"You were strong, Daniele—you who can hardly break a twig1! And he was heavy, that old barbarian2; his body seemed built over a framework of bronze: well constructed, firm, able to stand on a deck that might rise and fall—the body of a man that nature destined3 for the sea. Whence came your strength, Daniele? I almost feared for you, but you did not even stagger. Do you realize that we have borne a hero in our arms? This is a day we ought to distinguish and celebrate in some way. His eyes opened again and looked into mine; his pulse revived under my hand. We were worthy4 to carry him, Daniele, because of our fervor5."
"You are worthy not only to carry him, but of gathering6 and preserving some of the most beautiful promises offered by his art to men who still have hope."
"Ah, if only I am not overwhelmed by my own abundance, and if I can master the anxiety that suffocates7 me, Daniele!"
The two friends walked on and on, side by side, in exalted8 and confident mood, as if their friendship had taken on an added nobility.
"It seems as if the Adriatic had overthrown9 the Murazzi, in this tempest," said Daniele, pausing to look at the waves that had mounted even to the Piazza11. "We must return."
"No, let us cross the ferry. Here is a boat. Look at the reflection of San Marco on the water!"
The boatman rowed them to the Torre dell' Orologio. The rising tide soon overflowed12 the Piazza, looking like a lake surrounded by porticoes13, reflecting the greenish-yellow twilight14 sky.
"EN VERUS FORTIS QUI FREGIT VINCULA MORTIS," read Stelio on the curve of an arch, below a mosaic15 of the Resurrection. "Did you know that Richard Wagner held his first colloquy16 with Death in Venice, exactly twenty years ago, at the time he produced Tristan? Consumed by a hopeless passion, he came here to die in silence, and here he composed that wild second act, which is a hymn17 to eternal night. And now fate has led him back to the lagoons18. Fate, it seems, has decreed that here he shall breathe his last, like Claudio Monteverde. Is not Venice full of musical desire, immense and indefinable? Every sound transforms itself into an expressive19 voice. Listen!"
The city of stone and water seemed indeed to have become as sonorous20 as a great organ. The hissing21 and moaning had changed to a sort of choral supplication22, rising and falling in regular rhythm.
"Do you not hear the theme of a melody in that chorus of moans? Listen!"
They had debarked from the little boat, and had resumed their walk through the narrow streets.
"Listen!" Stelio repeated. "I can detect a melodic23 theme, which swells24 and decreases without power to develop itself. Do you hear it?"
"It is not given to me to hear what you hear," replied the sterile25 ascetic26 to the genius. "I will await the time when you can repeat to me the word that Nature speaks to you."
"Ah!" Stelio resumed, "to be able to restore to melody its natural simplicity27, its ingenuous28 perfection, its divine innocence29; to draw it, living, from its eternal source, from the true mystery of nature, the inmost soul of the Universe! Have you ever reflected upon the myth connected with the infancy30 of Cassandra? She had been left one night in the temple of Apollo; and in the morning she was found lying on the marble floor, wrapped in the coils of a serpent that licked her ears. And from that day she understood all the voices of Nature in the air, all the melodies of the world. The power of the great seeress was only a high musical power; and a part of that Apollonian virtue31 entered the souls of the poets that co?perated in the creation of the tragic32 Chorus. One of those poets boasted of understanding the voices of all birds; another was able to hold converse34 with the winds; another comprehended perfectly35 the language of the sea. More than once I have dreamed that I too was lying on the marble floor, folded in the coils of that serpent. The magic of that old myth must be renewed, Daniele, in order that we may create the new art.
"Have you ever thought what might be the music of that species of pastoral ode sung by the Chorus in ?dipus Tyrannus, ?when Jocasta flees, horror-struck, and the son of La?us still cherishes the illusion of a last hope? Do you recall it? Try to imagine the strophes as if they were a frame, within which an expressive dance-figure is animated36 by the perfect life of melody. The spirit of Earth would rise before you: the consoling apparition37 of the great common Mother at the unhappiness of her stricken, trembling children—a celebration, as it were, of all that is divine and eternal above Man, who is dragged to madness and death by blind and cruel Destiny. Try now to conceive how this song has helped me in the writing of my great tragedy to find the means of the highest and at the same time the simplest expression."
"Do you purpose, then, to re?stablish the ancient Chorus on the stage?"
"Oh, no! I shall not revive any ancient form; I intend to create a new form, obeying only my instinct and the genius of my own race, as did the Greeks when they created that marvelous structure of beauty, forever inimitable—the Greek drama. For a very long time, the three practicable arts of music, poetry, and dancing have been separated; the first two have developed toward a superior form of expression, but the third is in its decadence38, and I think that now it is impossible to combine them in a single rhythmical39 structure without taking from one or another its own dominant41 character, which has already been acquired. If they are to blend in one common effect, each must renounce42 its own particular effect—in other words, become diminished. Among the things most susceptible43 of rhythm, Language is the foundation of every art that aspires44 to perfection. Do you think that language is given its full value in the Wagnerian drama? Do you not think that the musical conception itself often loses some of its primitive45 purity by being made to depend on matters outside the realm of music? Wagner himself certainly realizes this weakness, and shows it when he approaches a friend in Bayreuth, covering his eyes with his hand, that he may abandon his sense of hearing entirely46 to the virtue of the pure sound of the voice."
