"And why the mistress of the feast, Glauro?" asked La Foscarina, smiling in graceful7 surprise. "I, like you, have not given joy, but have received it. Donatella and the Master of the Flame: they alone merit the crown; and to them alone the glory must be given."
"But, a short time ago, in the Hall of the Greater Council," said the mystic doctor, "your silent presence beside the celestial8 sphere was not less eloquent9 than the words of Stelio, nor less musical than the song of Ariadne. Once again you have divinely carved your own statue in silence, and it will live in our memories blended with the music and the words."
Stelio shuddered11 as he recalled to mind the ephemeral flexible monster from the side of which had emerged the Tragic12 Muse13 above the sphere of constellations14.
"That is true, very true," said Francesco de Lizo. "I, too, had the same thought. As we looked at you, we all realized that you were the soul of that ideal world which each of us forms for himself, according to his own aspirations15 and thoughts when listening to the mystic word, the song, the symphony."
"And each of us," said Fabio Molza, "felt that in your presence, dominating the throng17, before the poet, dwelt a great and rare significance."
"One might almost have said that you alone were about to assist at the mysterious birth of a new idea," said Antimo della Bella. "Everything around us seemed awakening19 itself to produce it—that idea which must soon be revealed to us, as a reward for the profound faith with which we have awaited it."
The Animator, with another trembling of the heart, felt the work that he cherished within him leap once more, formless yet, but already living; and his whole soul, as if impelled20 by a lyric21 breath, suddenly felt drawn22 toward the fertile and enlightening power that emanated23 from the Dionysian woman to whom these fervent24 spirits addressed their praise.
Suddenly she had become very beautiful: a nocturnal creature, fashioned by dreams and passion on a golden anvil25, living embodiment of immortal26 fate and eternal enigmas27. She might remain motionless and silent, but her famous accents and her memorable28 gestures seemed to live around her, vibrating indefinitely, as melodies seem to hover29 over the cords accustomed to sound them, as rhymes seem to breathe from the poet's closed book, wherein love and sorrow seek comfort and intoxication30. The heroic fidelity31 of Antigone, the oracular fury of Cassandra, the devouring32 fever of Ph?dre, the cruelty of Medea, the sacrifice of Iphigenia, Myrrha before her father, Polyxenes and Alceste before the face of death, Cleopatra, fitful as the wind and the fires of the world, Lady Macbeth, the dreamy murderess with the little hands; and those great, fair lilies empearled with dew and tears—Imogen, Juliet, Miranda, Rosalind, Jessica, and Perdita—the tenderest, most terrible, and most magnificent souls dwelt within her, inhabited her body, shone from her eyes, breathed through her lips, which knew both honey and poison, the jeweled chalice and the cup of wormwood. Thus, through unlimited33 space, and endless, the outlines of human life and substance appeared to perpetuate34 themselves; and from the simple movement of a muscle, a sign, a start, a quiver of the eyelids35, a slight change of color, an almost imperceptible inclination36 of the head, a fugitive37 play of light and shade, a lightning-like virtue38 of expression radiating from that frail39 and slender body, infinite worlds of imperishable beauty were continually generated.
The genii of the places consecrated41 by poetry hovered42 around her, and encircled her with changing visions: the dusty plain of Thebes, the arid43 Argolide, the parched44 myrtles of Trezene, the sacred olives of Colonus, the triumphant45 Cydnus, the pale country of Dunsinane, Prospero's cavern46, the Forest of Arden, land dampened with blood, toiled47 upon with pain, transfigured by a dream or illumined by an inextinguishable smile, seemed to appear, to recede48, then to vanish behind her head. And a vision of countries still more remote—regions of mists, northern lands, and, far across the ocean, the immense continent where she had appeared like an unknown force amid astonished multitudes, bearer of the mystic word and the flame of genius—vanished behind her head: the throngs49, the mountains, rivers and gulfs, the impure51 cities, the ancient, enfeebled, savage52 race, the strong people aspiring53 to dominate the world, the new nation that wrests54 from Nature her most secret energies to make them serve an all-powerful work in erecting56 edifices57 of iron and of crystal; the bastard59 colonies that ferment60 and grow corrupt61 on virgin62 soil; all the barbarous crowds she had visited as the messenger of Latin genius; all the ignorant masses to whom she had spoken the sublime64 language of Dante; all the human herds65 from which had mounted toward her, on a wave of confused anxieties and desires, the aspiration16 to Beauty.
She stood there, a creature of perishable40 flesh, subject to the sad laws of time, but an illimitable mass of reality and poetry weighed upon her, surged around her, palpitated with the rhythm of her breath. And not upon the stage alone had she uttered her cries and suppressed her sobs66: this had entered into her daily life. She had loved, fought and suffered violently, in her soul and in her body. What loves? What combats? What pangs67? From what abysses of melancholy68 had she drawn the exaltations of her tragic force? At what springs of bitterness had she watered her free genius? She had certainly witnessed the crudest misery69, the darkest ruin; she had known heroic effort, pity, horror, and the threshold of death. All her thirst had burned in the delirium70 of Ph?dre, and in the submissiveness of Imogen had trembled all her tenderness. Thus Life and Art, the irrevocable Past and the eternal Present, had made her profound, many-souled, and mysterious, had magnified her ambiguous destiny beyond human limits, and rendered her equal to great temples and natural forests.
Nevertheless, she stood there, a living, breathing woman, under the gaze of the poets, each of whom saw her, and yet in her many others.
"Ah! I will embrace you as in some mad revelry; I will clasp you, shake you; from your ripe experience, I will draw all the divine and abnormal secrets that weigh upon you—the things you have already done, and those on which you still meditate72 in the mysterious depths of your soul," sang the lyric demon73 in the ear of the poet, who recognized in the mystery of this woman the surviving power of primitive74 myth, the renewed initiation75 of the god that had concentrated in one single ferment all the energies of Nature, and, by a variety of rhythms, had raised, in an enthusiastic worship of himself, the senses and the spirit of man to the highest summits of joy and of pain.
"I have done well, I have done wisely, to wait!" said Stelio to himself. "The passing of years, the tumult77 of dreams, the agitation78 of struggle and the swiftness of triumph, the experience of many loves, the enchantment79 of poets, the acclamations of the people; the marvels80 of earth, the patience and the fury, the steps in the mud, the blind flight, all evil, all good, that which I know and do not know, that which you know, as well as that which you are ignorant of—all this had to be to prepare the fulness of this night, which belongs to me!"
He felt himself suffocate81 and turn pale. A wild impulse seized him by the throat, and would not relax its hold. His heart swelled83 with the same keen emotion that had possessed84 both in the twilight85, as they floated over the water.
And, as the exaggerated radiance of the city and the event had suddenly disappeared, the glory of this woman of the night reappeared to his mind still more closely blended with the city of the wonderful necklaces and the thousand emerald girdles. In the city and in the woman, the poet now saw a power of expression that he never had seen before: each glowed in the Autumn night; the same feverish86 fire that coursed through the canals ran also in her veins87.
