"It is by the absence of thumbs," he said, "that we are enabled to discern their use. We invariably learn the importance of what we lack. If we remove the eyes from a man we deprive him of sight; and consequently we learn that sight is the function of the eyes."
2Thus spake Merodach, for he had a scientific mind, and was curious of God's handiwork; and when he had finished speaking the courtiers applauded him.
"Great is the power of the Great King, and most wonderful is his wisdom," cried the courtiers; and the King shook out his napkin under the table, shaking the crumbs among his prostrate4 enemies, for the applause was pleasant to him; but from beneath the table came a harsh, sarcastic5 voice.
"Great is the power of the Great King, and most wonderful is his wisdom," said the voice; "but neither from his power nor from his wisdom can he fashion us new thumbs."
Then was Merodach angry, and he bade his courtiers seize the speaker and draw him from beneath the table; and the man they drew out was Shalmaneser, who had been a king among the kings of Chald?a. And at first Merodach was of a mind to kill Shalmaneser; but, seeing that his captive sought for death, his heart relented, and he bade his courtiers restore him to his place beneath the table.
"My power and my wisdom are great," he said; "since I have so afflicted6 mine enemies that they fear not to tell me the truth."
And when Merodach had eaten, he rose 3from the table and went out into the gardens of the terrace where the nightingales were singing; but the kings beneath the table smote7 Shalmaneser sorely upon both cheeks, and upon his buttocks, and tore out the hair of his beard; for after that he had spoken, Merodach had shaken out the crumbs from his napkin among them no more, and they had supped poorly.
Then Merodach wandered about in his garden, listening to the song of the nightingales who nested there, and smelling the sweet smells of the flowers that were odorous in the cool of the evening; and behind him, fifty paces, there followed his guards, for he was afraid for his life. The dew fell upon the glazed10 bricks, gleaming in the moonlight, and hung from the trees and flowers like little trembling stars. Merodach leaned his arms upon a balustrade and looked over the city which he had builded on the left bank of the Euphrates, and watched the illuminated12 barges13 that went up and down the river, rowing with music upon the waters; and he looked toward the high temples looming14 into the night, and he thought of his glory and was exceeding sad.
"In a little time I die," he said; "but the 4city which I have builded will be a witness for me while man survives on the earth."
And from the barges came the pleasant sound of music, floating through the night, and Merodach regretted that he would have to die, and in a little while would walk no more through his garden in the cool of the evening, listening to the sounds of life, and smelling the sweet breath of the flowers.
"In a little while the race of man will have perished from off the earth," he said; "and there will be no memory of me, but the stars will shine still above my ruined and tenantless16 palace."
And the night-wind, laden17 with scents18 and sounds, shook the dew from the trembling leaves, and moved his silken raiment; and Merodach was overcome with a passion for life.
"In a little time," he thought, "even the stars will have vanished."
And from the adjoining gardens of his harem he heard the voices of women waiting to pleasure their lord; and he went in unto them for he feared to be alone.
In the garden of Merodach's harem, the Queen Parysatis held a feast in honour of 5her daughter, the Princess Candace, who was eleven years old. The Queen Parysatis lay upon a pile of cushions looking at a tragedy that was being enacted19 by a company of eunuchs. The Princess Candace was standing20 beside a deep basin of silver, seventy cubits in diameter, called the Sea of Silver; and she threw sugar-plums to a troop of little girls, who dived after them, gleaming fish-like in the luminous21 depths. When she saw the King, her father, she stopped throwing sugar-plums, and the little girls came out of the water, and sate upon the silver rim22, their wet, naked limbs glimmering23 in the moonlight. Then the Princess Candace did homage24 before Merodach, bowing down before him and touching25 his feet; and he stretched forth26 his hand to her, and led her to a couch, because he loved his children, and she was as beautiful as the new moon before it is a day old.
Now it chanced that at that time the High-priest Bagoas, who was High-priest of the temple of Bel at Nippur, was in the palace of the King; and Merodach sent for him, desiring him to speak comfortable doctrine27 and words cheering to the heart; and Bagoas came in unto Merodach, and did homage 6before him, bowing down before him and touching his feet; and there was no one in the cities of Babylonia more powerful than Bagoas, unless it were the King himself.
"As I walked in the garden in the evening," said Merodach, "I became afflicted with a sense of human transience and of the vanity of greatness. In a little time, I said, I shall be but a handful of dust. Then I comforted myself with the thought that I should live in the memory of man, through my monuments, while man survives upon the earth; but in a little time man himself disappears, I said, and even the stars are lost in darkness."
And Bagoas smiled.
"It is true, O King, man cometh upon the earth and rules it for a little space, like a god. In hollow ships, he sails over the pathless sea; and he has mapped out the heavens naming the stars; and he follows the courses of the planets round the sun; and he knoweth the seasons of reaping and sowing, by the constellations28 rising or setting in the sky. His cunning mind has devised screws to draw water up out of the earth, and pulleys and levers to uplift masses beyond his strength. He is a master of populous29 cities, a weaver30 of delicate textures31, a limner of images in 7fair colours; he is a tamer of horses, skilled in the knowledge of flocks and herds32; with hooks he draweth fish out of the sea, and with an arrow transfixes a bird on the wing; he fashions the metals in fire, beating the gold and stubborn bronze to his will. He understands the laws of Nature, and has named the force which draws the earth round the sun, and the moon round the earth; but time is his master, and he cannot find a remedy against death."
"Nor fashion a thumb for man," said Merodach.
"The fear of death is the greatest incitement33 to live," continued Bagoas. "It is the goad34 which incessantly35 urges us to action. Our desire to live, to persist in one form or another, impels36 us to beget37 children, to overpower the imagination of future ages by the splendour of our monuments and the record of our lives. We seek to stamp our image upon our time, and influence our generation by every means in our power. But even this is not enough, so we have built ourselves a little world beyond the grave, a little haven38 beyond the waves of time. We believe that our souls will exist when our bodies have fallen into decay and escaped into a thousand 8different forms of new life, to be woven eternally on the loom15 of perpetual change. We believe that death is merely a transition, and that through virtue40 man is able to scale the brazen41 ramparts of the city of the gods."
"If he is very good," said the Princess Candace.
"Little Princess," said Bagoas, smiling, "your beauty is like a bright rainbow in the sky; the sunlight streaming upon drifting rain. Have you ever considered the personality of man, O King? Everything that has existed in the past exists in the soul of man. In its depths are the primeval monsters, Apsu and Tiamat. In its heights are enthroned the gods; action in it is heaped upon action to become habit, and habit upon habit to become character; all that we have seen, all that we have touched, the experience of the senses, the illusions of the brain, the desires of the heart, our ancestors, our companions, our country and occupations, all move and work mysteriously in our being. Each has left its trace upon the personality of man. Do you seek immortality43 for these? You will leave them with the world. Seek for yourself before you seek for self's immortality. Beneath what you seem to be lies what you 9think you are, and beneath that again lies what you are indeed."
"Alas44," cried Queen Parysatis, "such an immortality is too unsubstantial. It is our illusions, our experiences, and our aspirations45, which give a savour to existence. What is the use of immortality if we leave everything we love?"
"Mankind, O King," answered Bagoas, "loves its imperfections more than its perfections, and values as nothing an immortality which is devoid46 of our human frailties47, our pitiful human friendships, our personal predilections48 which we obtusely49 term our principles."
"It is true," said Merodach, "I die; but that which is mortal of me remains50 upon earth to be a witness for me in the memory of man."
"The whole of recorded time is but a second, a pulsation51, in the ages," answered Bagoas, "and the memory of man is the frailest52 of monuments. The Temple of Bel at Nippur is not two thousand years old; yet its bricks are engraven with a dead language, and we know not its builder's name. So it will be with thy temples and cities, O King!"
"I have said it," answered Merodach.
10"Perhaps after thousands of years have lapsed," continued Bagoas, "a peasant will find a brick with thy name upon it, and cast it aside, or tread it under foot. But even to-day I have met and spoken with a man in whose horoscope it was written that his name would be remembered while man exists upon the earth; yet he is naked, and his house is a cabin of boughs55."
"No; his inheritance is poverty and pain."
"What is his name?" enquired the King.
"His name is Adam," answered Bagoas.