"This is all new to me," said Glauro, "yet it rejoices and intoxicates47 me as we rejoice when we hear something that has been long foreseen and felt by presentiment48. Then, as I understand, you will not superpose the three rhythmic40 arts, but will present them each in its single manifestation49, yet all linked by a sovereign idea, and raised to the supreme50 degree by their own significant energy?"
"Ah, Daniele! how can I give you any idea of the work that lives within me?" Stelio exclaimed. "The words you use in trying to formulate51 my meaning are hard and mechanical."
They stood at the foot of the Rialto steps. The gale52 swept over them; the Grand Canal, dark in the shadow of the palaces, seemed to bend like a river hastening to a cataract53.
"We cannot remain here," said Glauro, leaning against a door; "the wind will blow us down."
"Go on; I will overtake you. Only a moment," cried the master, covering his eyes with his hand, and concentrating his soul upon sound alone.
Formidable was the voice of the tempest, in the midst of the immobility of centuries, turned to stone. Its unaccompanied song, its hopeless, wailing54 lamentation56, was raised in memory of the multitudes that had become ashes, the scattered57 pageants58, the fallen grandeur59, the innumerable days of birth and of death—things of an age without name or form. All the melancholy60 of the world rushed in the wind over that eager, listening soul.
"Ah! I have seized you!" Stelio cried suddenly, with triumphant61 joy.
The complete and perfect line of the melody had been revealed to him, now belonged to him, and would become immortal62 in his spirit and in the world.
"Daniele! I have found it!"
He raised his eyes, and saw the first stars in the adamantine sky. He feared to lose the precious treasure he had found. Near, a column he now saw a man with a flickering63 light at the end of a long pole, and heard the slight sound of the lighting64 of a lantern. Swiftly and eagerly he jotted65 down in his notebook, under the lamplight, the notes of the melodic theme, compressing into five lines the message of the elements.
"O day of marvels66!" said Daniele Glauro, on seeing Stelio on the steps, as light and agile67 as if he had robbed the air of some of its elasticity68. "May Nature cherish you forever, my brother!"
"Come, come!" said Stelio, taking him by the arm and urging him on with boyish gayety. "I must run!"
He drew him through the narrow streets leading to San Giovanni Elemosinario.
"What you told me one day, Daniele, is quite true. I mean that the voice of things is essentially69 different from their sound," said Stelio. "The sound of the wind may represent the moans of a frightened throng70, the howling of wild animals, the falling of cataracts71, the rustle72 of waving banners, or mockery, threats, and despair. But the voice of the wind is the synthesis of all these sounds: that is the voice which sings and tells of the terrible travail73 of time, the cruelty of human destiny, the eternal warfare74 for an illusion eternally born anew."
"And have you never thought that the essence of music does not lie in the sounds alone?" asked the mystic doctor. "It often dwells in the silence that precedes and follows sound. Rhythm makes itself felt in these intervals76 of silence. Rhythm is the very heart of music, but its pulsation77 is inaudible except during the intervals between sounds."
This metaphysical law confirmed Stelio in his belief of the justness of his own intuition.
"Imagine," said he, "an interval75 between two scenic78 symphonies wherein all the motifs79 concur80 in expressing the inmost essence of the characters that are struggling in the drama as well as in revealing the inmost depths of the action, as, for instance, in Beethoven's great prelude81 in Leonora, or the prelude to Coriolanus. That musical silence, pulsating82 with rhythm, is like the mysterious living atmosphere where alone can appear words of pure poetry. Thus the personages seem to emerge from the symphonic sea as if from the hidden truth that works within them; their spoken words will possess an extraordinary resonance83 in that rhythmic silence, will reach the farthest limit of verbal power, because it will be animated by a continuous aspiration84 to song that cannot be appeased85 except by the melody which must rise again from the orchestra, at the close of the tragic episode. Do you understand me?"
"Then you place the episode between two symphonies, which prepare it and also terminate it, because music is the beginning and the end of human utterance86."
"Thus I bring nearer to the spectator the personages of the drama. Do you recall the figure employed by Schiller in the ode he wrote in honor of Goethe's translation of Mahomet, to signify that, on the stage, only the ideal world seems real. The chariot of Thespis, like the barque of Acheron, is so slight that it can carry only shadows or the images of human beings. On the stage commonly known, these images are so unreal that any contact with them seems as impossible as would be contact with mental forms. They are distant and strange, but in making them appear in the rhythmic silence, accompanied by music to the threshold of the visible world, I shall be able to bring them marvelously close, because I shall illumine the most secret depths of the will that produces them. I shall reveal, in short, the images painted on the veil and that which happens beyond the veil. Do you understand?"
