In the course of the week Lucian again visited Caermaen. He wished to view the amphitheatre more precisely1, to note the exact position of the ancient walls, to gaze up the valley from certain points within the town, to imprint2 minutely and clearly on his mind the surge of the hills about the city, and the dark tapestry3 of the hanging woods. And he lingered in the museum where the relics4 of the Roman occupation had been stored; he was interested in the fragments of tessellated floors, in the glowing gold of drinking cups, the curious beads5 of fused and colored glass, the carved amber7-work, the scent8-flagons that still retained the memory of unctuous9 odors, the necklaces, brooches, hair-pins of gold and silver, and other intimate objects which had once belonged to Roman ladies. One of the glass flagons, buried in damp earth for many hundred years, had gathered in its dark grave all the splendors11 of the light, and now shone like an opal with a moonlight glamour12 and gleams of gold and pale sunset green, and imperial purple. Then there were the wine jars of red earthenware13, the memorial stones from graves, and the heads of broken gods, with fragments of occult things used in the secret rites15 of Mithras. Lucian read on the labels where all these objects were found: in the churchyard, beneath the turf of the meadow, and in the old cemetery16 near the forest; and whenever it was possible he would make his way to the spot of discovery, and imagine the long darkness that had hidden gold and stone and amber. All these investigations18 were necessary for the scheme he had in view, so he became for some time quite a familiar figure in the dusty deserted19 streets and in the meadows by the river. His continual visits to Caermaen were a tortuous20 puzzle to the inhabitants, who flew to their windows at the sound of a step on the uneven21 pavements. They were at a loss in their conjectures22; his motive23 for coming down three times a week must of course be bad, but it seemed undiscoverable. And Lucian on his side was at first a good deal put out by occasional encounters with members of the Gervase or Dixon or Colley tribes; he had often to stop and exchange a few conventional expressions, and such meetings, casual as they were, annoyed and distracted him. He was no longer infuriated or wounded by sneers24 of contempt or by the cackling laughter of the young people when they passed him on the road (his hat was a shocking one and his untidiness terrible), but such incidents were unpleasant just as the smell of a drain was unpleasant, and threw the strange mechanism25 of his thoughts out of fear for the time. Then he had been disgusted by the affair of the boys and the little dog; the loathsomeness26 of it had quite broken up his fancies. He had read books of modern occultism, and remembered some of the experiments described. The adept28, it was alleged29, could transfer the sense of consciousness from his brain to the foot or hand, he could annihilate30 the world around him and pass into another sphere. Lucian wondered whether he could not perform some such operation for his own benefit. Human beings were constantly annoying him and getting in his way, was it not possible to annihilate the race, or at all events to reduce them to wholly insignificant31 forms? A certain process suggested itself to his mind, a work partly mental and partly physical, and after two or three experiments he found to his astonishment32 and delight that it was successful. Here, he thought, he had discovered one of the secrets of true magic; this was the key to the symbolic33 transmutations of the Eastern tales. The adept could, in truth, change those who were obnoxious34 to him into harmless and unimportant shapes, not as in the letter of the old stories, by transforming the enemy, but by transforming himself. The magician puts men below him by going up higher, as one looks down on a mountain city from a loftier crag. The stones on the road and such petty obstacles do not trouble the wise man on the great journey, and so Lucian, when obliged to stop and converse35 with his fellow-creatures, to listen to their poor pretences36 and inanities37, was no more inconvenienced than when he had to climb an awkward stile in the course of a walk. As for the more unpleasant manifestations38 of humanity; after all they no longer concerned him. Men intent on the great purpose did not suffer the current of their thoughts to be broken by the buzzing of a fly caught in a spider’s web, so why should he be perturbed39 by the misery40 of a puppy in the hands of village boys? The fly, no doubt, endured its tortures; lying helpless and bound in those slimy bands, it cried out in its thin voice when the claws of the horrible monster fastened on it; but its dying agonies had never vexed42 the reverie of a lover. Lucian saw no reason why the boys should offend him more than the spider, or why he should pity the dog more than he pitied the fly. The talk of the men and women might be wearisome and inept43 and often malignant44; but he could not imagine an alchemist at the moment of success, a general in the hour of victory, or a financier with a gigantic scheme of swindling well on the market being annoyed by the buzz of insects. The spider is, no doubt, a very terrible brute45 with a hideous46 mouth and hairy tiger-like claws when seen through the microscope; but Lucian had taken away the microscope from his eyes. He could now walk the streets of Caermaen confident and secure, without any dread47 of interruption, for at a moment’s notice the transformation48 could be effected. Once Dr. Burrows49 caught him and made him promise to attend a bazaar50 that was to be held in aid of the Hungarian Protestants; Lucian assented51 the more willingly as he wished to pay a visit to certain curious mounds52 on a hill a little way out of the town, and he calculated on slinking off from the bazaar early in the afternoon. Lord Beamys was visiting Sir Vivian Ponsonby, a local magnate, and had kindly53 promised to drive over and declare the bazaar open. It was a solemn moment when the carriage drew up and the great man alighted. He was rather an evil-looking old nobleman, but the clergy54 and gentry55, their wives and sons and daughters welcomed him with great and unctuous joy. Conversations were broken off in mid-sentence, slow people gaped56, not realizing why their friends had so suddenly left them, the Meyricks came up hot and perspiring57 in fear lest they should be too late, Miss Colley, a yellow virgin58 of austere59 regard, smiled largely, Mrs. Dixon beckoned60 wildly with her parasol to the “girls” who were idly strolling in a distant part of the field, and the archdeacon ran at full speed. The air grew dark with bows, and resonant61 with the genial62 laugh of the archdeacon, the cackle of the younger ladies, and the shrill63 parrot-like voices of the matrons; those smiled who had never smiled before, and on some maiden64 faces there hovered65 that look of adoring ecstasy66 with which the old maidens67 graced their angels. Then, when all the due rites had been performed, the company turned and began to walk towards the booths of their small Vanity Fair. Lord Beamys led the way with Mrs. Gervase, Mrs. Dixon followed with Sir Vivian Ponsonby, and the multitudes that followed cried, saying, “What a dear old man!”—“Isn’t it kind of him to come all this way?”—“What a sweet expression, isn’t it?”—“I think he’s an old love”—“One of the good old sort”—“Real English nobleman”—“Oh most correct, I assure you; if a girl gets into trouble, notice to quit at once”—“Always stands by the Church”—“Twenty livings in his gift”—“Voted for the Public Worship Regulation Act”—“Ten thousand acres strictly68 preserved.” The old lord was leering pleasantly and muttering to himself: “Some fine gals69 here. Like the looks of that filly with the pink hat. Ought to see more of her. She’d give Lotty points.”
The pomp swept slowly across the grass: the archdeacon had got hold of Mr. Dixon, and they were discussing the misdeeds of some clergyman in the rural deanery.
“I can scarce credit it,” said Mr. Dixon.
“Oh, I assure you, there can be no doubt. We have witnesses. There can be no question that there was a procession at Llanfihangel on the Sunday before Easter; the choir70 and minister went round the church, carrying palm branches in their hands.”
“Very shocking.”
“It has distressed71 the bishop72. Martin is a hard-working man enough, and all that, but those sort of things can’t be tolerated. The bishop told me that he had set his face against processions.”
“Quite right: the bishop is perfectly73 right. Processions are unscriptural.”