Then there was a silence in the garden of the King's harem; and Merodach wondered that the memory of one who went naked, and dwelt in a cabin of boughs, should outlast57 the memory of a King before whom the nations trembled, who went clothed in purple and fine linen58, and whose palace was built of thirty-five million bricks. But he consoled himself with the thought that eventually even Adam would be forgotten, and the lights of Sirius and Aldebaran extinguished.
"Tell me of Adam," he said to Bagoas; and the Princess Candace drew closer to listen.
11"Our life, O King, is a series of accidents," said Bagoas. "A little thing is sufficient to divert the whole course of our progress; it has even been said by our philosophers that the world itself is an accident, and that God is chance. I am inclined to believe, being old-fashioned, in Providence59; for chance is merely a cause that is imperceptible, and if the deflection of atoms falling through space caused the world, that deflection was the result of some feature peculiar60 to the atoms themselves. I believe that, if the world were formed in this way, the cause was inherent in the atoms, and I believe that the progress of each man through life is derived61 from causes inherent in himself. But the operations of the human mind are so far removed from our experience, and so elusive62 in themselves, that we cannot explain them otherwise than by saying that Bel, by the hands of his angels, puts into man's mind ideas of good or of evil according to the purpose of his inscrutable wisdom. The greater part of man's life is purely63 spontaneous, sensible rather than reasonable in so far as the majority of our actions do not result from any reflective process, and hence it is unreasonable64 to ask a man to give reasons for all his acts, as it 12would be to ask you, O King, to give a reason for your last campaign."
"That was a reason of State," said Merodach simply.
"The reason was the reason of a great King, whose wisdom is as inscrutable as the wisdom of Bel," answered Bagoas. "It was a lapse54 of the mind that led me to Adam; one might say almost an act of Providence, or to be scientific, chance. This morning at daybreak I had a desire to ride abroad, for I had not slept during the night, and the sweetness of the air enticed65 me into the country. I took a falcon66 upon my wrist. Falconry was a delight of my youth. But I had barely proceeded a mile before I became preoccupied67 with my own thoughts. The hares passed me unobserved; the doves were free of the air. I was thinking how often man has crept up toward civilisation68, and then receded69 from it again, as the tides creep up and recede70 from the beach; how the light of the world has passed from nation to nation, and none have brought it to the goal; how man forgets the evils which the last generation had abolished, and rushes back upon them to escape from present evils; and it seemed to me impossible that our race could attain71 to perfection in 13conditions of such mutability. We sow our wisdom with full hands. We think that it may increase fifty-fold. Alas! some of our seed falls in marshy72 places, some among stones, some is devoured73 by the birds of the air, some flourishes exceedingly, and is beaten down by storms of hail, or withered74 by the fierce heat; and that which survives and bears fruit is scarcely sufficient for the sowing of the field again.
"Every night a priest of Bel watches the stars; with optic glasses he explores the vast abyss, through which the sun and its choir75 of planets journey toward their fate; and when his mind is troubled by that infinity76, his eyes seek thy city, O King, and mankind to him is but a little heap of withered leaves, which a sudden wind whirls in a circling dance. From his tower, O King, he looks upon thy city, which to us, from here, is splendid with a multitude of lights, and murmurous77 with life. He knows that in the streets the young man is seeking pleasure, that women are bearing children, that the old are dying. All the wealth and misery79 of the world are at his feet; and he turns again to that star which is destined80 to burn up the world in a tumultuous kiss. What is the lust11 of the young to him; 14the pangs81 of child-birth; the bitterness; the regret; the anguish82 of approaching death? A little heap of withered leaves suddenly caught up in a windy dance; a little flame, flickering84 ere it goes out into darkness.
"From this spirit of detachment in the philosopher is bred a corresponding spirit of aloofness85 in the multitude. They see the towers of Bel, black against the evening sky, and the watcher to them is but a man enamoured of the silence, smitten86 with madness by the stars; a man whose life is in the future, whose wisdom is but a sure foreknowledge of death and fate, whose very presence among them is a prophecy of corruption87 and change; and they ask, well may they ask! what is his wisdom worth to us? The days are blue and gold, blue and silver are the nights; and the birds are clamorous88 among the dripping boughs; why should we pause to think of fate? What does his wisdom profit him when in a little time he dies, and is equal with us in the dust? The flowers bud, blossom, and seed, without thought for the departing year; the birds go delightfully89 upon the ways of the wind, though the arrows which shall bring them to earth are stored in the quiver. Shall we do otherwise?
15"Truly the worshipper of wisdom is a lonely man. The results which he obtains are never the possession of the many. They may excite the curiosity of the few, they may become an affectation with the amateur, but they do not touch the multitude, for to this last that only is good which is good in its immediate90 effect. Miserable91 indeed, the race of man seemed to me, O King; content that their mortal ambition should be bounded by the limits of a day; seeking only fat pastures and pleasant waters; and careless of the lot of their progeny92, whose fate it is to cover the whole earth with populous cities, and stream like a river of fire, impetuous and consuming, into hidden and desolate93 places, which only the eyes of the gods have seen as yet. The treasure of wisdom is a treasure which is continually being lost, rediscovered, and lost again. It is like the gold of the miser78, hidden in the ground; his son does not inherit it, but after many years some labourer turns it up with his deep-driven ploughshare, and the coins ring against the stones, and lie with tarnished94 brightness on the loose earth of the furrow95.
"A confused murmuring distracted my thought. I seemed to swim back to reality out of a world of dreams. At first I thought 16that I had approached a hive of wild bees; but the humming murmuring noise seemed sweeter, more bird-like, until I saw that it came indeed from a parliament of birds, which had congregated96 in the boughs of an apple-tree, warbling there, and rising every now and then into the air, with a great rushing of wings, to wheel above the tree and descend97 upon it again in a thick cloud. I had strayed into a pleasant valley, where the Euphrates flows between level meadows of wild wheat, enclosed, like an amphitheatre, by well-wooded hills, which had already taken on the tawny98 and golden tints99 of autumn.
"On the lower slopes grew mulberries and oranges; above them, threaded with opulent colouring, plane-trees and sycamores, yellowing oaks, and the beautiful level boughs of dusky cedars100, while from all sides came the sound of falling water, chiming and tinkling101 into little hollows, or thundering in cataracts102, with a more imperious music, down precipitous and rocky glens. The sunlit fields of ripe wheat swayed in the wind like an undulating sea; the river gleamed like silver, and many coloured lilies grew beside the brimming water, filling the air with a delicate perfume. I looked about me in delight. It seemed a 17place sacred from the profaning103 feet of man. At the same time, I had a curious sense of being watched; and presently a young man rose out of the wild wheat before me, and stood watching me, with an expression of curiosity qualified104 with distrust."
A languid interest was apparent in the faces of his audience.
"It was Adam," said Merodach.
"At last," said Queen Parysatis.
"It was Adam," answered Bagoas, smiling. "I have attempted, O King, to give you some notion of the thoughts which preoccupied me at my meeting with him. My outlook upon things is historical, and therefore necessarily pessimistic. Adam broke in upon my thoughts as a prophecy, a promise. He was in his first manhood, almost still a boy, and represented, in consequence, an earlier stage of evolution. He seemed in fact half child, and half animal. He had the stature105 of a man; he was well built, muscular, giving one the impression of an immense but graceful106 strength, of easy movements. His features were handsome, but unlike those usual in our country; the nose was a little rapacious107, the mouth cruel, but his eyes were full of dreams. It was the face of one who looks towards 18distant horizons, having the immense calm of the desert, and full of a sleeping energy. Youth softened108 it, and lent it a delicate charm; but in age it will be terrible. And suddenly I heard a sullen109 voice saying: 'This is my garden.'
"I have noticed in all nomadic111 peoples, and in small scattered112 communities, that however terse113 the language, and however limited the vocabulary, the words are capable of innumerable shades of meaning. Gesture and modulation114 lend force and precision to what is said. Perhaps this is why the art of the theatre is always, at its best, the art of a na?ve and unsophisticated people. Life in town tends to the production of a type, and individuality is suppressed; but life in the country, where the conventions are few and simple, tends to the formation of character. The theatric art, among town-dwellers115, loses its broad simplicity116 and that directness of purpose which show man in immediate collision with facts, and is frittered away in mean motives118 and intangible temperaments119, substituting for the play of circumstances the play of ideas. It is for the same reason that great empires always perish at the heart first; because dwellers in towns become uniform, and being surrounded by 19artificial circumstances are seldom brought into direct conflict with facts, but learn to cheat themselves with fine phrases and immaterial ideas."