They were now entering the Campo di San Cassiano lonely and deserted87 on the banks of the gray stream; their voices and their footsteps echoed there as if in an amphitheater of stone, distinct above the sound of the Grand Canal, which made a rushing noise like that of a river. A purple mist rose from the fever-laden waters, spreading like a poisonous breath. Death seemed to have reigned88 there a long time. The shutter89 of a high window beat in the wind against the wall, grinding on its hinges, a sign of abandonment and ruin. But, in the mind of the Inspirer, all these appearances produced extraordinary transfigurations. He saw again the wild and solitary90 spot near the tomb of Mycen?. Myrtles flourished between the rugged91 rocks and the cyclopic ruins. Beside a rock lay the rigid92, pure body of the Victim. In the death-like silence he could hear the murmuring water and the intermittent94 breath of the breeze among the myrtles.
"It was in an august place," said he, "that I had the first vision of my new work—at Mycen?, under the gateway95 of the Lions, while I was re-reading Orestes. Land of fire, country of thirst and delirium96, birthplace of Clytemnestra and of the Hydra97, earth forever sterile by the horror of the most tragic destiny that ever has overtaken a human race. Have you ever thought about that barbarian explorer who, after passing the greater part of his existence among his drugs behind a counter, undertook to find the tombs of the Atrid? among the ruins of Mycen?, and who one day (the sixth anniversary of the event is of recent date) beheld98 the greatest and strangest vision ever offered to mortal eyes? Have you ever pictured to yourself that fat Schliemann at the moment when he discovered the most dazzling treasure ever held by Death in the dark obscurity of the earth for centuries—for thousands of years? Have you ever fancied that this superhuman and terrible spectacle might have been revealed to some one else—to a youthful and fervent99 spirit, to a poet, a life-giver, to you, to me, perhaps? Then the fever, the frenzy100, the madness—Imagine!"
He was on fire and vibrating, suddenly swept away by his own fancy as by a whirlwind. His seer's eyes sparkled with the gleam of the buried treasure. Creative force flowed to his brain as blood to his heart. He was an actor in his own drama, with accent and movement expressing transcendent beauty and passion, surpassing the power of the spoken word, the limit of the letter. And his brother spirit hung upon his speech, trembling before the sudden splendor101 that proved to him the truth of his own divinations.
"Imagine! Imagine that the earth in which you explore is baleful—it must still exhale102 the miasma103 of monstrous104 wickedness. The curse upon the Atrid? was so terrific that some vestige105 of it must still have remained to be feared in the dust that they once trod upon. You are bewitched: the dead you seek and cannot find are reincarnated106 in you, and breathe in your body with the terrible breath with which ?schylus infused them, huge and sanguinary as they appear in the Orestes, pierced perpetually with the darts107 and flames of their destiny. Hereafter, all the ideal life with which you have nourished yourself must assume the form and impress of reality. And still you go on in this land of thirst, at the foot of the bare mountain, enclosed within the fascination108 of the dead city, always delving109 in the earth, with those terrifying phantoms110 ever before your eyes in the burning dust. At each thrust of the spade you tremble to the very marrow111, eager to see the face of one of the Atrid?, still perfect, but with the signs still visible of the violence he suffered, the inhuman112 carnage. And behold113 it! the gold, the gold, the bodies, piles of gold, bodies covered with gold"—
The Atrid? princes seemed to be lying there on the stones, a miracle evoked114 in the obscurity of the pathway. And the one who had evoked these images, as well as his listener, shuddered115 at the same instant.
"A succession of tombs: fifteen bodies, intact, one lying beside another, on a golden bed, with masks of gold on their faces, their brows crowned with gold and breasts bound with gold; and covering them, on their forms, at their sides, at their feet, everywhere, a prodigality116 of golden things, countless117 as the leaves falling in a fairy forest. Do you see? Do you see?"
"Yes, yes, I see! I see!"
"For a second, that man's soul has traversed hundreds and thousands of years, has breathed the terrible legend, has palpitated in the horror of the ancient carnage. For a second, his soul has lived that antique life of violence. The slain118 ones were all there: Agamemnon, Eurymedon, Cassandra, and the royal escort, and for a moment they lay under his eyes, motionless. Then—they vanished into nothingness—do you see?—like a vapor119 exhaled120, like scattered foam121, like flying dust, like I know not what frail122 and fleeting123 thing—engulfed in the same fatal silence that surrounded their radiant immobility. And there was only a handful of dust and a mass of gold!" Daniele Glauro, deeply moved, seized his friend's hand; and the Inspirer read in his faithful eyes the mute flame of enthusiasm consecrated124 to the great work.