“It’s the thin end of the wedge, you know, Dixon.”
“Exactly. I have always resisted anything of the kind here.”
“Right. Principiis obsta, you know. Martin is so imprudent. There’s a way of doing things.”
The “scriptural” procession led by Lord Beamys broke up when the stalls were reached, and gathered round the nobleman as he declared the bazaar open.
Lucian was sitting on a garden-seat, a little distance off, looking dreamily before him. And all that he saw was a swarm74 of flies clustering and buzzing about a lump of tainted76 meat that lay on the grass. The spectacle in no way interrupted the harmony of his thoughts, and soon after the opening of the bazaar he went quietly away, walking across the fields in the direction of the ancient mounds he desired to inspect.
All these journeys of his to Caermaen and its neighborhood had a peculiar77 object; he was gradually leveling to the dust the squalid kraals of modern times, and rebuilding the splendid and golden city of Siluria. All this mystic town was for the delight of his sweetheart and himself; for her the wonderful villas78, the shady courts, the magic of tessellated pavements, and the hangings of rich stuffs with their intricate and glowing patterns. Lucian wandered all day through the shining streets, taking shelter sometimes in the gardens beneath the dense79 and gloomy ilex trees, and listening to the plash and trickle81 of the fountains. Sometimes he would look out of a window and watch the crowd and color of the market-place, and now and again a ship came up the river bringing exquisite82 silks and the merchandise of unknown lands in the Far East. He had made a curious and accurate map of the town he proposed to inhabit, in which every villa41 was set down and named. He drew his lines to scale with the gravity of a surveyor, and studied the plan till he was able to find his way from house to house on the darkest summer night. On the southern slopes about the town there were vineyards, always under a glowing sun, and sometimes he ventured to the furthest ridge83 of the forest, where the wild people still lingered, that he might catch the golden gleam of the city far away, as the light quivered and scintillated84 on the glittering tiles. And there were gardens outside the city gates where strange and brilliant flowers grew, filling the hot air with their odor, and scenting85 the breeze that blew along the streets. The dull modern life was far away, and people who saw him at this period wondered what was amiss; the abstraction of his glance was obvious, even to eyes not over-sharp. But men and women had lost all their power of annoyance86 and vexation; they could no longer even interrupt his thought for a moment. He could listen to Mr. Dixon with apparent attention, while he was in reality enraptured87 by the entreating89 music of the double flute90, played by a girl in the garden of Avallaunius, for that was the name he had taken. Mr. Dixon was innocently discoursing91 archeology, giving a brief résumé of the view expressed by Mr. Wyndham at the last meeting of the antiquarian society.
“There can be no doubt that the temple of Diana stood there in pagan times,” he concluded, and Lucian assented to the opinion, and asked a few questions which seemed pertinent92 enough. But all the time the flute notes were sounding in his ears, and the ilex threw a purple shadow on the white pavement before his villa. A boy came forward from the garden; he had been walking amongst the vines and plucking the ripe grapes, and the juice had trickled93 down over his breast. Standing94 beside the girl, unashamed in the sunlight, he began to sing one of Sappho’s love songs. His voice was as full and rich as a woman’s, but purged95 of all emotion; he was an instrument of music in the flesh. Lucian looked at him steadily96; the white perfect body shone against the roses and the blue of the sky, clear and gleaming as marble in the glare of the sun. The words he sang burned and flamed with passion, and he was as unconscious of their meaning as the twin pipes of the flute. And the girl was smiling. The vicar shook hands and went on, well pleased with his remarks on the temple of Diana, and also with Lucian’s polite interest.
“He is by no means wanting in intelligence,” he said to his family. “A little curious in manner, perhaps, but not stupid.”
“Oh, papa,” said Henrietta, “don’t you think he is rather silly? He can’t talk about anything — anything interesting, I mean. And he pretends to know a lot about books, but I heard him say the other day he had never read The Prince of the House of David or Ben–Hur. Fancy!”
The vicar had not interrupted Lucian. The sun still beat upon the roses, and a little breeze bore the scent of them to his nostrils97 together with the smell of grapes and vine-leaves. He had become curious in sensation, and as he leant back upon the cushions covered with glistening98 yellow silk, he was trying to analyze99 a strange ingredient in the perfume of the air. He had penetrated102 far beyond the crude distinctions of modern times, beyond the rough: “there’s a smell of roses,” “there must be sweetbriar somewhere.” Modern perceptions of odor were, he knew, far below those of the savage103 in delicacy104. The degraded black fellow of Australia could distinguish odors in a way that made the consumer of “damper” stare in amazement105, but the savage’s sensations were all strictly utilitarian106. To Lucian as he sat in the cool porch, his feet on the marble, the air came laden107 with scents108 as subtly and wonderfully interwoven and contrasted as the harmonica of a great master. The stained marble of the pavement gave a cool reminiscence of the Italian mountain, the blood-red roses palpitating in the sunlight sent out an odor mystical as passion itself, and there was the hint of inebriation109 in the perfume of the trellised vines. Besides these, the girl’s desire and the unripe110 innocence111 of the boy were as distinct as benzoin and myrrh, both delicious and exquisite, and exhaled112 as freely as the scent of the roses. But there was another element that puzzled him, an aromatic114 suggestion of the forest. He understood it at last; it was the vapor115 of the great red pines that grew beyond the garden; their spicy116 needles were burning in the sun, and the smell was as fragrant117 as the fume100 of incense118 blown from far. The soft entreaty119 of the flute and the swelling120 rapture88 of the boy’s voice beat on the air together, and Lucian wondered whether there were in the nature of things any true distinction between the impressions of sound and scent and color. The violent blue of the sky, the song, and the odours seemed rather varied121 symbols of one mystery than distinct entities122. He could almost imagine that the boy’s innocence was indeed a perfume, and that the palpitating roses had become a sonorous123 chant.
In the curious silence which followed the last notes, when the boy and girl had passed under the purple ilex shadow, he fell into a reverie. The fancy that sensations are symbols and not realities hovered in his mind, and led him to speculate as to whether they could not actually be transmuted124 one into another. It was possible, he thought, that a whole continent of knowledge had been undiscovered; the energies of men having been expended125 in unimportant and foolish directions. Modern ingenuity126 had been employed on such trifles as locomotive engines, electric cables, and cantilever127 bridges; on elaborate devices for bringing uninteresting people nearer together; the ancients had been almost as foolish, because they had mistaken the symbol for the thing signified. It was not the material banquet which really mattered, but the thought of it; it was almost as futile128 to eat and take emetics129 and eat again as to invent telephones and high-pressure boilers130. As for some other ancient methods of enjoying life, one might as well set oneself to improve calico printing at once.
“Only in the garden of Avallaunius,” said Lucian to himself, “is the true and exquisite science to be found.”
He could imagine a man who was able to live in one sense while he pleased; to whom, for example, every impression of touch, taste, hearing, or seeing should be translated into odor; who at the desired kiss should be ravished with the scent of dark violets, to whom music should be the perfume of a rose-garden at dawn.
