The Conception of the Eternal Return
Friedrich Nietzsche regarded The Dawn of Day as the exercise of a convalescent who amuses himself with desires and ideas, and finds in each a malicious1 or a delightful2 pleasure. It had been a game which must have an end. I must now choose from among these half-perceived ideas, he thought, I must lay hold of one, express it in its full force, and close my years of retreat and hesitation3. "In times of peace," he had written, "the man of warlike instinct turns against himself." Hardly done with his combats, he sought a new occasion for battle.
He had remained, up to mid-July, in Venetia, on the lower slopes of the Italian Alps. He had to seek a cooler refuge. He had not forgotten those high Alpine4 valleys which had given him, two years earlier, in his ill-health a respite5 and a rapid joy. He went up towards them and installed himself in a rustic6 fashion in the Engadine, at Sils-Maria. He had, for one franc a day, a room in a peasant house; a neighbouring inn furnished him with his meals. Passers by were rare, and Nietzsche, when he found himself in talkative humour, used to visit the curé or the schoolmaster. These good people always[Pg 230] remembered this very singular German professor who was so learned, so modest, and so good.
He was then reflecting on the problems of naturalistic philosophy. Spencer's system had just come into vogue8. Friedrich Nietzsche despised this cosmogony which affected9 to supplant10 Christianity and yet remained in submission12 to it. Spencer ignored Providence13, yet believed in progress. He preached the reality of a concert between the movements of things and the aspirations16 of humanity. He preserved the Christian11 harmonies in a God-less universe. Friedrich Nietzsche had been a pupil at more virile17 schools; he heard Empedocles, Heraclitus, Spinoza, Goethe, thinkers who with a calm regard could study Nature without seeking in her some assent18 to their longings20. He remained obedient to these masters, and he felt growing and ripening21 in him a great and a new idea.
We can divine from his letters the emotion with which he was seized. He needed to be alone, and energetically defended his solitude23. Paul Rée, who admired The Dawn, wished to go to him and tell him so. Friedrich Nietzsche learnt this and was in despair.
"MY GOOD LISBETH," he wrote to his sister, "I cannot make up my mind to telegraph to Rée not to come. Nevertheless, I must consider him an enemy who comes to interrupt my summer's work, my work in the Engadine, that is to say my duty itself, my 'one thing necessary.' A man here, in the middle of all these thoughts which gush24 out from all sides within me—it would be a terrible thing; and if I cannot defend my solitude better, I leave Europe for many years, I swear it! I have no more time to lose."
Fr?ulein Nietzsche forewarned Paul Rée, who abandoned his project.
[Pg 231]
At length he found it, the idea, the presentiment25 of which had agitated26 him with such violence. One day, when he was going across the wood of Sils-Maria as far as Silvaplana, he sat down not far from Surlei at the foot of a pyramidal rock; at this moment and in this place he conceived the Eternal Return. He thought: Time, whose duration is infinite, must bring back, from period to period, an identical disposition28 of things. This is necessary; therefore it is necessary that all things return. In a number of days that is unforeseeable, immense, yet limited, a man like to me in everything, myself in fact, seated in the shade of this rock, will again find in this very place this very idea. And this very idea will be rediscovered by this man not once only, but an infinite number of times, for this movement which brings things back is infinite. Therefore we must throw all hope aside and think resolutely30: no celestial31 world will receive men, no better future will console them. We are the shadows of a blind and monotonous32 nature, the prisoners of every moment. But beware! this redoubtable33 idea which forbids hope ennobles and exalts34 every minute of our lives; the moment is no longer a passing thing, if it come back eternally; the least thing is an eternal monument endowed with infinite value, and, if the word "divine" has any sense, divine. "Let everything return ceaselessly," he wrote, "it is the extreme rapprochement of a world of becoming with a world of being: summit of meditation35."[1]
The emotion of the discovery was so strong that he wept, and remained for a long time bathed in tears. So his effort had not been in vain. Without weakening before reality, without withdrawing from pessimism37, but, on the contrary, leading the pessimistic idea to its final consequences, Nietzsche had discovered this doctrine39 of the Return, which, by conferring eternity40 on the most[Pg 232] fugitive41 things, restores in each of them the lyrical power, the religious value necessary to the soul. In a few lines he formulated43 the idea, and dated it: "the beginning of August, 1881, at Sils-Maria, 6,500 feet above the sea and far more than that above all human things!"
He lived for some weeks in a condition of rapture44 and of anguish45: no doubt the mystics knew similar emotions, and their vocabulary suits his case. He experienced a divine pride; but simultaneously46 recoiled47 in fear and trembling, like those prophets of Israel before God receiving from Him the function of their mission. The unhappy man, who had been so wounded by life, faced with an indescribable horror the perpetuity of the Return. It was an insupportable expectation, a torment48; but he loved this torment, and he forced this idea of the Eternal Return on himself as an ascetic49 does martyrdom. "Lux mea crux50," he wrote in his notes, "crux mea lux! Light my cross, cross my light!" His agitation51, which time did not appease52, became extreme. He grew alarmed, for he was not unaware53 of the danger which lay over his life.
"On my horizon thoughts rise, and what thoughts!" he wrote to Peter Gast on the 14th of August. "I did not suspect anything of this kind. I say no more of it, I wish to maintain a resolute29 calm. Alas54, my friend, presentiments55 sometimes cross my mind. It seems to me that I am leading a very dangerous life, for my machine is one of those which may GO SMASH! The intensity56 of my sentiments makes me shudder57 and laugh —twice already I have had to stay in my room, and for a ridiculous reason; my eyes were inflamed58, why? Because while I walked I had cried too much; not sentimental59 tears, but tears of joy; and I sang and said idiotic60 things, being full of a new idea which I must proffer61 to men...."
[Pg 233]
Then he conceived a new task. All that he had hitherto done was but an awkward experiment or research; the time was come when he should erect62 the structure of his work. Of what work? He hesitated: his gifts as an artist, as a critic, as a philosopher, seduced63 him in various directions. Should he put his doctrine in the form of a system? No, it was a symbol and must be surrounded with poetry and rhythm. Could he not renew that forgotten form which was created by the thinkers of the most ancient Greece? Lucretius had handed down the model. Friedrich Nietzsche welcomed this idea; it would please him to translate his conception of nature into poetic64 language, into musical and measured prose. He sought, and his desire for a rhythmical65 language, for a living and, as it were, palpable form, suggested a new thought to him: could he not introduce at the centre of his work a human and prophetic figure, a hero? A name occurred to him; Zarathustra, the Persian apostle, the mystagogue of fire. A title, a subtitle66, four lines rapidly written, announced the poem:
MIDDAY AND ETERNITY
Sign of a New Life
"Zarathustra, born on the borders of Lake Urumiyah, left his country when thirty years old, went towards the province of Aria7, and in ten years of solitude composed the Zend-Avesta."
Henceforward his walks and meditations67 were no longer solitary68. Friedrich Nietzsche never ceased to hear and gather the words of Zarathustra. In three distiches of a soft and almost tender seduction he tells how this companion entered into his life:
[Pg 234]
Sils-Maria
I sat there waiting—waiting for nothing, Enjoying, beyond good and evil, now The light, now the shade; there was only The day, the lake, the noon, time without end. Then, my friend, suddenly one became two—And Zarathustra passed by me.
In September the weather suddenly became cold and snowy. Friedrich Nietzsche had to leave the Engadine.