They stopped near a door in the dark wall. A mysterious sense of distance possessed125 the mind of each, as if their souls were lost in the mists of time; and they fancied that behind that door an ancient people lived enthralled126 by a changeless Destiny. The sound of a rocking cradle came from the house, and the croon of a soft lullaby to a wailing child. The stars glowed in the narrow glimpse of sky; against the walls the sea was moaning. And in another spot a hero's heart suffered while waiting for death.
"Life!" said Stelio, resuming his walk, and drawing Daniele with him. "Here, at this moment, all that trembles, weeps, hopes, breathes, and raves127 in the immensity of life, gathers itself in your mind, condensing itself there with a sublimation128 so rapid that you believe yourself able to express it all in a single word. But what word? What word? Do you know it? Who will ever know it well enough to speak it?"
Again he was distressed129 at his inability to embrace all and express all.
"Have you ever seen, at certain times, the whole universe standing33 before you, as distinct as a human head? I have, a thousand times. Ah, to cut it off, like him that cut off Medusa's head, at one stroke, and hold it up before the multitude so that it never should be forgotten! Have you ever thought that a great tragedy might resemble the attitude of Perseus? I tell you this: I should like to take the bronze of Benvenuto Cellini from the Loggia of Orcagna and place it in the foyer of the new theater as an admonition. But who will give to a poet the sword of Hermes and the mirror of Athena?
"Perseus!" continued the Inspirer. "In the ravine, below the citadel130 of Mycen?, is a fountain called Perseia, and it is the only living thing in that place where all is parched131 and dead. Men are attracted toward it as to a spring of life in that region where the melancholy whiteness of the dried river-beds is visible late in the twilight. All human thirst ardently132 approaches that freshness. And throughout my work the music of that stream shall be heard—the water, the melody of the water. I have found it! In that, the pure element, shall be accomplished133 the pure Act which is the aim of the new tragedy. On its clear, cold waters shall sleep the virgin134 destined to die 'deprived of nuptials,' like Antigone. Do you understand? The pure Act marks the defeat of antique Destiny. The new soul suddenly breaks the iron band that held it, with a determination born of madness, of a lucid135 delirium that resembles ecstasy136, or a deeper, clearer vision of Nature. In the orchestra, the final ode is of the salvation137 and liberation of man, obtained through pain and sacrifice. The monstrous Fate is there, vanquished138, near the tombs of the Atrid?, before the very corpses139 of the victims. Do you understand? He that frees himself by means of the pure Act, the brother that kills his sister to save her soul from the horror that was about to seize her, has himself in reality seen the face of Agamemnon!"
The fascination of the funereal141 gold had taken fresh hold upon his fancy; the evidence of his internal vision gave him a look as of one under a spell of hallucination.
"One of the corpses surpasses all the others in height and in majesty142: his brow is crowned with a golden diadem143, and he wears a cuirass, shoulder-plates, and a girdle of gold, surrounded with swords, lances, daggers144, cups, and countless golden discs scattered like petals145 over his body, more venerable than a demigod. The man bends over this body, while it is vanishing in the light before his very eyes, and lifts the heavy mask. Ah, does he not then see the face of Agamemnon? Is not this corpse140 perhaps the King of kings? The mouth and the eyes are open. Do you remember that passage of Homer's? 'As I lay dying, I raised my hands to my sword; but the woman with dog-like eyes went away, and would not close my eyes and my mouth, at the moment when I was about to descend146 to the abode147 of Hades.' Do you remember? Well, the mouth of this corpse is open, and its eyes are open. He has a high brow, ornamented148 with a single large golden leaf; the nose is long and straight, the chin oval"—
The magician paused an instant, his eyes fixed149 and dilated150. He was a seer. All about him disappeared, and his fiction remained the only reality. Daniele trembled, for he too was able to see through the eyes of the other.
"Ah, the white spot on the shoulder, too! He has raised the armor. The spot, the spot! the hereditary151 mark of the race of Pelops 'of the ivory shoulder'! Is he not indeed the King of kings?"
The rapid, half-broken utterances152 of the seer were like a succession of flashes whereby he himself was dazzled. He had astonished even himself by that sudden apparition, that unexpected discovery which illumined the shadows of his mind, because exterior153 reality, and almost tangible154. How had he been able to discover that spot on Agamemnon's shoulder? From what abyss of his memory had suddenly surged up that detail so strange, yet precise and decisive as a mark that affords recognition of a body dead since the preceding day?
"You were there!" exclaimed Daniele, intoxicated155. "It was you yourself that lifted that armor and that mask! If you have really seen what you have just described, you are no longer a man!"
"I have seen! I have seen!"
Again he became an actor in his own drama, and it was with a violent palpitation that he heard, from the lips of a living person, the words of the drama—the very words that were to be spoken in the episode itself: "If you have really seen what you have described, you are no longer a man." From that instant, the explorer of sepulchers156 took on the aspect of a noble hero fighting against the ancient destiny that had risen from the ashes of the Atrid? to contaminate and overthrow10 him.