"The good Bagoas is really a little prolix," whispered Parysatis to Merodach.
Bagoas heard the interruption and continued tranquilly120:
"'This is my garden,' said Adam; and his words implied not only that I was an intruder, and that he was a proprietor122, but also that the garden was beautiful, and that he was proud of it. I explained that I had lost my way, that I was hungry, that I was tired; and even as I spoke8 a young woman rose up out of the wheat and looked at me curiously123.
"'We have little,' said Adam.
"They led me to their cabin of boughs, and brought me food; and they were naked and were not ashamed. They were strangers to the use of fire, and my meal consisted of nuts and honey, goat's milk and dates, such food as, our poets say, nourished the people of the golden age. In front of their cabin was an apple-tree, similar to the one upon which the birds had congregated, only with golden instead of ruddy fruit. I asked Adam if he would give me an apple from it.
"'We may not even touch it with our hands,' said the woman, who was called Eve; and she looked at the fruit covetously125.
"'To what god is it dedicated?' I enquired of them.
"'It is dedicated to God,' replied Adam simply.
"And I was surprised that this man, who had so many needs, should have only one god; but very soon I found that his monotheism was but a rude crystallisation of the spiritual forces of earth and air, a kind of shamanism, though with the many considered as one. His god was the god of fertility, who had caused the earth to put forth grass, and the trees to bear fruit, and all things to bring forth after their kind; a god whose voice was heard on the wind of the day, and who breathed into man the breath of life. In his loneliness Adam had told himself stories as children do, and, as with children, his imagination had laid hold with such intensity126 of vision upon these fanciful adventures of his mind that he seemed to live in a little world of his own creating, a land of enchantment127 21and of dreams. The wind, the waters, the leaves of the never silent trees, the birds and the beasts of the field, all spoke in what was to him an intelligible128 voice; and his god was a being not far removed from himself, enjoying, even as Adam himself did, the cool of the day, the blithe129 air, and the breath of the sweet flowers.
"'How came it that this particular tree should be forbidden to you?' I enquired of them, for I was curious of the spiritual workings of their minds.
"'In the day that we came into this garden,' answered Adam, 'I had a desire to eat of the fruit, and I stretched my hand toward the tree when I heard a voice upon the wind, saying: "In the day that ye eat thereof ye shall surely die."'
"'It is curious,' I murmured. 'The fruit is wholesome130, one would think that to eat thereof would give life rather than death.'
"'If we ate of the fruit would we not die?' enquired Eve.
"'If ye ate of it you would know,' I answered, smiling at the simplicity of the question; and then I spoke to Adam of other things. I love the conversation of the young, O King. It brings back to me the time when 22I, too, had illusions, hopes, and ideals. The sole illusions remaining to mine old age are the illusion of life, and the hope that where we have failed our children may succeed. Adam believes that all men are naturally good, and that it is society which makes them evil; he does not see that society cannot be different from what it is since it is a purely natural development, and that its laws were not made by men, but are merely a recognition of certain instincts peculiar to mankind, and of the effects which the exercise of these instincts invariably produces. His point of view is that of the individual; and the egoism of the individual is always in conflict with the collective egoism of the state. He believes that men are born equal, and that society loads them with chains. He cannot grasp the seeming paradox131 that what he imagines to be the natural man is really artificial, and that what he imagines to be an artificial society is really the expression of natural laws. Adam himself is not natural, he is kindly132 and hospitable133 to strangers, he is gentle, and loves his wife, he is practically a monotheist.
"Every individual is like Adam in this. We are all idealists. All of us have excellent intentions; but the world is so constituted 23that we can never carry them out. Adam has never been in a great city, but he has seen from afar the huge towers of Uruk looming into the night, and they are to him in their proud invasion of the sky a symbol of man's rebellion against the decrees of God, who fashioned him to be a feeble creature, scratching about upon the surface of the earth, and to draw his whole being from that shallow deposit of productive soil which he cultivates laboriously134. He considers our temples to be the work of some demonic agency, for he does not think it possible that beings similar to himself should uplift these gigantic masses into the air. Our works of pride are, therefore, evil to him, since they differ from the works of his native humility135; to live like Adam is to live virtuously136; and that which is different from his mode of life is evil."
Here Merodach and the Queen Parysatis laughed at the simplicity of Adam, and the Princess Candace also laughed because she did not understand why they were amused. Bagoas looked at his audience with a faint tolerant smile.
"You find Adam's standard of good and evil laughable," he said. "It is in fact a little comic, but human, quite human, and quite 24logical. He says in effect: 'I, Adam, am good; those who differ from me, differ from what is good, and are consequently evil.' This position, which we find so laughable in others, is really common to us all; only, unfortunately, a sense of humour is a sense which we never apply to ourselves. Who will deny that Adam is wise in limiting his desires to such things as lie easily within his reach, if happiness be the end of wisdom? The earth gives him of her fulness, the climate of his valley is mild and temperate137, snow does not fall there nor is it vexed138 by winds; the misery of his fellows is hidden from him, he is without care for the morrow; in limiting his desires he has extended the possibilities of delight, and joy comes to him unexpectedly as if it were a miracle wrought139 by God."
"A charming life!" exclaimed the Queen. "Your barbarians140 are like children."
"Yes; they are like children," answered Bagoas. "In fact they still are children, and so I have treated them. I cast Adam's horoscope, and read therein the wonderful things which the stars ordain141 for him. In this horoscope I read that Adam is to be the father of a race which shall revolutionise the world; a little obstinate142 people inhabiting 25a country in the west toward the sea; a people of slaves, outraged143 and despised, yet leavening144 all the peoples among whom they dwell. It is this race of slaves that will pass on the light and wisdom of Chald?a to nations as yet unborn. While thy monuments, O King, are sleeping beneath the drifted sands of the desert, the name of Adam will pass from tongue to tongue, and distant peoples will come to think of him as the father of the whole human race. The arts and sciences of Uruk will be forgotten, and the world will be duped by a record of events which never happened, myths and legends stolen from surrounding nations and woven into a curious asymmetrical145 whole, full of contradictions and puerilities.
"Truly in Adam's horoscope everything is a contradiction. From being the happiest man, he will become the most miserable; after a life spent in obscurity he will achieve almost an eternity146 of fame, and his children, a race of slaves, will impose their law upon the world for nearly two thousand years. It is incredible. Surely my meditation147 as I rode toward him was not without cause. Our wisdom, the science of Chald?a, is the miser's gold which shall be lost in the earth, and whatever of us 26survives in the memory of man will survive through the children of Adam. I told him nothing of this, but prophesied148 that he would be a wanderer until his death, at which he smiled.
"'That may not be,' he said; 'because God has put me into this garden to dress it and keep it.'
"Then the woman filled a bowl with milk and took it over toward the tree, and a great bronze serpent came out from the roots of the tree and drank the milk which she offered him; wherefore, in spite of their monotheism, I think that they are of the people who worship snakes and trees, and that the tree was taboo149 because of the serpent which dwelt in its roots."
"It may well be as you say," said Merodach, after a silence. "Still it is curious that a monotheist should worship snakes and trees. Perhaps his god is the local djinn; as with the nomadic tribes, the action of the gods is limited to certain territories, and the wandering herds, in changing their pastures, change their gods also. In effect the King is the god. He rules by divine right, he represents the aspirations of his people, and is the visible symbol without which all religions are but 27inarticulate yearnings. You would naturally be interested, as a priest, in the religion of Adam; but I am more interested in the fact that a nomad110 should inhabit a garden. It interests me, as a statesman, because it represents the beginnings of society. A nomad wanders for two reasons; to change his hunting grounds, and to seek fresh pastures. Some nomads150, especially in countries where the fertility of the soil is easily exhausted151, plough, sow, reap the harvest, and then depart into a new place; but when fruit-trees are planted the owner remains beside them. Their roots have bound him to the soil. All existing civilisations have arisen through the fact that man gathers the fruit of a tree, and not the tree itself."
Bagoas smiled, and discreetly152 said nothing.
"To-morrow I shall visit Adam," said Merodach; "from the unsophisticated there is always much to learn."
"You may be disappointed," said Bagoas gently. "I like the lowly and humble154 people, and I may have prejudiced you, unwittingly, in Adam's favour. His sincerity155 may seem to you rude."
