People often talk as if there was an opposition2 between what is beautiful and what is useful. There is no opposition to beauty except ugliness: all things are either beautiful or ugly, and utility will be always on the side of the beautiful thing, because beautiful decoration is always on the side of the beautiful thing, because beautiful decoration is always an expression of the use you put a thing to and the value placed on it. No workman will beautifully decorate bad work, nor can you possibly get good handicraftsmen or workmen without having beautiful designs. You should be quite sure of that. If you have poor and worthless designs in any craft or trade you will get poor and worthless workmen only, but the minute you have noble and beautiful designs, then you get men of power and intellect and feeling to work for you. By having good designs you have workmen who work not merely with their hands but with their hearts and heads too; otherwise you will get merely the fool or the loafer to work for you.
That the beauty of life is a thing of no moment, I suppose few people would venture to assert. And yet most civilised people act as if it were of none, and in so doing are wronging both themselves and those that are to come after them. For that beauty which is meant by art is no mere3 accident of human life which people can take or leave, but a positive necessity of life if we are to live as nature meant us to, that is to say unless we are content to be less than men.
Do not think that the commercial spirit which is the basis of your life and cities here is opposed to art. Who built the beautiful cities of the world but commercial men and commercial men only? Genoa built by its traders, Florence by its bankers, and Venice, most lovely of all, by its noble and honest merchants.
I do not wish you, remember, ‘to build a new Pisa,’ nor to bring ‘the life or the decorations of the thirteenth century back again.’ ‘The circumstances with which you must surround your workmen are those’ of modern American life, ‘because the designs you have now to ask for from your workmen are such as will make modern’ American ‘life beautiful.’ The art we want is the art based on all the inventions of modern civilisation4, and to suit all the needs of nineteenth-century life.
Do you think, for instance, that we object to machinery5? I tell you we reverence6 it; we reverence it when it does its proper work, when it relieves man from ignoble7 and soulless labour, not when it seeks to do that which is valuable only when wrought8 by the hands and hearts of men. Let us have no machine-made ornament9 at all; it is all bad and worthless and ugly. And let us not mistake the means of civilisation for the end of civilisation; steam-engine, telephone and the like, are all wonderful, but remember that their value depends entirely on the noble uses we make of them, on the noble spirit in which we employ them, not on the things themselves.
It is, no doubt, a great advantage to talk to a man at the Antipodes through a telephone; its advantage depends entirely on the value of what the two men have to say to one another. If one merely shrieks10 slander11 through a tube and the other whispers folly12 into a wire, do not think that anybody is very much benefited by the invention.
The train that whirls an ordinary Englishman through Italy at the rate of forty miles an hour and finally sends him home without any memory of that lovely country but that he was cheated by a courier at Rome, or that he got a bad dinner at Verona, does not do him or civilisation much good. But that swift legion of fiery-footed engines that bore to the burning ruins of Chicago the loving help and generous treasure of the world was as noble and as beautiful as any golden troop of angels that ever fed the hungry and clothed the naked in the antique times. As beautiful, yes; all machinery may be beautiful when it is undecorated even. Do not seek to decorate it. We cannot but think all good machinery is graceful13, also, the line of strength and the line of beauty being one.
Give then, as I said, to your workmen of to-day the bright and noble surroundings that you can yourself create. Stately and simple architecture for your cities, bright and simple dress for your men and women; those are the conditions of a real artistic14 movement. For the artist is not concerned primarily with any theory of life but with life itself, with the joy and loveliness that should come daily on eye and ear for a beautiful external world.