"Not with impunity," he continued, "does a man open tombs and gaze upon the faces of the dead—and what dead! He lives alone with his sister, the sweetest creature that ever has breathed the air of earth—alone with her, in the dwelling157 full of light and silence, as in a prayer, a consecration158. Now, imagine one that unconsciously drinks poison, a philter, I know not what impure159 thing, which poisons his blood and corrupts160 his thoughts—suddenly, while his soul is at peace. Imagine this terrible evil, this vengeance161 of the dead! He is suddenly seized by an unholy passion; he becomes the miserable162, trembling prey163 of a monster; he fights a desperate, secret fight, without truce164, without mercy, day and night, every hour, every moment—all the more atrocious the more the innocent pity of the poor creature inclines toward his evil. How can this man be freed? From the very beginning of the tragedy, as soon as the innocent one begins to speak, it is evident that she is destined to die. And all that is said and done in the episodes, all that is expressed by the music, and by the songs and dances of the interludes, serves to lead her slowly but inexorably toward death. She is the equal of Antigone. In her brief, tragic hour, she passes accompanied by the light of hope and the shadow of presentiment; she passes accompanied by songs and tears, by the noble love that offers joy, by the mad love that engenders165 mourning; and she never pauses except to fall asleep on the cold, clear waters of the fountain that called to her from the solitudes166 with its continual murmur93. Hardly has her brother killed her when he receives from her, through death, the gift of his redemption. 'All stain,' he cries, 'is effaced167 from my soul! I have become wholly pure! All the sanctity of my former love has re?ntered my soul like a torrent168 of light. Were she here now, all my thoughts of her would be pure as lilies. Were she to rise again, she could walk over my heart as over immaculate snow. Now she is perfect; now she can be adored as a divinity. I will lay her in the deepest of my sepulchers, and around her I will lay all my treasures.' Thus, the act of death, into which he has been drawn169 by his lucid madness, becomes an act of purification and of liberation, marking the defeat of ancient Destiny. Emerging from the symphonic ocean, the ode shall sing of the victory of man, shall illumine the darkness of the catastrophe170 with an unknown light, and shall elevate to the summit of music the first word of the Drama renewed."
"The gesture of Perseus!" exclaimed Daniele, still under the spell of exaltation. "At the end of the tragedy you cut off the head of the Moira, and show it to the multitude, ever young and ever-new, which shall bring the spectacle to a close amid great cries of enthusiasm."
Both saw, as in a dream, the marble theater on the Janiculum, the multitude swayed by the idea of truth and of beauty, the illimitable starry171 Roman sky; they saw the frenzied172 multitude descending173 the slope of the hill, bearing in their rude hearts the confused revelation of poetry; they heard the clamor prolonging itself in the darkness of the immortal city.
"And now good-by, Daniele," said the master, reminded of his need to hasten, as if some one waited for him or called him.
The eyes of the Tragic Muse174 remained immovable in the depths of his dream, sightless, petrified175 in the divine blindness of statues.
"Where are you going?"
"To the Palazzo Capello."
"Does La Foscarina know the thread of your work?"
"And what figure shall you give to her?"
"She shall be blind, having already passed into another world, and gone beyond the life of this. She shall see that which others do not see. Her feet shall be in the shadows, but her head in the light of eternal truth. The contrasts of the tragic hour shall reverberate177 in the darkness of her soul, multiplying themselves there like thunder among the deep circles of solitary rocks. Like Tiresias, she shall comprehend everything, permitted or forbidden, celestial178 and terrestrial, and she shall know 'how hard it is to know when knowing is useless.' Ah, I shall put marvelous words into her mouth, and silences that shall give birth to infinite beauties."
"On the stage," said Glauro, "whether she speaks or is silent, her power is almost more than human. She reveals to us the existence in our own hearts of the most secret evil and the most hidden hopes; by her enchantment179, our past becomes present; and, by the virtue of her aspect, we recognize ourselves in the trials suffered by others throughout time, as if the soul she reveals to us were our own."
They stopped on the Ponte Savio. Stelio was silent, under a flood of love and melancholy, which had suddenly come upon him.
"I wish I had not to leave you to-night, Stelio," confessed the faithful brother, who was also invaded by a peculiar180 melancholy. "When I am with you, I breathe more freely, and live a swifter life."
Stelio was silent. The wind had abated181 somewhat. The brown church and the square tower of naked brick seemed to be praying silently to the stars.
"Do you know the green column that stands in San Giacomo dall' Orio?" Daniele resumed, intending to hold his friend a little longer, because he dreaded182 to say farewell. "What sublimity183! It is like the fossilized condensation184 of an immense green forest. In following its innumerable veins185, the eye travels in a dream through sylvan186 mysteries. When I look at it I fancy myself visiting Sila and Ercinna."