When, now and again, he voluntarily resumed the experience of common life, it was that he might return with greater delight to the garden in the city of refuge. In the actual world the talk was of Nonconformists, the lodger131 franchise132, and the Stock Exchange; people were constantly reading newspapers, drinking Australian Burgundy, and doing other things equally absurd. They either looked shocked when the fine art of pleasure was mentioned, or confused it with going to musical comedies, drinking bad whisky, and keeping late hours in disreputable and vulgar company. He found to his amusement that the profligate133 were by many degrees duller than the pious134, but that the most tedious of all were the persons who preached promiscuity135, and called their system of “pigging” the “New Morality.”
He went back to the city lovingly, because it was built and adorned136 for his love. As the metaphysicians insist on the consciousness of the ego137 as the implied basis of all thought, so he knew that it was she in whom he had found himself, and through whom and for whom all the true life existed. He felt that Annie had taught him the rare magic which had created the garden of Avallaunius. It was for her that he sought strange secrets and tried to penetrate101 the mysteries of sensation, for he could only give her wonderful thoughts and a wonderful life, and a poor body stained with the scars of his worship.
It was with this object, that of making the offering of himself a worthy138 one, that he continually searched for new and exquisite experiences. He made lovers come before him and confess their secrets; he pried139 into the inmost mysteries of innocence and shame, noting how passion and reluctance140 strive together for the mastery. In the amphitheatre he sometimes witnessed strange entertainments in which such tales as Daphnis and Chloe and The Golden Ass6 were performed before him. These shows were always given at nighttime; a circle of torch-bearers surrounded the stage in the center, and above, all the tiers of seats were dark. He would look up at the soft blue of the summer sky, and at the vast dim mountain hovering141 like a cloud in the west, and then at the scene illumined by a flaring142 light, and contrasted with violent shadows. The subdued143 mutter of conversation in a strange language rising from bench after bench, swift hissing144 whispers of explanation, now and then a shout or a cry as the interest deepened, the restless tossing of the people as the end drew near, an arm lifted, a cloak thrown back, the sudden blaze of a torch lighting145 up purple or white or the gleam of gold in the black serried146 ranks; these were impressions that seemed always amazing. And above, the dusky light of the stars, around, the sweet-scented147 meadows, and the twinkle of lamps from the still city, the cry of the sentries148 about the walls, the wash of the tide filling the river, and the salt savor149 of the sea. With such a scenic150 ornament151 he saw the tale of Apuleius represented, heard the names of Fotis and Byrrhaena and Lucius proclaimed, and the deep intonation152 of such sentences as Ecce Veneris hortator et armiger Liber advenit ultro. The tale went on through all its marvelous adventures, and Lucian left the amphitheatre and walked beside the river where he could hear indistinctly the noise of voices and the singing Latin, and note how the rumor153 of the stage mingled155 with the murmur156 of the shuddering157 reeds and the cool lapping of the tide. Then came the farewell of the cantor, the thunder of applause, the crash of cymbals158, the calling of the flutes159, and the surge of the wind in the great dark wood.
At other times it was his chief pleasure to spend a whole day in a vineyard planted on the steep slope beyond the bridge. A grey stone seat had been placed beneath a shady laurel, and here he often sat without motion or gesture for many hours. Below him the tawny160 river swept round the town in a half circle; he could see the swirl161 of the yellow water, its eddies162 and miniature whirlpools, as the tide poured up from the south. And beyond the river the strong circuit of the walls, and within, the city glittered like a charming piece of mosaic163. He freed himself from the obtuse164 modern view of towns as places where human beings live and make money and rejoice or suffer, for from the standpoint of the moment such facts were wholly impertinent. He knew perfectly well that for his present purpose the tawny sheen and shimmer165 of the tide was the only fact of importance about the river, and so he regarded the city as a curious work in jewelry166. Its radiant marble porticoes167, the white walls of the villas, a dome168 of burning copper169, the flash and scintillation of tiled roofs, the quiet red of brickwork, dark groves171 of ilex, and cypress172, and laurel, glowing rose-gardens, and here and there the silver of a fountain, seemed arranged and contrasted with a wonderful art, and the town appeared a delicious ornament, every cube of color owing its place to the thought and inspiration of the artificer. Lucian, as he gazed from his arbour amongst the trellised vines, lost none of the subtle pleasures of the sight; noting every nuance173 of color, he let his eyes dwell for a moment on the scarlet174 flash of poppies, and then on a glazed175 roof which in the glance of the sun seemed to spout176 white fire. A square of vines was like some rare green stone; the grapes were massed so richly amongst the vivid leaves, that even from far off there was a sense of irregular flecks177 and stains of purple running through the green. The laurel garths were like cool jade178; the gardens, where red, yellow, blue and white gleamed together in a mist of heat, had the radiance of opal; the river was a band of dull gold. On every side, as if to enhance the preciousness of the city, the woods hung dark on the hills; above, the sky was violet, specked with minute feathery clouds, white as snowflakes. It reminded him of a beautiful bowl in his villa; the ground was of that same brilliant blue, and the artist had fused into the work, when it was hot, particles of pure white glass.
For Lucian this was a spectacle that enchanted179 many hours; leaning on one hand, he would gaze at the city glowing in the sunlight till the purple shadows grew down the slopes and the long melodious180 trumpet181 sounded for the evening watch. Then, as he strolled beneath the trellises, he would see all the radiant facets182 glimmering183 out, and the city faded into haze184, a white wall shining here and there, and the gardens veiled in a dim glow of color. On such an evening he would go home with the sense that he had truly lived a day, having received for many hours the most acute impressions of beautiful color.
Often he spent the night in the cool court of his villa, lying amidst soft cushions heaped upon the marble bench. A lamp stood on the table at his elbow, its light making the water in the cistern185 twinkle. There was no sound in the court except the soft continual plashing of the fountain. Throughout these still hours he would meditate186, and he became more than ever convinced that man could, if he pleased, become lord of his own sensations. This, surely, was the true meaning concealed187 under the beautiful symbolism of alchemy. Some years before he had read many of the wonderful alchemical books of the later Middle Ages, and had suspected that something other than the turning of lead into gold was intended. This impression was deepened when he looked into Lumen de Lumine by Vaughan, the brother of the Silurist, and he had long puzzled himself in the endeavor to find a reasonable interpretation188 of the hermetic mystery, and of the red powder, “glistening and glorious in the sun.” And the solution shone out at last, bright and amazing, as he lay quiet in the court of Avallaunius. He knew that he himself had solved the riddle189, that he held in his hand the powder of projection190, the philosopher’s stone transmuting191 all it touched to fine gold; the gold of exquisite impressions. He understood now something of the alchemical symbolism; the crucible192 and the furnace, the “Green Dragon,” and the “Son Blessed of the Fire” had, he saw, a peculiar meaning. He understood, too, why the uninitiated were warned of the terror and danger through which they must pass; and the vehemence193 with which the adepts194 disclaimed195 all desire for material riches no longer struck him as singular. The wise man does not endure the torture of the furnace in order that he may be able to compete with operators in pork and company promoters; neither a steam yacht, nor a grouse-moor, nor three liveried footmen would add at all to his gratifications. Again Lucian said to himself:
“Only in the court of Avallaunius is the true science of the exquisite to be found.”
He saw the true gold into which the beggarly matter of existence may be transmuted by spagyric art; a succession of delicious moments, all the rare flavors of life concentrated, purged of their lees, and preserved in a beautiful vessel196. The moonlight fell green on the fountain and on the curious pavements, and in the long sweet silence of the night he lay still and felt that thought itself was an acute pleasure, to be expressed perhaps in terms of odor or color by the true artist.