The intemperate69 weather had tried him; he lost his exaltation, and a long period of depression set in. He constantly thought of the Eternal Return, but now, having lost courage, he only felt a horror of it. "I have lived again through the days at Basle," he wrote to Peter Gast. "Over my shoulder death looks at me." His complaints are brief; a word is enough to let us divine the abysses. Thrice, during these weeks of September and October, he was tempted71 to suicide. "Whence came this temptation? It was not that he wished to avoid suffering; he was brave. Did he then wish to prevent the ruin of his intellect? This second hypothesis is perhaps the true one.
He stopped at Genoa. The damp winds and the lowering skies of the capricious autumn continued to try him. He bore impatiently with the absence of light. A melancholy72 of another kind complicated his trouble: The Dawn of Day had had no success. The critics had ignored the work, his friends had read it with difficulty; Jacob Burckhardt had expressed a polite but prudent74 judgment75. "Certain parts of your book," he wrote, "I read like an old man, with a feeling of vertigo76." Erwin Rohde, the dearest, the most esteemed77, had not acknowledged the receipt of the book. Friedrich Nietzsche wrote to him from Genoa on October 21st:
[Pg 235]
"DEAR OLD FRIEND,—No doubt some embarrassment78 delays you. I pray you, in all sincerity79, not to write! There will be no change in our mutual80 sentiments; I cannot bear to think that in sending a book to a friend I exercise upon him a sort of pressure. What matters a book! What I have still to do matters more—or why should I live? The moment is bitter, I suffer much. Cordially your "F. N."
Erwin Rohde did not answer even this letter. How explain the want of success of The Dawn? Doubtless it is a very old story, the constant, the universal, the irremediable misadventure of the unrecognised genius because he is a genius, a novelty, a surprise, and a scandal. Nevertheless we may, perhaps, grasp some definite reasons. Nietzsche, since he had withdrawn81 from the Wagnerian circle, had no more friends; and a group of friends is the most indispensable intermediary between a great mind which is trying its skill and the mass of the public. He is alone before unknown readers, who are disconcerted by his incessant83 variations. He hopes that the lively form of his work will capture and conquer them. But even the form is unfavourable. No book has so difficult an address as a collection of aphorisms85 and brief thoughts. The reader must give all his attention to every page and decipher an enigma86; lassitude comes quickly. Besides, it is probable that a German public, with little feeling for the art of prose, unskilful in grasping its features, accustomed to slow and sustained effort, was ill-prepared to understand this unforeseen work.
November was fine; Friedrich Nietzsche recovered his spirits. "I lift myself above my disasters," he wrote He wandered over the mountains of the Genoese coast, he returned to the rocks on which had come to him the prose of The Dawn. Such was the mildness of the[Pg 236] weather that he could bathe in the sea. "I feel so rich, so proud," he wrote to Peter Gast, "altogether 'principe Doria. I miss only you, dear friend, you and your music!"
Since the representations of the Nibelungen at Bayreuth—that is, for five years—Friedrich Nietzsche had deprived himself of music. Cave musicam! he wrote. He feared that if he abandoned himself to the delight in sound he would be recaptured by the magic of Wagnerian art. But he was finally delivered from these fears. His friend Peter Gast had played him, in June, at Recoaro, songs and choruses which he had amused himself in composing on the epigrams of Goethe. Paul Rée had said one day, "No modern musician would be capable of putting to music such slight verses." Peter Gast had taken up the challenge and won, thought Nietzsche, who was ravished by the vivacity88 of the rhythm. "Persevere," he advised his friend; "work against Wagner the musician, as I work against Wagner the philosopher. Let us try, Rée, you and I, to free Germany. If you succeed in finding a music suited to the universe of Goethe (it does not exist), you will have done a great thing." This thought reappears in each of his letters. His friend is at Venice, he is at Genoa, and he hopes that this winter Italy will inspire in them both, the two uprooted89 Germans, a new metaphysic and a new music.
He took advantage of his improved health to go to the theatre. He listened to the Semiramis of Rossini, and four times to the Juliette of Bellini. One evening he was curious to hear a French work, the author being unknown to him:
"Hurrah90! dear friend," he wrote to Peter Gast, "another happy discovery, an opera of Georges Bizet (who is he, then?), Carmen. It is like a story of Mérimée's, clever, powerful, sometimes touching91. A true[Pg 237] French talent which Wagner has not misguided, a frank disciple92 of Berlioz.... I almost think that Carmen is the best opera which exists. As long as we live it will remain in all the repertoires93 of Europe."
The discovery of Carmen was the event of his winter. Many times he spoke94 of it, many times he returned to it; when he heard this frank and impassioned music, he felt better armed against the romantic seductions which were always powerful in his soul. "Carmen delivers me," he was to write.
Friedrich Nietzsche again found the happiness which he had enjoyed in the preceding year; a like happiness, but sustained by a graver kind of emotion: the full midday of his thought rose after the dawn. Towards the end of December he passed a crisis and surmounted95 it. A sort of poem in prose commemorated97 this crisis. We will translate it here. It is the consequence of his meditations, of those examinations of conscience which he used to write down, as a young man, each Saint Sylvester's Day:
"For the New Year.—I still live, I still think: I must still live, for I must still think. Sum, ergo cogito: cogito, ergo sum. This is the day upon which every one is permitted to express his desire and his dearest thought: I, too, shall then express the inner wish which I form to-day, and say what thought I take to heart, this year, before all other—what thought I have chosen as the reason, guarantee, and sweetness of my life to come! I wish to try each day to see in all things necessity as a beauty—thus shall I be one of those who make things beautiful. Amor fati, let that be henceforward my love! I do not wish to go to battle against the hideous98. I do not wish to accuse, I do not even wish to accuse the[Pg 238] accusers. To avert99 my gaze, let that be my sole negation100. In a word, I wish to be, in every circumstance, a Yea-Sayer!"
The thirty days of January passed without a cloud appearing in the sky. He was to dedicate to this fine month, as a sign of gratitude101, the fourth book of the Gay Science, which he entitled Sanctus Januarius; an admirable book rich in critical thought, in intimate refinements102, and from the first to the last line dominated by a sacred emotion—Amor fati.
In February Paul Rée, passing through Genoa, stayed some days with his friend, who showed him his favourite walks and brought him to those rocky creeks103 "where in some six hundred years, some thousand years," he wrote gaily104 to Peter Gast, "they will raise a statue to the author of The Dawn" Then Paul Rée went on to Rome, where Fr?ulein von Meysenbug was waiting for him. He had a curiosity to penetrate105 into the Wagnerian world there, which was greatly excited in expectation of Parsifal; it was in July, at Bayreuth, that the Christian mystery was to be presented. Friedrich Nietzsche did not wish to accompany Paul Rée, and the approaching performance of the Parsifal only made his ardour for work the more active. Had he not—he, too—a great work which he must ripen22? Had he not to write his anti-Christian mystery, his poem of the Eternal Return? It was his constant thought. It procured106 him a happiness, thanks to which he could recall with less torturing regret the master of by-gone days. Richard Wagner seemed very far and very near; very far as regards his ideas, but what are ideas worth to a poet? Very near in sentiments, desires, lyrical emotion; and were not these the essential things? All disaccord between poets is only a question of shades, for they inhabit the same universe, they work with a like[Pg 239] heart to give a significance and a supreme107 value to the movements of the human soul. Reading this page which Nietzsche then wrote, it is easier to understand the condition of his mind:
"Stellar Friendship.—We were friends, and we have become strangers to each other. Ah, yes; but it is well so, and we wish to hide nothing, to disguise nothing from one another; we have nothing to be ashamed of. We are two ships, each with a bourne and a way. By chance we have crossed paths; we have made holiday together—and then our two good ships have so tranquilly108 reposed111 in the one port and under the same sun, that it seemed as though they had both attained112 their bourne. But the all-powerful force of our mission has driven us afresh towards divers113 seas and suns—and perhaps we shall not meet, or recognise one another again: the divers seas and suns will have transformed us! We had to become strangers; a reason the more why we should mutually respect ourselves! No doubt there exists a far off, invisible and prodigious114 cycle which gives a common law to our little divagations: let us uplift ourselves to this thought! But our life is too short, our vision too feeble; we must content ourselves with this sublime115 possibility. And if we must be enemies upon earth, in spite of all we believe in our stellar friendship."