The stars sparkled, the trees waved their branches behind Perdita's head, back of which were the shadows of a garden. Through the open balconies the sweet air of heaven entered the room; shook the flames of the candelabra and the chalices88 of flowers; swept through the doorways89, making the draperies wave to and fro, animating91 that old house of the Capello, wherein the last great daughter of San Marco whom the people had covered with gold and glory had gathered relics92 of republican magnificence. Galleon93 lamps, Turkish targets, bronze helmets, leathern quivers, and velvet94 scabbards ornamented95 the apartments inhabited by the last descendant of that marvelous Cesare Darbes who maintained the Art of Comedy against the Goldonian reform, and changed the agony of the Most Serene96 Republic into a burst of laughter.
"I only ask that I may be the humble97 servitor of that idea," was La Foscarina's reply to Antimo della Bella's words. Her voice trembled a little, her eyes had met Stelio's gaze.
"You alone could make it triumphant," said Francesco de Lizo. "The soul of the people is yours forever."
"The drama can only be a rite98 or a message," declared Glauro sententiously. "Acting99 should again become as solemn as a religious ceremony, since it embraces the two constituent100 elements of all worship: the living person, in whom, on the stage as before an altar, the word of the revealer is made incarnate101, before a multitude as silent as if in a temple"—
"Bayreuth!" interrupted Prince Hoditz.
"No; the Janiculum!" exclaimed Stelio, suddenly breaking his silence of blissful dizziness. "A Roman hill. We do not need the wood and brick of Upper Franconia; we will have a marble theater on a Roman hill."
"Do you not admire the work of Richard Wagner?" Donatella Arvale inquired, with a slight frown that for a moment made her Hermes-like face look almost hard.
Stelio looked deep into her eyes; he felt that there was something obscurely hostile in the young girl's manner, and also that he himself experienced against her an indistinct suggestion of enmity. At this moment he again saw her living her own isolated104 life, fixed105 in some deep, secret thought, strange and inviolable.
"The work of Richard Wagner," he replied, "is founded in the German spirit, and its essence is purely106 northern. His reform is not without analogy with that attempted by Luther; his drama is the supreme107 flower of the genius of a race, the extraordinarily108 powerful summary of the aspirations that have stirred the souls of the symphonists and national poets, from Bach to Beethoven, from Wieland to Goethe. If you could imagine his work on the Mediterranean109 shores, amid our pale olive-trees, our slender laurels110, under the glorious light of the Latin sky, you would see it grow pale and dissolve. Since, according to his own words, it is given to the artist to behold111 a world as yet unformed resplendent in its future perfection, and to enjoy it prophetically through desire and through hope, I announce to you the coming of a new, or rather a renewed, art which, by the strong, sincere simplicity112 of its lines, by its vigorous grace, by its ardor113 of inspiration, by the pure power of its harmonies, will continue and crown the immense ideal edifice58 of our elect race. I glory in being Latin, and—will you pardon me, most exquisite Lady Myrta, and you, my delicate Hoditz?—in every man of different blood I see a barbarian114."
"But Wagner, too," said, Baldassare Stampa, who, having just returned from Bayreuth, was still full of ecstasy115, "when he first unwound the thread of his theories, departed from the Greeks."
"It was an uneven116 and a tangled117 thread," the poet replied. "Nothing is further from the Orestiades than the tetralogy of the Ring. The Florentines of the Casa Bardi have penetrated118 much deeper into the true meaning of Greek tragedy. All honor to the Camerata of the Conte di Vernio!"
"I have always thought that the Camerata was only an idle reunion of scholars and rhetoricians," said Baldassare Stampa.
"Did you hear that, Daniele?" exclaimed Stelio, addressing the mystic doctor. "When was there in the world a more fervid119 intelligence? They sought the spirit of life in Grecian antiquity120; they tried to develop harmoniously121 all human energies, to manifest man in his integrity by every method of art. Giulio Caccini taught that that, which contributed to the excellence122 of the musician is not only the study of particular things, but of everything in general; the tawny123 hair of Jacopo Peri and of Zazzerino flamed in their song like that of Apollo. In the discourse124 that serves as a preface to the Rappresentazione di Anima et di Corpo, Emilio del Cavaliere presents the same ideas on the organization of the new theater that have since been realized at Bayreuth, comprising the rules of perfect silence, an invisible orchestra, and appropriate darkness. Marco da Gagliano, in celebrating a festal performance, eulogizes all the arts that contributed to it 'in such a way that through the intellect all the noblest sentiments are flattered at the same time by the most delightful125 art that the human mind has discovered.' That is sufficient, I think."
"Bermino," resumed Francesco de Lizo, "presented an opera in Rome, for which he himself built the theater, painted the decorations, carved the ornamental126 statues, invented the machinery127, wrote the words, composed the music, arranged the dances, rehearsed the actors, and in which he, too, danced, sang, and acted."
"Enough! Enough!" cried Prince Hoditz, laughing. "The barbarian is vanquished128."
"No, that is not yet enough," said Antimo della Bella; "it remains129 to us to glorify130 the greatest of all these innovators; him that was consecrated a Venetian by his passion and death, him whose tomb is in the Church of the Frari, and is worthy131 of a pilgrimage—the divine Claudio Monteverde."
"He accomplished133 his work in the tempest, loving, suffering, struggling, alone with his faith, his passion, and his genius," said La Foscarina slowly, as if absorbed in a vision of that sad and courageous134 life that had nourished the creations of its art with its warmest blood. "Tell us about him, Effrena."
Stelio thrilled as if she had suddenly touched him. Again her expressive135 mouth called up an ideal figure, which rose as if from a sepulcher136 before the eyes of the poets, with the color and the breath of life. The ancient viola-player, bereaved137, ardent138, and sorrowful, like the Orpheus of his own fable139, seemed to appear before them.
It was a fiery140 apparition141, more fervid and dazzling than that which had glowed in the harbor of San Marco; a flaming force of life, expelled from the deepest recesses142 of Nature toward the expectant multitude; a vehement143 zone of light, flashing out from an interior sky to illumine the most secret depths of human will and desire; an unheard word emerging from original silence to say that which is eternal and eternally ineffable144 in the heart of the world.
"Who could speak of him, even if he himself should speak to us?" said the Inspirer, agitated145, unable to conceal146 the wave of emotion surging in his soul like the troubled waters of a stormy sea.
He looked at the singer, and beheld147 her as she had appeared during the pauses, when she stood amid the forest of instruments, white and inanimate as a statue.
But the spirit of Beauty they had called up was to manifest itself through her.
She arose without speaking, reached the door, and entered the adjoining room. The light sweep of her skirts and her soft footfall were audible; then they heard the sound of the piano being opened. All were silent and expectant. A musical silence filled the vacant place in the supper-room. A sudden gust149 of wind shook the flames of the candles and swayed the flowers. Then all became motionless in the anxiety of anticipation150.
Lasciatemi morire!
Suddenly their souls were ravished by a power comparable to the strength of the eagle which, in Dante's dream, bore the poet to the region of flame. They burned together in eternal truth; they heard the melody of the world pass through their luminous151 ecstasy:
Lasciatemi morire!
Was it Ariadne, still Ariadne, weeping in some new grief, still rising to higher martyrdom?
E che volete
Che mi conforte
In cosa dure sorte,
In cosi gran martire?
Lasciatemi morire!
The voice ceased; the singer did not reappear. The aria10 of Claudio Monteverde composed itself in the auditors152' memories like an immutable153 lineament.
"Is there any Greek marble that has a perfection of style more sure and simple?" said Daniele Glauro softly, as if he feared to break the musical silence.