And he gave himself other and even stranger gratifications. Outside the city walls, between the baths and the amphitheatre, was a tavern197, a place where wonderful people met to drink wonderful wine. There he saw priests of Mithras and Isis and of more occult rites from the East, men who wore robes of bright colours, and grotesque198 ornaments199, symbolizing200 secret things. They spoke201 amongst themselves in a rich jargon202 of colored words, full of hidden meanings and the sense of matters unintelligible203 to the uninitiated, alluding204 to what was concealed beneath roses, and calling each other by strange names. And there were actors who gave the shows in the amphitheatre, officers of the legion who had served in wild places, singers, and dancing girls, and heroes of strange adventure.
The walls of the tavern were covered with pictures painted in violent hues205; blues206 and reds and greens jarring against one another and lighting up the gloom of the place. The stone benches were always crowded, the sunlight came in through the door in a long bright beam, casting a dancing shadow of vine leaves on the further wall. There a painter had made a joyous207 figure of the young Bacchus driving the leopards208 before him with his ivy209-staff, and the quivering shadow seemed a part of the picture. The room was cool and dark and cavernous, but the scent and heat of the summer gushed210 in through the open door. There was ever a full sound, with noise and vehemence, there, and the rolling music of the Latin tongue never ceased.
“The wine of the siege, the wine that we saved,” cried one.
“Look for the jar marked Faunus; you will be glad.”
“Bring me the wine of the Owl’s Face.”
“Let us have the wine of Saturn’s Bridge.”
The boys who served brought the wine in dull red jars that struck a charming note against their white robes. They poured out the violet and purple and golden wine with calm sweet faces as if they were assisting in the mysteries, without any sign that they heard the strange words that flashed from side to side. The cups were all of glass; some were of deep green, of the color of the sea near the land, flawed and specked with the bubbles of the furnace. Others were of brilliant scarlet, streaked211 with irregular bands of white, and having the appearance of white globules in the molded stem. There were cups of dark glowing blue, deeper and more shining than the blue of the sky, and running through the substance of the glass were veins212 of rich gamboge yellow, twining from the brim to the foot. Some cups were of a troubled and clotted213 red, with alternating blotches214 of dark and light, some were variegated215 with white and yellow stains, some wore a film of rainbow colours, some glittered, shot with gold threads through the clear crystal, some were as if sapphires216 hung suspended in running water, some sparkled with the glint of stars, some were black and golden like tortoiseshell.
A strange feature was the constant and fluttering motion of hands and arms. Gesture made a constant commentary on speech; white fingers, whiter arms, and sleeves of all colours, hovered restlessly, appeared and disappeared with an effect of threads crossing and re-crossing on the loom80. And the odor of the place was both curious and memorable217; something of the damp cold breath of the cave meeting the hot blast of summer, the strangely mingled aromas218 of rare wines as they fell plashing and ringing into the cups, the drugged vapor of the East that the priests of Mithras and Isis bore from their steaming temples; these were always strong and dominant219. And the women were scented, sometimes with unctuous and overpowering perfumes, and to the artist the experiences of those present were hinted in subtle and delicate nuances of odor.
They drank their wine and caressed220 all day in the tavern. The women threw their round white arms about their lover’s necks, they intoxicated222 them with the scent of their hair, the priests muttered their fantastic jargon of Theurgy. And through the sonorous clash of voices there always seemed the ring of the cry:
“Look for the jar marked Faunus; you will be glad.”
Outside, the vine tendrils shook on the white walls glaring in the sunshine; the breeze swept up from the yellow river, pungent224 with the salt sea savor.
These tavern scenes were often the subject of Lucian’s meditation225 as he sat amongst the cushions on the marble seat. The rich sound of the voices impressed him above all things, and he saw that words have a far higher reason than the utilitarian office of imparting a man’s thought. The common notion that language and linked words are important only as a means of expression he found a little ridiculous; as if electricity were to be studied solely226 with the view of “wiring” to people, and all its other properties left unexplored, neglected. Language, he understood, was chiefly important for the beauty of its sounds, by its possession of words resonant, glorious to the ear, by its capacity, when exquisitely227 arranged, of suggesting wonderful and indefinable impressions, perhaps more ravishing and farther removed from the domain228 of strict thought than the impressions excited by music itself. Here lay hidden the secret of the sensuous229 art of literature; it was the secret of suggestion, the art of causing delicious sensation by the use of words. In a way, therefore, literature was independent of thought; the mere230 English listener, if he had an ear attuned231, could recognize the beauty of a splendid Latin phrase.
Here was the explanation of the magic of Lycidas. From the standpoint of the formal understanding it was an affected232 lament233 over some wholly uninteresting and unimportant Mr. King; it was full of nonsense about “shepherds” and “flocks” and “muses” and such stale stock of poetry; the introduction of St Peter on a stage thronged234 with nymphs and river gods was blasphemous235, absurd, and, in the worst taste; there were touches of greasy236 Puritanism, the twang of the conventicle was only too apparent. And Lycidas was probably the most perfect piece of pure literature in existence; because every word and phrase and line were sonorous, ringing and echoing with music.
“Literature,” he re-enunciated in his mind, “is the sensuous art of causing exquisite impressions by means of words.”
And yet there was something more; besides the logical thought, which was often a hindrance237, a troublesome though inseparable accident, besides the sensation, always a pleasure and a delight, besides these there were the indefinable inexpressible images which all fine literature summons to the mind. As the chemist in his experiments is sometimes astonished to find unknown, unexpected elements in the crucible or the receiver, as the world of material things is considered by some a thin veil of the immaterial universe, so he who reads wonderful prose or verse is conscious of suggestions that cannot be put into words, which do not rise from the logical sense, which are rather parallel to than connected with the sensuous delight. The world so disclosed is rather the world of dreams, rather the world in which children sometimes live, instantly appearing, and instantly vanishing away, a world beyond all expression or analysis, neither of the intellect nor of the senses. He called these fancies of his “Meditations of a Tavern,” and was amused to think that a theory of letters should have risen from the eloquent238 noise that rang all day about the violet and golden wine.
“Let us seek for more exquisite things,” said Lucian to himself. He could almost imagine the magic transmutation of the senses accomplished239, the strong sunlight was an odor in his nostrils; it poured down on the white marble and the palpitating roses like a flood. The sky was a glorious blue, making the heart joyous, and the eyes could rest in the dark green leaves and purple shadow of the ilex. The earth seemed to burn and leap beneath the sun, he fancied he could see the vine tendrils stir and quiver in the heat, and the faint fume of the scorching240 pine needles was blown across the gleaming garden to the seat beneath the porch. Wine was before him in a cup of carved amber; a wine of the color of a dark rose, with a glint as of a star or of a jet of flame deep beneath the brim; and the cup was twined about with a delicate wreath of ivy. He was often loath27 to turn away from the still contemplation of such things, from the mere joy of the violent sun, and the responsive earth. He loved his garden and the view of the tessellated city from the vineyard on the hill, the strange clamor of the tavern, and white Fotis appearing on the torch-lit stage. And there were shops in the town in which he delighted, the shops of the perfume makers241, and jewelers, and dealers242 in curious ware14. He loved to see all things made for ladies’ use, to touch the gossamer243 silks that were to touch their bodies, to finger the beads of amber and the gold chains which would stir above their hearts, to handle the carved hairpins244 and brooches, to smell odors which were already dedicated245 to love.