What form did the poetical116 exposition of the Eternal Return then take in his soul? We do not know. Nietzsche did not care to talk about his work; he liked to complete it before making announcements. However, he wished that his friends should know the new movement in which his thought was engaged. He addressed to Fr?ulein von Meysenbug a letter in which Wagner was treated without deference118, then he added a[Pg 240] mysterious enough promise: "If I am not illusioned as to my future, it is by my work that what is best in the work of Wagner will be continued—and here, perhaps, is the comical side to the adventure."
At the beginning of spring Friedrich Nietzsche, following out a caprice, made a bargain with the captain of an Italian sailing vessel120 bound for Messina and crossed the Mediterranean121. The passage was a terrible one, and he was sick to death. But his stay was at first happy: he wrote verses, a pleasure which he had not known for several years. They are impromptus123 and epigrams, perhaps inspired by those Goethean sallies which Peter Gast had put to music. Nietzsche then sought for a corner of nature and of humanity favourable84 to the production of his great work: Sicily, "Curb124 of the world where Happiness has her habitation," as old Homer teaches, struck him as an ideal refuge, and, suddenly forgetting that he could not bear the heat, he decided125 to stay in Messina for the whole summer. Some days of sirocco, towards the end of April, prostrated126 him, and he prepared for departure. It was in these circumstances that he received a message from Fr?ulein von Meysenbug, who urged him very keenly to stop at Rome. Rome was a natural stage on his journey, and he accepted. Why was Fr?ulein von Meysenbug thus insistent128? We know. This excellent woman had never been resigned to the unhappiness of the friend whose destiny she had vainly sought to sweeten. She knew the delicacy129, the tenderness of his heart, and often wished to find him a companion; had he not written to her, "I tell you in confidence, what I need is a good woman"? In the spring of this year she thought that she had found her.[2]
[Pg 241]
This accounted for her letter. It was Fr?ulein von Meysenbug's habit to do good, and her taste; but perhaps she sometimes forgot that goodness is a difficult art in which the results of defeat are cruel.
The girl whom Fr?ulein von Meysenbug had met was called Lou Salomé. She was scarcely twenty years old; she was a Russian and admirable as regards her intelligence and intellectual ardour; her beauty was not perfect, but the more exquisite130 for its imperfections, and she was fascinating in the extreme. Sometimes it happens that there arises, in Paris, in Florence, in Rome, some excited young lady, a native of Philadelphia, of Bucharest, or of Kief, who comes with a barbarous impatience131 to be initiated132 into culture and to conquer a hearth134 in our old capital. The lady in question was of rare quality assuredly; her mother followed her across Europe, carrying the cloaks and the shawls.
Fr?ulein von Meysenbug conceived an affection for her. She gave her Nietzsche's works; Lou Salomé read them and seemed to understand. She talked to her at great length of this extraordinary man who had sacrificed friendship with Wagner for the maintenance of his liberty: He is a very rugged135 philosopher, she said, but[Pg 242] he is the most sensitive, the most affectionate friend, and, for those who know him, the thought of his solitary life is a source of sadness. Miss Salomé displayed a great deal of enthusiasm and longing19; she declared that she felt vowed136 to a spiritual share in such a life, and that she wished to make Nietzsche's acquaintance. In concert with Paul Rée, who, it seems, had known her for a longer time, and also appreciated her, Fr?ulein von Meysenbug wrote to Friedrich Nietzsche.
He arrived, he heard the praises of Miss Lou sung; she was a woman of elevated feeling, shrewd and brave; intransigent in research and in affirmation; a heroine in the manner of her childhood; it was the promise of a great life. He agreed to see her. One morning, at St. Peter's, she was presented to him and conquered him at once. He had forgotten, during his long months of meditation, the pleasure of being listened to and of talking. "The young Russian" (it is thus that he calls her in his letters) listened deliciously. She spoke little, but her calm look, her assured and gentle movements, her least words, left no doubt as to the quickness of her mind and to the presence of a soul. Very quickly, perhaps at first sight, Nietzsche liked her. "There's a soul," he said to Fr?ulein von Meysenbug, "which has made a little body for itself with a breath."[3] Miss Salomé did not let herself be thus enticed137. Nevertheless, she felt the singular quality of the man who talked to her; she had long conversations with him, and the violence of his thought troubled her even in her sleep. The adventure—it was in fact a drama—commenced at once.
A few days after this first interview, Miss Salomé and her mother left Rome. The two philosophers, Nietzsche and Rée, went with her, both of them enthusiasts138 for the young girl. Nietzsche said to Rée:
[Pg 243]
"There's an admirable woman, marry her." "No," answered Rée; "I am a pessimist38, and the idea of propagating human life is odious139 to me. Marry her yourself; she is the companion that you want...." Nietzsche dismissed this idea. Perhaps he said to his friend, as he had said to his sister: "I marry! Never, I would have to be a bar somewhere or other." Miss Salomé's mother examined these two men who were so attentive140 to her child; Friedrich Nietzsche perplexed141 her; she preferred Paul Rée.
The two friends and the two philosophers stopped at Lucerne. Friedrich Nietzsche wished to show his new friend that house at Triebschen where he had known Richard Wagner. Who was not then thinking of the master? He brought her as far as the poplars whose high foliage142 enclosed the gardens. He recounted to her the unforgettable days, the gaieties, the magnificent angers of the great man. Seated by the border of the lake, he talked in a low, contained voice, and turned his face a little away, for it was troubled by the memory of those joys of which he had deprived himself. Suddenly he grew silent, and the young girl, observing him, saw that he wept.
He confessed all his life to her; his childhood, the pastor143's house, the mysterious grandeur144 of the father who had been so quickly taken away; the pious145 years, the first doubts, and the horror of this world without a God in which one must resolve to live; the discovery of Schopenhauer and of Wagner, the religious feeling which they had inspired in him and which had consoled him for the loss of his faith.
"Yes," said he (Miss Salomé reports these words), "my adventures began in this manner. They are not ended. Where will they lead me? Whither shall I adventure again? Should I not come back to the faith? to some new belief?"
[Pg 244]
He added gravely: "In any case a return to the past is more likely than immobility."
Friedrich Nietzsche had not yet avowed147 his love; but he felt its force and no longer resisted. Only he feared to declare himself. He begged Paul Rée to speak in his name, and withdrew.
On the 8th of May, settled for some days in Basle, he saw the Overbecks and confided148 in them with a strange exaltation. A woman has come into his life; it is a happiness for him; it will benefit his thought, which will henceforward be livelier, richer in its shades and emotion. Assuredly he would prefer not to marry Miss Lou, he disdains149 all fleshly ties; but perhaps he ought to give her his name for her protection against scandalmongers, and from this spiritual union would be born a spiritual son: the prophet Zarathustra. He is poor; this is a vexation, an obstacle. But could he not sell all his future work in a lump to some publisher for a considerable sum? He thought of doing so. These out-bursts did not fail to trouble the Overbecks, who augured150 ill of a liaison151 so bizarre and of an enthusiasm so ready.
Friedrich Nietzsche at last received Lou Salomé's reply: she did not wish to marry. An unhappy love affair, which had just crossed her life, left her, she said, without strength to conceive and nourish a new affection. She therefore refused Nietzsche's offer. But she was able to sweeten the terms of this refusal: the only thing of which she could dispose, her friendship, her spiritual affection, she offered.
