Ordham raged at the further delay. But when he had worn his temper down with a long walk and a German supper, he began to feel agreeably alive to the adventure. At a quarter before midnight he presented himself at the side entrance of the Hof. The door was slightly ajar and opened upon his approach. Re?nforcing the hand held out to him in the darkness, he tiptoed through the vestibule and foyer, then, left inside a door near the middle of the parkett, he fumbled7 unaided to a seat.
The orchestra was tuning8 and covered what sound he made. The jets of light above the scores of its musicians, and the solitary9 globe in the box of the King were all that relieved the black vacuum in which he found himself. He could not make out a feature of the familiar tiers which always formed a part of the mental picture of this graceful11 opera house when he fell to dreaming of it. Dowdy12 as many of the women might be, they made a brilliant scene in totality, and there were always familiar faces, particularly in the balkon. And all were music lovers, come to hear, not to be seen, hardly daring to breathe audibly until the curtain went down. To-night, Ordham could have sworn the galleries were full of ghosts, so difficult was it to believe that he was to hear a performance of G?tterd?mmerung in an empty house. He turned his head, whimsically expectant of seeing the space behind the parkettsitz crowded with shadowy forms: the students, men and women, who felt themselves fortunate in being able to pay for standing13 room, and to stand for five hours!
And since he was forced to put an extinguisher on the lover in him until the morrow and had finished cursing the King, he gave his fancy rein14 and found it no effort to imagine himself in some vast underground cavern15 watching restless spirits bearing each a tiny torch at the entrance, and a throne cut in the rock behind him high up toward the dome16. In truth the air in which he sat was damp and cold, although the month was August; the opera house had been closed since the first of July.
His mind indulged in fantasies but for a few moments however, presently returning to Styr’s note. He had read it twice and wished he might strike a match and read it again. Something in it had induced a vague sensation of uneasiness, of doubt. In spite of her assurance that she should sing to him alone, it had been abrupt18, almost cold. She might be wise in refusing to see him before the performance; but at least she could have written something of the regret she might reasonably be expected to feel; but this omission19, no doubt, was due to the ill temper generally induced by these commands to sing at midnight. Then fear assailed20 him. Did she mean to convey some message of renunciation to-night? Prepare him for her decision in favour of art? He had never questioned that for this great artist to renounce21 the stage at the height of her powers and in the dawn of a world-wide fame would be no light matter. In his breast pocket were the fiery22 vows23 he had received a few hours before his departure from London. There were no half measures about Styr; this letter had enveloped24 him in an electric mist. But her last note might have been written the summer before. Had she faltered25 when she received his last telegram from Cologne?—sternly admonished26, perhaps, by that twin sister of hers in Valhalla, Brynhildr, whose temporary reincarnations, mayhap, it was that made Ludwig despise the women of Earth? . . .
Ordham felt his long jaw27 grow prognathic. Munich was not England. He forgot the death of his brother. He was in a romantic city, in a romantic adventure, he was youth on fire, man balked28 once more in his desire for the woman he loved with the strength of both youth and maturity29. He vowed30 to own her in the uninterrupted possession of marriage if he had to blast the voice in her throat. He felt as primitive31 as the characters in the drama about to be presented, as he sat there, frowning, dogged, almost growling32, in the cavernous darkness of that opera house which he has never set foot in since, nor ever will again.
The musicians stood up and faced about, standing in an attitude of extreme respect. Ordham turned his head. The King had entered his box. He still wore a light overcoat, as if he had but just now stepped from the carriage that brought him from one of his castles. He also did not think it worth while to remove his hat, a large soft hat, tipped over his heavy white face. Altogether he bore little resemblance to the romantic and brilliant youth, probably the handsomest figure that ever ornamented33 a throne, who had witnessed his first exclusive performance from that box in 1865. He sat down heavily. The musicians took their places. The overture34 began.