"But what sorrow on earth ever has wept like that?" stammered154 Lady Myrta, her eyes full of tears, that ran down her poor, pale cheeks, which she wiped with her trembling hands, misshaped by gout.
The austere156 intellect of the ascetic157 and the sweet, sensitive soul shut within the old, infirm body bore witness to the same power. In the same way, nearly three centuries before, at Mantua, in the famous theater, six thousand spectators had been unable to repress their sobs; and the poets had believed in the living presence of Apollo on the new stage.
"See, Baldassare," said Stelio, "here is an artist of our own race who by the simplest means succeeded in attaining158 the highest degree of that beauty which the German but rarely approached in his confused aspirations toward the land of Sophocles."
"Do you know the lament159 of the ailing160 king?" asked the young man with the sunny locks, which he wore long as a heritage from the Venetian Sappho, the "high Gaspara," unfortunate friend of Collalto.
"All the agony of Amfortas is contained in a mottetto that I know: Peccantem me quotidie, but with what lyric impetus161, what powerful simplicity! All the forces of tragedy are there, sublimated162, so to speak, like the instincts of a multitude in a heroic heart. The language of Palestrina, much more ancient, appears to me still purer and more virile163.
"But the contrast between Kundry and Parsifal, in the second act, the Herzeleide motif164, the impetuous figure, that figure of pain drawn from the word of the sacred feast, the motif of Kundry's aspiration, the prophetic theme of the promise, the kiss on the lips of the 'pure fool,' all that rending165 and intoxicating166 contrast of desire and horror.... 'The wound, the wound! Now it burns, now it bleeds within me!' And above the despairing frenzy167 of the temptress, the melody of submission168: 'Let me weep on thy breast! Let me unite myself with thee for one hour; then, even if God repel169 me, through thee I shall be redeemed170 and saved.' And Parsifal's response, in which the motif of the 'pure fool,' now transfigured into the promised Hero, returns with lofty solemnity: 'Hell would be our fate for all eternity171 if for one single hour I should permit thee to clasp me in thy arms.' Then the wild ecstasy of Kundry: 'Since my kiss has made thee a prophet, embrace me wholly, and my love will render thee divine! One hour, one single hour with thee, and I shall be saved!' And the last effort of her demoniac will, the last gesture of enticement172, the entreaty173 and the furious words: 'Only thy love can save me! Oh, let me love thee! Mine for a single hour! Thine for a single hour!'"
Perdita and Stelio, entranced, gazed into each other's eyes; for an instant their spirits rushed together and mingled174, in all the joy of an actual embrace.
La Marangona, the largest bell of San Marco, sounded midnight, and, as at the eventide, the two enamored ones felt the reverberation175 of the bronze bell in the roots of their hair, almost like a quiver of their own flesh. Once more they felt, hovering176 over them, the whirlwind of sound, in the midst of which, in the twilight, they had suddenly become aware of the rising apparition of consoling Beauty, evoked177 by unanimous prayer. All the beauty of the waters, the timidity of concealed178 longing179, the anxiety, the promise, the parting, the festival, the formidable, many-headed monster, the great, starry180 sphere, the clamor, the music, the song, and the wonders of the miraculous181 Flame, the return through the echoing canal, the song of brief youth, the mental struggle and silent agitation in the gondola182, the sudden shadow over their three destinies, the banquet illumined by beautiful thought, the presentiments183, hopes, pride, all the strongest pulsations of life were renewed between those two, quickened, became a thousand, and again one. They felt that in that one moment they had lived beyond all human limits, and that before them was opening a vast unknown, which they might absorb as the ocean absorbs, for, though they had lived so much, they felt their hearts were empty; though they had drunk so deep, they were still athirst. An overmastering illusion seized upon these rich natures, and each seemed to grow immeasurably more desirable in the other's eyes. The young girl had disappeared. The expression of the despairing, nomadic184 actress seemed to repeat: "Embrace me wholly, and my love will render thee divine! One hour, one single hour with thee, and I shall be saved! Mine for a single hour! Thine for a single hour!"
The eloquent commentary of the enthusiast76 still dwelt upon the sacred tragedy. Kundry, the mad temptress, the slave of desire, the Rose of Hell, the original perdition, the accursed, now reappeared in the spring dawn; she reappeared humble and pale in her messenger's attire185, her head bent186, her eyes cast down; and her harsh, broken voice spoke63 only the single phrase: "Let me serve! Let me serve!"
The melodies of solitude187, of submission, of purification prepared around her humility188 the enchantment of Good Friday. And behold Parsifal, in black armor and closed helmet, his spear lowered, lost in an infinite dream: "I have come by perilous189 paths, but perhaps this day I shall be saved, since I hear the murmur148 of the sacred forest." ... Hope, pain, remorse190, memory, the promise, faith panting for the soul's health, and the sacred, mysterious melodies wove the ideal mantle191 that should cover the Simple One, the Pure, the promised Hero sent to heal the incurable192 wound. "Wilt193 thou take me to Amfortas to-day?" He languished194 and fainted in the old man's arms. "Let me serve! Let me serve!" The melody of submission rose again from the orchestra, drowning the original impetuous motif. "Let me serve!" The faithful woman brings water, kneels humbly195 and eagerly, and washes the feet of her beloved. The faithful one drew from her bosom196 a vase of balm, anointed the beloved feet, and wiped them with her flowing hair. "Let me serve!" The Pure One bent over the sinner, sprinkling water on her wild head: "Thus I accomplish my first office; receive this baptism and believe in the Redeemer!" Kundry burst into tears, and knelt with her brow in the dust, freed from impurity197, freed from the curse. And then, from the profound final harmonies of the prayer to the Redeemer, rose and spread with superhuman sweetness the melody of the flowery fields: "How beautiful to-day is the meadow! Once I was entwined with marvelous flowers; but never before were the grass and wild blossoms so fragrant198!" In ecstasy, Parsifal contemplated199 the fields and forests, dewy and smiling in the light of morn.
"Ah! who could forget that sublime moment?" cried the fair-haired enthusiast, whose thin face seemed to reflect the light of that joy. "All, in the darkness of the theater, remained motionless, like one solid, compact mass. One would have said that, in order to listen to that marvelous music, the blood had ceased to flow in our veins. From the Mystic Gulf50, the symphony rose like a shaft200 of light, the notes transformed into rays of sunshine, born with the same joy as the blade of grass that pierces the earth, the opening flower, the budding branch, the insect unfolding its wings. And all the innocence201 of new-born things entered into us, and our souls lived over again I know not what dream of our far-away childhood.... INFANTIA, the device of Carpaccio! Ah, Stelio! how well you brought it back to our riper age! How well you knew how to inspire us with regret for all that we have lost, and with hope of recovering it by means of an art that shall be indissolubly reunited to life!"
Stelio Effrena was silent, oppressed by the thought of the gigantic work accomplished by the barbaric creator, which the enthusiasm of Baldassare Stampa had evoked as a contrast to the fervid poet of Orpheus and of Ariadne. A kind of instinctive202 rancor203, an obscure hostility204 that did not spring from the intellect, sustained him against the tenacious205 German who had succeeded, by his own unaided effort, in inflaming206 the world. To achieve his victory over men and things, he, too, had exalted207 his own image and magnified his own dreams of dominating beauty. He, too, had approached the multitude as if it were his chosen prey208; he, too, had imposed upon himself, as if it were a discipline, an unceasing effort to surpass himself. And now he had the temple of his creed209 on the Bavarian hill.