Friedrich Nietzsche returned at once to Lucerne. He saw Lou Salomé and pressed her to give a more favourable reply; but the young girl repeated her refusal and her offer. She was to be present in July at the Bayreuth festivals, from which Nietzsche wished to abstain152. She promised to rejoin him when they were over and to stay for some weeks at his side. She would then listen to his[Pg 245] teaching, she would confront the last thought of the master with that of the liberated153 disciple. Nietzsche had finally to accept these conditions, these limits which the young girl placed on their friendship. He advised her to read one of his books, Schopenhauer as Educator. He was always glad to acknowledge this work of his youth, this hymn154 to the bravery of a thinker and to voluntary solitude. "Read it," he said to her, "and you will be ready to hear me."
Friedrich Nietzsche left Basle and re-entered Germany, desirous of becoming reconciled to his country. He was, as we know, accustomed to such absorbing and unexpected desires. A Swiss, whom he had met at Messina, had praised the beauty of Grunewald, near Berlin; he wished to settle there, and wrote to Peter Gast, to whom, six weeks earlier, he had suggested as a summer residence Messina.
He went to visit this Grunewald, which pleased him well enough; but he saw, on the same occasion, Berlin and a few Berliners, who displeased156 him extremely. He perceived that his last books had not been read, and that his thought was ignored. He was only known as the friend of Paul Rée, and no doubt his disciple. This he did not like. He went without delay to spend some weeks in Naumburg, where he dictated157 the manuscript of his coming book, La Gaya Scienza[4]. To his own people, it seems, to his mother and to his sister, he spoke discreetly159 of the new friend. His gaiety amazed them: they did not discern its cause. They did not know that their strange Friedrich had in his heart a sentiment, a hope of happiness, which Lou Salomé had been far from discouraging.
The representation of Parsifal was fixed160 for the 27th July. Friedrich Nietzsche went to stay in a village[Pg 246] of the Thuringian forests, Tautenburg, not far from Bayreuth, where all his friends were to foregather: the Overbecks, the Seydlitzs, Gersdorff, Fr?ulein von Meysenbug, Lou Salomé, Lisbeth Nietzsche. He alone was absent from the rendezvous161. At this moment a word from the master would perhaps have sufficed to bring him back; perhaps he waited for and hoped for this word. Fr?ulein von Meysenbug wished to make an attempt at reconciliation162: she dared to name Nietzsche in Wagner's presence. Wagner told her to be silent and went out of the room banging the door.
So Friedrich Nietzsche, who no doubt never knew of this overture163, remained in those forests in which he had spent such hard days in 1876. How miserable164 he had then been and now how rich he was! He had repressed his doubts; a great thought animated165 his mind, a great affection his heart. Lou Salomé had just dedicated166 to him, as a sign of spiritual sympathy, a beautiful poem.
TO SORROW.
Wer kann dich fliehn, den14 du ergriffen hast,
Wenn du die ernsten Bliche auf ihn richtest?
Ich will nicht flüchten, wenn du mich erfasst,
Ich glaube nimmer, dass du nur vernichtest!
Ich weiss, durch jedes Erden—Dasein muss du gehn,
Und nichts bleibt unberührt von dir auf Erden:
Das Leben ohne dich—es w?re sch?n,
Und doch—auch, du bist werth, gelebt zu werden.[5]
Peter Gast, having read these verses, thought they were Nietzsche's, who rejoiced over his error.
[Pg 247]
"No," he wrote to him, "this poetry is not by my hand. It is one of the things which exercise upon me a tyrannical power, I have never been able to read it without tears; it has the accent of a voice which I might have waited for, expected since my childhood. My friend Lou, of whom you have not yet heard, has written it. Lou is the daughter of a Russian general, she is twenty years old; her mind is as piercing as an eagle's vision, she has the courage of a lion, and yet she is a very feminine child, who, perhaps, will hardly live...."
He re-read his manuscript for the last time and sent it to the printer. He hesitated a little at the moment of publishing this new collection of aphorisms. His friends, as he knew, would find fault with these too numerous volumes, these too brief essays, these scarcely formed sketches168. He listened to them, heard what they had to say, answered them with an apparent good will. No doubt his modesty169 was feigned170; he could not bring himself to believe that his essays, short though they were, his sketches, which were so weak in form, were not worth being read.
He thought much of the Bayreuth festivals, but he dissembled or only half avowed his regrets. "I am well content that I cannot go," he wrote to Lou Salomé. "And, nevertheless, if I could be at your side, in good humour to talk; if I could say in your ear this, that, well, I could endure the music of the Parsifal (otherwise I could not)."
Parsifal triumphed. Nietzsche mockingly welcomed the news. "Long live Cagliostro!" he wrote to Peter Gast. "The old enchanter has again had a prodigious success; the old gentlemen sobbed171."
The "young Russian" came to rejoin him as soon as the festivals were over; Lisbeth Nietzsche accompanied her. The two ladies installed themselves in the hotel[Pg 248] where Friedrich Nietzsche awaited them; then he undertook to initiate133 his friend.
She had heard the Christian mystery at Bayreuth, the history of human sorrow traversed like an ordeal172 and consoled at last by beatitude. Friedrich Nietzsche taught her a more tragic173 mystery: sorrow is our life and our destiny itself; let us not hope to traverse it; let us accept it more entirely174 than the Christians175 ever did! Let us espouse176 it; let us love it with an active love; let us be, like it, ardent177 and pitiless; hard to others as to ourselves; cruel, let us accept it; brutal178, let us accept it. To lessen179 it is to be cowardly; and let us meditate180 on the symbol of the Eternal Return to practise our courage. "Unforgettable for me are those hours in which he revealed to me his thoughts," wrote Miss Salomé. "He confided them to me, as though they were a mystery unspeakably hard to tell; he only spoke of them in a low voice, with every appearance of the most profound horror. And truly life had been for him such bitter suffering that he suffered from the Eternal Return as from an atrocious certainty." That Miss Salomé listened to these confessions181 with great intelligence and real emotion, the pages which she afterwards wrote assure us.
She conceived a brief hymn which she dedicated to Friedrich Nietzsche:
"As friend loves friend,
So love I thee, life surprising!
Do I weep or joy in thee,
Givest thou me joy or suffering,
I love thee with thy joy and pain.
And if thou must destroy me,
I shall suffer, leaving thee.
As the friend who teareth himself from the arms of the friend,
I caress182 thee with my whole strength:
Hast thou no other joy for me?
So be it, I have still—thy suffering."
[Pg 249]
Friedrich Nietzsche, delighted with the gift, wished to reply to it by another gift. For eight years he had forbidden himself musical composition, which enervated183 and exhausted184 him. He undertook to compose a sorrowful dithyramb on the verses of Miss Salomé. This work was too moving and caused him great pain: neuralgia, crises of doubt, barrenness and satiety185. He had to take to his bed. Even from his room he addressed short notes to Lou Salomé. "In bed, terrible attack. I scorn life."
But these weeks at Tautenburg had their secret history of which we know little. Lou Salomé, writes Fr?ulein Nietzsche, was never the sincere friend of her brother; he roused her curiosity, but her passion, her enthusiasm, were only feigned, and she was often wearied by his terrible agitation. She wrote to Paul Rée, from whom Fr?ulein Nietzsche was surprised to receive a very singular message: "Your brother," he said, "tires our friend; shorten, if it be possible, the meeting."
We are inclined to think that Fr?ulein Nietzsche was jealous of this initiation186 which she had not received, jealous, too, of this young Slav, whose charm was tinged187 with mystery, and that we must take what she has to say with caution.
