, my precious one; I bow in joy before your will, your certainty, your power. Let it be so, I shall adore you as I so long to do.

You are giving me all I could ask for. What more could I wish from you, dear Thyrsis, than to know you will never leave my side? I will try not to do any more bemoaning⁹¹ of my shortcomings. To-night I reached a wonderful security and almost sublimity⁹², until I could have fallen on my face and praised God for His mercy. I talked out loud to myself, I exhorted⁹³ myself, I explained to myself what is my beauty and possibility in life—the reason for which I was born. I was quite lifted out of myself, by a conviction that came like a benediction⁹⁴, that the essence of my soul was good and pure, and that if anybody upon earth had the power to reach God, it was myself.

Dear God, how I have spent the years of my life! like an imbecile! But you—if you take me, I shall go mad—I shall love you like a tigress! I shall implore⁹⁵ you to invent any way that will enable me to realize life! Oh, if you take me, how madly I shall love you! I fancy myself seeing you now, and I don’t know what I should do—I love you so dreadfully! I think of you, and everything about you seems so wondrously⁹⁶ beautiful to me!

I almost have a feeling that I have no right to love you so much. Oh, tell me, do you want me to love you as I can? Already you seem part of me, mine—mine! And it is wonderful how you help me.

XXIV. Thyrsis:

I spent the whole day in the park without a bite to eat, because I did not want to take the trouble to come home after it, and I only had five cents. I have tried, oh, tried to control myself and make myself saner⁹⁷. I am seized with occasional fits of the horrors, and of wild cravings for you, until I could scream. It is so unbearable⁹⁸, and I almost want to die. Oh, but I do not want to die! My imagination has become so fevered in the last few days—if I do not see you soon, I know not what will become of me!

I have never loved you so wildly—though I have always longed for you. I sometimes feel now as if my brain were utterly wrecked⁹⁹. I know not what is the matter; I gasp¹⁰⁰, when I think of you. I am convinced of heaven and hell almost in the same breath—experience each in rapid succession. One touch of your hand and one look, I think would cure me. I seem as if in a thunder-storm—pitchy blackness with flashes of light—and in the flashes I see you, my beloved!

XXV. Thyrsis:

I am atrociously weary of being able to depend upon myself not at all; but oh, how marvellously sweet and good you are to me! I shall never be able to pay you for your help!

Dear Heaven, what a cup of bitterness I have drunk, since I last saw you! Dearest, you have really torn me to pieces, unwittingly. But now I am healed, and I may go on in your blessed sight, with my terrors gone forever.

And then I actually wonder if you have an earthly form! It will be very strange to see you and touch you, I sometimes wake up with a start at the thought of it!

XXVI. Thyrsis:

Here I am, the most restless and miserable and uncomfortable and pining of creatures—a very Dido! Are you satisfied, now that you have made it almost impossible for me to put my mind on anything but you, you? I spend hours reading one page of my book.

I was reading peaceably just now, and I suddenly thought how I would feel if I saw you coming in at the door. I started and could hardly believe that I will really see you—in something besides visions. When night comes I usually get fidgety, and can hardly realize I do not need to worry over phantoms¹⁰¹. Then I go on with “Classicism and Romanticism in Music,” and I think of you—and read a line and think of you! You see, it doesn’t do for me to be too intense, for I just devour¹⁰² myself, and that is all. My only idea of a vent⁴ is to knock my head against something.

I suppose it is the inevitable¹⁰³ result of caring for someone you cannot see. Here I might be studying now, but what do I do? I go around seeking rest—and I write you a dozen times a day, and use up all the stamps in the house.

Oh well, I dare say if you wished me to love you, you have accomplished your purpose most successfully. There is nothing in life but you, and to suddenly acquire a new self is most startling, and something hard to believe. Thyrsis, I simply cannot realize that I may go to you and find peace and security.

XXVII. MY DEAREST CORYDON:

 

I have just a few words to say. I have two weeks left in which to shake off my shoulders the fearful animal that has been tearing me. For just three weeks to-day, not a line written!

The task seems almost beyond my powers. God, will people ever know how I have worked over this book!

But unless you develop some new doubt, or I persist in writing letters, I ought to get it done now. I shall see you as soon as I have finished, and meantime I shall write no letters.

XXVIII. DEAR THYRSIS:

 

I would give a great deal to let you know how I have struggled and suffered.

I have had almost more than I could bear—the more horrible because the more unreasonable¹⁰⁴. You must know it. If it disturbs you, please put the letter away until a favorable time. I account my trouble greatly physical—I have never been in such a nervous state. The murky¹⁰⁵ despair that has come over me—that I have writhed¹⁰⁶ and struggled in, as in the clutches of some fiend! It seems to me I have experienced every torment¹⁰⁷ of each successive stage of Dante’s Inferno¹⁰⁸. I know what is the emotion of a soul in all the bloom and hope of youth, condemned¹⁰⁹ to die.

I woke up in the middle of the night last night—and felt as if a monster sat by to throw a black cloth over me and smother¹¹⁰ me. I got up and shook myself, and my heart was beating violently.

I managed to get myself free. This morning I am better. God in Heaven only knows—I would rather be torn limb from limb, yes, honestly, than endure the blackness of soul that I have had through all these years of strife¹¹¹ and failure by myself.

Dearest Thyrsis:

Perhaps if I have written to you a few words, I shall be able to put my mind on study—as so far I have not done. I actually to-night have been indulging in all sorts of romantic moods about you. I felt in a singing mood, and when I came up from dinner I put on a beautiful dress, just for fun, and I looked quite radiant. I dreamed of you, and imagined that you were at my feet, in true Romeo fashion—and I was your Juliet. I imagined—I couldn’t help thinking of this, and I knew I ought to be doing something else! Oh, but how I want a poor taste of joy! You were my Romeo to-night—you were beautiful and young and loving; and well, I had one dream of youth and happiness before my miseries¹¹² begin.

I have felt that we were very near to each other lately. You have shown me the tenderness of your heart, and I love you quite rapturously. I love your goodness, your sympathy—perhaps when I see you I can tell you!

XXX. DEAREST THYRSIS:

 

I received a postal¹¹³ just now, saying that you were coming soon. I had my usual queer faintness. It was like receiving word from the dead—it seemed such centuries—aeons—since I heard from you! I send you this batch¹¹⁴ of notes I have written you at various times, a sort of mental itinerary¹¹⁵, for my mind has traveled into all sorts of queer places, back and forth¹¹⁶. I tell you that without your continual influence, I am lost in doubt and uncertainty¹¹⁷. Please try to understand these notes and my fits of love and fear.

XXXI. DEAR THYRSIS:

 

I am in one of my cast-iron moods, this morning—in a fighting mood, I do not care with whom or what. You, even you, have not altogether understood me—you have often given me a dog’s portion. I have been a slave, a cowering¹¹⁸ kitten before you, and you (unwittingly I know) have done much to destroy all my courage and hope and love—by what you call making me aware of your higher self. Fortunately I know what your higher self is, quite as well as you do, if not a little better—and I know that it is the self that most strengthens my love and courage, the self that most fills me with life. I have a right to life as well as you, and a right to the love in you that most inspires me. I feel I am capable of judging this, in spite of all my lack of education, and my inability to follow you in your intellectual life.

I have thought lately that you were able to make yourself believe that you were anything you wished to think yourself. Whenever you wring¹¹⁹ my heart and deprive me of strength, I shall go somewhere alone, and when I have controlled myself, come back to you.