Stelio knew the column. One day Perdita had leaned long against the precious shaft187, contemplating188 the magic frieze189 of gold that curves above the canvas of Bassano, obscuring it.
"To dream—always to dream," he sighed, with a return of that bitter impatience190 which had suggested sneering191 words to him when he had come on the boat from the Lido. "To live on relics192! Think of Dandolo, who overthrew193 the column and an empire at the same time, and who preferred to remain doge when he might have become emperor. Perhaps he lived more than you, who wander in fancy through forests when you examine the marble he pillaged194. Good-by, Daniele."
"I shall stop at the Palazzo Vendramin for news," said the faithful brother.
These words recalled afresh the thought of the great ailing55 heart, the weight of the hero in their arms, the terrible removal.
"He has conquered—he can die," said Stelio.
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twig
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| n.小树枝，嫩枝；v.理解 | |
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barbarian
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| n.野蛮人；adj.野蛮(人)的；未开化的 | |
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destined
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| adj.命中注定的；(for)以…为目的地的 | |
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worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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fervor
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| n.热诚；热心；炽热 | |
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gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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suffocates
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| （使某人）窒息而死( suffocate的第三人称单数 )； （将某人）闷死； 让人感觉闷热； 憋气 | |
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exalted
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| adj.(地位等)高的，崇高的；尊贵的，高尚的 | |
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overthrown
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| adj. 打翻的，推倒的，倾覆的 动词overthrow的过去分词 | |
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overthrow
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piazza
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| n.广场；走廊 | |
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overflowed
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| 溢出的 | |
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porticoes
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| n.柱廊，（有圆柱的）门廊( portico的名词复数 ) | |
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twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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mosaic
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| n./adj.镶嵌细工的，镶嵌工艺品的，嵌花式的 | |
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colloquy
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| n.谈话，自由讨论 | |
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hymn
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| n.赞美诗，圣歌，颂歌 | |
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lagoons
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| n.污水池( lagoon的名词复数 )；潟湖；（大湖或江河附近的）小而浅的淡水湖；温泉形成的池塘 | |
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19
expressive
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| adj.表现的，表达…的，富于表情的 | |
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20
sonorous
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| adj.响亮的，回响的；adv.圆润低沉地；感人地；n.感人，堂皇 | |
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21
hissing
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| n. 发嘶嘶声, 蔑视 动词hiss的现在分词形式 | |
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22
supplication
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| n.恳求，祈愿，哀求 | |
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23
melodic
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| adj.有旋律的，调子美妙的 | |
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24
swells
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| 增强( swell的第三人称单数 )； 肿胀； （使）凸出； 充满（激情） | |
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25
sterile
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| adj.不毛的，不孕的，无菌的，枯燥的，贫瘠的 | |
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26
ascetic
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| adj.禁欲的；严肃的 | |
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27
simplicity
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| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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28
ingenuous
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| adj.纯朴的，单纯的；天真的；坦率的 | |
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29
innocence
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| n.无罪；天真；无害 | |
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30
infancy
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| n.婴儿期；幼年期；初期 | |
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31
virtue
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| n.德行，美德；贞操；优点；功效，效力 | |
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32
tragic
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| adj.悲剧的，悲剧性的，悲惨的 | |
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33
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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34
converse
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| vi.谈话，谈天，闲聊；adv.相反的，相反 | |
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35
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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36
animated
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| adj.生气勃勃的，活跃的，愉快的 | |
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37
apparition
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| n.幽灵，神奇的现象 | |
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38
decadence
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| n.衰落，颓废 | |
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39
rhythmical
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| adj.有节奏的，有韵律的 | |
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40
rhythmic
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| adj.有节奏的，有韵律的 | |
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41
dominant
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| adj.支配的，统治的；占优势的；显性的；n.主因，要素，主要的人(或物)；显性基因 | |
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42
renounce
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| v.放弃；拒绝承认，宣布与…断绝关系 | |
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43
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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44
aspires
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| v.渴望，追求( aspire的第三人称单数 ) | |
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45
primitive
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| adj.原始的；简单的；n.原(始)人，原始事物 | |
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46
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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47
intoxicates
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| 使喝醉（intoxicate的第三人称单数形式） | |
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48
presentiment
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| n.预感，预觉 | |
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49
manifestation
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| n.表现形式；表明；现象 | |
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50
supreme
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| adj.极度的，最重要的；至高的，最高的 | |
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51
formulate
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| v.用公式表示；规划；设计；系统地阐述 | |
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52
gale
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| n.大风，强风，一阵闹声（尤指笑声等） | |
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53
cataract
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| n.大瀑布，奔流，洪水，白内障 | |
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54
wailing
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| v.哭叫，哀号( wail的现在分词 )；沱 | |
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55
ailing
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| v.生病 | |
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56
lamentation
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| n.悲叹，哀悼 | |
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57
scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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58
pageants
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| n.盛装的游行( pageant的名词复数 )；穿古代服装的游行；再现历史场景的娱乐活动；盛会 | |
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59
grandeur
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| n.伟大，崇高，宏伟，庄严，豪华 | |
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60
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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61
triumphant
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| adj.胜利的，成功的；狂欢的，喜悦的 | |
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62