"Art alone can lead men back to unity," said Daniele Glauro. "Let us honor the nobler master that has proclaimed this dogma for all time. His Festival Theater, though built of bricks and wood, though narrow and imperfect, has none the less a sublime significance, for within it Art appears as a religion in a living form; the drama there becomes a rite."
"Yes, let us honor Richard Wagner," said Antimo della Bella, "but, if this hour is to be memorable by an announcement and a promise from him who this night has shown the mysterious ship to the people, let us invoke210 once more the heroic soul that has spoken to us through the voice of Donatella Arvale. In laying the corner-stone of his Festival Theater, the poet of Siegfried consecrated it to the hopes and victories of Germany. The Apollo Theater, which is now rising rapidly on the Janiculum, where eagles once descended211, bearing their prophecies, must be the monumental revelation of the idea toward which our race is led by its genius. Let us reaffirm the privilege with which nature has ennobled our Latin blood."
Still Stelio remained silent, deeply stirred by turbulent forces that worked within his soul with a sort of blind fury, like the subterranean212 energies that swell82, rend71, and transform volcanic213 regions for the creation of new mountains and new chasms214. All the elements of his inner life, assailed215 by this violence, seemed to dissolve and multiply at the same time. Images of grandeur216 and of terror passed through this tumult, accompanied by strange harmonies. Swift concentrations and dispersions of thought succeeded one another, like electric flashes in a tempest. At certain moments, it seemed to him that he could hear songs and wild clamors through a doorway90 that was opened and closed incessantly217; sounds as if a tempestuous218 wind bore to his ears the alternate cries of a massacre219 and an apotheosis220.
Suddenly, with the intensity221 of a feverish vision, he saw the scorched222 and fatal spot of earth whereon he wished to create the souls of his great tragedy; he felt all its parching223 thirst within himself. He saw the mythical224 fountain which alone could quench225 the burning aridity226; and in the bubbling of its springs the purity of the maiden227 that must die there. He saw on Perdita's face the mask of the heroine, quiescent228 in the beauty of an extraordinarily calm sorrow. Then the ancient dryness of the plain of Argos converted itself into flames; the fountain of Perseia flowed with the swiftness of a stream. The fire and the water, the two primitive elements, rushed over all things, effaced229 all other traces, spread and wandered, struggled, triumphed, acquired a word, a language wherewith to unveil their inner essence and to reveal the innumerable myths born of their eternity. The symphony expressed the drama of the two elementary Souls on the stage of the Universe, the pathetic struggle of two great living and moving Beings, two cosmic Wills, such as the shepherd Arya fancied it when he contemplated the spectacle from the high plateau with his pure eyes. And, of a sudden, from the very center of the musical mystery, from the depths of the symphonic Ocean, arose the Ode, brought by the human voice, and attaining the loftiest heights.
The miracle of Beethoven renewed itself. The winged Ode, the Hymn230, sprang from the midst of the orchestra to proclaim, in phrases absolute and imperious, the joy and the sorrow of Man. It was not the Chorus, as in the Ninth Symphony, but the Voice, alone and dominating, the interpreter, the messenger to the multitude. "Her voice! her voice! She has disappeared. Her song seemed to move the heart of the world, and she was beyond the veil," said the Animator, who in mental vision saw again the crystal statue within which he had watched the mounting wave of melody. "I will seek thee, I shall find thee again; I will possess myself of thy secret. Thou shalt sing my hymns231, towering at the summit of my music!" Freed now from all earthly desire, he thought of that maiden form as the receptacle of a divine gift. He heard the disembodied voice surge from the depths of the orchestra to reveal the part of eternal truth that exists in ephemeral fact. The Ode crowned the episode with light. Then, as if to lead back to the play of imagery his ravished spirit from "beyond the veil," a dancing figure stood out against the rhythm of the dying Ode. Between the lines of a parallelogram drawn beneath the arch of the stage, as within the limits of a strophe, the mute dancer, with her body seemingly free for a moment from the sad laws of gravity, imitated the fire, the whirlwind, the revolutions of the stars. "La Tanagra, flower of Syracuse, made of wings, as a flower is made of petals233!" Thus he invoked234 the image of the already famous Sicilian who had re-discovered the ancient orchestic art as it had been in the days when Phrynichus boasted that he had within himself as many figures of the dance as there were waves on the ocean on a stormy winter night. The actress, the singer, the dancer—the three Dionysian women—appeared to him like perfect and almost divine instruments of his creations. With an incredible rapidity, in word, song, gesture and symphony, his work should crystallize itself and live an all-powerful life before the conquered multitude.
He was still silent, lost in an ideal world, waiting to measure the effort necessary to manifest it. The voices surrounding him seemed to come from a long distance.
"Wagner declares that the only creator of a work of art is the people," said Baldassare Stampa, "and that the sole function of the artist is to gather and express the creation of the unconscious multitude."
The extraordinary emotion that had stirred Stelio when, from the throne of the Doges, he had spoken to the throng seized on him once more. In that communion between his soul and the soul of the people an almost divine mystery had existed; something greater and more exalted was added to the habitual235 feeling he had for his own person; he had felt that an unknown power converged236 within him, abolishing the limits of his earthly being and conferring upon his solitary237 voice the full harmony of a chorus.
There was, then, in the multitude a secret beauty, in which only the poet and the hero could kindle238 a spark. Whenever that beauty revealed itself by the sudden outburst from a theater, a public square, or an entrenchment239, a torrent240 of joy must swell the heart of him who had known how to inspire it by his verse, his harangue241, or a signal from his sword. Thus, the word of the poet, when communicated to the people, was an act comparable to the deed of a hero—an act that brought to birth in the great composite soul of the multitude a sudden comprehension of beauty, as a master sculptor242, from the mere155 touch of his plastic thumb upon a mass of clay, creates a divine statue. Then the silence that had spread like a sacred veil over the completed poem would cease. The material part of life would no longer be typified by immaterial symbols: life itself would be manifested in its perfection by the poet; the word would become flesh, rhythm would quicken in breathing, palpitating form, the idea would be embodied232 with all the fulness of its force and freedom.
"But," said Fabio Molza, "Richard Wagner believes that the real heart of the people is composed only of those that experience grief in common—you understand, grief in common."
"Toward Joy—still toward eternal Joy," Stelio reflected. "The real heart of the people is composed of those that feel vaguely243 the necessity of raising themselves, by means of Fiction, Poetry, the Ideal, out of the daily prison in which they serve and suffer."
In his waking dream he beheld the disappearance244 of the small theaters of the city, where, amid suffocating245 air heavy with impurities246, before a crowd of rakes and courtesans, the actors make public prostitution of their talents. And then, on the steps of the new theater, his mental vision beheld the true people, the great, unanimous multitude, whose human odor he had inhaled247, whose clamor he had listened to in the great marble shell, under the stars. By the mysterious power of rhythm, his art, imperfectly understood though it was, had stirred the rude and ignorant ones with a profound emotion, penetrating248 as that felt by a prisoner about to be released from his chains. Little by little, the sensation of joy at their deliverance had crept over the most abject249; the deep-lined brows cleared; lips accustomed to brutal250 vociferation had parted in amazement251; and, above all, the hands—the rough hands enslaved by instruments of toil—had stretched out in one unanimous gesture of adoration252 toward the heroine who in their presence had wafted253 toward the stars the spirit of immortal sorrow.