Ordham felt as if he had dropped gently from a fire-swept plain, haunted by furies, into a vast warm rhythmic35 sea whose tides swept sense to thought and rushed it back again to the senses, until that complete union was effected of which all mortals dream but only the Ordhams and Styrs can attain36.
Ordham never made any attempt to follow the motives37 in an overture; that was not his idea of enjoying music, which he estimated as a gift bestowed38 on brains like Wagner’s that the intellect of the hearer might be awakened39 and excited only so far as was necessary to liberate40 the senses. Nevertheless, to-night he was aware as never before of that deep undertone of fate below the solemn joy and halleluja of the music of G?tterd?mmerung. And fate was personified in the first dark scene, where the three grey Norns sat weaving their ropes and gloomily foretelling41 the death of gods too confident and ambitious. But when the hideous42 trio disappeared and Brünhilde and Siegfried came forth43 from the cave where they had passed their long honeymoon44, it needed only Styr’s first love notes, piercingly sweet, while her eyes deliberately45 sought the spot where she knew Ordham must be, to shake him from head to foot with the reassurance46 that whatever she might resolve in her cooler moments, love meant all to her that it had meant to this fallen goddess.
Styr may or may not have read the volumes of criticism devoted47 to the heroine of the Niebelungenlied, but it is probable that in any case she would have penetrated48 the mists of antiquity49 and seen the Brynhildr who reigned50 there, with her own eyes. In Die Walküre she made her alternately the jubilant sexless favourite of Wotan, shadowed subtly with her impending51 womanhood, and the goddess of aloof52 and immutable53 calm, Will personified, even when moved to pity. In G?tterd?mmerung, particularly of late, she had portrayed54 her as woman epitomized, arguing that all great women had the ichor of the goddess in their veins55, and that primal56 woman was but the mother of a sex modified (sometimes) but not remade. In the last act of Siegfried her voice was wholly dramatic and expressed her delight at coming into her woman’s inheritance in ecstatic cries, almost shouts, which were never to be forgotten by any that heard them, and stirred the primal inheritance in the veriest butterfly of the court. In this beautiful love scene of G?tterd?mmerung, the last of the tetralogy, her voice was lyric57, rich and round and full, as her voice must always be, but stripped of its darker quality; and while by no means angelic, a character with which she could invest it when portraying58 the virgin59 Elizabeth, was as sweet and clear and triumphant60 as if bent61 upon giving the final expression to the first love of woman alloyed with knowledge.
Ordham had heard her in the r?le many times, and he soon appreciated that she had never made as much of this scene as she did to-night, realized she meant to convey that Brynhildr, with some echo in her brain of her old gift of prophecy, took advantage of this last hour of happiness to gratify her woman’s nature to the core. She was tender, ineffably62 so, doubtful, charming, full of fears, superbly passionate63. Her great tones were like golden apples filled with the sharp delicious juices of her bridal memories; and she was the epitome64 of the helpmate, the apotheosis65 of exalted66 womanhood when she bade her man go forth and conquer new worlds, exercise his supreme67 gifts of strength and courage as a man should, instead of dallying68 too long in these flowery meadows of love. Ordham, watching her through his glass, wondered that even she could be so beautiful, for her face was illuminated69 as he had never seen it before. He had not the least doubt that she kept her word and sang to him, and when she cried: “Oh, heavenly powers, holy protectors, view with delight our devotion and love. Apart, who can divide us? Divided, still we are one!” she bent her head from Siegfried’s neck and looked once more full at the spot where, it may be, Ordham’s face made a white blur70 on the dark.
He paid slight attention to the next scene, although the picturesque71 hall of the Gibichungs on the Rhine, with the sinister72 plot hatched there, had always delighted him; but his uneasiness recurred73, for in retrospect74 Styr’s voice and acting75 were charged with a significance he felt but could not define. His confidence returned, however, during her scene with Waltraute, when he could not doubt that her incredulity at the demand of the gods to give up her bridal ring, and the magnificent scorn with which she announced herself woman, not that pitiful half-remembered thing, a demigoddess, were addressed, not to Valhalla, but to the harrowing demands of an art that still fought for its rights.