You say you are master—but it must be master of the right. I want strength, and why you should think it right ever to have helped to throw me into more despair, I do not know. The reason I have written all this is because such ideas have come to me lately, and a fear that sometimes you might resort to your unloving methods, with the thought of its being right. I tell you I would rather stay at home, than ever go through with some of the pangs¹²⁰ you have cost me, in what you called your higher moods. You must not gainsay¹²¹ me, that I am also capable of respecting high moods and bowing before them; but it would seem to me that they are only high if they are a source of inspiration and joy to me.

Because we love each other, would that be any reason why we must dote upon each other, or sink from our high resolves? I cannot see why our love for each other should not always be a means of our reaching our higher selves. You need not answer this letter—but when you come back, tell me whether what I say impresses you as being right or wrong—if there is not some justification¹²² in it. But perhaps I should wait. I have no right to disturb you now.

XXXII. THYRSIS:

 

I woke up this morning with the feeling that I did not love you. That same thing has happened to me two or three times, and I do not understand it.

It must be because at the present moment you do not love me! You are writing your book, and telling yourself that you cannot love me as you ought! Is this so? It is only a surmise¹²³ on my part, and I do not know, but I should not be surprised if you were. I only know that the one thing that can bring us together is love, and I do not love you now. Perhaps you can explain it to me. I write this absolutely without emotion.

I tell you there have been things horribly wrong about you. You have done anything but inspire love in my heart—you have never seen me with love in my heart. Until lately, I never have felt any love for you; before, I simply compelled myself to think I loved you, because my life seemed to depend upon it. There have been many times when, as I look back, you seem to me to have been base.

Well may you preach, while you are alone, and are monarch¹²⁴ of yourself. I shall have to have more of a chance than has ever come to me, before I will bear your displeasure or your exhortations¹²⁵. If you come to me and speak to me of the high, proud self that I must reach, every vestige¹²⁶ of love for you will leave my heart, and I would as soon marry a stone pillar!

Great Heaven, what strange moods I have! I picture our meeting each other, unmoved by love; you determined¹²⁷, energetic, indifferent to all things, myself included; and I disappointed, but with a hardness in my heart—no tears!

I am indulging now in the most lifeless and gloomy of broodings; if you do not come back to me, the only soul I can love, if you are not joyful and strong, sincere, sympathetic, and loving, all of these—I shall know it is a farce¹²⁸ for me to ever hope to gain any life with you. I do not believe that any woman can grow without love, and a great deal of it. Why do you suppose I am writing all this—I, who have felt such deep and true love for you? I have no courage—the dampness of the day has settled into my soul—and I shall be joyless until there is no more cursed doubt of you and your love for me.

XXXIII. Dear Corydon: Against resolutions, I am writing to you again. I thought of you—there is a boat up the lake to-day with some hunters, and if I finish this letter, I can send it in by them as they pass. I have many things to tell you, and you must think about them.

This is one of my paralyzing letters. It will reach you Monday. I can’t tell where I may be then. I have been wrestling with the end of the book, and I am wild with rage at my impotence. The fact has come to me that no amount of will is enough, because all my life is cowardly and false. I have found myself wanting to sneak¹²⁹ through this work, and come home and enjoy myself; and you can’t sneak with God, and that’s all. I cannot come home beaten, and so here I am, still struggling—and with snow on the ground, and the shack¹³⁰ so cold that I sit half in the fire-place.

I think of you, and at times when my soul is afire, I imagine I can do anything. I see that you are helpless, but I think that I can change your whole being, and make you what I wish. But then that feeling dies out, and I think of you as you are, and with despair. I do not allude¹³¹ to any of your “deficiencies”—music, learning, and other stuff. I mean your life-force, or your lack of it. I see that you have learned nothing of the unspeakable, unattainable thing for which I am panting. And it has come to me that I dare not marry you, that I should be binding my life to ruin. My head is surging with plans, and a whole infinity¹³² of future, and I simply cannot carry any woman with me on this journey.

As I say this, I see the tears of despair in your eyes. I can only tell you what I am—God made me for an artist, not a lover! I have not deep feelings—I do not care for human suffering; I can work, that is all. Art is no respecter of persons, and neither am I—I labor for something which is not of self, and requires denial of self. And as I think about you, the feeling comes to me that it is not this you want, that I should make you utterly wretched if I married you. You love love; you do not wish to fling yourself into a struggle such as my life must be. I see that in all your letters—your terror of this highest self of mine. If you married me, you would have to fight a battle that would almost kill you. You would have to wear your heart out, night and day—you would have to lose yourself and your feelings—fling away everything, and live in self-contempt and effort. You would have to know it—I can’t help it—that I love life, and that to human hearts I owe no allegiance; that to me they are simply impatience¹³³ and vexation.

Do you want such a life? If you can learn to love it for what it is—a wild, unnatural¹³⁴, but royal life—very well. If you are coming to me with pleading eyes, secretly wishing for affection, and in terror of me when you don’t get it, then God help you, that is all!

You are a child, and you can not dream what I mean. But every day I learn something more of a great savage force of mine, that will stand out against the rest of this world, that is burning me up, that is driving me mad. One of two things it will do to you—it will make you the same kind of creature, or it will tear the soul out of you. Do you understand that? And nothing will stop it—it cares for nothing in the world but the utterance¹³⁵ of itself! And if you wish to marry me, it will be with no promise of mine save to wreak¹³⁶ it upon you! To take you, and make you just such a creature, kill or cure—nothing else! Not one instant’s patience—but just one insistent¹³⁷, frantic¹³⁸ demand that you succeed—and fiery, writhing¹³⁹ disgust with you when you do not succeed—disgust that will make you scream—and make you live! Do you understand this—and do you get any idea of the temper behind this? And how it seems to you, I don’t know—it is the only kind of truth I am capable of; I shall simply fling naked the force of my passionate, raging will, and punish you with it each instant of your life—until you understand it, and love it, and worship it, as I do.

Now, I don’t know what you will think about this letter—and I don’t care. It is here—and you must take it. It does not come to you for criticism, any more than it would come for criticism to the world. It will rule the world. If I marry you I must live all my soul before you, and you must share it; if you think you can do this without first having suffered, having first torn loose your own crushed self, you are mistaken. But remember this—I shall demand from you just as much fire as I give; you may say you cannot, you may weep and say you cannot—I will gnash my teeth at you and say you must.

Perhaps I’m a fool to think I can do this. At any rate, I don’t want to do anything else; I am a fool to think of doing anything else, and you to let me.

I cannot be false to my art without having a reaction of disgust, and you cannot marry me, unless you understand that. When I sat down to this letter I called myself mad for trying to tie my life to yours. Now I am interested in you again. You may wish to make this cast still; and oh, of course I shall drop back as usual, and you’ll be happy, and I’ll be your “Romeo”!

Ugh—how I hated that letter! “Romeo” indeed! Wouldn’t we have a fine sentimental¹⁴⁰ time—you with your prettiest dress on, and I holding you in my arms and telling you how much I loved you!

XXXIV. MY DEAR THYRSIS:

 

I shall be your wife. This thought takes hold of me firmly and calmly, and I have no tears, nor fright, nor uncertainty. I suffered, of course, while I read your letter, and my self-control toppled, but no “tears of despair” came into my eyes. I am not despairing—I shall be your wife, and I shall feel that for many years one of my greatest efforts will be to prevent you from becoming my “Romeo.” I am very weak and human, and you become that easily—do you know it?

Rejoice, I have gained my self-control, and well, I am going to be your wife. Or else (it comes to me quite as a matter of course, without any feeling of it being unnatural or unusual) I shall not care to live. But after all, I do not fear that I shall die—I shall be your wife. You may even gainsay it, you may even tell me I shall ruin your life, you may even tell me that you refuse to take me—but sooner or later I shall be your wife. I say it with perfect certainty, and almost composure.