No doubt, Nietzsche alarmed Lou Salomé by the violence of his passions and by the loftiness of his demands. She had not foreseen, in offering to be his friend, the crises of a friendship ruder than a stormy love. He demanded an absolute assent to each of his thoughts. The young girl refused such assent: may the intellect, like the heart, be given? Nietzsche could not brook188 her proud reserve, and reproached her, as though it were a fault, for the independence which she wished to preserve. A letter to Peter Gast gives us a glimpse into these disputes.
"Lou remains189 another week with me," he wrote, on[Pg 250] the 20th of August, from Tautenburg. "She is the most intelligent of all women. Every five days a little tragical190 scene arises between us. All that I have written to you about her is absurd, and not less absurd, no doubt, than what I now write to you."
This somewhat cautious and reticent191 phrasing does not suggest that the heart had escaped its captivity192. Lou Salomé left Tautenburg; Friedrich Nietzsche continued to write letters to her, many of which are known to us. He confided his work and projects to Lou Salomé: he wished to go to Paris or Vienna to study the physical sciences and deepen his theory of the Eternal Return; for it was not enough that it should be fascinating and beautiful, Nietzsche wished that it should be true. Thus we saw him, and always will see him, hampered193 by his critical spirit when he pursues a lyrical inspiration; hampered by his lyrical genius when he pursues a critical analysis. He related to her the happy success of the Hymn to Life which her verses had inspired, and which he was submitting to the judgment of his musical friends. An orchestral conductor gave him hope of a hearing: ready for hope as he was, he communicated the news. "By this little path," he writes, "we can reach posterity194 together—all other paths remaining open." On September 16th he wrote from Leipsic to Peter Gast. "Latest news: on the 2nd of October Lou comes here; two months later we leave for Paris; and we shall stay there, perhaps for years. Such are my projects."
His mother and sister blamed him; he knew it, and their hostility195 did not displease155 him: "All the virtues197 of Naumburg are against me," he wrote, "it is well that it is so ..."
Two months later, the friendship was broken. Perhaps we may perceive what had happened. Lou Salomé came[Pg 251] to find Nietzsche at Leipsic, as she had promised; but Paul Rée accompanied her. No doubt she wished Nietzsche to understand once and for all the nature of a friendship which was always open to him: free, not slavish; sympathy, not intellectual devotion. Had she well weighed the difficulties of such an enterprise, the dangers of such an attempt? These two men were in love with her. What was her attitude between them? May she not have yielded, when she tried to keep them both by her, to some instinct, perhaps an unconscious one, of intellectual curiosity, of conquest and feminine domination? Who can say, who will ever know?
Friedrich Nietzsche became melancholy and suspicious. One day he imagined that his companions, talking together under their breath, were laughing at him. A piece of gossip reached him, and upset his mind. The story, puerile198 though it be, must be told. Rée, Nietzsche, and Lou Salomé had been photographed together. Lou Salomé and Rée had said to Nietzsche: "Get into this child's cart: we will hold the shafts199; it will be a symbol of our union." Nietzsche had answered: "I refuse; Miss Lou will be in the cart; we will hold the shafts, Paul Rée and I." This Miss Lou did. And she (according to the story repeated to him) sent the photograph to numerous friends, as a symbol of her supremacy200.
A more cruel thought soon began to torture Friedrich Nietzsche: Lou and Rée are in agreement against me, he thought; their agreement condemns202 them, they love one another and are deceiving me. Then all became poor and vile203 around him. A miserable strife204 terminated the spiritual adventure of which he had dreamed. He lost his strange and seductive disciple; he lost the best and most intelligent friend of his last eight years. Finally, affected and impaired206 by these humiliating conditions, he himself did a wrong to friendship and denounced Rée to Lou.
[Pg 252]
"He has a marvellous mind," he said, "but it is feeble and aimless. His education is the cause of the trouble: every man should have been brought up in some sort for a soldier. And every woman, in some sort, for a soldier's wife."
Nietzsche had neither the experience nor the necessary resolution to decide an infinitely207 painful situation. His sister, who detested208 Miss Salomé, encouraged his suspicions and his rancours. She intervened in a brutal manner, and, it seems, without authorisation, wrote the young girl a letter which determined209 the rupture210. Miss Salomé was angry. We have the rough draft of the last letter which Friedrich Nietzsche addressed to her; it throws little light on the detail of these difficulties.
"But, Lou, what letters yours are! A little angry schoolgirl writes in this way. What have I got to do with these bickerings? Understand me: I wish you to rise in my opinion; not to sink again.
"I only reproach you for this: you ought to have sooner given an account of what I expected from you. At Lucerne I gave you my essay on Schopenhauer—I told you that my views were essentially211 there, and that I believed that they would also be yours. Then you should have read and said: No (in such matters I hate all superficiality). You would have spared me much! Your poem, 'Sorrow,' written by you, is a profound counter-truth.
"I believe that no one thinks more good things of you than I do, or more bad. Do not defend yourself: I have already defended you, to myself and to others, better than you could do it. Creatures like you are only bearable to others when they have a lofty object.
"How poor you are in veneration212, in gratitude, in piety213, in courtesy, in admiration214, in delicacy—I do not[Pg 253] speak of higher things. How would you answer if I asked you: Are you brave? Are you incapable215 of treason?
"Do you not then feel that when a man like myself approaches you, he needs to constrain216 himself very greatly? You have had to do with one of the most for-bearing and benevolent217 of men possible: but against petty egoism and little weaknesses, my argument, know it well, is disgust. No one is so easily conquered by disgust as I. I have not deceived myself again on any point whatsoever218; I saw in you that holy egoism which forces us to serve what is highest in us. I do not know by what sorcery's aid you have exchanged it for its contrary, the egoism of the cat, which only desires life.
"Farewell, dear Lou, I shall not see you again. Protect your soul from like deeds, and succeed better with others in regard to things that, so far as I am concerned, are irreparable.
"I have not read your letter to the end, but I have read too much of it. Your,
"F. N."
Friedrich Nietzsche left Leipsic.
[1] This formula is given in the Wille zur Macht, paragraph 286.
[2] This intimate history has never been known except to a few people, who are now, for the most part, out of our ken36. Two women survive: one, Frau F?rster-Nietzsche, has published some accounts which one would wish were more lucid219 and tranquil109; the other, Miss Salomé, has written a book on Friedrich Nietzsche in which some facts are indicated and some letters cited; she has refused to enter into polemics220 on a subject which, as she considers, concerns herself alone. Oral traditions are numerous and contradictory221. Some, rife205 in Roman society, where the adventure took place, are less favourable to Miss Salomé; she appears as a sort of Marie Bashkirtseff, an intellectual adventuress who was somewhat too enterprising. Others, rife in Germany among Miss Salomé's friends, are very different. We have heard all these traditions. The first have influenced the account which we have given in the Cahiers de la quinzaine, the second volume of the tenth series, pp. 24 et seq.; the second, which we learned later, we now prefer. But all hope of certainty must be adjourned223.
[3] "Da ist eine Seele welche sich mit einen Hauch eine K?rperchen geschaffen hat."
[4] The y in the word Gaya does not seem to be Italian. We follow Nietzsche's orthography224.
[5] "Who that hath once been seized by thee can fly, if he hath felt thy grave look turned on him? I shall not save myself, if thou takest me, I shall never believe thou dost naught225 but destroy. Yea, thou must visit all that liveth upon earth, nothing upon earth can evade226 thy grip: life without thee—it were beautiful, yet—thou too art worthy227 to be lived."