But the simplicity15 must not be barrenness nor the bright colour gaudy16. For all beautiful colours are graduated colours, the colours that seem about to pass into one another’s realm—colour without tone being like music without harmony, mere discord17. Barren architecture, the vulgar and glaring advertisements that desecrate18 not merely your cities but every rock and river that I have seen yet in America—all this is not enough. A school of design we must have too in each city. It should be a stately and noble building, full of the best examples of the best art of the world. Furthermore, do not put your designers in a barren whitewashed19 room and bid them work in that depressing and colourless atmosphere as I have seen many of the American schools of design, but give them beautiful surroundings. Because you want to produce a permanent canon and standard of taste in your workman, he must have always by him and before him specimens20 of the best decorative21 art of the world, so that you can say to him: ‘This is good work. Greek or Italian or Japanese wrought it so many years ago, but it is eternally young because eternally beautiful.’ Work in this spirit and you will be sure to be right. Do not copy it, but work with the same love, the same reverence, the same freedom of imagination. You must teach him colour and design, how all beautiful colours are graduated colours and glaring colours the essence of vulgarity. Show him the quality of any beautiful work of nature like the rose, or any beautiful work of art like an Eastern carpet—being merely the exquisite23 gradation of colour, one tone answering another like the answering chords of a symphony. Teach him how the true designer is not he who makes the design and then colours it, but he who designs in colour, creates in colour, thinks in colour too. Show him how the most gorgeous stained-glass windows of Europe are filled with white glass, and the most gorgeous Eastern tapestry24 with toned colours—the primary colours in both places being set in the white glass, and the tone colours like brilliant jewels set in dusky gold. And then as regards design, show him how the real designer will take first any given limited space, little disk of silver, it may be, like a Greek coin, or wide expanse of fretted25 ceiling or lordly wall as Tintoret chose at Venice (it does not matter which), and to this limited space—the first condition of decoration being the limitation of the size of the material used—he will give the effect of its being filled with beautiful decoration, filled with it as a golden cup will be filled with wine, so complete that you should not be able to take away anything from it or add anything to it. For from a good piece of design you can take away nothing, nor can you add anything to it, each little bit of design being as absolutely necessary and as vitally important to the whole effect as a note or chord of music is for a sonata26 of Beethoven.
But I said the effect of its being so filled, because this, again, is of the essence of good design. With a simple spray of leaves and a bird in flight a Japanese artist will give you the impression that he has completely covered with lovely design the reed fan or lacquer cabinet at which he is working, merely because he knows the exact spot in which to place them. All good design depends on the texture27 of the utensil28 used and the use you wish to put it to. One of the first things I saw in an American school of design was a young lady painting a romantic moonlight landscape on a large round dish, and another young lady covering a set of dinner plates with a series of sunsets of the most remarkable29 colours. Let your ladies paint moonlight landscapes and sunsets, but do not let them paint them on dinner plates or dishes. Let them take canvas or paper for such work, but not clay or china. They are merely painting the wrong subjects on the wrong material, that is all. They have not been taught that every material and texture has certain qualities of its own. The design suitable for one is quite wrong for the other, just as the design which you should work on a flat table-cover ought to be quite different from the design you would work on a curtain, for the one will always be straight, the other broken into folds; and the use too one puts the object to should guide one in the choice of design. One does not want to eat one’s terrapins30 off a romantic moonlight nor one’s clams31 off a harrowing sunset. Glory of sun and moon, let them be wrought for us by our landscape artist and be on the walls of the rooms we sit in to remind us of the undying beauty of the sunsets that fade and die, but do not let us eat our soup off them and send them down to the kitchen twice a day to be washed and scrubbed by the handmaid.
All these things are simple enough, yet nearly always forgotten. Your school of design here will teach your girls and your boys, your handicraftsmen of the future (for all your schools of art should be local schools, the schools of particular cities). We talk of the Italian school of painting, but there is no Italian school; there were the schools of each city. Every town in Italy, from Venice itself, queen of the sea, to the little hill fortress32 of Perugia, each had its own school of art, each different and all beautiful.
So do not mind what art Philadelphia or New York is having, but make by the hands of your own citizens beautiful art for the joy of your own citizens, for you have here the primary elements of a great artistic movement.