“Siegfried loves me! . . . The ring bides76 with me. . . . get hence to the gods. . . . Sooner to ruins Valhalla’s splendour may crash,” sang Brünhilde, much as Styr, if too hard pressed, might have cried: “To the devil with Art and the world!”
Ordham smiled, then sank the man in the spectator once more as the hapless Brünhilde repulsed77 and struggled with the disguised and unmemoried Siegfried, for here there could be no message; no mortal would ever come between himself and her; and perhaps that profound knowledge and faith, at the same time devoid78 of the subtle sting of regret for the loss of a suspense79 always piquant80, was the final proof that, whatever his faults and lacks, as a man he was at least able to love greatly.
As Brünhilde was driven by the fraudulent Gunther into the cave, she looked as if the very bones had gone out of her, primitive woman beaten and captured by the victorious81 male, bewildered, helpless, sick with disgust and horror, but too broken, too conscious of the futility82 of revolt even to appeal to the relentless83 brute84 force behind her. Ordham recalled Styr’s initiation85, and reflected that, although methods had changed since the primordial86 era, man had not. And while there was no resemblance whatever between himself and that prosaic87 seducer88 of an ignorant and beautiful child, bred in a filthy89 mining town, save in their common sex, still would he, impelled90 by that imperious call in his blood of man for his mate, have resorted to kidnapping, strategy, bribery91, violence, any device old or new, to force this woman into an indissoluble bond with himself.
By the King’s command, there was a pause of but three minutes between the first act—close upon an hour and a half in length—and the second. Ordham’s mind wandered to the morrow until the boat came down the Rhine with Gunther and his prey92. Then, once more he was ready to sink Styr in Brünhilde, for he had never been able to decide which was the greatest piece of acting on the world’s stage, Styr’s Isolde in the first act of Tristan, or her Brünhilde in this tremendous scene, where she invoked93 the supernormal birthright of the goddess to intensify94 the fury and indignation of the outraged95 woman.
As she stepped from the boat, hanging her head before the throng96 awaiting the bride Gunther had ravished from the fire-girt rock, she looked so forlorn, so beaten, so wholly womanly that Ordham felt tears in his eyes. Oddly enough his thoughts flew to the lonely coffin97 in Brompton Cemetery98. Mabel, dead in her youth, was mercifully spared the maturer suffering of woman. Not that she ever could have reached the heights and depths so fatally accessible to this woman, but she symbolized100 youth, whose unhappiness is but a phase of its egotistical pleasures, and was gone before she had lived long enough to suffer with a mind stripped of illusions.
There was no controversy101 of doubt over Styr’s interpretation102 of Brünhilde in this act. She let loose every passion of which her sex when scorned has yet conceived. After her vain appeal to Siegfried, standing fatuously103 beside the Gedrun whose magic potion has bewitched him (more than ever Ordham wondered that Brünhilde could have given her affections to this great child), when those long moments of staring incredulity were over, she burst into such a madness of rage that her voice seemed to darken visibly, to take on strange tones, as deep and crude as colour may have been in that morning of the world when goddesses went to sleep on rocks surrounded by fire and Siegfrieds fought dragons and walked through flames protected by tarnhelm and ring. When she screamed, her voice pierced to the marrow104, affrighting as that of a wild beast in a jungle at night. The whole scene was almost unbearable105 in its intensity106; but never did those beautiful arms make an ungraceful movement, the hand that clutched the heart as if to tear it out never rose an inch too high or low. Her audience might be racked and unbreathed, but Styr was always the absolute artist, vivified but never distracted by the furnace within.