"Simplicity of manner is charming," answered Merodach. "I believe that all our 28courtly graces, everything which is implied by the word good breeding, have their roots in the natural instincts of man. Of course, the simple people move more awkwardly in the conventional restraints; and good manners, which we wear like jewellery, are with them heavy fetters156; but I place implicit117 trust in Adam's natural good taste."
"I should love to see Adam," said the Queen Parysatis.
"But he is naked," objected the Princess Candace.
"We shall bring him some leopard-skins, such as my guards wear," said Merodach. "Come to supper."
They moved through a grove157 of orange-trees towards a great pavilion where supper was being served. Bagoas left them; and, leaning on a balustrade, he looked over Uruk.
"Certainly Adam is unfortunate," he said.
II
Merodach went forth unto Eden, and with him there went his wives and his concubines, his poets and his pastry-cooks, his falconers, his flute-players, and his players upon the 29viol, his bow-men and his spearmen; and the number of those who followed him were ten thousand and ten, without counting the mule158-drivers, and the camel-drivers, and the drivers of elephants. And the noise of their going filled the whole land, and a great cloud of dust went up from their feet. Bagoas rode with Merodach upon the King's elephant, whose tusks159 were studded with precious stones, and who had jewels in his ears, and Bagoas spoke wisely unto the King.
"Man is naturally vain," said Bagoas. "He believes always that he has finally explained the universe, and that nothing remains for him but a life of virtue, and the approbation160 of a God, who shall exalt161 him above his fellows. But it seems to me, O King, that all human systems of religion and philosophy have the same nature as the system of a fakir whom I once met in the desert. He told me that the world was supported by a pillar of adamant162, which was borne by an elephant, who stood upon the back of a tortoise."
"And what supported the tortoise?" enquired Merodach curiously.
"When I asked him that question, O King, he answered that it was a holy mystery, that the question was blasphemous163 in itself, and that all answers were equally heretical."
30The Queen Parysatis rode with the court poet upon another elephant, and the poet, whose name was Mekerah, made delicate songs for her.
"The old look upon the stars," sang the poet, "they seek wisdom in the heavens; but I look into the eyes of my beloved. What stars are like her eyes? What wisdom can compare with the wisdom of love?"
"You have said the same thing a hundred times," complained the Queen.
But the Princess Candace rode upon a white elephant caparisoned with cloth of silver embroidered164 with pearls. No one rode with her but the driver of the elephant, and she sat under a canopy165 of silk which was shot with the colours that are in the shell of the pearl, and before her elephant on a white mule rode her juggler167. He rode with his face to the tail, and juggled168 with oranges and a sword; the sword meeting the oranges in the air divided them neatly169 into halves, and then again into quarters. He was a dwarf170, incredibly ugly, hunch-backed, with long spidery arms; but the little Princess loved him.
"Look at me!" he shrilled171 in a falsetto voice. "Look at me, little Princess! Who 31will say that jugglery172 is not the supreme173 art? Verily, it is the art of arts! The poet does but juggle166 with words, yet he does not preserve so perfect a rhythm. Mekerah's verses are lame83, but mine oranges do not halt; they dance in the air with the grace of a little Princess who dances in silver slippers174 before the throne of her father. The High-priest Bagoas juggles175 with theories; the Great King juggles with the fears and passions of his subjects; the gods juggle with our poor world, but I juggle with mine oranges. It is the same thing. Look at me, little Princess, look at me!"
"Uzal, you will make yourself sick," said Candace, "and my maids will have to tend you."
The juggler stood on his head and juggled with his feet.
"Truly, my lord," said Bagoas, "the juggler of the Princess has good reason for what he says: in a sense we are all jugglers."
But the King was thinking of other things, and after a moment lifted his head.
"Have you considered the Princess Candace, how she grows?" he enquired of the High-priest.
32"She is like a flower," answered Bagoas. "She is like a silver lily opening its petals177 to the sun. She grows like a flower that the dew falls upon, and her dreams are like dew."
"A few days ago she was a child, a few days more and she will be a woman. It is time that she were married; but that man whom she marries will be King after that I am dead, and I do not wish to hasten my death."
"She is young to go down into the cave of Ishtar," said Bagoas; "she would tremble when the last torch was extinguished; she would cry aloud when her husband came to her out of that darkness. Have you considered one worthy178 to be her husband, O King?"
"There is no one," answered Merodach. "The children of my wives are all girls, and the sons of my slaves are brawlers; men whose words are wind."
"Have you considered the son of thy cousin, Na'amah? He is sixteen years old, and has the heart of a lion. He is like a young lion in his first strength. I have been the governor of his childhood, and in his heart there is no guile179."
33"We shall consider him," said Merodach. "Beyond are the hills of Eden."
"If we follow the course of the river we shall come to Adam's garden."
It was mid-day in Eden. The great snake hung in the branches of the apple-tree, watching Adam and Eve, with dull, malignant180 eyes half-closed. He had shed his skin which hung from one of the branches, swaying idly in the wind, like a piece of grey ravelled lace; and the great snake coiled about the trunk shone with renewed splendour, like a bronze in which the colours of olive and red are graduated so as to mix and flow into each other through imperceptible shades of difference. The shadow of some domestic quarrel hung over Adam and Eve; he was moved by an ungracious solicitude182 for her comfort, and she received his attentions in offended humility. The snake watched the comedy with narrow eyes; subtilty of enjoyment183 increasing the malign181 persistence184 of his stare.
"I am unhappy," said Eve.
"It is because we have done wrong," said Adam.
"Let us go out into the desert. I do not like this place. The water is not good; the 34air is heavy; it is a morass185; the home of frogs and the abode186 of scorpions187. At night I lie awake, looking through the door of our cabin, and I see the moonlight lying upon the water, and I hear a chorus of frogs; all night I hear the croaking188 of the frogs. It will make me mad."
"Last night you crept into my arms and slept like a child," said Adam. "You did not stir all night; but I lay awake looking at the moonlight and listening to the frogs. They chanted a spell to fill my soul with terror, and the moon also was full of evil. Then the whole earth dissolved like a dream, and the stars vanished as things that slip through water; and I seemed to be falling, falling through an endless sea of moonlight, falling towards the moon, and beyond the moon there was nothing; but I felt you in mine arms, and I did not dare to move, lest you, too, should vanish with the world. This vision was sent to me by God that I might learn how unsubstantial is the world, as if it were but the shadow of His thought, a dream within a dream."
"Do not let us talk of it," said Eve, trembling. "Perhaps if I had not been here you would have fallen into nothing. It was 35because you held me that you did not fall. This place will make me mad. Why are the leaves falling from the trees?"
"I do not know."
"The palm-trees in the desert do not lose their leaves. My heart is sick for the palm-trees in the desert with the little slender moon shining above them, and shining at the bottom of the deep wells. My heart is sick for the song of the nightingales. Why have the tops of the mountains turned white?"
"I do not know," answered Adam; "but once I saw from the desert a range of mountains, and their tops were white. They also had trees; but the leaves of the trees did not fall. These trees must be dead. Some great unhappiness is come upon the world. Last night I was cold."
"The sand of the desert is always warm," said Eve.
"O Eve, I am unhappy," said Adam, after a silence; "I do not know what has come upon the world. Last night when you crept into mine arms I was troubled; never before have I been troubled while you were with me; but last night, when you touched me, I trembled. I was unhappy, and I did not know why I was unhappy; but I feared to 36lose you, Eve. Though I touched you it seemed that you were far away. You were but a child when I first saw you with your mother; and I was twelve years old. It was last moon that we came together again; in the day that the djinns came down from the mountains and slew189 our kinsfolk. I was pasturing the sheep, and as I came back, leading my flock with my pipe, I saw the dying embers and the dead bodies. Then you called to me, and we fled together. Do you remember? That night we slept in the desert. I did not tremble when you touched me. You will never leave me, Eve? We are alone in the world. There are only ourselves, and the angels and the djinns."
"The djinn who came to us yesterday has made us unhappy," said Eve. "He has withered the trees and made the tops of the mountains white."
"He was not a djinn," said Adam; "he was an angel. He smelt190 of roses, his raiment was wonderful, he was clothed in glory."
"What is that noise?" said Eve. "What is that pillar of cloud that goeth up out of the earth?"
And they saw in the distance the army of Merodach, and, being afraid, they fled.
37"It is a pleasant site," said Merodach, as the elephants entered the valley; "the autumnal landscapes have always a certain melancholy191 which charms me."