But though these were sweet and delicious gratifications, he knew that there were more exquisite things of which he might be a spectator. He had seen the folly246 of regarding fine literature from the standpoint of the logical intellect, and he now began to question the wisdom of looking at life as if it were a moral representation. Literature, he knew, could not exist without some meaning, and considerations of right and wrong were to a certain extent inseparable from the conception of life, but to insist on ethics247 as the chief interest of the human pageant248 was surely absurd. One might as well read Lycidas for the sake of its denunciation of “our corrupted249 Clergy,” or Homer for “manners and customs.” An artist entranced by a beautiful landscape did not greatly concern himself with the geological formation of the hills, nor did the lover of a wild sea inquire as to the chemical analysis of the water. Lucian saw a colored and complex life displayed before him, and he sat enraptured at the spectacle, not concerned to know whether actions were good or bad, but content if they were curious.
In this spirit he made a singular study of corruption250. Beneath his feet, as he sat in the garden porch, was a block of marble through which there ran a scarlet stain. It began with a faint line, thin as a hair, and grew as it advanced, sending out offshoots to right and left, and broadening to a pool of brilliant red. There were strange lives into which he looked that were like the block of marble; women with grave sweet faces told him the astounding251 tale of their adventures, and how, they said, they had met the faun when they were little children. They told him how they had played and watched by the vines and the fountains, and dallied252 with the nymphs, and gazed at images reflected in the water pools, till the authentic253 face appeared from the wood. He heard others tell how they had loved the satyrs for many years before they knew their race; and there were strange stories of those who had longed to speak but knew not the word of the enigma254, and searched in all strange paths and ways before they found it.
He heard the history of the woman who fell in love with her slave-boy, and tempted255 him for three years in vain. He heard the tale from the woman’s full red lips, and watched her face, full of the ineffable256 sadness of lust75, as she described her curious stratagems257 in mellow258 phrases. She was drinking a sweet yellow wine from a gold cup as she spoke, and the odor in her hair and the aroma113 of the precious wine seemed to mingle154 with the soft strange words that flowed like an unguent259 from a carven jar. She told how she bought the boy in the market of an Asian city, and had him carried to her house in the grove170 of fig-trees. “Then,” she went on, “he was led into my presence as I sat between the columns of my court. A blue veil was spread above to shut out the heat of the sun, and rather twilight260 than light shone on the painted walls, and the wonderful colours of the pavement, and the images of Love and the Mother of Love. The men who brought the boy gave him over to my girls, who undressed him before me, one drawing gently away his robe, another stroking his brown and flowing hair, another praising the whiteness of his limbs, and another caressing261 him, and speaking loving words in his hear. But the boy looked sullenly262 at them all, striking away their hands, and pouting263 with his lovely and splendid lips, and I saw a blush, like the rosy264 veil of dawn, reddening his body and his cheeks. Then I made them bathe him, and anoint him with scented oils from head to foot, till his limbs shone and glistened265 with the gentle and mellow glow of an ivory statue. Then I said: ‘You are bashful, because you shine alone amongst us all; see, we too will be your fellows.’ The girls began first of all, fondling and kissing one another, and doing for each other the offices of waiting-maids. They drew out the pins and loosened the bands of their hair, and I never knew before that they were so lovely. The soft and shining tresses flowed down, rippling266 like sea-waves; some had hair golden and radiant as this wine in my cup, the faces of others appeared amidst the blackness of ebony; there were locks that seemed of burnished267 and scintillating268 copper, some glowed with hair of tawny splendor10, and others were crowned with the brightness of the sardonyx. Then, laughing, and without the appearance of shame, they unfastened the brooches and bands which sustained their robes, and so allowed silk and linen269 to flow swiftly to the stained floor, so that one would have said there was a sudden apparition270 of the fairest nymphs. With many festive271 and jocose272 words they began to incite273 each other to mirth, praising the beauties that shone on every side, and calling the boy by a girl’s name, they invited him to be their playmate. But he refused, shaking his head, and still standing dumb-founded and abashed274, as if he saw a forbidden and terrible spectacle. Then I ordered the women to undo275 my hair and my clothes, making them caress221 me with the tenderness of the fondest lover, but without avail, for the foolish boy still scowled276 and pouted277 out his lips, stained with an imperial and glorious scarlet.”
She poured out more of the topaz-colored wine in her cup, and Lucian saw it glitter as it rose to the brim and mirrored the gleam of the lamps. The tale went on, recounting a hundred strange devices. The woman told how she had tempted the boy by idleness and ease, giving him long hours of sleep, and allowing him to recline all day on soft cushions, that swelled278 about him, enclosing his body. She tried the experiment of curious odors: causing him to smell always about him the oil of roses, and burning in his presence rare gums from the East. He was allured279 by soft dresses, being clothed in silks that caressed the skin with the sense of a fondling touch. Three times a day they spread before him a delicious banquet, full of savor and odor and color; three times a day they endeavored to intoxicate223 him with delicate wine.
“And so,” the lady continued, “I spared nothing to catch him in the glistening nets of love; taking only sour and contemptuous glances in return. And at last in an incredible shape I won the victory, and then, having gained a green crown, fighting in agony against his green and crude immaturity280, I devoted281 him to the theatre, where he amused the people by the splendor of his death.”
On another evening he heard the history of the man who dwelt alone, refusing all allurements282, and was at last discovered to be the lover of a black statue. And there were tales of strange cruelties, of men taken by mountain robbers, and curiously283 maimed and disfigured, so that when they escaped and returned to the town, they were thought to be monsters and killed at their own doors. Lucian left no dark or secret nook of life unvisited; he sat down, as he said, at the banquet, resolved to taste all the savors284, and to leave no flagon unvisited.
His relations grew seriously alarmed about him at this period. While he heard with some inner ear the suave285 and eloquent phrases of singular tales, and watched the lamp-light in amber and purple wine, his father saw a lean pale boy, with black eyes that burnt in hollows, and sad and sunken cheeks.
“You ought to try and eat more, Lucian,” said the parson; “and why don’t you have some beer?”
He was looking feebly at the roast mutton and sipping286 a little water; but he would not have eaten or drunk with more relish287 if the choicest meat and drink had been before him.
His bones seemed, as Miss Deacon said, to be growing through his skin; he had all the appearance of an ascetic288 whose body has been reduced to misery by long and grievous penance289. People who chanced to see him could not help saying to one another: “How ill and wretched that Lucian Taylor looks!” They were of course quite unaware290 of the joy and luxury in which his real life was spent, and some of them began to pity him, and to speak to him kindly.
It was too late for that. The friendly words had as much lost their meaning as the words of contempt. Edward Dixon hailed him cheerfully in the street one day:
“Come in to my den17, won’t you, old fellow?” he said. “You won’t see the pater. I’ve managed to bag a bottle of his old port. I know you smoke like a furnace, and I’ve got some ripping cigars. You will come, won’t you! I can tell you the pater’s booze is first rate.”
He gently declined and went on. Kindness and unkindness, pity and contempt had become for him mere phrases; he could not have distinguished291 one from the other. Hebrew and Chinese, Hungarian and Pushtu would be pretty much alike to an agricultural laborer292; if he cared to listen he might detect some general differences in sound, but all four tongues would be equally devoid293 of significance.