Nevertheless, those that knew nothing of acting would have vowed that Styr’s brain was suffocated107 by Brynhildr’s. To-night when Siegfried and Gedrun had gone, and, alone with Gunther and Hagen, she stood staring before her, an immense horror in her eyes, her lips slightly parted, her arms limp, as if on the edge of the world watching it sink into the black void of space, Ordham involuntarily glanced behind him at the King. He had hitched108 his chair forward, his arms were pressing the rail, his hat was on the back of his head, his eyes flamed with light. He looked like a lost immortal109, long straying from star to star, who at last sees the distant gates of Valhalla open, and awaiting him. Ordham wondered why this poor idealist had never sought out Styr, hoping to find in her the embodiment of his unearthly dreams; wondered again if it were because of the knowledge that his mortal career had made it impossible for him to find the goddess in any woman. His eyes were filmed with more than common weakness, his senses drugged, dead; he could but dream of some tier of heaven reserved for great souls like his, which came to their own only when free of the flesh. But there was no doubt that Styr in such scenes as this gave him immortal moments.
Brünhilde came out of her stupor110, and after a fruitless lament111 for the lost arts of her godhood, with which, woman-like, she fancied she might have held Siegfried against the wiles112 of a younger woman, deliberately sentenced him to death. As she described the only vulnerable part of the mighty113 Siegfried, that fearless back which he would never show to any foe114, her calm was far more awful than her wrath115 had been. During her long meditation116, she had divined the trick which had been played upon the warrior117, but that light by no means mitigated118 the evil; if she could not possess him neither should Gedrun. It was the primitive woman’s method of revenge that modern woman has not disdained119 to follow, but so grand was her portrayal120 of a woman conscious that she had once been the mighty daughter of Wotan, that never for a second did she descend121 to the level of Earthians. She was Brünhilde acting according to her lights, and the lights of her day must have been as blinding as an electric storm caught in an underground cavern.
The scene shifted. Siegfried drank from the horn into which the ever malignant122 Hagen had squeezed the restorative herb, and sang of Brünhilde, forgetting Gedrun and all that had happened since he left the rock. With the enchanting123 strains of the love music of the last act of the third opera of the tetralogy embracing him—tender and ecstatic—followed by the slowly unwinding Brünhilde motif124, coming as it did after so much misery125, wickedness, and violence, and preceding crime and the final disaster, Ordham dropped his face into his hands and gave up his thoughts to the bliss126 he anticipated. He was recalled by the deepest sigh he had ever heard. It came down upon him like a gust17 of death, dulling the almost excruciating sweetness of the music. He raised his head and thanked God that he was not Ludwig, King of Bavaria. For him there was a future on Earth.
The Trauermarsch, in which all the dead of not only Earth, but of the Universe, seem to rise and tramp across the bridge of oblivion, was finished. Brünhilde entered the hall of the Gibichungs to find Gedrun wailing127 over Siegfried’s body, Gunther slain128 by Hagen. Of late Styr had played the character consistently through to the end as a woman. But to-night she appeared to defer129 once more to Wagner—possibly to the King—and to be about to symbolize99 the “negation of the will to live,” the eternal sacrifice of woman, the immolation130 of self; although she had contended, and for that reason sang no more at Bayreuth, that such an interpretation was absurd as a finale for Brünhilde, no matter what its beauty and truth in the abstract. The gods were doomed131, her renouncement132 of life did not save them, and as for the sacrifice of woman to man, that she had accomplished133 twice over. Brünhilde died as other women had died since, and doubtless before, in the hope of uniting with the spirit of her man, and because life was become abhorrent134.
To-night, as she entered the hall, she was so still, so majestic135, that she no longer looked a woman at all, save in so far as her slain womanhood may have risen to feed the purpose of the daughter of Wotan—calm, inexorable, the personification of Will. As she stood by the bier and ordered the funeral pyre built and began that great dirge136 which expresses the end of all things mortal, her face was expressionless, as fixed137 as that of the beautiful Medusa in the Glyptothek of Munich. Her head, her body, might have been an organ out of which rolled such notes as no other audience had ever heard. Ordham almost stood up, the voice was so sublime138, so unearthly; he wondered if his brain, his senses, had been so unmercifully beaten upon during the long hours of the opera that he was suffering from delusion139. He had not known that even Styr could sing like that. So must the heroines of the old Sagas140 have sung when Europe was still the battleground of gods and men, so may Brynhildr’s voice have gone up in its mighty swan song before Valhalla flamed and fell to ashes.