It is unfortunate that at such a time as this I cannot see you—it is quite cruelly wicked. There is so much to say, not all in your favor either. Some day I shall learn to bring out and keep before me that higher self of yours, which now I do not fear. I also have a higher self, though it does not show itself very often. It is a self which can meet that self of yours without flinching¹⁴¹, but which loves it, and stretches out its arms to it—which knows that without that self of yours it cannot, will not live. It is hard to realize such a thing, but I beseech¹⁴² you no longer, I am going with you. You see now, I have no fear of your not taking me—I simply have no fear of this.

If I had, I could not write you this way. But you have been the means of showing me I can awaken¹⁴³, and that I was not meant to live the life of the people around me. Chance tried hard to put me to sleep forever, but you have roused me. Dear me, how I smile to myself at my confidence! But I am so sure—this feeling would not be in my heart if it had no meaning! I was not meant for this life I am leading. I am not afraid because I have no proof that I am a genius, and no prospect¹⁴⁴ of being one at present. I do not know whether what you have must come as an inspiration direct from God, I do not know whether I am capable of winning any of this life that you are seeking; but I do know this—I’m going to have the chance to try, and you are going to give it to me. Do you suppose I could tell you that I am willing to stay at home and let you leave me?

I have not even any fear now of your wishing to leave me. Why, I wouldn’t hold my life at a pennyworth if you were out of it!

“You are my only means of breathing, you fool,” I thought. I sometimes wonder how you could think of leaving me, when I feel as I do at present. I ask myself why it is that you know nothing of it, and why it does not make you put out your hand in gladness to me—how you could write me that all my letters showed you I did not want to struggle to lead your life!

My words are failing me now—this is probably the reason you know nothing about me.

Besides, when I have written you before this, I have been worrying and doubting and afraid. I am none of these now; and I do not believe I am deluding¹⁴⁵ myself—in fact I know I am not. I shall be your wife. It is indeed a pity I cannot talk to you now—yes, a very great pity. It is also rather incomprehensible, that you can imagine leaving me now. And all my letters have told you that I wish to be petted and cuddled, did they? If you were here, I do not know that it would do any good to give my feelings vent, it would profit me nothing to strike you, and what could I do? I cannot hate you—it is not natural that one should hate one’s husband.

Some day, oh, some day, I tell myself—you will no lonnger play and trifle with me and my soul!

Did you really think you are going to put me to sleep again? Surely my life is something; and you have given me some reason for its existence. I can hardly tell you what I wish to say; people run in and out, and I am bothered—I suppose this is one of my tasks. But do you not see that you have taken the responsibility of a soul into your hands? I cannot live without you. What is it—do creatures go around the world struggling and saying they must live, and are they only pitiful fools for trying?

And are you one of God’s chosen ones? Will you tell me, “Corydon, you simply cannot live my life—you are not fit?” Dear Thyrsis, I actually believe that if you should tell me that now, I should laugh with joy, for I would see that I had gained one victory, that of proving to you your own weakness and stupidity. And I should not let you discourage me. I should throw my arms around your neck, and cling to you until you had promised to take me. After all, it is a small boon¹⁴⁶ to ask the privilege of trying to live, it cannot but be a glory to you to help me; and if I do not make you waste your time or money, how can I hinder you?

Ask yourself how you have treated me—have I not suffered a little? Though I may have been miserably¹⁴⁷ weak, have I not now a little courage? Why do the moments blind you so, that you can speak to me as though I were a sawdust doll?

There is only one thing that I will let myself do. I know that you are strong and brave, and that I can be if I go with you; and I am going with you—there simply is no other alternative—for I love you! Yes, dear, I saw it very plainly as I read your letter to-day. I seem to feel very differently about it all now. I know we cannot sit still and love each other—this costs me no pang. You need not love me one bit; I may simply belong to you, we may simply belong to each other.

I see how I fall into blindness of the high things at home. How almost impossible it is for me to do anything, while I have the earthly ties of love! I study—but how? How is it possible to live the physical life of other people—to be sympathetic and agreeable and conciliatory, and gain anything for your own soul? How is such a creature as myself to get what it wants, unless it goes away where there are no contrary and disturbing influences—where it has no ties, no obligations? The souls that have won, how did they do it—did they go alone, or did they stay in the parlor¹⁴⁸ and serve tea?

Such thoughts as these would make me grovel¹⁴⁹ at your feet, if need be, in an agony of prayer. The means, I cry—and you are the means! What is there for me, then, but to beseech you to have faith in me? I suppose, as yet, you have little or no cause—though once or twice I have risen to you, even though perhaps you did not know it. I am almost happy now—for I feel that this useless strife is at an end, this craving⁶ and wondering if you wish to leave me. And for all that, I despise you, too—for your blind and wanton cruelty in wishing to crush what you have created! How do you expect God to value your soul, when you so lightly value mine?

But after all, will it help me to beseech you? The thing I honor in you is your desire to be right—and I know that you will act toward me as your sense of right prompts you. You will act toward me as you feel you must do, to be true. Yes, be true to yourself, please; I am happy to trust in yourself so. If you believe that I will mar²⁷ your life, I do not wish to go I with you. I do not know why, but I feel that something has come to me to prevent my despair from returning; I shall take care of my soul—there must be something for me in this life. I have a feeling that perhaps you will think I am writing this last mute acceptance of your will, without knowing what I am doing. But I know that I shall struggle without you, I shall not die.

And I wish that you would do one thing—see me as soon as you can; let it be early in the morning, and it shall be decided¹⁵⁰ on that day whether I am to marry you or not. I shall leave you, not to see you again—or knowing that I am to be your wife. I am sick unto death of fuming and sighing, tears and fears.

What will you do, Thyrsis? I cannot write any more.

I unfold the letter again. What, in the name of God, are you going to do?

1 creases   

（使…）起折痕，弄皱( crease的第三人称单数 )； （皮肤）皱起，使起皱纹

参考例句：

• She smoothed the creases out of her skirt. 她把裙子上的皱褶弄平。
• She ironed out all the creases in the shirt. 她熨平了衬衣上的所有皱褶。

2 pruned   

v.修剪（树木等）( prune的过去式和过去分词 )；精简某事物，除去某事物多余的部分

参考例句：

• Next year's budget will have to be drastically pruned. 下一年度的预算将大幅度削减。 来自《简明英汉词典》
• The roses had been pruned back savagely. 玫瑰被狠狠地修剪了一番。 来自《简明英汉词典》

3 simile   

n.直喻，明喻

参考例句：

• I believe this simile largely speaks the truth.我相信这种比拟在很大程度上道出了真实。
• It is a trite simile to compare her teeth to pearls.把她的牙齿比做珍珠是陈腐的比喻。

4 vent   

n.通风口，排放口；开衩；vt.表达，发泄

参考例句：

• He gave vent to his anger by swearing loudly.他高声咒骂以发泄他的愤怒。
• When the vent became plugged,the engine would stop.当通风口被堵塞时，发动机就会停转。

5 possessed   

adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的

参考例句：

• He flew out of the room like a man possessed.他像着了魔似地猛然冲出房门。
• He behaved like someone possessed.他行为举止像是魔怔了。

6 craving   

n.渴望,热望

参考例句：

• a craving for chocolate 非常想吃巧克力
• She skipped normal meals to satisfy her craving for chocolate and crisps. 她不吃正餐，以便满足自己吃巧克力和炸薯片的渴望。

7 miserable   

adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的

参考例句：

• It was miserable of you to make fun of him.你取笑他，这是可耻的。
• Her past life was miserable.她过去的生活很苦。

8 utterly   

adv.完全地，绝对地

参考例句：

• Utterly devoted to the people,he gave his life in saving his patients.他忠于人民，把毕生精力用于挽救患者的生命。
• I was utterly ravished by the way she smiled.她的微笑使我完全陶醉了。