To Lucian, entranced in the garden of Avallaunius, it seemed very strange that he had once been so ignorant of all the exquisite meanings of life. Now, beneath the violet sky, looking through the brilliant trellis of the vines, he saw the picture; before, he had gazed in sad astonishment at the squalid rag which was wrapped about it.
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1
precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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imprint
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| n.印痕，痕迹；深刻的印象；vt.压印，牢记 | |
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tapestry
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| n.挂毯，丰富多采的画面 | |
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relics
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| [pl.］n.遗物，遗迹，遗产；遗体，尸骸 | |
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beads
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| n.（空心）小珠子( bead的名词复数 )；水珠；珠子项链 | |
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ass
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| n.驴；傻瓜，蠢笨的人 | |
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amber
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| n.琥珀；琥珀色；adj.琥珀制的 | |
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scent
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| n.气味，香味，香水，线索，嗅觉；v.嗅，发觉 | |
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unctuous
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| adj.油腔滑调的，大胆的 | |
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splendor
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| n.光彩；壮丽，华丽；显赫，辉煌 | |
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splendors
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| n.华丽( splendor的名词复数 )；壮丽；光辉；显赫 | |
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glamour
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| n.魔力，魅力；vt.迷住 | |
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earthenware
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| n.土器，陶器 | |
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ware
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| n.(常用复数)商品，货物 | |
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rites
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| 仪式，典礼( rite的名词复数 ) | |
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cemetery
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| n.坟墓，墓地，坟场 | |
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den
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| n.兽穴；秘密地方；安静的小房间，私室 | |
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investigations
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| （正式的）调查( investigation的名词复数 )； 侦查； 科学研究； 学术研究 | |
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deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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tortuous
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| adj.弯弯曲曲的，蜿蜒的 | |
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uneven
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| adj.不平坦的，不规则的，不均匀的 | |
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conjectures
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| 推测，猜想( conjecture的名词复数 ) | |
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motive
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| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
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sneers
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| 讥笑的表情（言语）( sneer的名词复数 ) | |
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mechanism
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| n.机械装置；机构，结构 | |
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loathsomeness
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loath
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| adj.不愿意的；勉强的 | |
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adept
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| adj.老练的，精通的 | |
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alleged
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| a.被指控的，嫌疑的 | |
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annihilate
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| v.使无效；毁灭；取消 | |
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insignificant
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| adj.无关紧要的，可忽略的，无意义的 | |
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astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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symbolic
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| adj.象征性的，符号的，象征主义的 | |
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obnoxious
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| adj.极恼人的，讨人厌的，可憎的 | |
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converse
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| vi.谈话，谈天，闲聊；adv.相反的，相反 | |
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pretences
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| n.假装( pretence的名词复数 )；作假；自命；自称 | |
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inanities
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| n.空洞( inanity的名词复数 )；浅薄；愚蠢；空洞的言行 | |
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manifestations
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| n.表示，显示（manifestation的复数形式） | |
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perturbed
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| adj.烦燥不安的v.使（某人）烦恼，不安( perturb的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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villa
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| n.别墅，城郊小屋 | |
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vexed
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| adj.争论不休的；（指问题等）棘手的；争论不休的问题；烦恼的v.使烦恼( vex的过去式和过去分词 )；使苦恼；使生气；详细讨论 | |
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inept
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| adj.不恰当的，荒谬的，拙劣的 | |
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malignant
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| adj.恶性的，致命的；恶意的，恶毒的 | |
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brute
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| n.野兽，兽性 | |
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hideous
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| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
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dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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transformation
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| n.变化；改造；转变 | |
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burrows
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| n.地洞( burrow的名词复数 )v.挖掘（洞穴），挖洞( burrow的第三人称单数 )；翻寻 | |
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bazaar
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| n.集市，商店集中区 | |
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assented
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| 同意，赞成( assent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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mounds
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| 土堆，土丘( mound的名词复数 )； 一大堆 | |
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kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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clergy
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| n.[总称]牧师，神职人员 | |
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gentry
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| n.绅士阶级，上层阶级 | |
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56
gaped
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| v.目瞪口呆地凝视( gape的过去式和过去分词 )；张开，张大 | |
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perspiring
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| v.出汗，流汗( perspire的现在分词 ) | |
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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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austere
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| adj.艰苦的；朴素的，朴实无华的；严峻的 | |
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beckoned
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| v.（用头或手的动作）示意，召唤( beckon的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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resonant
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| adj.(声音)洪亮的，共鸣的 | |
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genial
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| adj.亲切的，和蔼的，愉快的，脾气好的 | |
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shrill
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| adj.尖声的；刺耳的；v尖叫 | |
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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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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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ecstasy
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| n.狂喜，心醉神怡，入迷 | |
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maidens
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| 处女( maiden的名词复数 )； 少女； 未婚女子； （板球运动）未得分的一轮投球 | |
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strictly
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| adv.严厉地，严格地；严密地 | |
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gals
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| abbr.gallons （复数）加仑（液量单位）n.女孩，少女( gal的名词复数 ) | |
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choir
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| n.唱诗班，唱诗班的席位，合唱团，舞蹈团；v.合唱 | |
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distressed
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| 痛苦的 | |
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bishop
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| n.主教，（国际象棋）象 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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swarm
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| n.(昆虫)等一大群；vi.成群飞舞；蜂拥而入 | |
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lust
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| n.性(淫)欲；渴(欲)望；vi.对…有强烈的欲望 | |
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76
tainted
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| adj.腐坏的；污染的；沾污的；感染的v.使变质( taint的过去式和过去分词 )；使污染；败坏；被污染，腐坏，败坏 | |
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peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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villas
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| 别墅，公馆( villa的名词复数 )； （城郊）住宅 | |
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dense
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| a.密集的，稠密的，浓密的；密度大的 | |
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loom
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| n.织布机，织机；v.隐现，(危险、忧虑等)迫近 | |
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81
trickle
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| vi.淌，滴，流出，慢慢移动，逐渐消散 | |
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82
exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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83
ridge
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| n.山脊；鼻梁；分水岭 | |
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84
scintillated
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| v.（言谈举止中）焕发才智( scintillate的过去式和过去分词 )；谈笑洒脱；闪耀；闪烁 | |
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85
scenting
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| vt.闻到（scent的现在分词形式） | |
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86
annoyance
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| n.恼怒，生气，烦恼 | |
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87
enraptured
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| v.使狂喜( enrapture的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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88
rapture
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| n.狂喜；全神贯注；着迷；v.使狂喜 | |
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89
entreating
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| 恳求，乞求( entreat的现在分词 ) | |
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90
flute
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| n.长笛；v.吹笛 | |
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91
discoursing
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| 演说（discourse的现在分词形式） | |
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92
pertinent
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| adj.恰当的；贴切的；中肯的；有关的；相干的 | |
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93
trickled
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| v.滴( trickle的过去式和过去分词 )；淌；使)慢慢走；缓慢移动 | |
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94
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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95
purged
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| 清除（政敌等）( purge的过去式和过去分词 )； 涤除（罪恶等）； 净化（心灵、风气等）； 消除（错事等）的不良影响 | |
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96
steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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97
nostrils
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| 鼻孔( nostril的名词复数 ) | |
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98
glistening
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| adj.闪耀的，反光的v.湿物闪耀，闪亮( glisten的现在分词 ) | |
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99
analyze