Never on any stage has there been such a picture as Styr always made, when, standing before the funeral pyre on whose summit lay the body of Siegfried, with her flaming torch held high in her right hand and her hair streaming behind her, looking even taller than her own majestic height, she sang:
“Flieght heim, ihr Raben
?raun’t es euren Herrn
?was hier am Rhein irh geh?rt!”
and to-night, as she sang that magnificent p?an to death, she fairly filled the stage, as if some power of the soul literally141 permitted her body to grow to the heroic proportions of that old daughter of the gods.
But all the time the immobility of her face never broke; it was fate itself. She thrust her torch into the pyre, greeted and unbridled her horse still with the same awful calm. It was only when the fire was roaring from floor to ceiling and she was about to mount Grane that her voice abruptly142 lost its solemnity and pealed143 out in the wildest ecstasy144:
“Fühl’ meine Brust auch,
?wie sie entbrennt;
?helles Feuer
?das Hertz mir erfasst,
?ihn zu umschlingen,
?umschlossen von ihm,
?in m?chtigster Minne
?verm?hlt ihm zu sein!
?Heiaho! Grane!
?grüsse deinem Herrn!
?Siegfried! Siegfried! Sieh!
?Selig grüsst dich dein Weib!”
The last line was flung straight into Ordham’s ear, but he did not pause to reflect upon its significance, holding his breath for this final moment of Styr’s stupendous acting, Brynhildr’s immolation. She leaped on her horse, and with head erect145 and arms uplifted to the smouldering body on the pyre, dashed straight into the flames. It was over in a second, but its realism was so intense and affrighting, that, as ever, Ordham gasped146 and nearly sprang from his seat, while the King gave a loud shout of rapture147.
Ordham sank back with a deep sigh of amused relief. He knew that those flames produced by spirits did not really meet, and that Styr’s horse was too well trained to make a misstep or linger. Still no one else save Vogel had ever essayed this feat10, which could be simulated on the darkened stage, and overlooked in the simultaneous conflagration148 of the castle, the rise of the waters of the Rhine, the vision in the sky of Valhalla in flames.
The walls began to fall, Hagen and the Rhine maidens149 to search furiously for the ring, retainers to fly about in distraction150. Ordham had never seen the confusion as well represented as to-night. The shrieks151 sounded genuine, the faces of the survivors152 were distraught. No doubt these born artists and loyal Bavarians were always afire when performing for their King alone. The curtain went down amidst the crash of orchestration. Ordham, seeing that the King’s box was empty, slipped out, meditating153 upon those last words of Brünhilde. “Thy wife!” She had made her final decision, then, bade her farewell to the stage in that long dirge. It was indeed her swan song! For the first time he wholly realized the enormity of the sacrifice, the egoism of love. But he did not care. He exulted154, as inexorably the male as Siegfried or Gunther.
He had half made up his mind to ignore Styr’s injunctions and go to her dressing-room; but when he reached the open air, he suddenly realized that he was very tired. The long unbroken strain of an opera which, even with pauses, makes a severer drain on the nervous system than any opera ever written, following a sleepless155 night of travel and many hours of mental excitement, left him suddenly exhausted156, devitalized; he was glad to fall into the cab which his friend the doorkeeper had had the forethought to order, and drive to his hotel. The dawn was cold and grey, a bleak157 and disheartening contrast to the scene of mysterious splendour from which he seemed to have been shot straight into the chilliest158 stratum159 of a dismal160 inhospitable Earth. He shivered, wondered had it all been a dream, longed for sleep. He did not even glance down Maximilianstrasse, to the stage door, out of which the performers were streaming, gesticulating, weeping.