For, believe me, the conditions of art are much simpler than people imagine. For the noblest art one requires a clear healthy atmosphere, not polluted as the air of our English cities is by the smoke and grime and horridness33 which comes from open furnace and from factory chimney. You must have strong, sane34, healthy physique among your men and women. Sickly or idle or melancholy35 people do not do much in art. And lastly, you require a sense of individualism about each man and woman, for this is the essence of art—a desire on the part of man to express himself in the noblest way possible. And this is the reason that the grandest art of the world always came from a republic: Athens, Venice, and Florence—there were no kings there and so their art was as noble and simple as sincere. But if you want to know what kind of art the folly of kings will impose on a country look at the decorative art of France under the grand monarque, under Louis the Fourteenth; the gaudy gilt36 furniture writhing37 under a sense of its own horror and ugliness, with a nymph smirking38 at every angle and a dragon mouthing on every claw. Unreal and monstrous39 art this, and fit only for such periwigged pomposities as the nobility of France at that time, but not at all fit for you or me. We do not want the rich to possess more beautiful things but the poor to create more beautiful things; for ever man is poor who cannot create. Nor shall the art which you and I need be merely a purple robe woven by a slave and thrown over the whitened body of some leprous king to adorn40 or to conceal41 the sin of his luxury, but rather shall it be the noble and beautiful expression of a people’s noble and beautiful life. Art shall be again the most glorious of all the chords through which the spirit of a great nation finds its noblest utterance42.
All around you, I said, lie the conditions for a great artistic movement for every great art. Let us think of one of them; a sculptor43, for instance.
If a modern sculptor were to come and say, ‘Very well, but where can one find subjects for sculpture out of men who wear frock-coats and chimney-pot hats?’ I would tell him to go to the docks of a great city and watch the men loading or unloading the stately ships, working at wheel or windlass, hauling at rope or gangway. I have never watched a man do anything useful who has not been graceful at some moment of his labour: it is only the loafer and the idle saunterer who is as useless and uninteresting to the artist as he is to himself. I would ask the sculptor to go with me to any of your schools or universities, to the running ground and gymnasium, to watch the young men start for a race, hurling44 quoit or club, kneeling to tie their shoes before leaping, stepping from the boat or bending to the oar45, and to carve them; and when he was weary of cities I would ask him to come to your fields and meadows to watch the reaper46 with his sickle47 and the cattle-driver with lifted lasso. For if a man cannot find the noblest motives48 for his art in such simple daily things as a woman drawing water from the well or a man leaning with his scythe50, he will not find them anywhere at all. Gods and goddesses the Greek carved because he loved them; saint and king the Goth because he believed in them. But you, you do not care much for Greek gods and goddesses, and you are perfectly51 and entirely right; and you do not think much of kings either, and you are quite right. But what you do love are your own men and women, your own flowers and fields, your own hills and mountains, and these are what your art should represent to you.
Ours has been the first movement which has brought the handicraftsman and the artist together, for remember that by separating the one from the other you do ruin to both; you rob the one of all spiritual motive49 and all imaginative joy, you isolate52 the other from all real technical perfection. The two greatest schools of art in the world, the sculptor at Athens and the school of painting at Venice, had their origin entirely in a long succession of simple and earnest handicraftsmen. It was the Greek potter who taught the sculptor that restraining influence of design which was the glory of the Parthenon; it was the Italian decorator of chests and household goods who kept Venetian painting always true to its primary pictorial53 condition of noble colour. For we should remember that all the arts are fine arts and all the arts decorative arts. The greatest triumph of Italian painting was the decoration of a pope’s chapel54 in Rome and the wall of a room in Venice. Michael Angelo wrought the one, and Tintoret, the dyer’s son, the other. And the little ‘Dutch landscape, which you put over your sideboard to-day, and between the windows to-morrow, is’ no less a glorious ‘piece of work than the extents of field and forest with which Benozzo has made green and beautiful the once melancholy arcade55 of the Campo Santo at Pisa,’ as Ruskin says.
Do not imitate the works of a nation, Greek or Japanese, Italian or English; but their artistic spirit of design and their artistic attitude to-day, their own world, you should absorb but imitate never, copy never. Unless you can make as beautiful a design in painted china or embroidered56 screen or beaten brass57 out of your American turkey as the Japanese does out of his grey silver-winged stork58, you will never do anything. Let the Greek carve his lions and the Goth his dragons: buffalo59 and wild deer are the animals for you.
Golden rod and aster22 and rose and all the flowers that cover your valleys in the spring and your hills in the autumn: let them be the flowers for your art. Not merely has Nature given you the noblest motives for a new school of decoration, but to you above all other countries has she given the utensils60 to work in.