II
Thus Spake Zarathustra
His departure was prompt, like a flight. He passed through Basle and stopped with his friends the Overbecks, who listened to his plaint. He had awakened228 from his last dream; everyone had betrayed him: Lou, Rée, feeble and perfidious229; Lisbeth, his sister, who had acted grossly. Of what betrayal did he complain, and of what[Pg 254] act? He did not say, and continued his bitter complaints. The Overbecks wished him to stay with them for some days. He escaped them; he wished to work, and surmount96 alone the sadness of having been deceived, the humiliation230 of having deceived himself. Perhaps he also wished to put to profit that condition of paroxysm and the lyrical sursum whither his despair had carried him. He left. "To-day," said he to his friends, "I enter into a complete solitude."
He left, and stopped in the first instance at Genoa. "Cold, sick. I suffer," he wrote briefly231 to Peter Gast. He left this town, where he was importuned232 perhaps by memories of a happier time, and moved away along the coast. At the time of which we speak, Nervi, Santa Margherita, Rapallo, Zoagli, were places unknown to the tourist, market towns inhabited by fishermen who, each evening, drew in their barques to the recesses233 of the coves234 and sang as they mended their nets. Friedrich Nietzsche discovered these magnificent spots, and chose, to humiliate235 his misery236 there, the most magnificent of them, Rapallo. He relates, in simple language, the circumstances of his sojourn237:
"I spent my winter, 1882 to 1883, in the charming and quiet bay of Rapallo that is hollowed out by the Mediterranean not far from Genoa, between the promontory238 of Portofino and Chiavari. My health was not of the best; the winter was cold, rainy; a little inn,[6] situated239 at the very edge of the sea, so near it that the noise of the waves prevented me sleeping at night, offered me a shelter very unsatisfactory from all points of view. Nevertheless—and it is an instance of my maxim240 that all that is decisive comes 'nevertheless '—it was during this winter and in this discomfort241 that my noble[Pg 255] Zarathustra was born. In the morning I would climb towards the south by the magnificent mountain road, towards Zoagli, among the pines and dominating the immense sea; in the evening (according as my health permitted it) I would go round the bay of Santa Margherita as far as Portofino.... On these two roads came to me all the first part of Zarathustra (fiel mir ein); and more, Zarathustra himself, as type; more exactly he fell upon me (überfiel mich)...."
In ten weeks he conceived and completed his poem. It is a new work and, if one affects to follow the genesis of his thought, a surprising one. No doubt, he meditated242 a lyrical work, a sacred book. But the essential doctrine of this work was to be given by the idea of the Eternal Return. Now, in the first part of Zarathustra, the idea of the Eternal Return does not appear. Nietzsche follows a different and opposing idea, the idea of the Superman, the symbol of a real progress which modifies things, the promise of a possible escape beyond chance and fatality243.
Zarathustra announces the Superman, he is the prophet of good tidings. He has discovered in his solitude a promise of happiness, he bears this promise; his strength is sweet and benevolent, he predicts a great future as the reward of a great work. Friedrich Nietzsche, in other times, will put a more bitter speech into his mouth. If one reads this first part, and takes care not to confound it with those which immediately follow, one will feel the sanctity, the frequent suavity244 of the accent.
Why this abandonment of the Eternal Return? Nietzsche does not write a word which throws light upon this mystery. Miss Lou Salomé tells us that at Leipsic, during his short studies, he had realised the impossibility of founding his hypothesis in reason. But this did not diminish the lyrical value of which he[Pg 256] knew how to take advantage a year later; and this cannot explain, in any case, the appearance of a contrary idea. What are we to think? Perhaps his stoicism was vanquished245 by the betrayal of his two friends. "In spite of all," he wrote on December 3rd to Peter Gast, "I would not like to live these latter months over again." We know that he never ceased to experience in himself the efficacy of his thoughts. Incapable of enduring the cruel symbol, he did not think that he could sincerely offer it to men, and he invented a new symbol, Uebermensch, the Superman. "I do not desire a recommencement," he writes in his notes (ich will das leben nicht wieder). "How was I able to endure the idea? In creating, in fixing my view on the Superman, who says yea to life, I have myself tried to say Yea—alas!"
To the cry of his youth: Ist Veredlung m?glich? (Is the ennobling of man possible?) Friedrich Nietzsche desires to reply, and to reply Yes. He wishes to believe in the Superman, and succeeds in doing so. He can grasp this hope; it suits the design of his work. What does he propose to himself? Among all the inclinations246 which urge him, this one is strong: to answer the Parsifal, to oppose work to work. Richard Wagner desired to depict247 humanity drawn82 from its languor248 by the Eucharistie mystery, the troubled blood of men renovated249 by the ever poured out blood of Christ. Friedrich Nietzsche wishes to depict humanity saved from languor by the glorification250 of its own essence, by the virtues of a chosen and willing few which purify and renew its blood. Is this all his desire? Surely not. Thus Spake Zarathustra is more than an answer to the Parsifal. The origins of Nietzsche's thoughts are always grave and distant. What is his last wish? He desires to guide and direct the activity of men; he wishes to create their morals, assign to the humble251 their tasks, to the strong their duties and their commandments, and to raise them[Pg 257] all towards a sublime destiny. As a child, as a youth, as a young man, he had this aspiration15; at thirty-eight years of age, at this instant of crisis and of decision, he finds it again and desires to act. The Eternal Return no longer satisfies him: he cannot consent to live imprisoned252 in a blind nature. The idea of the Superman on the contrary captivates him: it is a principle of action, a hope of salvation253.
What is the import of this idea? Is it a reality or a symbol? It is impossible to say. Nietzsche's mind is rapid and always oscillating. The vehemence254 of the inspiration which carries him along leaves him neither leisure nor strength to define. He hardly succeeds in understanding the ideas which agitate27 him, and interprets them himself in divers ways. At times, the Superman appears to him as a very serious reality. But more often, it seems, he neglects or disdains all literal belief, and his idea is no more than a lyrical phantasy with which he trifles for the sake of animating256 base humanity. It is an illusion, a useful and beneficent illusion, he would say, were he still a Wagnerian, dared he to re-adopt the vocabulary of his thirtieth year. Then he had liked to repeat the maxim from Schiller: Dare to dream and to lie. We may believe that the Superman is chiefly the dream and falsehood of a lyrical poet. Every species has its limits which it cannot transgress257. Nietzsche knows this and writes it.
It was a painful labour. Friedrich Nietzsche, ill-disposed to conceive a hope, had frequent revolts against the task which he imposed on himself. Every morning on awakening258 from a sleep which chloral had rendered sweet, he rediscovered life with frightful259 bitterness. Conquered by melancholy and rancour, he wrote pages which he had at once to re-read attentively260, to correct or erase261. He dreaded262 these bad hours in which anger, seizing him like a vertigo, obscured his best thoughts.[Pg 258] Then he would evoke263 his hero, Zarathustra, always noble, always serene264, and seek from him some encouragement. Many a passage of his poem is the expression of this agony. Zarathustra speaks to him:
"Yea: I know thy danger. But by my love and hope,
I conjure265 thee: reject not thy love and thy hope.
"The noble one is always in danger of becoming an
insolent266, a sneering268 one and a destroyer. Alas, I have
known noble ones who lost their highest hope. Then
they slandered269 all high hopes.
"By my love and my hope I conjure thee; do not cast
away the hero in thy soul! believe in the holiness of thy
highest hope."