"The fallen leaves in the valleys are like fallen light," said Mekerah; "that slender birch flamed yellow a moment ago, but, at a touch, went out in a shower of sparks."
"It must be delightfully cool in summer," said the Queen Parysatis.
"The best time is the spring," said the Princess Candace.
"The almond and cherry blossom will be out then," said Mekerah; "these slopes will be all pink and white, with petals drifting in the wind. The hyacinths and daffodils will be out then; and the red flower of Tammuz will fall upon the river."
"I should like to come here in the spring, and go naked, and live in a cabin of boughs like Adam," said the Princess Candace.
Adam could not be found. Merodach ordered that his men should encircle the whole valley, and drive whatever game there was toward him.
"In this way, if he is still here we shall find him; and in any case we shall have some sport."
38Then the servants of Merodach drove all the game that was in Eden past the elephant of the Great King; and Merodach pierced the beasts and the birds with his arrows, and the herds of Adam were scattered in the wilderness192, bleating193 dispersedly, and the hollow caves answered their bleating, while the ewes sought their lambs, and the she-goats the kids of the flock. But Adam, the servants of Merodach could not find. Then the slaves erected194 a pavilion of purple silk, upon which was embroidered the whole story of Ut-Napishtim and the flood; the gods cowering195 like dogs at the fury of Rimmon, while Ishtar cried like a woman in travail196, and the Anunnaki brought lightnings; and the race of man strewn like leaves upon the waters; and the waters like a great host rioting in the fury of battle, white-plumed squadrons of angry and tumultuous waves. Yea, and therein was figured Ut-Napishtim looking from the window of the ark; and the sending forth of the birds, the sending of the dove, the sending of the swallow, and the sending of the raven53, who saw the decrease of the waters, and ate, and waded197, and croaked198, and turned not back. And there was embroidered upon it the bow which 39Ishtar hung in the heavens, and the sacrifice which Ut-Napishtim offered unto the gods upon the mountain, setting Adagur vases seven by seven, strewing199 reeds, cedar-wood, and incense200 before them, so that the gods smelt the goodly savour, and gathered like flies over the sacrifice. The Princess Candace was delighted with the tapestry201, which she had never seen before. Mekerah told her the story, handling the details with rare imagination, while the Princess ate larks202 stuffed with cherries. Then she turned toward Bagoas.
"Priest of Bel," she said, "how long is it since all this trouble came upon the world?"
And Bagoas smiled faintly, his smile expressive203 of many things.
"It happened, little Princess, in the time when the animals spoke with the tongues of men."
But the Princess found this chronology too vague.
"When did the animals speak the language of men?" she enquired.
"It is all a tale, little Princess. The animals never spoke as men do; but once upon a time the speech of men was like that of animals."
40"Then it never happened?" enquired the Princess regretfully.
"No; it never happened," answered Bagoas.
But the King was outraged, for he claimed to be descended from Ut-Napishtim.
"Candace," he said, "the story is quite true. Gilgamesh builded a ship and pitched it within and without, and he took with him Ia-bani, and some chosen comrades, and journeyed over the waters which engirdle the earth, and he crossed the river of death, which flows round these waters without mixing with them, and he landed in the country of the shades. Then he dug a trench204, and cut the throat of a black bull so that the blood flowed into the trench, and the shades flocked to drink of the warm blood; but Gilgamesh drove them from it with his sword until Ut-Napishtim came to drink of it, and had drank his fill. And of all these who came to drink of it only Ut-Napishtim and his wife had life and substance; but all the others were unsubstantial shades. Then Ut-Napishtim told Gilgamesh all the things which had befallen him in this life, and how that the gods had given him and his wife, alone of all human kind, imperishable bodies and immortal42 youth; but he said it was sad to dwell among the shades, whom he could 41not touch with his hands, and to see loved faces, which, whenever the wind blew, lost their remembered contours, and became as wreaths of vapour drifting over the desolate marshes205. And he bade Gilgamesh to make haste and get him into his ship again, for that if night found him there, he would become even as the shades himself, and his bones would rot by the bitter flood. Then Gilgamesh made haste into his ship with his companions, and they lifted the creaking sail, and bent206 to the oars207, and departed over the sea. But Ut-Napishtim stood upon the beach where the waves broke at his feet, and his eyes strained after the vessel208; for he was like an exile there, who sees a ship bound to his own country, and his heart goes with it. So the body of Ut-Napishtim stood upon the beach, but his heart was with the living offspring of his race; for a long time he stood thus, until the ship was a mere39 speck209 on the waters, while tears blinded his eyes; then he sighed and went back into the shadowy ways of that twilit land."
His audience listened to Merodach with astonishment210, his voice was full of emotion. He had hurried through the story, careless of whither it led him, like a man blind with grief, 42who stumbles against all the obstacles in his path. When he had finished there was silence.
"And Gilgamesh," he added after a pause, "wrote all these things in a book, which is preserved in the Temple of Bel at Nippur."
He glanced at Bagoas indignantly as he spoke. Bagoas was eating a dish of leverets stewed211 with rice and prunes212; he looked up from his plate, and wiped his mouth with a fine napkin.
"There is preserved in our Temple at Nippur a book which purports214 to be the work of Gilgamesh," he said. "It is the work of a poet, such a history as Mekerah might invent for you, which it would be ridiculous to consider as a true and serious narrative215 of actual events."
"There is, O Priest, a higher truth and a higher seriousness," he said. "In the epic217 of Gilgamesh is enshrined the religious consciousness of Babylonia. It is sacred. It is not to be touched. It contains those great truths which are not a peculiar feature of any one age, but are true for all time. It was directly inspired by Bel, and shall we set our 43pitiful human wisdom above the wisdom of the divine word?"
Bagoas once again wiped his mouth before he began to speak.
"I deny," he said, "that it has any truth as an historical document. It is valuable, historically, as an instance of the narrow limits of human knowledge in the age which produced it. That is all its value to the historian. Its value to the theologian is different. He finds in it the first concrete expression of man's relation to God, as he understands it. The truth may be veiled in a mist of fable218 and metaphor219, but he feels it to be there. At the same time, he gives it an extended sense, and interprets it in a larger spirit than that in which it was originally interpreted. It means to us at once something more and something less than it did to the ancient world; for religion is not a definite revelation of an eternal truth, but the contemplation of the unknown from the sum of man's experience. It is consequently susceptible220 of infinite development and extension, it reacts to every new discovery of science; and its chief glory is that it is part of man's daily life.
"We, the priests of Bel, recognise our sacred 44books as the starting-point of a living, growing truth; in our hands is the duty of interpreting it, and our interpretation221 is of the nature of a commentary. We are continually rejecting some details as unsound, and developing others to the utmost limits of their power; that is our value and duty as an hierarchy222: to criticise223, to prune213, to graft224. And if we consider the nature of the books, in which are enshrined those great spiritual truths, we see how necessary this work of selection and rejection225 is; for they do not form one inseparable, concrete whole, but each has arisen under the impulse of different circumstances, each had its own separate development and origin before it became joined on to the main body.
"Before philosophy came into being men spoke in fables226, and their minds, not being able to grasp as yet the significance of abstract ideas, dealt exclusively with things and actions. They were curious of the destiny of man after death, and they felt the need for some answer, so they imagined the hero, the Babylonian semi-divinity, Gilgamesh, setting out on a ship fashioned by human hands to bring them back the answer which they needed. For us it was the first voyage of man's mind into the unknown, the first adventure beyond the 45realm of actualities, and as such it demands our reverence227. We do not, however, believe either in Gilgamesh, Ia-bani, or the ship which crossed the river of death. The story is a mere fable, and the actions described in it are only the unconscious vehicles of a half-recognised truth, or rather of the germ of a new spirit. There is only one form of truth, and one form of seriousness."
He drank a little wine.
"Let us walk in the garden," said Merodach.
Merodach, after a moment's consideration, found that the conclusions of Bagoas with reference to the epic of Gilgamesh were reasonable, so he conversed228 with the High-priest amiably229 as they walked by the river. The Princess Candace interrupted the conversation.
"Yesterday was my birthday, and you have given me no present, now let me ask one," she said.
"Ask then," said Merodach, smiling.
"Give me this garden to be my garden, and build me a palace where Adam had his cabin of boughs; a little palace of blue porcelain230, which I may visit in the spring, and in the hot months of the year, and set at all 46the entrances into the valley great winged cherubim, that the wandering tribes may see that it is a royal palace, and fear to enter."