You have quarries61 of marble richer than Pentelicus, more varied62 than Paros, but do not build a great white square house of marble and think that it is beautiful, or that you are using marble nobly. If you build in marble you must either carve it into joyous63 decoration, like the lives of dancing children that adorn the marble castles of the Loire, or fill it with beautiful sculpture, frieze64 and pediment, as the Greeks did, or inlay it with other coloured marbles as they did in Venice. Otherwise you had better build in simple red brick as your Puritan fathers, with no pretence65 and with some beauty. Do not treat your marble as if it was ordinary stone and build a house of mere blocks of it. For it is indeed a precious stone, this marble of yours, and only workmen of nobility of invention and delicacy66 of hand should be allowed to touch it at all, carving67 it into noble statues or into beautiful decoration, or inlaying it with other coloured marbles: for ‘the true colours of architecture are those of natural stone, and I would fain see them taken advantage of to the full. Every variety is here, from pale yellow to purple passing through orange, red, and brown, entirely at your command; nearly every kind of green and grey also is attainable68, and with these and with pure white what harmony might you not achieve. Of stained and variegated69 stone the quantity is unlimited70, the kinds innumerable. Were brighter colours required, let glass, and gold protected by glass, be used in mosaic71, a kind of work as durable72 as the solid stone and incapable73 of losing its lustre74 by time. And let the painter’s work be reserved for the shadowed loggia and inner chamber75.
‘This is the true and faithful way of building. Where this cannot be, the device of external colouring may indeed be employed without dishonour76—but it must be with the warning reflection that a time will come when such aids will pass away and when the building will be judged in its lifelessness, dying the death of the dolphin. Better the less bright, more enduring fabric77. The transparent78 alabasters of San Miniato and the mosaics79 of Saint Mark’s are more warmly filled and more brightly touched by every return of morning and evening, while the hues80 of the Gothic cathedrals have died like the iris81 out of the cloud, and the temples, whose azure82 and purple once flamed above the Grecian promontory83, stand in their faded whiteness like snows which the sunset has left cold.’—Ruskin, Seven Lamps of Architecture, II.
I do not know anything so perfectly commonplace in design as most modern jewellery. How easy for you to change that and to produce goldsmiths’ work that would be a joy to all of us. The gold is ready for you in unexhausted treasure, stored up in the mountain hollow or strewn on the river sand, and was not given to you merely for barren speculation84. There should be some better record of it left in your history than the merchant’s panic and the ruined home. We do not remember often enough how constantly the history of a great nation will live in and by its art. Only a few thin wreaths of beaten gold remain to tell us of the stately empire of Etruria; and, while from the streets of Florence the noble knight85 and haughty86 duke have long since passed away, the gates which the simple goldsmith Ghiberti made for their pleasure still guard their lovely house of baptism, worthy87 still of the praise of Michael Angelo who called them worthy to be the Gates of Paradise.
Have then your school of design, search out your workmen and, when you find one who has delicacy of hand and that wonder of invention necessary for goldsmiths’ work, do not leave him to toil88 in obscurity and dishonour and have a great glaring shop and two great glaring shop-boys in it (not to take your orders: they never do that; but to force you to buy something you do not want at all). When you want a thing wrought in gold, goblet89 or shield for the feast, necklace or wreath for the women, tell him what you like most in decoration, flower or wreath, bird in flight or hound in the chase, image of the woman you love or the friend you honour. Watch him as he beats out the gold into those thin plates delicate as the petals90 of a yellow rose, or draws it into the long wires like tangled91 sunbeams at dawn. Whoever that workman be, help him, cherish him, and you will have such lovely work from his hand as will be a joy to you for all time.
This is the spirit of our movement in England, and this is the spirit in which we would wish you to work, making eternal by your art all that is noble in your men and women, stately in your lakes and mountains, beautiful in your own flowers and natural life. We want to see that you have nothing in your houses that has not been a joy to the man who made it, and is not a joy to those that use it. We want to see you create an art made by the hands of the people to please the hearts of the people too. Do you like this spirit or not? Do you think it simple and strong, noble in its aim, and beautiful in its result? I know you do.