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| vt.分析，解析 (=analyse) | |
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100
fume
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| n.(usu pl.)(浓烈或难闻的)烟，气，汽 | |
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101
penetrate
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| v.透(渗)入；刺入，刺穿；洞察，了解 | |
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102
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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103
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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104
delicacy
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| n.精致，细微，微妙，精良；美味，佳肴 | |
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105
amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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106
utilitarian
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| adj.实用的，功利的 | |
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107
laden
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| adj.装满了的；充满了的；负了重担的；苦恼的 | |
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108
scents
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| n.香水( scent的名词复数 )；气味；（动物的）臭迹；（尤指狗的）嗅觉 | |
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109
inebriation
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| n.醉，陶醉 | |
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110
unripe
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| adj.未成熟的；n.未成熟 | |
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111
innocence
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| n.无罪；天真；无害 | |
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112
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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113
aroma
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| n.香气，芬芳，芳香 | |
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114
aromatic
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| adj.芳香的，有香味的 | |
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115
vapor
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| n.蒸汽，雾气 | |
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116
spicy
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| adj.加香料的；辛辣的，有风味的 | |
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117
fragrant
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| adj.芬香的，馥郁的，愉快的 | |
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118
incense
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| v.激怒；n.香，焚香时的烟，香气 | |
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119
entreaty
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| n.恳求，哀求 | |
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120
swelling
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| n.肿胀 | |
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121
varied
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| adj.多样的，多变化的 | |
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122
entities
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| 实体对像； 实体，独立存在体，实际存在物( entity的名词复数 ) | |
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123
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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124
transmuted
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| v.使变形，使变质，把…变成…( transmute的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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125
expended
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| v.花费( expend的过去式和过去分词 )；使用（钱等）做某事；用光；耗尽 | |
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126
ingenuity
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| n.别出心裁；善于发明创造 | |
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127
cantilever
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| n.悬梁臂；adj.采用伸臂建成的 | |
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128
futile
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| adj.无效的，无用的，无希望的 | |
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129
emetics
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| n.催吐药( emetic的名词复数 ) | |
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130
boilers
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| 锅炉，烧水器，水壶( boiler的名词复数 ) | |
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131
lodger
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| n.寄宿人，房客 | |
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132
franchise
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| n.特许，特权，专营权，特许权 | |
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133
profligate
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| adj.行为不检的；n.放荡的人，浪子，肆意挥霍者 | |
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134
pious
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| adj.虔诚的；道貌岸然的 | |
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135
promiscuity
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| n.混杂，混乱；（男女的）乱交 | |
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136
adorned
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| [计]被修饰的 | |
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137
ego
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| n.自我，自己，自尊 | |
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138
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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139
pried
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| v.打听，刺探（他人的私事）( pry的过去式和过去分词 )；撬开 | |
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140
reluctance
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|
| n.厌恶，讨厌，勉强，不情愿 | |
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141
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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142
flaring
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| a.火焰摇曳的，过份艳丽的 | |
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143
subdued
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| adj. 屈服的，柔和的，减弱的 动词subdue的过去式和过去分词 | |
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144
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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145
lighting
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| n.照明，光线的明暗，舞台灯光 | |
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146
serried
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| adj.拥挤的；密集的 | |
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147
scented
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|
| adj.有香味的；洒香水的；有气味的v.嗅到(scent的过去分词) | |
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148
sentries
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| 哨兵，步兵( sentry的名词复数 ) | |
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149
savor
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| vt.品尝，欣赏；n.味道，风味；情趣，趣味 | |
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150
scenic
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| adj.自然景色的，景色优美的 | |
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151
ornament
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| v.装饰，美化；n.装饰，装饰物 | |
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152
intonation
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| n.语调，声调；发声 | |
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153
rumor
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| n.谣言，谣传，传说 | |
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154
mingle
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| vt.使混合，使相混；vi.混合起来；相交往 | |
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155
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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156
murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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157
shuddering
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| v.战栗( shudder的现在分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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158
cymbals
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| pl.铙钹 | |
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159
flutes
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| 长笛( flute的名词复数 )； 细长香槟杯（形似长笛） | |
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160
tawny
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|
| adj.茶色的，黄褐色的；n.黄褐色 | |
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161
swirl
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| v.(使)打漩，(使)涡卷；n.漩涡，螺旋形 | |
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162
eddies
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| （水、烟等的）漩涡，涡流( eddy的名词复数 ) | |
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163
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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164
obtuse
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| adj.钝的；愚钝的 | |
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165
shimmer
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| v./n.发微光，发闪光；微光 | |
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166
jewelry
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| n.（jewllery）（总称）珠宝 | |
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167
porticoes
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| n.柱廊，（有圆柱的）门廊( portico的名词复数 ) | |
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168
dome
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| n.圆屋顶，拱顶 | |
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169
copper
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| n.铜；铜币；铜器；adj.铜(制)的；(紫)铜色的 | |
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170
grove
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| n.林子，小树林，园林 | |
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171
groves
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| 树丛，小树林( grove的名词复数 ) | |
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172
cypress
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| n.柏树 | |
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173
nuance
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| n.(意义、意见、颜色)细微差别 | |
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174
scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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175
glazed
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| adj.光滑的，像玻璃的；上过釉的；呆滞无神的v.装玻璃( glaze的过去式)；上釉于，上光；（目光）变得呆滞无神 | |
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176
spout
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| v.喷出，涌出；滔滔不绝地讲；n.喷管；水柱 | |
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177
flecks
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| n.斑点，小点( fleck的名词复数 )；癍 | |
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178
jade
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| n.玉石；碧玉；翡翠 | |
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179
enchanted
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| adj. 被施魔法的，陶醉的，入迷的 动词enchant的过去式和过去分词 | |
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180
melodious
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| adj.旋律美妙的，调子优美的，音乐性的 | |
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181
trumpet
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| n.喇叭，喇叭声；v.吹喇叭，吹嘘 | |
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182
facets
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| n.（宝石或首饰的）小平面( facet的名词复数 )；（事物的）面；方面 | |
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183
glimmering
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| n.微光，隐约的一瞥adj.薄弱地发光的v.发闪光，发微光( glimmer的现在分词 ) | |
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184
haze
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| n.霾，烟雾；懵懂，迷糊；vi.(over)变模糊 | |
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185
cistern
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| n.贮水池 | |
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186
meditate
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| v.想，考虑，（尤指宗教上的）沉思，冥想 | |
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187
concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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188
interpretation
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| n.解释，说明，描述；艺术处理 | |
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189
riddle
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|
| n.谜，谜语，粗筛；vt.解谜，给…出谜，筛，检查，鉴定，非难，充满于；vi.出谜 | |
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190
projection
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| n.发射，计划，突出部分 | |
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191
transmuting
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| v.使变形，使变质，把…变成…( transmute的现在分词 ) | |
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192
crucible
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| n.坩锅，严酷的考验 | |
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193
vehemence
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| n.热切；激烈；愤怒 | |
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194
adepts
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| n.专家，能手( adept的名词复数 ) | |
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195
disclaimed
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| v.否认( disclaim的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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196
vessel
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| n.船舶；容器，器皿；管，导管，血管 | |
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197
tavern
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| n.小旅馆，客栈；小酒店 | |
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198
grotesque
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| adj.怪诞的，丑陋的；n.怪诞的图案，怪人（物） | |