9 binding   

有约束力的，有效的，应遵守的

参考例句：

• The contract was not signed and has no binding force. 合同没有签署因而没有约束力。
• Both sides have agreed that the arbitration will be binding. 双方都赞同仲裁具有约束力。

10 rattle   

v.飞奔，碰响；激怒；n.碰撞声；拨浪鼓

参考例句：

• The baby only shook the rattle and laughed and crowed.孩子只是摇着拨浪鼓，笑着叫着。
• She could hear the rattle of the teacups.她听见茶具叮当响。

11 demons   

n.恶人( demon的名词复数 )；恶魔；精力过人的人；邪念

参考例句：

• demons torturing the sinners in Hell 地狱里折磨罪人的魔鬼
• He is plagued by demons which go back to his traumatic childhood. 他为心魔所困扰，那可追溯至他饱受创伤的童年。 来自《简明英汉词典》

12 maiden   

n.少女，处女；adj.未婚的，纯洁的，无经验的

参考例句：

• The prince fell in love with a fair young maiden.王子爱上了一位年轻美丽的少女。
• The aircraft makes its maiden flight tomorrow.这架飞机明天首航。

13 acting   

n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的

参考例句：

• Ignore her,she's just acting.别理她，她只是假装的。
• During the seventies,her acting career was in eclipse.在七十年代，她的表演生涯黯然失色。

14 enrages   

使暴怒( enrage的第三人称单数 )

参考例句：

• That is exactly what enrages and frightens the Sunnis. 但这个点子带点垂死挣扎的味道：伊朗早已深植于伊拉克的逊尼派，这恰恰是逊尼派又惊又怕的原因。
• He often stabs people in the back, which enrages me. 他就会背后放冷箭，真让人火大。

15 binds   

v.约束( bind的第三人称单数 )；装订；捆绑；（用长布条）缠绕

参考例句：

• Frost binds the soil. 霜使土壤凝结。 来自《简明英汉词典》
• Stones and cement binds strongly. 石头和水泥凝固得很牢。 来自《简明英汉词典》

16 alteration   

n.变更，改变；蚀变

参考例句：

• The shirt needs alteration.这件衬衣需要改一改。
• He easily perceived there was an alteration in my countenance.他立刻看出我的脸色和往常有些不同。

17 hindrances   

阻碍者( hindrance的名词复数 )； 障碍物； 受到妨碍的状态

参考例句：

• She also speaks out against the traditional hindrances to freedom. 她甚至大声疾呼，反对那些阻挡自由的、统礼教的绊脚石。
• When this stage is reached then the hindrances and karma are overcome. 唯此状态达到后，则超越阻碍和因果。

18 sloth   

n.[动]树懒；懒惰，懒散

参考例句：

• Absence of competition makes for sloth.没有竞争会导致懒惰。
• The sloth spends most of its time hanging upside down from the branches.大部分时间里树懒都是倒挂在树枝上。

19 savage   

adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人

参考例句：

• The poor man received a savage beating from the thugs.那可怜的人遭到暴徒的痛打。
• He has a savage temper.他脾气粗暴。

20 unity   

n.团结，联合，统一；和睦，协调

参考例句：

• When we speak of unity,we do not mean unprincipled peace.所谓团结，并非一团和气。
• We must strengthen our unity in the face of powerful enemies.大敌当前，我们必须加强团结。

21 faculties   

n.能力( faculty的名词复数 )；全体教职员；技巧；院

参考例句：

• Although he's ninety, his mental faculties remain unimpaired. 他虽年届九旬，但头脑仍然清晰。
• All your faculties have come into play in your work. 在你的工作中，你的全部才能已起到了作用。 来自《简明英汉词典》

22 pang   

n.剧痛，悲痛，苦闷

参考例句：

• She experienced a sharp pang of disappointment.她经历了失望的巨大痛苦。
• She was beginning to know the pang of disappointed love.她开始尝到了失恋的痛苦。

23 sodden   

adj.浑身湿透的；v.使浸透；使呆头呆脑

参考例句：

• We stripped off our sodden clothes.我们扒下了湿透的衣服。
• The cardboard was sodden and fell apart in his hands.纸板潮得都发酥了，手一捏就碎。

24 jumble   

vt.使混乱，混杂；n.混乱；杂乱的一堆

参考例句：

• Even the furniture remained the same jumble that it had always been.甚至家具还是象过去一样杂乱无章。
• The things in the drawer were all in a jumble.抽屉里的东西很杂乱。

25 thoroughly   

adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地

参考例句：

• The soil must be thoroughly turned over before planting.一定要先把土地深翻一遍再下种。
• The soldiers have been thoroughly instructed in the care of their weapons.士兵们都系统地接受过保护武器的训练。

26 accomplishment   

n.完成，成就，（pl.）造诣，技能

参考例句：

• The series of paintings is quite an accomplishment.这一系列的绘画真是了不起的成就。
• Money will be crucial to the accomplishment of our objectives.要实现我们的目标，钱是至关重要的。

27 mar   

vt.破坏，毁坏，弄糟

参考例句：

• It was not the custom for elderly people to mar the picnics with their presence.大人们照例不参加这样的野餐以免扫兴。
• Such a marriage might mar your career.这样的婚姻说不定会毁了你的一生。

28 entirely   

ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地

参考例句：

• The fire was entirely caused by their neglect of duty. 那场火灾完全是由于他们失职而引起的。
• His life was entirely given up to the educational work. 他的一生统统献给了教育工作。

29 fuming   

愤怒( fume的现在分词 )； 大怒； 发怒； 冒烟

参考例句：

• She sat in the car, silently fuming at the traffic jam. 她坐在汽车里，心中对交通堵塞感到十分恼火。
• I was fuming at their inefficiency. 我正因为他们效率低而发火。

30 labor   

n.劳动，努力，工作，劳工；分娩；vi.劳动，努力，苦干；vt.详细分析；麻烦

参考例句：

• We are never late in satisfying him for his labor.我们从不延误付给他劳动报酬。
• He was completely spent after two weeks of hard labor.艰苦劳动两周后，他已经疲惫不堪了。

31 joyful   

adj.欢乐的，令人欢欣的

参考例句：

• She was joyful of her good result of the scientific experiments.她为自己的科学实验取得好成果而高兴。
• They were singing and dancing to celebrate this joyful occasion.他们唱着、跳着庆祝这令人欢乐的时刻。

32 hovering   

鸟( hover的现在分词 )； 靠近（某事物）； （人）徘徊； 犹豫

参考例句：

• The helicopter was hovering about 100 metres above the pad. 直升机在离发射台一百米的上空盘旋。
• I'm hovering between the concert and the play tonight. 我犹豫不决今晚是听音乐会还是看戏。

33 spurts   

短暂而突然的活动或努力( spurt的名词复数 )； 突然奋起

参考例句：

• Great spurts of gas shoot out of the sun. 太阳气体射出形成大爆发。
• Spurts of warm rain blew fitfully against their faces. 阵阵温热的雨点拍打在他们脸上。

34 positively   

adv.明确地，断然，坚决地；实在，确实

参考例句：

• She was positively glowing with happiness.她满脸幸福。
• The weather was positively poisonous.这天气着实讨厌。

35 perfectly   

adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地

参考例句：

• The witnesses were each perfectly certain of what they said.证人们个个对自己所说的话十分肯定。
• Everything that we're doing is all perfectly above board.我们做的每件事情都是光明正大的。

36 snail   

n.蜗牛

参考例句：

• Snail is a small plant-eating creature with a soft body.蜗牛是一种软体草食动物。
• Time moved at a snail's pace before the holidays.放假前的时间过得很慢。