The struggle was always perceptible; nevertheless Friedrich Nietzsche advanced his work. Every day he had to learn wisdom anew, and to moderate, crush, or deceive his desires. He succeeded in this rude exercise and managed to bring back his soul into a calm and fecund270 condition. He completed a poem which was but the opening of a vaster poem. Zarathustra, returning towards the mountains, abandons the world of men. Twice again, before he dictates271 the tables of his law, he is to descend272 to it. But what he says suffices to give us a glimpse of the essential forms of a humanity obedient to its élite. It consists of three castes: at the bottom, the popular caste, allowed to retain its humble beliefs; above, the caste of the chiefs, the organisers and warriors273; above the chiefs themselves, the sacred caste, the poets who create the illusions and dictate158 the values. One recalls that essay by Richard Wagner on art, religion, and politics, formerly275 so much admired by Nietzsche: in it a similar hierarchy276 was proposed.
In its ensemble277 the work is serene. It is Friedrich Nietzsche's finest victory. He has repressed his[Pg 259] melancholy; he exalts force, not brutality278; expansion, not aggression279. In the last days of February, 1882, he wrote these final pages, which are perhaps the most beautiful and the most religious ever inspired by naturalistic thought.
"My brethren, remain faithful to the earth, with all the force of your love! Let your great love and your knowledge be in accord with the meaning of the earth. I pray you and conjure you.
"Let not your virtue196 fly far from terrestrial things, and beat its wings against the eternal walls! Alas! there is always so much virtue gone astray!
"Like myself, bring back towards the earth the virtue which goes astray—yea, towards the flesh and towards life; that it may give a meaning to the earth, a human meaning...."
Whilst he completed the composition of this hymn on the Genoese coast, Richard Wagner died in Venice. Nietzsche learnt the news with a grave emotion, and recognised a sort of providential accord in the coincidence of events. The poet of Siegfried was dead; so be it! humanity would not be for a moment deprived of poetry, since Zarathustra had already spoken.
For more than six years he had given no sign of life to Cosima Wagner; now he had to tell her that he had forgotten nothing of past days and that he shared her sorrows. "You will approve of me in this, I am sure" he wrote to Fr?ulein von Meysenbug.[7]
On the 14th of February he wrote to Schmeitzner, the publisher:
"To-day I have some news for you: I have just taken a decisive step—I mean, one profitable to you.[Pg 260] It concerns a little work, scarcely 100 pages long, entitled: Thus Spake Zarathustra, a book for all and none. It is a poem or it is a Fifth Gospel, or something which has no name; by far the most serious, and also the most happy, of my productions and one that is open to all."
He wrote to Peter Gast and to Fr?ulein von Meysenbug: "This year," said he, "no society. I shall go straight from Genoa to Sils!" Thus did Zarathustra, who left the great city and returned to the mountains. But Friedrich Nietzsche is not Zarathustra; he is feeble, solitude exalts and frightens him. Some weeks passed. Schmeitzner, the publisher, was slow: Nietzsche grew impatient and modified his projects for the summer; he wished to hear the sound of human speech. His sister, at Rome with Fr?ulein von Meysenbug, guessed that he was accessible and weary, and seized this opportunity of a reconciliation. He did not defend himself and promised to come.
Here he was at Rome. His old friend immediately introduced him into a brilliant society. Lenbach was there, and also that Countess D?nhoff, to-day Princess von Buelow, an amiable281 woman and a great musician. Friedrich Nietzsche felt with vexation how different he was from these happy talkers, how he belonged to another world, how they misunderstood him. A curious, a singular man, they think; a very eccentric man. A great mind? No one ventured to pass this rash judgment. And Friedrich Nietzsche, so proud when he was alone, was astonished, disturbed, and humiliated282. It seemed that he had not the strength to despise these people who did not hearken to him; he was disquieted283 and began to fear for his well-beloved son, Zarathustra.
"They will run through my book," he wrote to Gast,[Pg 261] "and it will be a subject of conversation. That inspires me with disgust. Who is serious enough to hear me? If I had the authority of old Wagner, my affairs would be in a better way. But at present no one can save me from being delivered over to 'literary people.' To the devil!"
Other vexations affected him: he had taken to chloral, during the winter, in order to combat his insomnia284. He deprived himself of it and recovered, not without difficulty, his normal sleep. Schmeitzner, the publisher, did not hurry to print Thus Spake Zarathustra; what was the cause of the delay? Nietzsche enquired285 and was told: Five hundred thousand copies of a collection of hymns286 had first to be printed for the Sunday-schools. Nietzsche waited some weeks, received nothing, asked again; another story: the collection of hymns was published, but a big lot of anti-Semitic pamphlets had to be printed and thrown upon the world. June came: Zarathustra had not yet appeared. Friedrich Nietzsche lost his temper and suffered for his hero, who was thwarted287 by the two platitudes288, Pietism and anti-Semitism.
He was discouraged and ceased to write; he left his luggage at the station with the books and manuscripts which he had brought: one hundred and four kilos of paper. Everything in Rome harassed289 him: the nasty people, a mob of illegitimates; the priests, whom he could not tolerate; the churches, "caverns290 with unsavoury odours." His hatred291 of Catholicism is instinctive292 and has far-off origins; always when he approaches it, he shudders293. It is not the philosopher who judges and reproves; it is the son of the pastor, who has remained a Lutheran: who cannot endure the other Church, full of incense294 and idols295.
The desire came to him to leave this town. He heard the beauty of Aquila praised. Friedrich von[Pg 262] Hohenstaufen, the Emperor of the Arabs and the Jews, the enemy of the popes, resided there; Friedrich Nietzsche wished to reside there, too. Still, the room which he occupied was a fine and well-situated one, Piazza297 Barberini, at the very top of a house. There one could forget the town: the murmur298 of water falling from a triton's horn stilled the noise of humanity and sheltered his melancholy. There it was that, one evening, he was to improvise299 the most poignant300 expression of his despair and solitude:
"I am light; alas if I were night! But this is my solitude, to be always surrounded by light.
"Alas that I am not shadow and gloom! How I would drink from the breasts of light!
"... But I live in my own light, I drink the flames which escape from me!"
Thus Spake Zarathustra, a Book for All and None, at last appeared during the first days of June.
"I am very much on the move," wrote Nietzsche. "I am in agreeable society, but as soon as I am alone I feel moved as I have never been." He soon knew the fate of his book. His friends spoke to him very little of it; the newspapers, the reviews, did not mention it; no one was interested in this Zarathustra, the strange prophet who in a biblical tone taught unbelief. "How bitter it is!" said Lisbeth Nietzsche and Fr?ulein von Meysenbug; these two women, Christians at heart that they were, took offence. "And I," wrote Nietzsche to Peter Gast, "I who find my book so gentle!"
The heat dispersed301 this Roman society. Friedrich Nietzsche knew not where to go. He had hoped for such different days! He had been persuaded that he would move lettered Europe, that he would at last attract readers to himself, or (more precisely302 perhaps)[Pg 263] that he would attract, not towards his feeble self, but towards Zarathustra, who was so strong, disciples303 or even servitors. "For this summer," he wrote in May to Peter Gast, "I have a project: to choose, in some forest, some castle formerly fitted up by the Benedictines for their meditations, and to fill it with companions, chosen men ... I must go on a quest for new friends." About the 20th June, thunderstruck by the loss of his hopes, he went up towards his favourite retreat, the Engadine.
Lisbeth Nietzsche, who was returning to Germany, accompanied him. Never had she seen him more brilliant or more gay, she said, than during these few hours of travel. He improvised304 epigrams, bouts-rimes, the words of which his sister suggested; he laughed like a child, and, in fear of troublesome people who would have disturbed his delight, he called and tipped the guard at every station.
Friedrich Nietzsche had not seen the Engadine since that summer of 1881 in which he had conceived the Eternal Return and the words of Zarathustra. In the clutch of these memories and of the sudden solitude, carried away by a prodigious movement of inspiration, he wrote in ten days the second part of his work.