immortal
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| adj.不朽的；永生的，不死的；神的 | |
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63
flickering
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| adj.闪烁的，摇曳的，一闪一闪的 | |
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64
lighting
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| n.照明，光线的明暗，舞台灯光 | |
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65
jotted
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| v.匆忙记下( jot的过去式和过去分词 )；草草记下，匆匆记下 | |
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66
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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67
agile
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| adj.敏捷的，灵活的 | |
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68
elasticity
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| n.弹性，伸缩力 | |
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69
essentially
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| adv.本质上，实质上，基本上 | |
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70
throng
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| n.人群，群众；v.拥挤，群集 | |
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71
cataracts
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| n.大瀑布( cataract的名词复数 )；白内障 | |
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72
rustle
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| v.沙沙作响；偷盗(牛、马等)；n.沙沙声声 | |
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73
travail
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| n.阵痛；努力 | |
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74
warfare
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| n.战争(状态)；斗争；冲突 | |
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75
interval
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| n.间隔，间距；幕间休息，中场休息 | |
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76
intervals
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| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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77
pulsation
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| n.脉搏，悸动，脉动；搏动性 | |
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78
scenic
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| adj.自然景色的，景色优美的 | |
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79
motifs
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| n. （文艺作品等的）主题( motif的名词复数 )；中心思想；基本模式；基本图案 | |
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80
concur
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| v.同意，意见一致，互助，同时发生 | |
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81
prelude
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| n.序言，前兆，序曲 | |
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82
pulsating
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| adj.搏动的，脉冲的v.有节奏地舒张及收缩( pulsate的现在分词 )；跳动；脉动；受（激情）震动 | |
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83
resonance
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| n.洪亮；共鸣；共振 | |
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84
aspiration
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| n.志向，志趣抱负；渴望；(语)送气音；吸出 | |
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85
appeased
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| 安抚，抚慰( appease的过去式和过去分词 )； 绥靖（满足另一国的要求以避免战争） | |
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86
utterance
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| n.用言语表达，话语，言语 | |
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87
deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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88
reigned
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| vi.当政，统治（reign的过去式形式） | |
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89
shutter
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| n.百叶窗；(照相机)快门；关闭装置 | |
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90
solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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91
rugged
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| adj.高低不平的，粗糙的，粗壮的，强健的 | |
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92
rigid
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| adj.严格的，死板的；刚硬的，僵硬的 | |
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93
murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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94
intermittent
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| adj.间歇的，断断续续的 | |
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95
gateway
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| n.大门口，出入口，途径，方法 | |
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96
delirium
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| n. 神智昏迷,说胡话;极度兴奋 | |
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97
hydra
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| n.水螅；难于根除的祸患 | |
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98
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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99
fervent
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| adj.热的，热烈的，热情的 | |
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100
frenzy
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| n.疯狂，狂热，极度的激动 | |
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101
splendor
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| n.光彩；壮丽，华丽；显赫，辉煌 | |
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102
exhale
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| v.呼气，散出，吐出，蒸发 | |
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103
miasma
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| n.毒气；不良气氛 | |
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104
monstrous
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| adj.巨大的；恐怖的；可耻的，丢脸的 | |
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105
vestige
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| n.痕迹，遗迹，残余 | |
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106
reincarnated
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| v.赋予新形体，使转世化身( reincarnate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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107
darts
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| n.掷飞镖游戏；飞镖( dart的名词复数 )；急驰，飞奔v.投掷，投射( dart的第三人称单数 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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108
fascination
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| n.令人着迷的事物，魅力，迷恋 | |
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109
delving
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| v.深入探究，钻研( delve的现在分词 ) | |
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110
phantoms
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| n.鬼怪，幽灵( phantom的名词复数 ) | |
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111
marrow
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| n.骨髓；精华；活力 | |
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112
inhuman
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| adj.残忍的，不人道的，无人性的 | |
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113
behold
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| v.看，注视，看到 | |
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114
evoked
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| [医]诱发的 | |
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115
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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116
prodigality
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| n.浪费，挥霍 | |
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117
countless
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| adj.无数的，多得不计其数的 | |
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118
slain
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| 杀死，宰杀，杀戮( slay的过去分词 )； (slay的过去分词) | |
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119
vapor
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| n.蒸汽，雾气 | |
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120
exhaled
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| v.呼出，发散出( exhale的过去式和过去分词 )；吐出（肺中的空气、烟等），呼气 | |
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121
foam
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| v./n.泡沫，起泡沫 | |
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122
frail
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| adj.身体虚弱的；易损坏的 | |
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123
fleeting
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| adj.短暂的，飞逝的 | |
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124
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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125
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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126
enthralled
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| 迷住，吸引住( enthrall的过去式和过去分词 )； 使感到非常愉快 | |
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127
raves
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| n.狂欢晚会( rave的名词复数 )v.胡言乱语( rave的第三人称单数 )；愤怒地说；咆哮；痴心地说 | |