37 groan   

vi./n.呻吟，抱怨；(发出)呻吟般的声音

参考例句：

• The wounded man uttered a groan.那个受伤的人发出呻吟。
• The people groan under the burden of taxes.人民在重税下痛苦呻吟。

38 stifling   

a.令人窒息的

参考例句：

• The weather is stifling. It looks like rain. 今天太闷热，光景是要下雨。
• We were stifling in that hot room with all the windows closed. 我们在那间关着窗户的热屋子里，简直透不过气来。

39 fiery   

adj.燃烧着的，火红的；暴躁的；激烈的

参考例句：

• She has fiery red hair.她有一头火红的头发。
• His fiery speech agitated the crowd.他热情洋溢的讲话激动了群众。

40 passionate   

adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的

参考例句：

• He is said to be the most passionate man.据说他是最有激情的人。
• He is very passionate about the project.他对那个项目非常热心。

41 lurking   

潜在

参考例句：

• Why are you lurking around outside my house? 你在我房子外面鬼鬼祟祟的，想干什么？
• There is a suspicious man lurking in the shadows. 有一可疑的人躲在阴暗中。 来自《现代英汉综合大词典》

42 realization   

n.实现；认识到，深刻了解

参考例句：

• We shall gladly lend every effort in our power toward its realization.我们将乐意为它的实现而竭尽全力。
• He came to the realization that he would never make a good teacher.他逐渐认识到自己永远不会成为好老师。

43 contented   

adj.满意的，安心的，知足的

参考例句：

• He won't be contented until he's upset everyone in the office.不把办公室里的每个人弄得心烦意乱他就不会满足。
• The people are making a good living and are contented,each in his station.人民安居乐业。

44 lesser   

adj.次要的，较小的；adv.较小地，较少地

参考例句：

• Kept some of the lesser players out.不让那些次要的球员参加联赛。
• She has also been affected,but to a lesser degree.她也受到波及，但程度较轻。

45 surgical   

adj.外科的，外科医生的，手术上的

参考例句：

• He performs the surgical operations at the Red Cross Hospital.他在红十字会医院做外科手术。
• All surgical instruments must be sterilised before use.所有的外科手术器械在使用之前，必须消毒。

46 wrest   

n.扭，拧，猛夺；v.夺取，猛扭，歪曲

参考例句：

• The officer managed to wrest the gun from his grasp.警官最终把枪从他手中夺走了。
• You wrest my words out of their real meaning.你曲解了我话里的真正含义。

47 conceit   

n.自负，自高自大

参考例句：

• As conceit makes one lag behind,so modesty helps one make progress.骄傲使人落后，谦虚使人进步。
• She seems to be eaten up with her own conceit.她仿佛已经被骄傲冲昏了头脑。

48 temperament   

n.气质，性格，性情

参考例句：

• The analysis of what kind of temperament you possess is vital.分析一下你有什么样的气质是十分重要的。
• Success often depends on temperament.成功常常取决于一个人的性格。

49 labored   

adj.吃力的，谨慎的v.努力争取(for)( labor的过去式和过去分词 )；苦干；详细分析；（指引擎）缓慢而困难地运转

参考例句：

• I was close enough to the elk to hear its labored breathing. 我离那头麋鹿非常近，能听见它吃力的呼吸声。 来自辞典例句
• They have labored to complete the job. 他们努力完成这一工作。 来自辞典例句

50 defiance   

n.挑战，挑衅，蔑视，违抗

参考例句：

• He climbed the ladder in defiance of the warning.他无视警告爬上了那架梯子。
• He slammed the door in a spirit of defiance.他以挑衅性的态度把门砰地一下关上。

51 precedent   

n.先例，前例；惯例；adj.在前的，在先的

参考例句：

• Is there a precedent for what you want me to do?你要我做的事有前例可援吗？
• This is a wonderful achievement without precedent in Chinese history.这是中国历史上亘古未有的奇绩。

52 foul   

adj.污秽的；邪恶的；v.弄脏；妨害；犯规；n.犯规

参考例句：

• Take off those foul clothes and let me wash them.脱下那些脏衣服让我洗一洗。
• What a foul day it is!多么恶劣的天气！

53 gnawing   

a.痛苦的，折磨人的

参考例句：

• The dog was gnawing a bone. 那狗在啃骨头。
• These doubts had been gnawing at him for some time. 这些疑虑已经折磨他一段时间了。

54 dastard   

n.卑怯之人，懦夫；adj.怯懦的，畏缩的

参考例句：

• He is nothing but a chicken-hearted dastard.他只是一个胆怯的懦夫。
• "Yes,you pitiful dastard," retorted the lovely damsel.“是的，你这个卑鄙的胆小鬼，”那位美丽的少女反唇相讥。

55 wrested   

（用力）拧( wrest的过去式和过去分词 )； 费力取得； （从…）攫取； （ 从… ） 强行取去…

参考例句：

• The usurper wrested the power from the king. 篡位者从国王手里夺取了权力。
• But now it was all wrested from him. 可是现在，他却被剥夺了这一切。 来自英汉文学 - 嘉莉妹妹

56 chattering   

n. （机器振动发出的）咔嗒声，(鸟等)鸣，啁啾 adj. 喋喋不休的，啾啾声的 动词chatter的现在分词形式

参考例句：

• The teacher told the children to stop chattering in class. 老师叫孩子们在课堂上不要叽叽喳喳讲话。
• I was so cold that my teeth were chattering. 我冷得牙齿直打战。

57 gall   

v.使烦恼，使焦躁，难堪；n.磨难

参考例句：

• It galled him to have to ask for a loan.必须向人借钱使他感到难堪。
• No gall,no glory.没有磨难，何来荣耀。

58 peril   

n.(严重的)危险；危险的事物

参考例句：

• The refugees were in peril of death from hunger.难民有饿死的危险。
• The embankment is in great peril.河堤岌岌可危。

59 fidelity   

n.忠诚，忠实；精确

参考例句：

• There is nothing like a dog's fidelity.没有什么能比得上狗的忠诚。
• His fidelity and industry brought him speedy promotion.他的尽职及勤奋使他很快地得到晋升。

60 frenzy   

n.疯狂，狂热，极度的激动

参考例句：

• He was able to work the young students up into a frenzy.他能激起青年学生的狂热。
• They were singing in a frenzy of joy.他们欣喜若狂地高声歌唱。

61 innocence   

n.无罪；天真；无害

参考例句：

• There was a touching air of innocence about the boy.这个男孩有一种令人感动的天真神情。
• The accused man proved his innocence of the crime.被告人经证实无罪。

62 skull   

n.头骨；颅骨

参考例句：

• The skull bones fuse between the ages of fifteen and twenty-five.头骨在15至25岁之间长合。
• He fell out of the window and cracked his skull.他从窗子摔了出去，跌裂了颅骨。

63 penetration   

n.穿透，穿人，渗透

参考例句：

• He is a man of penetration.他是一个富有洞察力的人。
• Our aim is to achieve greater market penetration.我们的目标是进一步打入市场。

64 purely   

adv.纯粹地，完全地

参考例句：

• I helped him purely and simply out of friendship.我帮他纯粹是出于友情。
• This disproves the theory that children are purely imitative.这证明认为儿童只会单纯地模仿的理论是站不住脚的。

65 anguish   

n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦，烦恼

参考例句：

• She cried out for anguish at parting.分手时，她由于痛苦而失声大哭。
• The unspeakable anguish wrung his heart.难言的痛苦折磨着他的心。

66 dross   

n.渣滓；无用之物

参考例句：

• Caroline felt the value of the true ore,and knew the deception of the flashy dross.卡罗琳辨别出了真金的价值，知道那种炫耀的铁渣只有迷惑人的外表。
• The best players go off to the big clubs,leaving us the dross.最好的队员都投奔大俱乐部去了，就只给我们剩下些不中用的人。