"So be it," said the King; and the Princess went off to inspect the site of the new palace.
"She is discreet153, and charming, wise beyond her years," said Merodach. "We shall consider the son of Na'amah, my cousin, at Nippur. How is he called?"
"His name is Adamaharon," answered Bagoas, smiling; "and he is even now on his way to visit me at Uruk, where he has never been. He may turn aside to hunt. It is his ambition at present to kill a lion, for which he has a permit from the King's huntsman."
"He shall hunt with me," said the King; "but the Princess is still a little young for marriage."
She, unconscious of her fate, drew close to the cabin of Adam. That part of the valley had been deserted231 by the King's servants, and she was alone. She saw the glitter of a spear which lay in the doorway232, and then the eyes of a young man watching her.
"I came for an apple," she said, turning toward the tree in the branches of which the great snake hung; "but Adam must have eaten them all."
47"There is one at the top of the tree," said the boy. "Look! right at the top."
"It is too high. Perhaps you could knock it down with your spear?"
"Do not go any higher," cried the Princess; "the branch will break, and you will be killed."
But he laughed at her, and climbing higher seized the apple, then the branch did break. She screamed a little.
He laughed.
"I have done wonderful things to-day," he said. "At dawn I killed a lion; and at eve I got an apple for a Princess."
"But are you not one of the court-pages? I thought you were. Who are you to kill lions, which are preserved for the King?"
"I am Adamaharon, the son of Na'amah, the cousin of the King."
She offered him the apple, and he bit a large piece out of it.
"Come and look at the lion's skin," he said, and led her into Adam's cabin. She felt a 48curious pleasure in being with him, and listened with delight to the story of how he killed the lion. But they did not talk much, they seemed to understand each other so well that they had nothing to say; and at last they kissed each other.
It was at that precise moment, when their souls seemed to meet with their lips that Merodach entered. For a moment he paused, anger falling about him like darkness in which all things writhed236, confused. Then he drew his sword. The Princess Candace fell before him and embraced his knees; he was lifting the sword to strike her when Bagoas seized his arm.
"It is the son of Na'amah," he said quickly.
The King paused, and then lowered his sword slowly. He stared at the young man in silence, and the young man met his gaze quietly. Then the King let his eyes wander over the other's form, and he saw that the young man was well-thewed, spare, and muscular, with a beauty to make him desired of the maidens237; and his heart softened toward his cousin's son.
"You are Adamaharon," he said slowly, as he sheathed238 his sword. "I had intended to send for you to come unto Uruk, that I 49might wed9 you to my daughter. This is the will of the gods, and it is mine, also."
The young man came to him, and bowed down before, touching his feet; and Merodach let his hand rest upon the bowed head, caressing239 the thick curls.
"A young lion of our race," said Merodach exultingly240; "look at the yellow mane rippling241 over the firm neck. A child of my cousin Na'amah. A child of the race of the gods."
And he embraced Adamaharon kindly, and he raised up Candace and kissed her fondly, bidding her go to her mother, and tell her how she had found a husband in the cabin of Adam. And Candace left them; and as she went she wept, for her fear had given place to joy. Then Adamaharon rose up, and stood before the King.
"I have done wonderful things to-day," he said proudly. "At dawn I slew a lion; and at eve I kissed the desire of my heart. My mouth is filled with honey."
"It is the will of the gods," said Merodach.
Then he began to lead the son of Na'amah toward the river where the Queen Parysatis was listening to her daughter's tale; but Bagoas paused before the apple-tree and looked into the eyes of the great serpent.
50"It is the will of the gods," he said, with his ironical242 smile. "I am but their minister, the mere instrument of their designs; so what part shall I claim in this adventure?"
"The boy is like a son to me," said Bagoas. "He was born to be fortunate."
And then he followed them toward the river, leaving the wise snake wreathed in the branches of the fruitless tree.
On the journey back to Uruk the three royal elephants walked abreast244. Adamaharon rode with Merodach, Bagoas with the Princess Candace, and the Queen Parysatis with her attendant poet. And Adamaharon made delicate songs for his beloved.
"The old look upon the stars," he sang; "but I look into the eyes of my beloved. What stars are like her eyes? What wisdom can compare with the wisdom of love?"
"He is a true poet," said Parysatis to Mekerah. "What spirit, what fire!"
"I have said the same thing an hundred times," said Mekerah crossly.
"The kisses of her mouth are sweeter than honey," sang Adamaharon; "more fragrant246 51than apples. She has filled me with the joy of morning, and gladdened my soul as with wine."
Bagoas leaned toward the Queen's elephant.
"Adam said of love that----"
But the Queen put a finger on her lips.
"I do not believe that Adam ever existed," she said.
Bagoas, looking at Candace, smiled.
But many years afterwards a woman sitting by the door of a hut in the desert, watching the quiet stars quicken as the day died, drew two young boys toward her, and told them the story of the garden. Her face was tranquil121, like the face of one who has grief for a companion; and the boys were clothed in goat-skins.
"And," she said, looking into the embers of the fire, "the man counselled me to eat, saying, if ye eat of the fruit ye shall know."
Adam suddenly appeared in the firelight. He had heard the last words.
"It was the serpent," he said suspiciously. "You always told me it was the serpent."
And Eve answered quickly, drawing her children closer to her.
"Yea, it was the serpent! I forgot. It was the serpent!"
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1
sate
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| v.使充分满足 | |
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clemency
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| n.温和，仁慈，宽厚 | |
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crumbs
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| int. (表示惊讶)哎呀 n. 碎屑 名词crumb的复数形式 | |
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prostrate
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| v.拜倒，平卧，衰竭；adj.拜倒的，平卧的，衰竭的 | |
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sarcastic
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| adj.讥讽的，讽刺的，嘲弄的 | |
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afflicted
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| 使受痛苦，折磨( afflict的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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smote
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| v.猛打，重击，打击( smite的过去式 ) | |
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spoke
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| 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 | |
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wed
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| v.娶，嫁，与…结婚 | |
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glazed
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| adj.光滑的，像玻璃的；上过釉的；呆滞无神的v.装玻璃( glaze的过去式)；上釉于，上光；（目光）变得呆滞无神 | |
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lust
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| n.性(淫)欲；渴(欲)望；vi.对…有强烈的欲望 | |
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illuminated
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| adj.被照明的；受启迪的 | |
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barges
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| 驳船( barge的名词复数 ) | |
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looming
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| n.上现蜃景（光通过低层大气发生异常折射形成的一种海市蜃楼）v.隐约出现，阴森地逼近( loom的现在分词 )；隐约出现，阴森地逼近 | |
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loom
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| n.织布机，织机；v.隐现，(危险、忧虑等)迫近 | |
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tenantless
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| adj.无人租赁的，无人居住的 | |
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laden
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| adj.装满了的；充满了的；负了重担的；苦恼的 | |
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scents
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| n.香水( scent的名词复数 )；气味；（动物的）臭迹；（尤指狗的）嗅觉 | |
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enacted
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| 制定（法律），通过（法案）( enact的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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luminous
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| adj.发光的，发亮的；光明的；明白易懂的；有启发的 | |
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rim
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| n.(圆物的)边，轮缘；边界 | |
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glimmering
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| n.微光，隐约的一瞥adj.薄弱地发光的v.发闪光，发微光( glimmer的现在分词 ) | |
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homage
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| n.尊敬，敬意，崇敬 | |
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touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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doctrine
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| n.教义；主义；学说 | |
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constellations
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| n.星座( constellation的名词复数 )；一群杰出人物；一系列（相关的想法、事物）；一群（相关的人） | |
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populous
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| adj.人口稠密的，人口众多的 | |
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weaver
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| n.织布工；编织者 | |
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textures
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| n.手感( texture的名词复数 )；质感；口感；（音乐或文学的）谐和统一感 | |
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32
herds
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| 兽群( herd的名词复数 )； 牧群； 人群； 群众 | |
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33
incitement
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| 激励； 刺激； 煽动； 激励物 | |
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34
goad
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| n.刺棒，刺痛物；激励；vt.激励，刺激 | |
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35
incessantly
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| ad.不停地 | |
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36
impels
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| v.推动、推进或敦促某人做某事( impel的第三人称单数 ) | |
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37
beget
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| v.引起；产生 | |
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38
haven
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| n.安全的地方，避难所，庇护所 | |
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39
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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40
virtue
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| n.德行，美德；贞操；优点；功效，效力 | |
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41
brazen
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| adj.厚脸皮的，无耻的，坚硬的 | |
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42
immortal
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| adj.不朽的；永生的，不死的；神的 | |
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43
immortality
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| n.不死，不朽 | |
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44
alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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45
aspirations
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| 强烈的愿望( aspiration的名词复数 )； 志向； 发送气音； 发 h 音 | |
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46
devoid
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| adj.全无的，缺乏的 | |
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47
frailties
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| n.脆弱( frailty的名词复数 )；虚弱；（性格或行为上的）弱点；缺点 | |
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48
predilections
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| n.偏爱，偏好，嗜好( predilection的名词复数 ) | |
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49
obtusely
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| adv.钝地，圆头地 | |
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50
remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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51
pulsation
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| n.脉搏，悸动，脉动；搏动性 | |
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52
frailest
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| 脆弱的( frail的最高级 )； 易损的； 易碎的 | |
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53
raven
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| n.渡鸟，乌鸦；adj.乌亮的 | |
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54
lapse
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| n.过失，流逝，失效，抛弃信仰，间隔；vi.堕落，停止，失效，流逝；vt.使失效 | |
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55
boughs
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| 大树枝( bough的名词复数 ) | |
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56
enquired