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收听单词发音
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1
auditorium
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| n.观众席，听众席；会堂，礼堂 | |
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briefly
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| adv.简单地，简短地 | |
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bribed
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| v.贿赂( bribe的过去式和过去分词 )；向（某人）行贿，贿赂 | |
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smuggle
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| vt.私运；vi.走私 | |
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favourably
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| adv. 善意地，赞成地 =favorably | |
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6
awe
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| n.敬畏，惊惧；vt.使敬畏，使惊惧 | |
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fumbled
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| （笨拙地）摸索或处理（某事物）( fumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 乱摸，笨拙地弄； 使落下 | |
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8
tuning
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| n.调谐，调整，调音v.调音( tune的现在分词 )；调整；（给收音机、电视等）调谐；使协调 | |
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solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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feat
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| n.功绩；武艺，技艺；adj.灵巧的，漂亮的，合适的 | |
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graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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dowdy
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| adj.不整洁的；过旧的 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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rein
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| n.疆绳，统治，支配；vt.以僵绳控制，统治 | |
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cavern
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| n.洞穴，大山洞 | |
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dome
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| n.圆屋顶，拱顶 | |
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gust
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| n.阵风，突然一阵（雨、烟等），（感情的）迸发 | |
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abrupt
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| adj.突然的，意外的；唐突的，鲁莽的 | |
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omission
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| n.省略，删节；遗漏或省略的事物，冗长 | |
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assailed
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| v.攻击( assail的过去式和过去分词 )；困扰；质问；毅然应对 | |
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renounce
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| v.放弃；拒绝承认，宣布与…断绝关系 | |
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fiery
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| adj.燃烧着的，火红的；暴躁的；激烈的 | |
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vows
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| 誓言( vow的名词复数 )； 郑重宣布，许愿 | |
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enveloped
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| v.包围，笼罩，包住( envelop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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faltered
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| （嗓音）颤抖( falter的过去式和过去分词 )； 支吾其词； 蹒跚； 摇晃 | |
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26
admonished
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| v.劝告( admonish的过去式和过去分词 )；训诫；（温和地）责备；轻责 | |
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jaw
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| n.颚，颌，说教，流言蜚语；v.喋喋不休，教训 | |
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balked
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| v.畏缩不前，犹豫( balk的过去式和过去分词 )；（指马）不肯跑 | |
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maturity
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| n.成熟；完成；(支票、债券等)到期 | |
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vowed
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| 起誓，发誓（vow的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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primitive
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| adj.原始的；简单的；n.原(始)人，原始事物 | |
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growling
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| n.吠声, 咆哮声 v.怒吠, 咆哮, 吼 | |
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ornamented
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| adj.花式字体的v.装饰，点缀，美化( ornament的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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overture
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| n.前奏曲、序曲，提议，提案，初步交涉 | |
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rhythmic
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| adj.有节奏的，有韵律的 | |
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attain
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| vt.达到，获得，完成 | |
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motives
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| n.动机，目的( motive的名词复数 ) | |
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bestowed
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| 赠给，授予( bestow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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awakened
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| v.（使）醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
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40
liberate
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| v.解放，使获得自由，释出，放出；vt.解放，使获自由 | |
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41
foretelling
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| v.预言，预示( foretell的现在分词 ) | |
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42
hideous
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| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
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43
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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44
honeymoon
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| n.蜜月（假期）；vi.度蜜月 | |
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45
deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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46
reassurance
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| n.使放心，使消除疑虑 | |
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47
devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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48
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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49
antiquity
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| n.古老；高龄；古物，古迹 | |
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50
reigned
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| vi.当政，统治（reign的过去式形式） | |
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51
impending
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| a.imminent, about to come or happen | |
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52
aloof
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| adj.远离的；冷淡的，漠不关心的 | |
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53
immutable
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| adj.不可改变的，永恒的 | |
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54