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199
ornaments
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| n.装饰( ornament的名词复数 )；点缀；装饰品；首饰v.装饰，点缀，美化( ornament的第三人称单数 ) | |
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200
symbolizing
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|
| v.象征，作为…的象征( symbolize的现在分词 ) | |
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201
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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202
jargon
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| n.术语，行话 | |
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203
unintelligible
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| adj.无法了解的，难解的，莫明其妙的 | |
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204
alluding
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| 提及，暗指( allude的现在分词 ) | |
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205
hues
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| 色彩( hue的名词复数 )； 色调； 信仰； 观点 | |
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206
blues
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| n.抑郁，沮丧；布鲁斯音乐 | |
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207
joyous
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| adj.充满快乐的；令人高兴的 | |
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208
leopards
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| n.豹( leopard的名词复数 )；本性难移 | |
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209
ivy
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| n.常青藤，常春藤 | |
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210
gushed
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| v.喷，涌( gush的过去式和过去分词 )；滔滔不绝地说话 | |
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211
streaked
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| adj.有条斑纹的，不安的v.快速移动( streak的过去式和过去分词 )；使布满条纹 | |
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212
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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213
clotted
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| adj.凝结的v.凝固( clot的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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214
blotches
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| n.（皮肤上的）红斑，疹块( blotch的名词复数 )；大滴 [大片]（墨水或颜色的）污渍 | |
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215
variegated
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| adj.斑驳的，杂色的 | |
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216
sapphires
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| n.蓝宝石，钢玉宝石( sapphire的名词复数 )；蔚蓝色 | |
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217
memorable
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| adj.值得回忆的，难忘的，特别的，显著的 | |
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218
aromas
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| n.芳香( aroma的名词复数 )；气味；风味；韵味 | |
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219
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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220
caressed
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| 爱抚或抚摸…( caress的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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221
caress
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| vt./n.爱抚，抚摸 | |
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222
intoxicated
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| 喝醉的，极其兴奋的 | |
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223
intoxicate
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| vt.使喝醉，使陶醉，使欣喜若狂 | |
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224
pungent
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| adj.（气味、味道）刺激性的，辛辣的；尖锐的 | |
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225
meditation
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| n.熟虑，（尤指宗教的）默想，沉思，（pl.）冥想录 | |
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226
solely
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| adv.仅仅，唯一地 | |
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227
exquisitely
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| adv.精致地；强烈地；剧烈地；异常地 | |
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228
domain
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| n.(活动等)领域，范围；领地，势力范围 | |
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229
sensuous
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| adj.激发美感的；感官的，感觉上的 | |
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230
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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231
attuned
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| v.使协调( attune的过去式和过去分词 )；调音 | |
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232
affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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233
lament
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| n.悲叹，悔恨，恸哭；v.哀悼，悔恨，悲叹 | |
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234
thronged
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| v.成群，挤满( throng的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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235
blasphemous
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| adj.亵渎神明的，不敬神的 | |
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236
greasy
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| adj. 多脂的，油脂的 | |
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237
hindrance
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| n.妨碍，障碍 | |
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238
eloquent
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| adj.雄辩的，口才流利的；明白显示出的 | |
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239
accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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240
scorching
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| adj. 灼热的 | |
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241
makers
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| n.制造者，制造商（maker的复数形式） | |
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242
dealers
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| n.商人( dealer的名词复数 )；贩毒者；毒品贩子；发牌者 | |
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243
gossamer
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| n.薄纱，游丝 | |
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244
hairpins
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| n.发夹( hairpin的名词复数 ) | |
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245
dedicated
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| adj.一心一意的；献身的；热诚的 | |
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246
folly
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| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
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247
ethics
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| n.伦理学；伦理观，道德标准 | |
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248
pageant
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| n.壮观的游行；露天历史剧 | |
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249
corrupted
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| （使）败坏( corrupt的过去式和过去分词 )； （使）腐化； 引起（计算机文件等的）错误； 破坏 | |
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250
corruption
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| n.腐败，堕落，贪污 | |
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251
astounding
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| adj.使人震惊的vt.使震惊，使大吃一惊astound的现在分词) | |
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252
dallied
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| v.随随便便地对待( dally的过去式和过去分词 )；不很认真地考虑；浪费时间；调情 | |
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253
authentic
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| a.真的，真正的；可靠的，可信的，有根据的 | |
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254
enigma
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| n.谜，谜一样的人或事 | |
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255
tempted
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| v.怂恿（某人）干不正当的事；冒…的险（tempt的过去分词） | |
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256
ineffable
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| adj.无法表达的，不可言喻的 | |
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257
stratagems
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| n.诡计，计谋( stratagem的名词复数 )；花招 | |
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258
mellow
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| adj.柔和的；熟透的；v.变柔和；(使)成熟 | |
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259
unguent
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| n.（药）膏；润滑剂；滑油 | |
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260
twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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261
caressing
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| 爱抚的，表现爱情的，亲切的 | |
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262
sullenly
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| 不高兴地，绷着脸，忧郁地 | |
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263
pouting
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| v.撅（嘴）( pout的现在分词 ) | |
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264
rosy
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| adj.美好的，乐观的，玫瑰色的 | |
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265
glistened
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| v.湿物闪耀，闪亮( glisten的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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266
rippling
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| 起涟漪的，潺潺流水般声音的 | |
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267
burnished
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| adj.抛光的，光亮的v.擦亮（金属等），磨光( burnish的过去式和过去分词 )；被擦亮，磨光 | |
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268
scintillating
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| adj．才气横溢的,闪闪发光的; 闪烁的 | |
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269
linen
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| n.亚麻布，亚麻线，亚麻制品；adj.亚麻布制的，亚麻的 | |
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270
apparition
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| n.幽灵，神奇的现象 | |
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271
festive
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| adj.欢宴的，节日的 | |
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272
jocose
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| adj.开玩笑的，滑稽的 | |
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273
incite
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| v.引起，激动，煽动 | |
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274
abashed
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| adj.窘迫的，尴尬的v.使羞愧，使局促，使窘迫( abash的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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275
undo
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| vt.解开，松开；取消，撤销 | |
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276
scowled
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| 怒视，生气地皱眉( scowl的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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277
pouted
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| v.撅（嘴）( pout的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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278
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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279
allured
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| 诱引，吸引( allure的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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280
immaturity
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| n.不成熟；未充分成长；未成熟；粗糙 | |
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281
devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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282
allurements
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| n.诱惑( allurement的名词复数 )；吸引；诱惑物；有诱惑力的事物 | |
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283
curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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284
savors
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| v.意味，带有…的性质( savor的第三人称单数 )；给…加调味品；使有风味；品尝 | |
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285
suave
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| adj.温和的；柔和的；文雅的 | |
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286
sipping
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| v.小口喝，呷，抿( sip的现在分词 ) | |
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287
relish
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| n.滋味，享受，爱好，调味品；vt.加调味料，享受，品味；vi.有滋味 | |
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288
ascetic
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| adj.禁欲的；严肃的 | |
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289
penance
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| n.（赎罪的）惩罪 | |
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290
unaware
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| a.不知道的，未意识到的 | |
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291
distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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292
laborer
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| n.劳动者，劳工 | |
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293
devoid
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| adj.全无的，缺乏的 | |
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