"In the life of a people like ours," said Daniele Glauro, "a great manifestation254 of art has much more weight than a treaty of alliance or a tributary255 law. That which never dies is more prized than that which is ephemeral. The astuteness256 and audacity257 of a Malatesta are crystallized for all time in a medal of Pisanello's. Of Machiavelli's politics nothing survives but the power of his prose."
"That is true, most true!" thought Stelio; "the fortunes of Italy are inseparable from the fate of the Beauty of which she is the Mother." This sovereign truth now appeared to him the rising sun of that divine, ideal land through which wandered the great Dante. "Italy! Italy!" Throughout his being, like a call to arms, seemed to thrill that name, that name which intoxicates258 the world. From its ruins, bathed in so much heroic blood, should not the new art, robust259 in root and branch, arise and flourish? Should it not become a determining and constructive260 force in the third Rome, reawakening all the latent power possessed by the hereditary261 substance of the nation, indicating to her statesmen the primitive truths that are the necessary bases of new institutions? Faithful to the oldest instincts of his race, Richard Wagner had foreseen, and had fostered by his own efforts, the aspiration of the German States to the heroic grandeur of the Empire. He had evoked the noble figure of Henry the Fowler, standing262 erect55 beneath the ancient oak: "Let warriors263 arise from every German land!" And at Sadowa and at Sedan these warriors had won. With the same impulse, the same tenacity264, people and artist had achieved their glorious aim. The same degree of victory had crowned the work of the sword and the work of melody. Like the hero, the poet had accomplished an act of deliverance. Like the will of the Iron Chancelor, like the blood of his soldiers, the Master's musical numbers had contributed toward the exalting265 and perpetuating266 of the soul of his race.
"He has been here only a few days, at the Palazzo Vendramin-Calergi," said Prince Hoditz.
And suddenly the image of the barbaric creator seemed to Stelio to approach him; the lines of his face became visible, the blue eyes gleamed under the wide brow, the lips closed tight above the powerful chin, armed with sensuousness267, pride, and disdain. The slight body, bent with the weight of age and glory, straightened itself, appeared almost as gigantic as his work, took on the aspect of a god. The blood coursed like a swift mountain torrent, its breath sighed like a forest breeze. Suddenly the youth of Siegfried filled the figure and permeated268 it, radiant as the dawn shining through a cloud. "To follow the impulse of my heart, to obey my instinct, to listen to the voice of Nature within myself—that is my supreme law!" The heroic, resounding269 words, springing from the depths, expressed the young and healthy will that had triumphed over all obstacles and all evil, always in accord with the law of the Universe. And the flames, called forth270 from the rock by the wand of Wotan, arose in the magic circle: "On the flaming sea a way has opened! To plunge271 into that fire, oh, ineffable joy! To find my bride within that flaming circle!" All the phantoms272 of the myth seemed to blaze anew and then vanish.
Then the winged helmet of Brunehilde gleamed in the sunlight: "Glory to the sun! Glory to the light! Glory to the radiant day! My sleep was long. Who has awakened273 me?" The phantoms fled in tumult, and dispersed274. Then arose from the dark shadows the maiden of the song, Donatella Arvale, as she had appeared to him amid the purple and gold of the immense hall in a commanding attitude and holding a fiery flower in her hand: "Dost thou not see me, then? Do not my burning gaze and ardent blood make thee tremble. Dost thou not feel this wild ardor?" Though she was absent, she seemed to resume her power over his dream. Infinite music seemed to rise from the silent, empty place in the supper-room. Her Hermes-like face seemed to retain an inviolable secret: "Do not touch me; do not trouble my repose275, and I will reflect forever thy luminous image. Love only thyself and renounce276 all thought of me!" And again, as on the feverish water, a passionate277 impatience278 tortured the Animator, and again he fancied the absent one like a beautiful bow to be drawn by a strong hand that would know how to use it as an instrument to achieve some great conquest: "Awake, virgin, awake! Live and laugh! Be mine!"
Stelio's spirit was drawn violently into the orbit of the magic world created by the German god; its visions and harmonies overwhelmed him; the figures of the Northern myth towered above those of his own art and passion, obscuring them. His own desire and his own hope spoke the language of the barbarian: "I must love thee, blindly, and laughing: and, laughing, we must unite and lose ourselves, each in the other. O radiant Love! O smiling Death!" The joyousness279 of the warrior-virgin on the flame-circled summit reached the loftiest height; her cry of love and liberty mounted to the heart of the sun. Ah, what heights and what depths had he not touched, that formidable Master of human souls! What effort could ever equal his? What eagle could ever hope to soar higher? His gigantic work was there, finished, amidst men. Throughout the world swelled the last mighty280 chorus of the Grail, the canticle of thanksgiving: "Glory to the Miracle! Redemption to the Redeemer!"
"He is tired," said Prince Hoditz, "very tired and feeble. That is the reason why we did not see him at the Doge's Palace. His heart is affected281." ...
Once more the giant became a man: the slight body, bent with age and glory, consumed by passion, slowly dying. And Stelio heard again in his heart Perdita's words, which had called up the image of another stricken artist—the father of Donatella Arvale. "The name of the bow is BIOS ("life"), and its work is death!"
The young man saw his pathway blazed before him by victory—the long art, the short life. "Forward, still forward! Higher, ever higher!" Every hour, every second, he must strive, struggle, fortify282 himself against destruction, diminution283, oppression, contagion284. Every hour, every second, his eye must be fixed on his aim, concentrating and directing all his energies, without truce285, without relaxation286. He felt that victory was as necessary to his soul as air to his lungs. At the contact with the German barbarian, a furious thirst for conflict awoke in his Latin blood. "To you now belongs the will to do!" Wagner had declared, on the day of the opening of the new theater: "In the work of art of the future, the source of invention will never run dry." Art was infinite, like the beauty of the world. There are no limits to courage or to power. Man must seek and find, further and still further. "Forward, still forward!"
Then a single wave, vast and shapeless, embodying287 all the aspirations and all the agitations288 of that delirium, whirling itself into a maelstrom289, seemed to take on the qualities of plastic matter, obeying the same inexhaustible energy that forms all animals and all things under the sun. An extraordinary image, beautiful and pure, was born of this travail290, lived and glowed with unbearable291 intensity. The poet saw it, absorbed it with a pure gaze, felt that it took root in the very depths of his being. "Ah, to express it, to manifest it to the world, to fix it in perfection for all eternity!" Sublime moment that never would return! All visions vanished. Around him flowed the current of daily life; fleeting292 words sounded; expectation palpitated, desire still lived.
He looked at the woman. The stars sparkled; the trees waved, and the dark garden spread out behind Perdita, and her eyes still said: "Let me serve! Let me serve!"