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128
sublimation
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| n.升华，升华物，高尚化 | |
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129
distressed
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| 痛苦的 | |
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130
citadel
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| n.城堡；堡垒；避难所 | |
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131
parched
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| adj.焦干的；极渴的；v.（使）焦干 | |
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132
ardently
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| adv.热心地，热烈地 | |
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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
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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135
lucid
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| adj.明白易懂的，清晰的，头脑清楚的 | |
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136
ecstasy
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| n.狂喜，心醉神怡，入迷 | |
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137
salvation
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| n.（尤指基督）救世，超度，拯救，解困 | |
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138
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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139
corpses
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| n.死尸，尸体( corpse的名词复数 ) | |
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140
corpse
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| n.尸体，死尸 | |
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141
funereal
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| adj.悲哀的；送葬的 | |
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142
majesty
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| n.雄伟，壮丽，庄严，威严；最高权威，王权 | |
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143
diadem
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| n.王冠，冕 | |
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144
daggers
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| 匕首，短剑( dagger的名词复数 ) | |
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145
petals
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| n.花瓣( petal的名词复数 ) | |
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146
descend
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| vt./vi.传下来，下来，下降 | |
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abode
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| n.住处，住所 | |
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148
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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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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dilated
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| adj.加宽的，扩大的v.（使某物）扩大，膨胀，张大( dilate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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151
hereditary
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| adj.遗传的，遗传性的，可继承的，世袭的 | |
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152
utterances
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| n.发声( utterance的名词复数 )；说话方式；语调；言论 | |
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153
exterior
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| adj.外部的，外在的；表面的 | |
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154
tangible
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| adj.有形的，可触摸的，确凿的，实际的 | |
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intoxicated
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| 喝醉的，极其兴奋的 | |
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156
sepulchers
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| n.坟墓，墓穴( sepulcher的名词复数 )；圣物置放处v.埋葬( sepulcher的第三人称单数 ) | |
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157
dwelling
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| n.住宅，住所，寓所 | |
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158
consecration
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| n.供献，奉献，献祭仪式 | |
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159
impure
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| adj.不纯净的，不洁的；不道德的，下流的 | |
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corrupts
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| （使）败坏( corrupt的第三人称单数 )； （使）腐化； 引起（计算机文件等的）错误； 破坏 | |
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161
vengeance
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| n.报复，报仇，复仇 | |
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miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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163
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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164
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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engenders
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| v.产生（某形势或状况），造成，引起( engender的第三人称单数 ) | |
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166
solitudes
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| n.独居( solitude的名词复数 )；孤独；荒僻的地方；人迹罕至的地方 | |
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167
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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168
torrent
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| n.激流，洪流；爆发，(话语等的)连发 | |
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169
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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170
catastrophe
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| n.大灾难，大祸 | |
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171
starry
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| adj.星光照耀的, 闪亮的 | |
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172
frenzied
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| a.激怒的；疯狂的 | |
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173
descending
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| n. 下行 adj. 下降的 | |
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174
muse
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| n.缪斯（希腊神话中的女神），创作灵感 | |
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175
petrified
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| adj.惊呆的；目瞪口呆的v.使吓呆，使惊呆；变僵硬；使石化(petrify的过去式和过去分词) | |
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176
vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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177
reverberate
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| v.使回响，使反响 | |
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178
celestial
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| adj.天体的；天上的 | |
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179
enchantment
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| n.迷惑，妖术，魅力 | |
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180
peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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181
abated
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| 减少( abate的过去式和过去分词 )； 减去； 降价； 撤消（诉讼） | |
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182
dreaded
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| adj.令人畏惧的；害怕的v.害怕，恐惧，担心( dread的过去式和过去分词) | |
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183
sublimity
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| 崇高，庄严，气质高尚 | |
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184
condensation
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| n.压缩，浓缩；凝结的水珠 | |
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185
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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186
sylvan
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| adj.森林的 | |
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187
shaft
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| n.(工具的)柄，杆状物 | |
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188
contemplating
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| 深思，细想，仔细考虑( contemplate的现在分词 )； 注视，凝视； 考虑接受（发生某事的可能性）； 深思熟虑，沉思，苦思冥想 | |
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189
frieze
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| n.(墙上的)横饰带，雕带 | |
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190
impatience
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| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
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191
sneering
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| 嘲笑的，轻蔑的 | |
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192
relics
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| [pl.］n.遗物，遗迹，遗产；遗体，尸骸 | |
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193
overthrew
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| overthrow的过去式 | |
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194
pillaged
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| v.抢劫，掠夺( pillage的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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