portrayed
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| v.画像( portray的过去式和过去分词 )；描述；描绘；描画 | |
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55
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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56
primal
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| adj.原始的；最重要的 | |
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57
lyric
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| n.抒情诗，歌词；adj.抒情的 | |
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58
portraying
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| v.画像( portray的现在分词 )；描述；描绘；描画 | |
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59
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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60
triumphant
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| adj.胜利的，成功的；狂欢的，喜悦的 | |
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61
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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62
ineffably
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| adv.难以言喻地，因神圣而不容称呼地 | |
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63
passionate
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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64
epitome
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| n.典型，梗概 | |
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65
apotheosis
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| n.神圣之理想；美化；颂扬 | |
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66
exalted
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| adj.(地位等)高的，崇高的；尊贵的，高尚的 | |
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67
supreme
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| adj.极度的，最重要的；至高的，最高的 | |
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68
dallying
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| v.随随便便地对待( dally的现在分词 )；不很认真地考虑；浪费时间；调情 | |
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69
illuminated
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| adj.被照明的；受启迪的 | |
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70
blur
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| n.模糊不清的事物；vt.使模糊，使看不清楚 | |
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71
picturesque
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| adj.美丽如画的，（语言）生动的，绘声绘色的 | |
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72
sinister
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| adj.不吉利的，凶恶的，左边的 | |
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73
recurred
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| 再发生，复发( recur的过去式和过去分词 )； 治愈 | |
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74
retrospect
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| n.回顾，追溯；v.回顾，回想，追溯 | |
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75
acting
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| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
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76
bides
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| v.等待，停留( bide的第三人称单数 )；居住；（过去式用bided）等待；面临 | |
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77
repulsed
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| v.击退( repulse的过去式和过去分词 )；驳斥；拒绝 | |
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78
devoid
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| adj.全无的，缺乏的 | |
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79
suspense
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| n.（对可能发生的事）紧张感，担心，挂虑 | |
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80
piquant
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| adj.辛辣的，开胃的，令人兴奋的 | |
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81
victorious
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| adj.胜利的，得胜的 | |
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82
futility
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| n.无用 | |
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83
relentless
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| adj.残酷的，不留情的，无怜悯心的 | |
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84
brute
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| n.野兽，兽性 | |
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85
initiation
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| n.开始 | |
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86
primordial
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| adj.原始的；最初的 | |
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87
prosaic
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| adj.单调的，无趣的 | |
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88
seducer
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| n.诱惑者,骗子,玩弄女性的人 | |
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89
filthy
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| adj.卑劣的；恶劣的，肮脏的 | |
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90
impelled
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| v.推动、推进或敦促某人做某事( impel的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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91
bribery
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| n.贿络行为，行贿，受贿 | |
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92
prey
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| n.被掠食者，牺牲者，掠食；v.捕食，掠夺，折磨 | |
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93
invoked
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| v.援引( invoke的过去式和过去分词 )；行使（权利等）；祈求救助；恳求 | |
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94
intensify
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| vt.加强；变强；加剧 | |
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95
outraged
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| a.震惊的，义愤填膺的 | |
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96
throng
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| n.人群，群众；v.拥挤，群集 | |
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97
coffin
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| n.棺材，灵柩 | |
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98
cemetery
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| n.坟墓，墓地，坟场 | |
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99
symbolize
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| vt.作为...的象征，用符号代表 | |
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100
symbolized
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| v.象征，作为…的象征( symbolize的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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101
controversy
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| n.争论，辩论，争吵 | |
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102
interpretation
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| n.解释，说明，描述；艺术处理 | |
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103
fatuously
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| adv.愚昧地，昏庸地，蠢地 | |
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104
marrow
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| n.骨髓；精华；活力 | |
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105
unbearable
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| adj.不能容忍的；忍受不住的 | |
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106
intensity
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| n.强烈，剧烈；强度；烈度 | |
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107
suffocated
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| （使某人）窒息而死( suffocate的过去式和过去分词 )； （将某人）闷死； 让人感觉闷热； 憋气 | |