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收听单词发音
收听单词发音 |
1
throbbed
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| 抽痛( throb的过去式和过去分词 )； （心脏、脉搏等）跳动 | |
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unison
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| n.步调一致，行动一致 | |
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3
exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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chalice
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| n.圣餐杯；金杯毒酒 | |
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5
gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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fervor
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| n.热诚；热心；炽热 | |
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7
graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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celestial
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| adj.天体的；天上的 | |
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eloquent
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| adj.雄辩的，口才流利的；明白显示出的 | |
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aria
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| n.独唱曲，咏叹调 | |
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11
shuddered
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| v.战栗( shudder的过去式和过去分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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tragic
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| adj.悲剧的，悲剧性的，悲惨的 | |
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13
muse
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| n.缪斯（希腊神话中的女神），创作灵感 | |
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14
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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15
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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16
aspiration
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| n.志向，志趣抱负；渴望；(语)送气音；吸出 | |
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17
throng
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| n.人群，群众；v.拥挤，群集 | |
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18
awaken
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| vi.醒，觉醒；vt.唤醒，使觉醒，唤起，激起 | |
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19
awakening
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| n.觉醒，醒悟 adj.觉醒中的；唤醒的 | |
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20
impelled
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| v.推动、推进或敦促某人做某事( impel的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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21
lyric
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| n.抒情诗，歌词；adj.抒情的 | |
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22
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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23
emanated
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| v.从…处传出，传出( emanate的过去式和过去分词 )；产生，表现，显示 | |
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24
fervent
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| adj.热的，热烈的，热情的 | |
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25
anvil
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| n.铁钻 | |
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immortal
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| adj.不朽的；永生的，不死的；神的 | |
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27
enigmas
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| n.难于理解的问题、人、物、情况等，奥秘( enigma的名词复数 ) | |
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28
memorable
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| adj.值得回忆的，难忘的，特别的，显著的 | |
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29
hover
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| vi.翱翔，盘旋；徘徊；彷徨，犹豫 | |
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30
intoxication
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| n.wild excitement;drunkenness；poisoning | |
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31
fidelity
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| n.忠诚，忠实；精确 | |
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32
devouring
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| 吞没( devour的现在分词 )； 耗尽； 津津有味地看； 狼吞虎咽地吃光 | |
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33
unlimited
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| adj.无限的，不受控制的，无条件的 | |
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34
perpetuate
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| v.使永存，使永记不忘 | |
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35
eyelids
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| n.眼睑( eyelid的名词复数 )；眼睛也不眨一下；不露声色；面不改色 | |
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36
inclination
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| n.倾斜；点头；弯腰；斜坡；倾度；倾向；爱好 | |
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37
fugitive
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| adj.逃亡的，易逝的；n.逃犯，逃亡者 | |
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38
virtue
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| n.德行，美德；贞操；优点；功效，效力 | |
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39
frail
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| adj.身体虚弱的；易损坏的 | |
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40
perishable
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| adj.（尤指食物）易腐的，易坏的 | |
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41
consecrated
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| adj.神圣的，被视为神圣的v.把…奉为神圣，给…祝圣( consecrate的过去式和过去分词 )；奉献 | |
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42
hovered
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| 鸟( hover的过去式和过去分词 )； 靠近（某事物）； （人）徘徊； 犹豫 | |
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43
arid
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| adj.干旱的；(土地)贫瘠的 | |
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44
parched
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| adj.焦干的；极渴的；v.（使）焦干 | |
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45
triumphant
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| adj.胜利的，成功的；狂欢的，喜悦的 | |
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46
cavern
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| n.洞穴，大山洞 | |
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47
toiled
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| 长时间或辛苦地工作( toil的过去式和过去分词 )； 艰难缓慢地移动，跋涉 | |
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48
recede
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| vi.退(去)，渐渐远去；向后倾斜，缩进 | |
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49
throngs
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| n.人群( throng的名词复数 )v.成群，挤满( throng的第三人称单数 ) | |
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50
gulf
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| n.海湾；深渊，鸿沟；分歧，隔阂 | |
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51
impure
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| adj.不纯净的，不洁的；不道德的，下流的 | |
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52
savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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53
aspiring
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| adj.有志气的；有抱负的；高耸的v.渴望；追求 | |
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54
wrests
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| （用力）拧( wrest的第三人称单数 )； 费力取得； （从…）攫取； （ 从… ） 强行取去… | |
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55
erect
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| n./v.树立，建立，使竖立；adj.直立的，垂直的 | |
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56
erecting
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| v.使直立，竖起( erect的现在分词 )；建立 | |
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57
edifices
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| n.大建筑物( edifice的名词复数 ) | |
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58
edifice
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| n.宏伟的建筑物(如宫殿，教室) | |
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59
bastard
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| n.坏蛋，混蛋；私生子 | |
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60
ferment
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| vt.使发酵；n./vt.（使）激动，（使）动乱 | |
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61
corrupt
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| v.贿赂，收买；adj.腐败的，贪污的 | |
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62
virgin
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| n.处女，未婚女子；adj.未经使用的；未经开发的 | |
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63
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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64
sublime
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| adj.崇高的，伟大的；极度的，不顾后果的 | |
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65
herds
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| 兽群( herd的名词复数 )； 牧群； 人群； 群众 | |
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66
sobs
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| 啜泣（声），呜咽（声）( sob的名词复数 ) | |
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67
pangs
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| 突然的剧痛( pang的名词复数 )； 悲痛 | |
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68
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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69
misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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70
delirium
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| n. 神智昏迷,说胡话;极度兴奋 | |
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71
rend
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| vt.把…撕开，割裂；把…揪下来，强行夺取 | |
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72
meditate
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| v.想，考虑，（尤指宗教上的）沉思，冥想 | |
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73
demon
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| n.魔鬼，恶魔 | |
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74
primitive
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| adj.原始的；简单的；n.原(始)人，原始事物 | |
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75
initiation
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| n.开始 | |
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76
enthusiast
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| n.热心人，热衷者 | |
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77
tumult
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| n.喧哗；激动，混乱；吵闹 | |
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78
agitation
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| n.搅动；搅拌；鼓动，煽动 | |
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79
enchantment
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| n.迷惑，妖术，魅力 | |
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80
marvels
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| n.奇迹( marvel的名词复数 )；令人惊奇的事物（或事例）；不平凡的成果；成就v.惊奇，对…感到惊奇( marvel的第三人称单数 ) | |
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81
suffocate
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| vt.使窒息，使缺氧，阻碍；vi.窒息，窒息而亡，阻碍发展 | |
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82
swell
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| vi.膨胀，肿胀；增长，增强 | |
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83
swelled
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| 增强( swell的过去式和过去分词 )； 肿胀； （使）凸出； 充满（激情） | |
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84
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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85
twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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86
feverish
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| adj.发烧的，狂热的，兴奋的 | |
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87
veins
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| n.纹理；矿脉( vein的名词复数 )；静脉；叶脉；纹理 | |
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88
chalices
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| n.高脚酒杯( chalice的名词复数 )；圣餐杯；金杯毒酒；看似诱人实则令人讨厌的事物 | |
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89
doorways
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| n.门口，门道( doorway的名词复数 ) | |
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90
doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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91
animating
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| v.使有生气( animate的现在分词 )；驱动；使栩栩如生地动作；赋予…以生命 | |
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92
relics
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| [pl.］n.遗物，遗迹，遗产；遗体，尸骸 | |
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93
galleon
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| n.大帆船 | |
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94
velvet
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| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
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95
ornamented
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| adj.花式字体的v.装饰，点缀，美化( ornament的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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96
serene
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| adj. 安详的，宁静的，平静的 | |
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97
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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98
rite
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| n.典礼，惯例，习俗 | |
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99