67 accomplished   

adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的

参考例句：

• Thanks to your help,we accomplished the task ahead of schedule.亏得你们帮忙,我们才提前完成了任务。
• Removal of excess heat is accomplished by means of a radiator.通过散热器完成多余热量的排出。

68 alas   

int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等)

参考例句：

• Alas!The window is broken!哎呀！窗子破了！
• Alas,the truth is less romantic.然而，真理很少带有浪漫色彩。

69 literally   

adv.照字面意义，逐字地；确实

参考例句：

• He translated the passage literally.他逐字逐句地翻译这段文字。
• Sometimes she would not sit down till she was literally faint.有时候，她不走到真正要昏厥了，决不肯坐下来。

70 malediction   

n.诅咒

参考例句：

• He was answered with a torrent of malediction.他得到的回答是滔滔不绝的诅咒。
• Shakespeare's remains were guarded by a malediction.莎士比亚的遗骸被诅咒给守护著。

71 maudlin   

adj.感情脆弱的，爱哭的

参考例句：

• He always becomes maudlin after he's had a few drinks.他喝了几杯酒后总是变得多愁善感。
• She continued in the same rather maudlin tone.她继续用那种颇带几分伤感的语调说话。

72 forsake   

vt.遗弃，抛弃；舍弃，放弃

参考例句：

• She pleaded with her husband not to forsake her.她恳求丈夫不要抛弃她。
• You must forsake your bad habits.你必须革除你的坏习惯。

73 ridicule   

v.讥讽，挖苦；n.嘲弄

参考例句：

• You mustn't ridicule unfortunate people.你不该嘲笑不幸的人。
• Silly mistakes and queer clothes often arouse ridicule.荒谬的错误和古怪的服装常会引起人们的讪笑。

74 formerly   

adv.从前，以前

参考例句：

• We now enjoy these comforts of which formerly we had only heard.我们现在享受到了过去只是听说过的那些舒适条件。
• This boat was formerly used on the rivers of China.这船从前航行在中国内河里。

75 galling   

adj.难堪的,使烦恼的,使焦躁的

参考例句：

• It was galling to have to apologize to a man she hated. 令人恼火的是得向她憎恶的男人道歉。
• The insolence in the fellow's eye was galling. 这家伙的傲慢目光令人恼怒。 来自英汉文学 - 嘉莉妹妹

76 warped   

adj.反常的；乖戾的；（变）弯曲的；变形的v.弄弯，变歪( warp的过去式和过去分词 )；使（行为等）不合情理，使乖戾，

参考例句：

• a warped sense of humour 畸形的幽默感
• The board has warped. 木板翘了。 来自《现代汉英综合大词典》

77 upbraid   

v.斥责，责骂，责备

参考例句：

• The old man upbraided him with ingratitude.那位老人斥责他忘恩负义。
• His wife set about upbraiding him for neglecting the children.他妻子开始指责他不照顾孩子。

78 wilderness   

n.杳无人烟的一片陆地、水等，荒漠

参考例句：

• She drove the herd of cattle through the wilderness.她赶着牛群穿过荒野。
• Education in the wilderness is not a matter of monetary means.荒凉地区的教育不是钱财问题。

79 yearning   

a.渴望的；向往的；怀念的

参考例句：

• a yearning for a quiet life 对宁静生活的向往
• He felt a great yearning after his old job. 他对过去的工作有一种强烈的渴想。

80 affected   

adj.不自然的，假装的

参考例句：

• She showed an affected interest in our subject.她假装对我们的课题感到兴趣。
• His manners are affected.他的态度不自然。

81 defiant   

adj.无礼的，挑战的

参考例句：

• With a last defiant gesture,they sang a revolutionary song as they were led away to prison.他们被带走投入监狱时，仍以最后的反抗姿态唱起了一支革命歌曲。
• He assumed a defiant attitude toward his employer.他对雇主采取挑衅的态度。

82 triumphant   

adj.胜利的，成功的；狂欢的，喜悦的

参考例句：

• The army made a triumphant entry into the enemy's capital.部队胜利地进入了敌方首都。
• There was a positively triumphant note in her voice.她的声音里带有一种极为得意的语气。

83 worthy   

adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的

参考例句：

• I did not esteem him to be worthy of trust.我认为他不值得信赖。
• There occurred nothing that was worthy to be mentioned.没有值得一提的事发生。

84 absurdities   

n.极端无理性( absurdity的名词复数 )；荒谬；谬论；荒谬的行为

参考例句：

• She has a sharp eye for social absurdities, and compassion for the victims of social change. 她独具慧眼，能够看到社会上荒唐的事情，对于社会变革的受害者寄以同情。 来自辞典例句
• The absurdities he uttered at the dinner party landed his wife in an awkward situation. 他在宴会上讲的荒唐话使他太太陷入窘境。 来自辞典例句

85 solitude   

n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方

参考例句：

• People need a chance to reflect on spiritual matters in solitude. 人们需要独处的机会来反思精神上的事情。
• They searched for a place where they could live in solitude. 他们寻找一个可以过隐居生活的地方。

86 melancholy   

n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的

参考例句：

• All at once he fell into a state of profound melancholy.他立即陷入无尽的忧思之中。
• He felt melancholy after he failed the exam.这次考试没通过，他感到很郁闷。

87 uncertainties   

无把握( uncertainty的名词复数 )； 不确定； 变化不定； 无把握、不确定的事物

参考例句：

• One of the uncertainties of military duty is that you never know when you might suddenly get posted away. 任军职不稳定的因素之一是你永远不知道什么时候会突然被派往它处。
• Uncertainties affecting peace and development are on the rise. 影响和平与发展的不确定因素在增加。 来自汉英非文学 - 十六大报告

88 faculty   

n.才能；学院，系；(学院或系的)全体教学人员

参考例句：

• He has a great faculty for learning foreign languages.他有学习外语的天赋。
• He has the faculty of saying the right thing at the right time.他有在恰当的时候说恰当的话的才智。

89 spoke   

n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说

参考例句：

• They sourced the spoke nuts from our company.他们的轮辐螺帽是从我们公司获得的。
• The spokes of a wheel are the bars that connect the outer ring to the centre.辐条是轮子上连接外圈与中心的条棒。

90 bosom   

n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的

参考例句：

• She drew a little book from her bosom.她从怀里取出一本小册子。
• A dark jealousy stirred in his bosom.他内心生出一阵恶毒的嫉妒。

91 bemoaning   

v.为（某人或某事）抱怨( bemoan的现在分词 )；悲悼；为…恸哭；哀叹

参考例句：

• They sat bemoaning the fact that no one would give them a chance. 他们坐着埋怨别人不肯给他们一个机会。
• The rest were disappointed, miserable creatures in unwarm beds, tearfully bemoaning their fate. 剩下那些不幸的人，失望的人在不温暖的被窝里悲泣自己的命运。 来自汉英文学 - 家（1-26） - 家（1-26）

92 sublimity   

崇高，庄严，气质高尚

参考例句：

• It'suggests no crystal waters, no picturesque shores, no sublimity. 这决不会叫人联想到晶莹的清水，如画的两岸，雄壮的气势。
• Huckleberry was filled with admiration of Tom's facility in writing, and the sublimity of his language. 对汤姆流利的书写、响亮的内容，哈克贝利心悦诚服。

93 exhorted   

v.劝告，劝说( exhort的过去式和过去分词 )

参考例句：

• The party leader exhorted his members to start preparing for government. 该党领袖敦促党员着手准备筹建政府。
• He exhorted his elder. 他规劝长辈。 来自《简明英汉词典》