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| 打听( enquire的过去式和过去分词 )； 询问； 问问题； 查问 | |
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57
outlast
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| v.较…耐久 | |
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58
linen
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| n.亚麻布，亚麻线，亚麻制品；adj.亚麻布制的，亚麻的 | |
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59
providence
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| n.深谋远虑，天道，天意；远见；节约；上帝 | |
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60
peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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61
derived
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| vi.起源；由来；衍生；导出v.得到( derive的过去式和过去分词 )；（从…中）得到获得；源于；（从…中）提取 | |
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62
elusive
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| adj.难以表达(捉摸)的；令人困惑的；逃避的 | |
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63
purely
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| adv.纯粹地，完全地 | |
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64
unreasonable
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| adj.不讲道理的，不合情理的，过度的 | |
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65
enticed
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| 诱惑，怂恿( entice的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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66
falcon
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| n.隼，猎鹰 | |
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67
preoccupied
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| adj.全神贯注的，入神的；被抢先占有的；心事重重的v.占据（某人）思想，使对…全神贯注，使专心于( preoccupy的过去式) | |
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68
civilisation
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| n.文明，文化，开化，教化 | |
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69
receded
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| v.逐渐远离( recede的过去式和过去分词 )；向后倾斜；自原处后退或避开别人的注视；尤指问题 | |
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70
recede
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| vi.退(去)，渐渐远去；向后倾斜，缩进 | |
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71
attain
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| vt.达到，获得，完成 | |
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72
marshy
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| adj.沼泽的 | |
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73
devoured
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| 吞没( devour的过去式和过去分词 )； 耗尽； 津津有味地看； 狼吞虎咽地吃光 | |
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74
withered
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| adj. 枯萎的，干瘪的，（人身体的部分器官）因病萎缩的或未发育良好的 动词wither的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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75
choir
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| n.唱诗班，唱诗班的席位，合唱团，舞蹈团；v.合唱 | |
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76
infinity
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| n.无限，无穷，大量 | |
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77
murmurous
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| adj.低声的 | |
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78
miser
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| n.守财奴，吝啬鬼 (adj.miserly) | |
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79
misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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80
destined
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| adj.命中注定的；(for)以…为目的地的 | |
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81
pangs
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| 突然的剧痛( pang的名词复数 )； 悲痛 | |
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82
anguish
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| n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦，烦恼 | |
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83
lame
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| adj.跛的，(辩解、论据等)无说服力的 | |
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84
flickering
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| adj.闪烁的，摇曳的，一闪一闪的 | |
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85
aloofness
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| 超然态度 | |
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86
smitten
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| 猛打，重击，打击( smite的过去分词 ) | |
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87
corruption
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| n.腐败，堕落，贪污 | |
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88
clamorous
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| adj.吵闹的，喧哗的 | |
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89
delightfully
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| 大喜，欣然 | |
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90
immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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91
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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92
progeny
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| n.后代，子孙；结果 | |
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93
desolate
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|
| adj.荒凉的，荒芜的；孤独的，凄凉的；v.使荒芜，使孤寂 | |
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94
tarnished
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| （通常指金属）（使）失去光泽，（使）变灰暗( tarnish的过去式和过去分词 )； 玷污，败坏 | |
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95
furrow
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| n.沟；垄沟；轨迹；车辙；皱纹 | |
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96
congregated
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| （使）集合，聚集( congregate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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97
descend
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| vt./vi.传下来，下来，下降 | |
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98
tawny
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| adj.茶色的，黄褐色的；n.黄褐色 | |
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99
tints
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| 色彩( tint的名词复数 )； 带白的颜色； （淡色）染发剂； 痕迹 | |
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100
cedars
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| 雪松，西洋杉( cedar的名词复数 ) | |
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101
tinkling
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| n.丁当作响声 | |
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102
cataracts
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| n.大瀑布( cataract的名词复数 )；白内障 | |
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103
profaning
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| v.不敬( profane的现在分词 )；亵渎，玷污 | |
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104
qualified
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| adj.合格的，有资格的，胜任的，有限制的 | |
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105
stature
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| n.（高度）水平，（高度）境界，身高，身材 | |
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106
graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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107
rapacious
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| adj.贪婪的，强夺的 | |
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108
softened
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| （使）变软( soften的过去式和过去分词 )； 缓解打击； 缓和； 安慰 | |
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109
sullen
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| adj.愠怒的，闷闷不乐的，(天气等)阴沉的 | |
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110
nomad
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| n.游牧部落的人，流浪者，游牧民 | |
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111
nomadic
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| adj.流浪的；游牧的 | |
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112
scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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113
terse
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| adj.(说话，文笔)精炼的，简明的 | |
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114
modulation
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| n.调制 | |
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115
dwellers
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| n.居民，居住者( dweller的名词复数 ) | |
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116
simplicity
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| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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117
implicit
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| a.暗示的，含蓄的，不明晰的，绝对的 | |
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118
motives
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| n.动机，目的( motive的名词复数 ) | |
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119
temperaments
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| 性格( temperament的名词复数 )； （人或动物的）气质； 易冲动； （性情）暴躁 | |
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120
tranquilly
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| adv. 宁静地 | |
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121
tranquil
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| adj. 安静的, 宁静的, 稳定的, 不变的 | |
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122
proprietor
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| n.所有人；业主；经营者 | |
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123
curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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124
dedicated
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| adj.一心一意的；献身的；热诚的 | |
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125
covetously
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| adv.妄想地，贪心地 | |
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126
intensity
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| n.强烈，剧烈；强度；烈度 | |
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127
enchantment
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| n.迷惑，妖术，魅力 | |
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128
intelligible
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| adj.可理解的，明白易懂的，清楚的 | |
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129
blithe
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| adj.快乐的，无忧无虑的 | |
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130
wholesome
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| adj.适合；卫生的；有益健康的；显示身心健康的 | |
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131
paradox
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| n.似乎矛盾却正确的说法；自相矛盾的人(物) | |
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132
kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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133
hospitable
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| adj.好客的；宽容的；有利的，适宜的 | |
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134
laboriously
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| adv.艰苦地；费力地；辛勤地；（文体等）佶屈聱牙地 | |
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135
humility
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| n.谦逊，谦恭 | |
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136
virtuously
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| 合乎道德地，善良地 | |
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137
temperate
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| adj.温和的，温带的，自我克制的，不过分的 | |
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138
vexed
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| adj.争论不休的；（指问题等）棘手的；争论不休的问题；烦恼的v.使烦恼( vex的过去式和过去分词 )；使苦恼；使生气；详细讨论 | |
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139
wrought
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| v.引起；以…原料制作；运转；adj.制造的 | |
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140
barbarians
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| n.野蛮人( barbarian的名词复数 )；外国人；粗野的人；无教养的人 | |
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141
ordain
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| vi.颁发命令；vt.命令，授以圣职，注定，任命 | |
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142
obstinate
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| adj.顽固的，倔强的，不易屈服的，较难治愈的 | |
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143
outraged
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| a.震惊的，义愤填膺的 | |
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144
leavening
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| n.酵母，发酵，发酵物v.使（面团）发酵( leaven的现在分词 )；在…中掺入改变的因素 | |
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145
asymmetrical
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| adj.不均匀的，不对称的 | |
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146
eternity
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| n.不朽，来世；永恒，无穷 | |
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147
meditation
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| n.熟虑，（尤指宗教的）默想，沉思，（pl.）冥想录 | |
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148
prophesied
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| v.预告，预言( prophesy的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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149
taboo
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| n.禁忌，禁止接近，禁止使用；adj.禁忌的；v.禁忌，禁制，禁止 | |
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150
nomads
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| n.游牧部落的一员( nomad的名词复数 )；流浪者；游牧生活；流浪生活 | |