acting
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| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
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100
constituent
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| n.选民；成分，组分；adj.组成的，构成的 | |
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101
incarnate
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| adj.化身的，人体化的，肉色的 | |
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102
opposition
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| n.反对，敌对 | |
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103
disdain
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| n.鄙视，轻视；v.轻视，鄙视，不屑 | |
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104
isolated
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| adj.与世隔绝的 | |
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105
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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106
purely
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| adv.纯粹地，完全地 | |
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107
supreme
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| adj.极度的，最重要的；至高的，最高的 | |
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108
extraordinarily
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| adv.格外地；极端地 | |
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109
Mediterranean
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| adj.地中海的；地中海沿岸的 | |
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110
laurels
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| n.桂冠，荣誉 | |
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111
behold
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| v.看，注视，看到 | |
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112
simplicity
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| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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113
ardor
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| n.热情，狂热 | |
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114
barbarian
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| n.野蛮人；adj.野蛮(人)的；未开化的 | |
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115
ecstasy
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| n.狂喜，心醉神怡，入迷 | |
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116
uneven
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| adj.不平坦的，不规则的，不均匀的 | |
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117
tangled
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| adj. 纠缠的，紊乱的 动词tangle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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118
penetrated
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| adj. 击穿的，鞭辟入里的 动词penetrate的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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119
fervid
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| adj.热情的；炽热的 | |
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120
antiquity
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| n.古老；高龄；古物，古迹 | |
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121
harmoniously
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| 和谐地，调和地 | |
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122
excellence
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| n.优秀，杰出，(pl.)优点，美德 | |
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123
tawny
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| adj.茶色的，黄褐色的；n.黄褐色 | |
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124
discourse
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| n.论文，演说；谈话；话语；vi.讲述，著述 | |
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125
delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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126
ornamental
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| adj.装饰的；作装饰用的；n.装饰品；观赏植物 | |
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127
machinery
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| n.(总称)机械，机器；机构 | |
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128
vanquished
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| v.征服( vanquish的过去式和过去分词 )；战胜；克服；抑制 | |
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129
remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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130
glorify
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| vt.颂扬，赞美，使增光，美化 | |
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131
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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132
acceded
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| v.（正式）加入( accede的过去式和过去分词 )；答应；（通过财产的添附而）增加；开始任职 | |
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133
accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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134
courageous
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| adj.勇敢的，有胆量的 | |
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135
expressive
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| adj.表现的，表达…的，富于表情的 | |
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136
sepulcher
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| n.坟墓 | |
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137
bereaved
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| adj.刚刚丧失亲人的v.使失去（希望、生命等）( bereave的过去式和过去分词)；（尤指死亡）使丧失（亲人、朋友等）；使孤寂；抢走（财物） | |
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138
ardent
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，强烈的，烈性的 | |
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139
fable
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| n.寓言；童话；神话 | |
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140
fiery
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| adj.燃烧着的，火红的；暴躁的；激烈的 | |
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141
apparition
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| n.幽灵，神奇的现象 | |
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142
recesses
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| n.壁凹( recess的名词复数 )；（工作或业务活动的）中止或暂停期间；学校的课间休息；某物内部的凹形空间v.把某物放在墙壁的凹处( recess的第三人称单数 )；将（墙）做成凹形，在（墙）上做壁龛；休息，休会，休庭 | |
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143
vehement
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| adj.感情强烈的；热烈的；(人)有强烈感情的 | |
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144
ineffable
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| adj.无法表达的，不可言喻的 | |
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145
agitated
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| adj.被鼓动的，不安的 | |
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146
conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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147
beheld
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| v.看，注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
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148
murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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149
gust
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| n.阵风，突然一阵（雨、烟等），（感情的）迸发 | |
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150
anticipation
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| n.预期，预料，期望 | |
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151
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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152
auditors
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| n.审计员，稽核员( auditor的名词复数 )；（大学课程的）旁听生 | |
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153
immutable
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| adj.不可改变的，永恒的 | |
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154
stammered
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| v.结巴地说出( stammer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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155
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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156
austere
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| adj.艰苦的；朴素的，朴实无华的；严峻的 | |
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157
ascetic
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| adj.禁欲的；严肃的 | |
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158
attaining
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| （通常经过努力）实现( attain的现在分词 )； 达到； 获得； 达到（某年龄、水平、状况） | |
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159
lament
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| n.悲叹，悔恨，恸哭；v.哀悼，悔恨，悲叹 | |
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160
ailing
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| v.生病 | |
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161
impetus
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| n.推动，促进，刺激；推动力 | |
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162
sublimated
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| v.（使某物质）升华( sublimate的过去式和过去分词 )；使净化；纯化 | |
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163
virile
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| adj.男性的；有男性生殖力的；有男子气概的；强有力的 | |
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164
motif
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| n.(图案的)基本花纹，(衣服的)花边；主题 | |
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165
rending
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| v.撕碎( rend的现在分词 )；分裂；（因愤怒、痛苦等而）揪扯（衣服或头发等）；（声音等）刺破 | |
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166
intoxicating
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| a. 醉人的,使人兴奋的 | |
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167
frenzy
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| n.疯狂，狂热，极度的激动 | |
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168
submission
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| n.服从，投降；温顺，谦虚；提出 | |
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169
repel
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| v.击退，抵制，拒绝，排斥 | |
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170
redeemed
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| adj. 可赎回的，可救赎的 动词redeem的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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171
eternity
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| n.不朽，来世；永恒，无穷 | |
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172
enticement
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| n.诱骗，诱人 | |
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173
entreaty
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| n.恳求，哀求 | |
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174
mingled
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| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
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175
reverberation
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| 反响； 回响； 反射； 反射物 | |
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176
hovering
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| 鸟( hover的现在分词 )； 靠近（某事物）； （人）徘徊； 犹豫 | |
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177
evoked
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| [医]诱发的 | |
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178
concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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179
longing
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| n.（for）渴望 | |
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180
starry
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| adj.星光照耀的, 闪亮的 | |
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181
miraculous
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| adj.像奇迹一样的，不可思议的 | |
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182
gondola
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| n.威尼斯的平底轻舟；飞船的吊船 | |
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183
presentiments
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| n.（对不祥事物的）预感( presentiment的名词复数 ) | |
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184
nomadic
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| adj.流浪的；游牧的 | |
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185
attire
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| v.穿衣，装扮[同]array；n.衣着；盛装 | |
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186
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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187
solitude
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| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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188
humility
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| n.谦逊，谦恭 | |
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189
perilous
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| adj.危险的，冒险的 | |
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190
remorse
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| n.痛恨，悔恨，自责 | |
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191
mantle
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| n.斗篷，覆罩之物，罩子；v.罩住，覆盖，脸红 | |
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192
incurable
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| adj.不能医治的，不能矫正的，无救的；n.不治的病人，无救的人 | |
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193
wilt
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| v.(使)植物凋谢或枯萎；(指人)疲倦，衰弱 | |
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194
languished
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| 长期受苦( languish的过去式和过去分词 )； 受折磨； 变得（越来越）衰弱； 因渴望而变得憔悴或闷闷不乐 | |
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195
humbly