Folly and slander have their own way for a little time, but for a little time only. You now know what we mean: you will be able to estimate what is said of us—its value and its motive.
There should be a law that no ordinary newspaper should be allowed to write about art. The harm they do by their foolish and random92 writing it would be impossible to overestimate—not to the artist but to the public, blinding them to all, but harming the artist not at all. Without them we would judge a man simply by his work; but at present the newspapers are trying hard to induce the public to judge a sculptor, for instance, never by his statues but by the way he treats his wife; a painter by the amount of his income and a poet by the colour of his neck-tie. I said there should be a law, but there is really no necessity for a new law: nothing could be easier than to bring the ordinary critic under the head of the criminal classes. But let us leave such an inartistic subject and return to beautiful and comely93 things, remembering that the art which would represent the spirit of modern newspapers would be exactly the art which you and I want to avoid—grotesque art, malice94 mocking you from every gateway95, slander sneering96 at you from every corner.
Perhaps you may be surprised at my talking of labour and the workman. You have heard of me, I fear, through the medium of your somewhat imaginative newspapers as, if not a ‘Japanese young man,’ at least a young man to whom the rush and clamour and reality of the modern world were distasteful, and whose greatest difficulty in life was the difficulty of living up to the level of his blue china—a paradox97 from which England has not yet recovered.
Well, let me tell you how it first came to me at all to create an artistic movement in England, a movement to show the rich what beautiful things they might enjoy and the poor what beautiful things they might create.
One summer afternoon in Oxford98—‘that sweet city with her dreaming spires,’ lovely as Venice in its splendour, noble in its learning as Rome, down the long High Street that winds from tower to tower, past silent cloister99 and stately gateway, till it reaches that long, grey seven-arched bridge which Saint Mary used to guard (used to, I say, because they are now pulling it down to build a tramway and a light cast-iron bridge in its place, desecrating100 the loveliest city in England)—well, we were coming down the street—a troop of young men, some of them like myself only nineteen, going to river or tennis-court or cricket-field—when Ruskin going up to lecture in cap and gown met us. He seemed troubled and prayed us to go back with him to his lecture, which a few of us did, and there he spoke101 to us not on art this time but on life, saying that it seemed to him to be wrong that all the best physique and strength of the young men in England should be spent aimlessly on cricket ground or river, without any result at all except that if one rowed well one got a pewter-pot, and if one made a good score, a cane-handled bat. He thought, he said, that we should be working at something that would do good to other people, at something by which we might show that in all labour there was something noble. Well, we were a good deal moved, and said we would do anything he wished. So he went out round Oxford and found two villages, Upper and Lower Hinksey, and between them there lay a great swamp, so that the villagers could not pass from one to the other without many miles of a round. And when we came back in winter he asked us to help him to make a road across this morass102 for these village people to use. So out we went, day after day, and learned how to lay levels and to break stones, and to wheel barrows along a plank—a very difficult thing to do. And Ruskin worked with us in the mist and rain and mud of an Oxford winter, and our friends and our enemies came out and mocked us from the bank. We did not mind it much then, and we did not mind it afterwards at all, but worked away for two months at our road. And what became of the road? Well, like a bad lecture it ended abruptly—in the middle of the swamp. Ruskin going away to Venice, when we came back for the next term there was no leader, and the ‘diggers,’ as they called us, fell asunder103. And I felt that if there was enough spirit amongst the young men to go out to such work as road-making for the sake of a noble ideal of life, I could from them create an artistic movement that might change, as it has changed, the face of England. So I sought them out—leader they would call me—but there was no leader: we were all searchers only and we were bound to each other by noble friendship and by noble art. There was none of us idle: poets most of us, so ambitious were we: painters some of us, or workers in metal or modellers, determined104 that we would try and create for ourselves beautiful work: for the handicraftsman beautiful work, for those who love us poems and pictures, for those who love us not epigrams and paradoxes105 and scorn.
Well, we have done something in England and we will do something more. Now, I do not want you, believe me, to ask your brilliant young men, your beautiful young girls, to go out and make a road on a swamp for any village in America, but I think you might each of you have some art to practise.