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151
exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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152
discreetly
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| ad.(言行)审慎地，慎重地 | |
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153
discreet
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| adj.(言行)谨慎的；慎重的；有判断力的 | |
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154
humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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155
sincerity
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| n.真诚，诚意；真实 | |
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156
fetters
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| n.脚镣( fetter的名词复数 )；束缚v.给…上脚镣，束缚( fetter的第三人称单数 ) | |
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157
grove
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| n.林子，小树林，园林 | |
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158
mule
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| n.骡子，杂种，执拗的人 | |
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159
tusks
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| n.（象等动物的）长牙( tusk的名词复数 )；獠牙；尖形物；尖头 | |
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160
approbation
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| n.称赞；认可 | |
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161
exalt
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| v.赞扬，歌颂，晋升，提升 | |
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162
adamant
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| adj.坚硬的，固执的 | |
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163
blasphemous
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| adj.亵渎神明的，不敬神的 | |
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164
embroidered
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| adj．绣花的 | |
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165
canopy
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| n.天篷，遮篷 | |
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166
juggle
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| v.变戏法，纂改，欺骗，同时做；n.玩杂耍，纂改，花招 | |
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167
juggler
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| n. 变戏法者, 行骗者 | |
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168
juggled
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| v.歪曲( juggle的过去式和过去分词 )；耍弄；有效地组织；尽力同时应付（两个或两个以上的重要工作或活动） | |
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169
neatly
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| adv.整洁地，干净地，灵巧地，熟练地 | |
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170
dwarf
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| n.矮子，侏儒，矮小的动植物；vt.使…矮小 | |
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171
shrilled
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| （声音）尖锐的，刺耳的，高频率的( shrill的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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172
jugglery
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| n.杂耍，把戏 | |
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173
supreme
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| adj.极度的，最重要的；至高的，最高的 | |
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174
slippers
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| n. 拖鞋 | |
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175
juggles
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| v.歪曲( juggle的第三人称单数 )；耍弄；有效地组织；尽力同时应付（两个或两个以上的重要工作或活动） | |
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176
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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177
petals
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| n.花瓣( petal的名词复数 ) | |
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178
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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179
guile
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| n.诈术 | |
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180
malignant
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| adj.恶性的，致命的；恶意的，恶毒的 | |
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181
malign
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| adj.有害的；恶性的；恶意的；v.诽谤，诬蔑 | |
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182
solicitude
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| n.焦虑 | |
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183
enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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184
persistence
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| n.坚持，持续，存留 | |
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185
morass
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| n.沼泽，困境 | |
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186
abode
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| n.住处，住所 | |
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187
scorpions
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| n.蝎子( scorpion的名词复数 ) | |
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188
croaking
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| v.呱呱地叫( croak的现在分词 )；用粗的声音说 | |
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189
slew
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| v.（使）旋转；n.大量，许多 | |
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190
smelt
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| v.熔解，熔炼；n.银白鱼，胡瓜鱼 | |
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191
melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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192
wilderness
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| n.杳无人烟的一片陆地、水等，荒漠 | |
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193
bleating
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| v.（羊，小牛）叫( bleat的现在分词 )；哭诉；发出羊叫似的声音；轻声诉说 | |
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194
ERECTED
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| adj. 直立的，竖立的，笔直的 vt. 使 ... 直立，建立 | |
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195
cowering
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| v.畏缩，抖缩( cower的现在分词 ) | |
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196
travail
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| n.阵痛；努力 | |
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197
waded
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| （从水、泥等）蹚，走过，跋( wade的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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198
croaked
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| v.呱呱地叫( croak的过去式和过去分词 )；用粗的声音说 | |
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199
strewing
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| v.撒在…上( strew的现在分词 )；散落于；点缀；撒满 | |
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200
incense
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| v.激怒；n.香，焚香时的烟，香气 | |
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201
tapestry
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| n.挂毯，丰富多采的画面 | |
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202
larks
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| n.百灵科鸟（尤指云雀）( lark的名词复数 )；一大早就起床；鸡鸣即起；（因太费力而不想干时说）算了v.百灵科鸟（尤指云雀）( lark的第三人称单数 )；一大早就起床；鸡鸣即起；（因太费力而不想干时说）算了 | |
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203
expressive
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| adj.表现的，表达…的，富于表情的 | |
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204
trench
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| n./v.(挖)沟，(挖)战壕 | |
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205
marshes
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| n.沼泽，湿地( marsh的名词复数 ) | |
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206
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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207
oars
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| n.桨，橹( oar的名词复数 )；划手v.划（行）( oar的第三人称单数 ) | |
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208
vessel
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| n.船舶；容器，器皿；管，导管，血管 | |
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209
speck
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| n.微粒，小污点，小斑点 | |
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210
astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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211
stewed
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| adj.焦虑不安的，烂醉的v.炖( stew的过去式和过去分词 )；煨；思考；担忧 | |
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212
prunes
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| n.西梅脯，西梅干( prune的名词复数 )v.修剪（树木等）( prune的第三人称单数 )；精简某事物，除去某事物多余的部分 | |
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213
prune
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| n.酶干；vt.修剪，砍掉，削减；vi.删除 | |
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214
purports
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| v.声称是…，（装得）像是…的样子( purport的第三人称单数 ) | |
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215
narrative
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| n.叙述，故事；adj.叙事的，故事体的 | |
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216
malicious
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| adj.有恶意的，心怀恶意的 | |
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217
epic
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| n.史诗，叙事诗；adj.史诗般的，壮丽的 | |
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218
fable
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| n.寓言；童话；神话 | |
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219
metaphor
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| n.隐喻，暗喻 | |
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220
susceptible
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| adj.过敏的，敏感的；易动感情的，易受感动的 | |
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221
interpretation
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| n.解释，说明，描述；艺术处理 | |
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222
hierarchy
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| n.等级制度；统治集团，领导层 | |
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223
criticise
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| v.批评，评论；非难 | |
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224
graft
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| n.移植，嫁接，艰苦工作，贪污；v.移植，嫁接 | |
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225
rejection
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| n.拒绝，被拒，抛弃，被弃 | |
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226
fables
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| n.寓言( fable的名词复数 )；神话，传说 | |
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227
reverence
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| n.敬畏，尊敬，尊严；Reverence:对某些基督教神职人员的尊称；v.尊敬，敬畏，崇敬 | |
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228
conversed
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| v.交谈，谈话( converse的过去式 ) | |
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229
amiably
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| adv.和蔼可亲地，亲切地 | |
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230
porcelain
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| n.瓷；adj.瓷的，瓷制的 | |
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231
deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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232
doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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233
bruise
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| n.青肿，挫伤；伤痕；vt.打青；挫伤 | |
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234
warily
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| adv.留心地 | |
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235
bruised
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| [医]青肿的，瘀紫的 | |
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236
writhed
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| （因极度痛苦而）扭动或翻滚( writhe的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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237
maidens
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| 处女( maiden的名词复数 )； 少女； 未婚女子； （板球运动）未得分的一轮投球 | |
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238
sheathed
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| adj.雕塑像下半身包在鞘中的；覆盖的；铠装的；装鞘了的v.将（刀、剑等）插入鞘( sheathe的过去式和过去分词 )；包，覆盖 | |
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239
caressing
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| 爱抚的，表现爱情的，亲切的 | |
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240
exultingly
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| 兴高采烈地，得意地 | |
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241
rippling
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| 起涟漪的，潺潺流水般声音的 | |
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242
ironical
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| adj.讽刺的，冷嘲的 | |
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243
fixedly
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| adv.固定地；不屈地，坚定不移地 | |
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244
abreast
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| adv.并排地；跟上(时代)的步伐，与…并进地 | |
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245
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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246
fragrant
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| adj.芬香的，馥郁的，愉快的 | |
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