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| adv. 恭顺地，谦卑地 | |
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196
bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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197
impurity
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| n.不洁，不纯，杂质 | |
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198
fragrant
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| adj.芬香的，馥郁的，愉快的 | |
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199
contemplated
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| adj. 预期的 动词contemplate的过去分词形式 | |
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200
shaft
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| n.(工具的)柄，杆状物 | |
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201
innocence
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| n.无罪；天真；无害 | |
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202
instinctive
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| adj.(出于)本能的；直觉的；(出于)天性的 | |
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203
rancor
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| n.深仇，积怨 | |
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204
hostility
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| n.敌对，敌意；抵制［pl.］交战，战争 | |
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205
tenacious
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| adj.顽强的，固执的，记忆力强的，粘的 | |
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206
inflaming
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| v.（使）变红，发怒，过热( inflame的现在分词 ) | |
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207
exalted
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| adj.(地位等)高的，崇高的；尊贵的，高尚的 | |
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208
prey
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| n.被掠食者，牺牲者，掠食；v.捕食，掠夺，折磨 | |
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209
creed
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| n.信条；信念，纲领 | |
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210
invoke
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| v.求助于(神、法律)；恳求，乞求 | |
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211
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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212
subterranean
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| adj.地下的，地表下的 | |
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213
volcanic
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| adj.火山的；象火山的；由火山引起的 | |
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214
chasms
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| 裂缝( chasm的名词复数 )； 裂口； 分歧； 差别 | |
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215
assailed
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| v.攻击( assail的过去式和过去分词 )；困扰；质问；毅然应对 | |
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216
grandeur
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| n.伟大，崇高，宏伟，庄严，豪华 | |
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217
incessantly
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| ad.不停地 | |
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218
tempestuous
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| adj.狂暴的 | |
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219
massacre
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| n.残杀，大屠杀；v.残杀，集体屠杀 | |
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220
apotheosis
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| n.神圣之理想；美化；颂扬 | |
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221
intensity
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| n.强烈，剧烈；强度；烈度 | |
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222
scorched
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| 烧焦，烤焦( scorch的过去式和过去分词 )； 使（植物）枯萎，把…晒枯； 高速行驶； 枯焦 | |
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223
parching
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| adj.烘烤似的，焦干似的v.（使）焦干， （使）干透( parch的现在分词 )；使（某人）极口渴 | |
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224
mythical
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| adj.神话的；虚构的；想像的 | |
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225
quench
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| vt.熄灭，扑灭；压制 | |
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226
aridity
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| n.干旱，乏味；干燥性；荒芜 | |
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227
maiden
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| n.少女，处女；adj.未婚的，纯洁的，无经验的 | |
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228
quiescent
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| adj.静止的，不活动的，寂静的 | |
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229
effaced
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| v.擦掉( efface的过去式和过去分词 )；抹去；超越；使黯然失色 | |
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230
hymn
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| n.赞美诗，圣歌，颂歌 | |
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231
hymns
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| n.赞美诗，圣歌，颂歌( hymn的名词复数 ) | |
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232
embodied
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| v.表现( embody的过去式和过去分词 )；象征；包括；包含 | |
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233
petals
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| n.花瓣( petal的名词复数 ) | |
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234
invoked
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| v.援引( invoke的过去式和过去分词 )；行使（权利等）；祈求救助；恳求 | |
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235
habitual
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| adj.习惯性的；通常的，惯常的 | |
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236
converged
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| v.（线条、运动的物体等）会于一点( converge的过去式 )；（趋于）相似或相同；人或车辆汇集；聚集 | |
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237
solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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238
kindle
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| v.点燃，着火 | |
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239
entrenchment
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| n.壕沟，防御设施 | |
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240
torrent
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| n.激流，洪流；爆发，(话语等的)连发 | |
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241
harangue
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| n.慷慨冗长的训话，言辞激烈的讲话 | |
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242
sculptor
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| n.雕刻家，雕刻家 | |
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243
vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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244
disappearance
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| n.消失，消散，失踪 | |
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245
suffocating
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| a.使人窒息的 | |
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246
impurities
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| 不纯( impurity的名词复数 )； 不洁； 淫秽； 杂质 | |
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247
inhaled
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| v.吸入( inhale的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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248
penetrating
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| adj.（声音）响亮的，尖锐的adj.（气味）刺激的adj.（思想）敏锐的，有洞察力的 | |
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249
abject
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| adj.极可怜的，卑屈的 | |
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250
brutal
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| adj.残忍的，野蛮的，不讲理的 | |
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251
amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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252
adoration
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| n.爱慕，崇拜 | |
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253
wafted
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| v.吹送，飘送，（使）浮动( waft的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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254
manifestation
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| n.表现形式；表明；现象 | |
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255
tributary
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| n.支流；纳贡国；adj.附庸的；辅助的；支流的 | |
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256
astuteness
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| n.敏锐；精明；机敏 | |
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257
audacity
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| n.大胆，卤莽，无礼 | |
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258
intoxicates
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| 使喝醉（intoxicate的第三人称单数形式） | |
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259
robust
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| adj.强壮的，强健的，粗野的，需要体力的，浓的 | |
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260
constructive
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| adj.建设的，建设性的 | |
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261
hereditary
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| adj.遗传的，遗传性的，可继承的，世袭的 | |
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262
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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263
warriors
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| 武士，勇士，战士( warrior的名词复数 ) | |
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264
tenacity
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| n.坚韧 | |
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265
exalting
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| a.令人激动的，令人喜悦的 | |
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266
perpetuating
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| perpetuate的现在进行式 | |
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267
sensuousness
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| n.知觉 | |
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268
permeated
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| 弥漫( permeate的过去式和过去分词 )； 遍布； 渗入； 渗透 | |
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269
resounding
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| adj. 响亮的 | |
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270
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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271
plunge
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| v.跳入，(使)投入，(使)陷入；猛冲 | |
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272
phantoms
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| n.鬼怪，幽灵( phantom的名词复数 ) | |
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273
awakened
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| v.（使）醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
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274
dispersed
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| adj. 被驱散的, 被分散的, 散布的 | |
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275
repose
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| v.(使)休息；n.安息 | |
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276
renounce
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| v.放弃；拒绝承认，宣布与…断绝关系 | |
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277
passionate
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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278
impatience
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| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
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279
joyousness
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| 快乐，使人喜悦 | |
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280
mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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281
affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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282
fortify
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| v.强化防御，为…设防；加强，强化 | |
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283
diminution
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| n.减少；变小 | |
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284
contagion
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| n.(通过接触的疾病)传染；蔓延 | |
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285
truce
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| n.休战，(争执，烦恼等的)缓和；v.以停战结束 | |
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286
relaxation
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| n.松弛，放松；休息；消遣；娱乐 | |
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287
embodying
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| v.表现( embody的现在分词 )；象征；包括；包含 | |
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288
agitations
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| （液体等的）摇动( agitation的名词复数 )； 鼓动； 激烈争论； （情绪等的）纷乱 | |
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289
maelstrom
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| n.大乱动；大漩涡 | |
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290
travail
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| n.阵痛；努力 | |
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291
unbearable
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| adj.不能容忍的；忍受不住的 | |
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292
fleeting
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| adj.短暂的，飞逝的 | |
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