We must have, as Emerson said, a mechanical craft for our culture, a basis for our higher accomplishments106 in the work of our hands—the uselessness of most people’s hands seems to me one of the most unpractical things. ‘No separation from labour can be without some loss of power or truth to the seer,’ says Emerson again. The heroism107 which would make on us the impression of Epaminondas must be that of a domestic conqueror108. The hero of the future is he who shall bravely and gracefully109 subdue110 this Gorgon111 of fashion and of convention.
When you have chosen your own part, abide112 by it, and do not weakly try and reconcile yourself with the world. The heroic cannot be the common nor the common the heroic. Congratulate yourself if you have done something strange and extravagant113 and broken the monotony of a decorous age.
And lastly, let us remember that art is the one thing which Death cannot harm. The little house at Concord114 may be desolate115, but the wisdom of New England’s Plato is not silenced nor the brilliancy of that Attic116 genius dimmed: the lips of Longfellow are still musical for us though his dust be turning into the flowers which he loved: and as it is with the greater artists, poet and philosopher and song-bird, so let it be with you.
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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opposition
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| n.反对，敌对 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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civilisation
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| n.文明，文化，开化，教化 | |
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machinery
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| n.(总称)机械，机器；机构 | |
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reverence
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| n.敬畏，尊敬，尊严；Reverence:对某些基督教神职人员的尊称；v.尊敬，敬畏，崇敬 | |
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ignoble
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| adj.不光彩的，卑鄙的；可耻的 | |
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wrought
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ornament
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| v.装饰，美化；n.装饰，装饰物 | |
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shrieks
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slander
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| n./v.诽谤，污蔑 | |
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folly
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| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
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graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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artistic
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| adj.艺术(家)的，美术(家)的；善于艺术创作的 | |
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simplicity
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gaudy
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discord
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desecrate
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whitewashed
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| 粉饰，美化，掩饰( whitewash的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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specimens
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decorative
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aster
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exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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tapestry
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fretted
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| 焦躁的，附有弦马的，腐蚀的 | |
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sonata
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texture
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utensil
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remarkable
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terrapins
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clams
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| n.蛤；蚌，蛤( clam的名词复数 )v.（在沙滩上）挖蛤( clam的第三人称单数 ) | |
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32
fortress
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| n.堡垒，防御工事 | |
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33
horridness
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34
sane
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| adj.心智健全的，神志清醒的，明智的，稳健的 | |
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35
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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36
gilt
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| adj.镀金的；n.金边证券 | |
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37
writhing
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| （因极度痛苦而）扭动或翻滚( writhe的现在分词 ) | |
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38
smirking
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| v.傻笑( smirk的现在分词 ) | |
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39
monstrous
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| adj.巨大的；恐怖的；可耻的，丢脸的 | |
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40
adorn
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| vt.使美化，装饰 | |
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41
conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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42
utterance
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| n.用言语表达，话语，言语 | |
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43
sculptor
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| n.雕刻家，雕刻家 | |
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44
hurling
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| n.爱尔兰式曲棍球v.猛投，用力掷( hurl的现在分词 )；大声叫骂 | |
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45
oar
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| n.桨，橹，划手；v.划行 | |
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46
reaper
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| n.收割者，收割机 | |
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47
sickle
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| n.镰刀 | |
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48
motives
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| n.动机，目的( motive的名词复数 ) | |
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49
motive
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| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
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50
scythe
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| n. 长柄的大镰刀，战车镰； v. 以大镰刀割 | |
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51
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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52
isolate
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| vt.使孤立，隔离 | |
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53
pictorial
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| adj.绘画的；图片的；n．画报 | |
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54
chapel
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| n.小教堂，殡仪馆 | |
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55
arcade
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| n.拱廊；(一侧或两侧有商店的)通道 | |
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56
embroidered
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| adj．绣花的 | |
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57
brass
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| n.黄铜；黄铜器，铜管乐器 | |
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58
stork
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| n.鹳 | |
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59
buffalo