94 benediction   

n.祝福；恩赐

参考例句：

• The priest pronounced a benediction over the couple at the end of the marriage ceremony.牧师在婚礼结束时为新婚夫妇祈求上帝赐福。
• He went abroad with his parents' benediction.他带着父母的祝福出国去了。

95 implore   

vt.乞求，恳求，哀求

参考例句：

• I implore you to write. At least tell me you're alive.请给我音讯，让我知道你还活着。
• Please implore someone else's help in a crisis.危险时请向别人求助。

96 wondrously   

adv.惊奇地，非常，极其

参考例句：

• She grow wondrously fond of stealing off to corners by herself. 她变得出奇地喜欢独自躲在角落里。 来自辞典例句
• If you but smile, spring zephyrs blow through my spirits, wondrously. 假使你只是仅仅对我微笑，春天的和风就会惊奇的吹过我的心灵间。 来自互联网

97 saner   

adj.心智健全的( sane的比较级 )；神志正常的；明智的；稳健的

参考例句：

• He seemed wiser than Hurstwood, saner and brighter than Drouet. 他看上去比赫斯渥明智，比杜洛埃稳舰聪明。 来自英汉文学 - 嘉莉妹妹
• Such brooding didn't make him any saner. 然而，苦思冥想并没有使他头脑清醒。 来自辞典例句

98 unbearable   

adj.不能容忍的；忍受不住的

参考例句：

• It is unbearable to be always on thorns.老是处于焦虑不安的情况中是受不了的。
• The more he thought of it the more unbearable it became.他越想越觉得无法忍受。

99 wrecked   

adj.失事的，遇难的

参考例句：

• the hulk of a wrecked ship 遇难轮船的残骸
• the salvage of the wrecked tanker 对失事油轮的打捞

100 gasp   

n.喘息，气喘；v.喘息；气吁吁他说

参考例句：

• She gave a gasp of surprise.她吃惊得大口喘气。
• The enemy are at their last gasp.敌人在做垂死的挣扎。

101 phantoms   

n.鬼怪，幽灵( phantom的名词复数 )

参考例句：

• They vanished down the stairs like two phantoms. 他们像两个幽灵似的消失在了楼下。 来自辞典例句
• The horrible night that he had passed had left phantoms behind it. 他刚才度过的恐布之夜留下了种种错觉。 来自辞典例句

102 devour   

v.吞没；贪婪地注视或谛听，贪读；使着迷

参考例句：

• Larger fish devour the smaller ones.大鱼吃小鱼。
• Beauty is but a flower which wrinkle will devour.美只不过是一朵，终会被皱纹所吞噬。

103 inevitable   

adj.不可避免的，必然发生的

参考例句：

• Mary was wearing her inevitable large hat.玛丽戴着她总是戴的那顶大帽子。
• The defeat had inevitable consequences for British policy.战败对英国政策不可避免地产生了影响。

104 unreasonable   

adj.不讲道理的，不合情理的，过度的

参考例句：

• I know that they made the most unreasonable demands on you.我知道他们对你提出了最不合理的要求。
• They spend an unreasonable amount of money on clothes.他们花在衣服上的钱太多了。

105 murky   

adj.黑暗的，朦胧的；adv.阴暗地，混浊地；n.阴暗；昏暗

参考例句：

• She threw it into the river's murky depths.她把它扔进了混浊的河水深处。
• She had a decidedly murky past.她的历史背景令人捉摸不透。

106 writhed   

（因极度痛苦而）扭动或翻滚( writhe的过去式和过去分词 )

参考例句：

• He writhed at the memory, revolted with himself for that temporary weakness. 他一想起来就痛悔不已，只恨自己当一时糊涂。
• The insect, writhed, and lay prostrate again. 昆虫折腾了几下，重又直挺挺地倒了下去。

107 torment   

n.折磨；令人痛苦的东西(人)；vt.折磨；纠缠

参考例句：

• He has never suffered the torment of rejection.他从未经受过遭人拒绝的痛苦。
• Now nothing aggravates me more than when people torment each other.没有什么东西比人们的互相折磨更使我愤怒。

108 inferno   

n.火海；地狱般的场所

参考例句：

• Rescue workers fought to get to victims inside the inferno.救援人员奋力营救大火中的受害者。
• The burning building became an inferno.燃烧着的大楼成了地狱般的地方。

109 condemned   

adj. 被责难的, 被宣告有罪的 动词condemn的过去式和过去分词

参考例句：

• He condemned the hypocrisy of those politicians who do one thing and say another. 他谴责了那些说一套做一套的政客的虚伪。
• The policy has been condemned as a regressive step. 这项政策被认为是一种倒退而受到谴责。

110 smother   

vt./vi.使窒息；抑制；闷死；n.浓烟；窒息

参考例句：

• They tried to smother the flames with a damp blanket.他们试图用一条湿毯子去灭火。
• We tried to smother our laughter.我们强忍住笑。

111 strife   

n.争吵，冲突，倾轧，竞争

参考例句：

• We do not intend to be drawn into the internal strife.我们不想卷入内乱之中。
• Money is a major cause of strife in many marriages.金钱是造成很多婚姻不和的一个主要原因。

112 miseries   

n.痛苦( misery的名词复数 )；痛苦的事；穷困；常发牢骚的人

参考例句：

• They forgot all their fears and all their miseries in an instant. 他们马上忘记了一切恐惧和痛苦。 来自《现代汉英综合大词典》
• I'm suffering the miseries of unemployment. 我正为失业而痛苦。 来自《简明英汉词典》

113 postal   

adj.邮政的，邮局的

参考例句：

• A postal network now covers the whole country.邮路遍及全国。
• Remember to use postal code.勿忘使用邮政编码。

114 batch   

n.一批(组，群)；一批生产量

参考例句：

• The first batch of cakes was burnt.第一炉蛋糕烤焦了。
• I have a batch of letters to answer.我有一批信要回复。

115 itinerary   

n.行程表，旅行路线；旅行计划

参考例句：

• The two sides have agreed on the itinerary of the visit.双方商定了访问日程。
• The next place on our itinerary was Silistra.我们行程的下一站是锡利斯特拉。

116 forth   

adv.向前；向外，往外

参考例句：

• The wind moved the trees gently back and forth.风吹得树轻轻地来回摇晃。
• He gave forth a series of works in rapid succession.他很快连续发表了一系列的作品。

117 uncertainty   

n.易变，靠不住，不确知，不确定的事物

参考例句：

• Her comments will add to the uncertainty of the situation.她的批评将会使局势更加不稳定。
• After six weeks of uncertainty,the strain was beginning to take its toll.6个星期的忐忑不安后，压力开始产生影响了。

118 cowering   

v.畏缩，抖缩( cower的现在分词 )

参考例句：

• He turned his baleful glare on the cowering suspect. 他恶毒地盯着那个蜷缩成一团的嫌疑犯。 来自《简明英汉词典》
• He stood over the cowering Herb with fists of fury. 他紧握着两个拳头怒气冲天地站在惊魂未定的赫伯面前。 来自辞典例句

119 wring   

n.扭绞；v.拧，绞出，扭

参考例句：

• My socks were so wet that I had to wring them.我的袜子很湿，我不得不拧干它们。
• I'll wring your neck if you don't behave!你要是不规矩，我就拧断你的脖子。

120 pangs   

突然的剧痛( pang的名词复数 )； 悲痛

参考例句：

• She felt sudden pangs of regret. 她突然感到痛悔不已。
• With touching pathos he described the pangs of hunger. 他以极具感伤力的笔触描述了饥饿的痛苦。