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108
hitched
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| （免费）搭乘他人之车( hitch的过去式和过去分词 )； 搭便车； 攀上； 跃上 | |
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109
immortal
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| adj.不朽的；永生的，不死的；神的 | |
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110
stupor
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| v.昏迷；不省人事 | |
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111
lament
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| n.悲叹，悔恨，恸哭；v.哀悼，悔恨，悲叹 | |
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112
wiles
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| n.（旨在欺骗或吸引人的）诡计，花招；欺骗，欺诈( wile的名词复数 ) | |
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113
mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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114
foe
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| n.敌人，仇敌 | |
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115
wrath
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| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
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116
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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117
warrior
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| n.勇士，武士，斗士 | |
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118
mitigated
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| v.减轻，缓和( mitigate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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119
disdained
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| 鄙视( disdain的过去式和过去分词 )； 不屑于做，不愿意做 | |
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120
portrayal
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| n.饰演；描画 | |
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121
descend
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| vt./vi.传下来，下来，下降 | |
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122
malignant
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| adj.恶性的，致命的；恶意的，恶毒的 | |
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123
enchanting
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| a.讨人喜欢的 | |
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124
motif
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| n.(图案的)基本花纹，(衣服的)花边；主题 | |
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125
misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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126
bliss
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| n.狂喜，福佑，天赐的福 | |
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127
wailing
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| v.哭叫，哀号( wail的现在分词 )；沱 | |
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128
slain
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| 杀死，宰杀，杀戮( slay的过去分词 )； (slay的过去分词) | |
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129
defer
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| vt.推迟，拖延；vi.(to)遵从，听从，服从 | |
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130
immolation
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| n.牺牲品 | |
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131
doomed
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| 命定的 | |
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132
renouncement
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| n.否认，拒绝 | |
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133
accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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134
abhorrent
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| adj.可恶的，可恨的，讨厌的 | |
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135
majestic
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| adj.雄伟的，壮丽的，庄严的，威严的，崇高的 | |
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136
dirge
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| n.哀乐，挽歌，庄重悲哀的乐曲 | |
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137
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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138
sublime
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| adj.崇高的，伟大的；极度的，不顾后果的 | |
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139
delusion
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| n.谬见，欺骗，幻觉，迷惑 | |
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140
sagas
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| n.萨迦（尤指古代挪威或冰岛讲述冒险经历和英雄业绩的长篇故事）( saga的名词复数 )；（讲述许多年间发生的事情的）长篇故事；一连串的事件（或经历）；一连串经历的讲述（或记述） | |
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141
literally
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| adv.照字面意义，逐字地；确实 | |
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142
abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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143
pealed
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| v.（使）（钟等）鸣响，（雷等）发出隆隆声( peal的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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144
ecstasy
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| n.狂喜，心醉神怡，入迷 | |
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145
erect
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| n./v.树立，建立，使竖立；adj.直立的，垂直的 | |
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146
gasped
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| v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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147
rapture
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| n.狂喜；全神贯注；着迷；v.使狂喜 | |
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148
conflagration
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| n.建筑物或森林大火 | |
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149
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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150
distraction
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| n.精神涣散，精神不集中，消遣，娱乐 | |
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151
shrieks
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| n.尖叫声( shriek的名词复数 )v.尖叫( shriek的第三人称单数 ) | |
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152
survivors
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| 幸存者，残存者，生还者( survivor的名词复数 ) | |
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153
meditating
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| a.沉思的，冥想的 | |
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154
exulted
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| 狂喜，欢跃( exult的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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155
sleepless
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| adj.不睡眠的，睡不著的，不休息的 | |
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156
exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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157
bleak
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| adj.(天气)阴冷的；凄凉的；暗淡的 | |
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158
chilliest
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| adj.寒冷的，冷得难受的( chilly的最高级 ) | |
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159
stratum
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| n.地层，社会阶层 | |
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160
dismal
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| adj.阴沉的，凄凉的，令人忧郁的，差劲的 | |
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