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| n.(北美)野牛；(亚洲)水牛 | |
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60
utensils
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| 器具，用具，器皿( utensil的名词复数 )； 器物 | |
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61
quarries
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| n.（采）石场( quarry的名词复数 )；猎物（指鸟，兽等）；方形石；（格窗等的）方形玻璃v.从采石场采得( quarry的第三人称单数 )；从（书本等中）努力发掘（资料等）；在采石场采石 | |
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varied
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| adj.多样的，多变化的 | |
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joyous
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| adj.充满快乐的；令人高兴的 | |
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frieze
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| n.(墙上的)横饰带，雕带 | |
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pretence
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| n.假装，作假；借口，口实；虚伪；虚饰 | |
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delicacy
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| n.精致，细微，微妙，精良；美味，佳肴 | |
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67
carving
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| n.雕刻品，雕花 | |
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68
attainable
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| a.可达到的，可获得的 | |
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variegated
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| adj.斑驳的，杂色的 | |
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unlimited
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| adj.无限的，不受控制的，无条件的 | |
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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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durable
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| adj.持久的，耐久的 | |
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incapable
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| adj.无能力的，不能做某事的 | |
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74
lustre
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| n.光亮，光泽；荣誉 | |
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chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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dishonour
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| n./vt.拒付（支票、汇票、票据等）；vt.凌辱，使丢脸；n.不名誉，耻辱，不光彩 | |
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77
fabric
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| n.织物，织品，布；构造，结构，组织 | |
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transparent
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| adj.明显的，无疑的；透明的 | |
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mosaics
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| n.马赛克( mosaic的名词复数 )；镶嵌；镶嵌工艺；镶嵌图案 | |
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hues
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| 色彩( hue的名词复数 )； 色调； 信仰； 观点 | |
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81
iris
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| n.虹膜，彩虹 | |
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82
azure
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| adj.天蓝色的，蔚蓝色的 | |
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83
promontory
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| n.海角；岬 | |
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84
speculation
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| n.思索，沉思；猜测；投机 | |
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85
knight
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| n.骑士，武士；爵士 | |
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86
haughty
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| adj.傲慢的，高傲的 | |
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87
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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88
toil
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| vi.辛劳工作，艰难地行动；n.苦工，难事 | |
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89
goblet
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| n.高脚酒杯 | |
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90
petals
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| n.花瓣( petal的名词复数 ) | |
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91
tangled
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| adj. 纠缠的，紊乱的 动词tangle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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92
random
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| adj.随机的；任意的；n.偶然的(或随便的)行动 | |
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93
comely
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| adj.漂亮的，合宜的 | |
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94
malice
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| n.恶意，怨恨，蓄意；[律]预谋 | |
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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
sneering
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| 嘲笑的，轻蔑的 | |
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97
paradox
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| n.似乎矛盾却正确的说法；自相矛盾的人(物) | |
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98
Oxford
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| n.牛津（英国城市） | |
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99
cloister
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| n.修道院；v.隐退，使与世隔绝 | |
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100
desecrating
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| 毁坏或亵渎( desecrate的现在分词 ) | |
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101
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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102
morass
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| n.沼泽，困境 | |
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103
asunder
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| adj.分离的，化为碎片 | |
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104
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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105
paradoxes
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| n.似非而是的隽语，看似矛盾而实际却可能正确的说法( paradox的名词复数 )；用于语言文学中的上述隽语；有矛盾特点的人[事物，情况] | |
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106
accomplishments
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| n.造诣；完成( accomplishment的名词复数 )；技能；成绩；成就 | |
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107
heroism
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| n.大无畏精神，英勇 | |
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108
conqueror
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| n.征服者，胜利者 | |
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109
gracefully
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| ad.大大方方地；优美地 | |
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110
subdue
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| vt.制服，使顺从，征服；抑制，克制 | |
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111
gorgon
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| n.丑陋女人，蛇发女怪 | |
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112
abide
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| vi.遵守；坚持；vt.忍受 | |
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113
extravagant
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| adj.奢侈的；过分的；(言行等)放肆的 | |
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114
concord
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| n.和谐；协调 | |
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115
desolate
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| adj.荒凉的，荒芜的；孤独的，凄凉的；v.使荒芜，使孤寂 | |
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116
attic
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| n.顶楼，屋顶室 | |
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