121 gainsay   

v.否认，反驳

参考例句：

• She is a fine woman-that nobody can gainsay.她是个好女人无人能否认。
• No one will gainsay his integrity.没有人对他的正直有话可讲。

122 justification   

n.正当的理由；辩解的理由

参考例句：

• There's no justification for dividing the company into smaller units. 没有理由把公司划分成小单位。
• In the young there is a justification for this feeling. 在年轻人中有这种感觉是有理由的。

123 surmise   

v./n.猜想，推测

参考例句：

• It turned out that my surmise was correct.结果表明我的推测没有错。
• I surmise that he will take the job.我推测他会接受这份工作。

124 monarch   

n.帝王，君主，最高统治者

参考例句：

• The monarch's role is purely ceremonial.君主纯粹是个礼仪职位。
• I think myself happier now than the greatest monarch upon earth.我觉得这个时候比世界上什么帝王都快乐。

125 exhortations   

n.敦促( exhortation的名词复数 )；极力推荐；（正式的）演讲；（宗教仪式中的）劝诫

参考例句：

• The monuments of men's ancestors were the most impressive exhortations. 先辈们的丰碑最能奋勉人心的。 来自辞典例句
• Men has free choice. Otherwise counsels, exhortations, commands, prohibitions, rewards and punishments would be in vain. 人具有自由意志。否则，劝告、赞扬、命令、禁规、奖赏和惩罚都将是徒劳的。 来自辞典例句

126 vestige   

n.痕迹，遗迹，残余

参考例句：

• Some upright stones in wild places are the vestige of ancient religions.荒原上一些直立的石块是古老宗教的遗迹。
• Every vestige has been swept away.一切痕迹都被一扫而光。

127 determined   

adj.坚定的；有决心的

参考例句：

• I have determined on going to Tibet after graduation.我已决定毕业后去西藏。
• He determined to view the rooms behind the office.他决定查看一下办公室后面的房间。

128 farce   

n.闹剧，笑剧，滑稽戏；胡闹

参考例句：

• They played a shameful role in this farce.他们在这场闹剧中扮演了可耻的角色。
• The audience roared at the farce.闹剧使观众哄堂大笑。

129 sneak   

vt.潜行(隐藏,填石缝)；偷偷摸摸做；n.潜行；adj.暗中进行

参考例句：

• He raised his spear and sneak forward.他提起长矛悄悄地前进。
• I saw him sneak away from us.我看见他悄悄地从我们身边走开。

130 shack   

adj.简陋的小屋，窝棚

参考例句：

• He had to sit down five times before he reached his shack.在走到他的茅棚以前，他不得不坐在地上歇了五次。
• The boys made a shack out of the old boards in the backyard.男孩们在后院用旧木板盖起一间小木屋。

131 allude   

v.提及，暗指

参考例句：

• Many passages in Scripture allude to this concept.圣经中有许多经文间接地提到这样的概念。
• She also alluded to her rival's past marital troubles.她还影射了对手过去的婚姻问题。

132 infinity   

n.无限，无穷，大量

参考例句：

• It is impossible to count up to infinity.不可能数到无穷大。
• Theoretically,a line can extend into infinity.从理论上来说直线可以无限地延伸。

133 impatience   

n.不耐烦，急躁

参考例句：

• He expressed impatience at the slow rate of progress.进展缓慢，他显得不耐烦。
• He gave a stamp of impatience.他不耐烦地跺脚。

134 unnatural   

adj.不自然的；反常的

参考例句：

• Did her behaviour seem unnatural in any way?她有任何反常表现吗？
• She has an unnatural smile on her face.她脸上挂着做作的微笑。

135 utterance   

n.用言语表达，话语，言语

参考例句：

• This utterance of his was greeted with bursts of uproarious laughter.他的讲话引起阵阵哄然大笑。
• My voice cleaves to my throat,and sob chokes my utterance.我的噪子哽咽，泣不成声。

136 wreak   

v.发泄；报复

参考例句：

• She had a burning desire to wreak revenge.她复仇心切。
• Timid people always wreak their peevishness on the gentle.怯懦的人总是把满腹牢骚向温和的人发泄。

137 insistent   

adj.迫切的，坚持的

参考例句：

• There was an insistent knock on my door.我听到一阵急促的敲门声。
• He is most insistent on this point.他在这点上很坚持。

138 frantic   

adj.狂乱的，错乱的，激昂的

参考例句：

• I've had a frantic rush to get my work done.我急急忙忙地赶完工作。
• He made frantic dash for the departing train.他发疯似地冲向正开出的火车。

139 writhing   

（因极度痛苦而）扭动或翻滚( writhe的现在分词 )

参考例句：

• She was writhing around on the floor in agony. 她痛得在地板上直打滚。
• He was writhing on the ground in agony. 他痛苦地在地上打滚。

140 sentimental   

adj.多愁善感的，感伤的

参考例句：

• She's a sentimental woman who believes marriage comes by destiny.她是多愁善感的人，她相信姻缘命中注定。
• We were deeply touched by the sentimental movie.我们深深被那感伤的电影所感动。

141 flinching   

v.（因危险和痛苦）退缩，畏惧( flinch的现在分词 )

参考例句：

• He listened to the jeers of the crowd without flinching. 他毫不畏惧地听着群众的嘲笑。 来自辞典例句
• Without flinching he dashed into the burning house to save the children. 他毫不畏缩地冲进在燃烧的房屋中去救小孩。 来自辞典例句

142 beseech   

v.祈求，恳求

参考例句：

• I beseech you to do this before it is too late.我恳求你做做这件事吧，趁现在还来得及。
• I beseech your favor.我恳求您帮忙。

143 awaken   

vi.醒，觉醒；vt.唤醒，使觉醒，唤起，激起

参考例句：

• Old people awaken early in the morning.老年人早晨醒得早。
• Please awaken me at six.请于六点叫醒我。

144 prospect   

n.前景，前途；景色，视野

参考例句：

• This state of things holds out a cheerful prospect.事态呈现出可喜的前景。
• The prospect became more evident.前景变得更加明朗了。

145 deluding   

v.欺骗，哄骗( delude的现在分词 )

参考例句：

• They used Teresa's desolation as another proof that believers are deluding themselves. 他们用德肋撒嬷嬷的孤寂再一次论证信徒们是在蒙蔽自己。 来自互联网
• There is, for instance, a self-deluding interpretation of the contemporary world situation. 比如说有一些对当代世界时局自我欺骗式的阐释。 来自互联网

146 boon   

n.恩赐，恩物，恩惠

参考例句：

• A car is a real boon when you live in the country.在郊外居住，有辆汽车确实极为方便。
• These machines have proved a real boon to disabled people.事实证明这些机器让残疾人受益匪浅。

147 miserably   

adv.痛苦地；悲惨地；糟糕地；极度地

参考例句：

• The little girl was wailing miserably. 那小女孩难过得号啕大哭。
• It was drizzling, and miserably cold and damp. 外面下着毛毛细雨，天气又冷又湿，令人难受。 来自《简明英汉词典》

148 parlor   

n.店铺，营业室；会客室，客厅

参考例句：

• She was lying on a small settee in the parlor.她躺在客厅的一张小长椅上。
• Is there a pizza parlor in the neighborhood?附近有没有比萨店？

149 grovel   

vi.卑躬屈膝，奴颜婢膝

参考例句：

• He said he would never grovel before a conqueror.他说他永远不会在征服者脚下摇尾乞怜。
• You will just have to grovel to the bank manager for a loan.你只得低声下气地向银行经理借贷。

150 decided   

adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的

参考例句：

• This gave them a decided advantage over their opponents.这使他们比对手具有明显的优势。
• There is a decided difference between British and Chinese way of greeting.英国人和中国人打招呼的方式有很明显的区别。