It was bitter. Friedrich Nietzsche could no longer repress the rancours, the menace of which he had felt last winter; he could no longer unite force to sweetness; "I am not a hunter of flies," Zarathustra used to say, and he disdained305 his adversaries306. He had spoken as a benefactor307, and he had not been heard. Nietzsche put into his mouth another speech: "Zarathustra the judge," he wrote in his short notes; "the manifestation308 of justice in its most grandiose309 form; of justice which fashions, which constructs, and which, as a consequence, must annihilate310."
Zarathustra the judge has only insults and lamentations[Pg 264] upon his lips. He sings this nocturnal chant which Nietzsche, at Rome, had one evening improvised for himself alone:
"I am light; alas if I were night! But this is my solitude, to be always surrounded by light."
This is no longer the hero whom Friedrich Nietzsche had created so superior to all humanity; it is a man in despair, it is Nietzsche, in short, too weak to express anything beyond his anger and his plaints.
"Verily, my friends, I walk among men as among the fragments and members of man.
"To see men broken and scattered311 as though they lay over a butcher's shambles312, this is to my eye the most frightful thing.
"And when my eye fleeth from the present to the past, it ever findeth the same: fragments, members, and frightful catastrophes—but no men!
"The present and the past upon the earth—alas, my friends, these are to me the most unbearable314 things; and I could not live were I not a visionary of what must come.
"A visionary, a creator, the future itself and a bridge unto the future—alas! in some sort also, a cripple upon this bridge: Zarathustra is all this.... I walk among men, the fragments of the future: of the future which I contemplate315 in my visions."
Friedrich Nietzsche derided316 the moral commandments which had upheld ancient humanity: he wished to abolish them and to establish his own. Shall we know it at length, this new law? He delays in telling it to us. "The qualities of the Superman become more and more visible," he writes in his notes. He would wish that it were so; but can he, absorbed as he is in discontent and bitterness, enunciate317, define a form of virtue,[Pg 265] a new good, a new evil, as he had promised? He tries. He is the prey318 of a bitter and violent mood, and the virtue which he exalts is naked force undisguised, that savage319 ardour which moral prescriptions320 have always wished to attenuate321, vary, or overcome. He yields to the attraction which it exercises upon him.
"With delight I regard the miracles which the ardent sun brings to birth, says Zarathustra. They are tigers, palm-trees, rattlesnakes.... Verily, there is a future even for evil, and the hottest noon has not yet been discovered for man.... One day there will come to the world the greatest dragons.... Thy soul is so far from what is great that thou wouldst find the Superman awful in his goodness."
There is emphasis upon this page. The words are noisy rather than strong. Perhaps Nietzsche disguises in this way an embarrassment of thought: he does not insist upon this gospel of evil, and prefers to adjourn222 the difficult moment in which his prophet will announce his law. Zarathustra must first complete his duties as judge, the annihilator322 of the weak. He must strike: with what weapon? Here Nietzsche again takes up the idea of the Eternal Return which he had withdrawn from his first section. He modifies the sense and the application of it. It is no longer an exercise of spiritual life, a process of internal edification; it is a hammer, as he says, an instrument of moral terrorism, a symbol which disperses323 dreams.
Zarathustra assembles his disciples and wishes to communicate to them the doctrine, but his voice falters324; he is silent. Suddenly he is moved by pity, and the prophet himself suffers as he evokes325 the terrible idea. He hesitates at the moment that he is about to destroy these illusions of a better future, these expectations of another[Pg 266] life and of a spiritual beatitude which veil from men the misery of their state. He grows anxious. A hunchback, who divines this, interpolates with a sneer267: "Why doth Zarathustra speak unto his disciples otherwise than he speaketh unto himself?" Zarathustra feels his fault and seeks a new solitude. The second part is thus completed.
On the 24th June of this year, 1882, Nietzsche was installed at Sils; before the 10th of July he wrote to his sister:
"I beg you instantly to see Schmeitzner and engage him orally or by writing, as you think best, to give the second part of Zarathustra to the printer as soon as the manuscript is delivered. This second part exists to-day: try to imagine it, the vehemence of such a creation; you will scarcely be able to exaggerate it. There is the danger. In Heaven's name, arrange things with Schmeitzner; I am too irritable326 myself."
Schmeitzner promised and kept his word; in August the proofs arrived. Nietzsche had not strength enough to correct them and left the work to Peter Gast and his sister. The terrible things which he had said, the more terrible things which he had yet to say, bruised327 him.
Other vexations were added to the melancholy of his thought. An awkward step on his sister's part awoke again the dissensions of the previous summer. In the spring, during their reconcilement, he had said to her, aware of her quarrelsome nature: "Promise me never to go back on the stories of Lou Salomé and of Paul Rée." For three months she had kept her peace, then she broke her word and spoke. What did she say? We do not know; we are again in the obscurity[Pg 267] of this obscure history. "Lisbeth," he wrote to Madame Overbeck, "absolutely wants to avenge328 herself on the young Russian." No doubt she reported to him some fact, some observation of which he was ignorant. A sickening irritation329 laid hold of him. He wrote to Paul Rée, and this is the letter, a sketch167 of which has been found. (Was it sent as we read it? It is not certain.)
"Too late, almost a year too late, I learn of the part which you took in the events of last summer, and my soul has never been so overwhelmed with disgust as it is at present, to think that an insidious330 individual of your kind, a liar331 and a knave332, had been able to call himself my friend for years. It is a crime, in my opinion, and not only a crime against me, but above all against friendship, against this very empty word, friendship.
"Fie, sir! So you are the calumniator333 of my character, and Miss Salomé has only been the mouthpiece, the very unsatisfactory mouthpiece, of the judgment which you passed on me; so it is you who, in my absence, naturally, spoke of me as though I were a vulgar and low egoist, always ready to plunder334 others; so it is you who have accused me of having, so far as concerned Miss Salomé, pursued the most filthy335 designs under a mask of idealism; so it is you who dare to say of me that I was mad and did not know what I wanted? Now, of a surety, I understand better the whole of this business which has made men whom I venerated336 and many whom I esteemed, as my nearest and dearest, strangers to me.... And I thought you my friend; and nothing, perhaps, for seven years has done more harm to my prospects337 than the trouble that I took to defend you.
"It seems then that I am not very well advanced in the art of knowing men. That furnishes you no doubt with matter for mockery. What a fool you have made of[Pg 268] me! Bravo! As regards men of your stamp, rather than understand them, I had rather they mocked me.
"I would have great pleasure in giving you a lesson in practical morals with a pair of pistols; I would succeed perhaps, under the most favourable circumstances, in interrupting once and for all your works on morals: one needs clean hands for that, Dr. Paul Rée, not dirty ones!"
This letter cannot be considered sufficient to condemn201 Paul Rée. Friedrich Nietzsche wrote it in a moment of anger upon information given by his sister, who was often more impassioned than accurate. It is a precious witness to his impression; to the ill-known data of the cause, it is a mediocre338 witness. What was the conduct of Paul Rée? What were the rights and wrongs? In April, 1883, six months after the difficulties of Leipsic, he had offered Nietzsche the dedication339 of a work on the origins of the moral conscience, a work altogether inspired by Nietzschean ideas. Nietzsche had refused this public compliment: "I no longer want," he wrote to Peter Gast, "to be confounded with any one." A letter written by George Brandes in 1888 shows us Paul Rée living in Berlin with Miss Salomé, as "brother and sister," according to both their accounts. There is no doubt that Rée helped Miss Salomé, towards 1883, to write her book on Friedrich Nietzsche: a very intelligent and a very noble book. We incline to believe that between these two men there was only the misfortune of a common love which the same woman inspired in them.
Friedrich Nietzsche wrote long and febrile letters. He complained of being alone at forty years, betrayed by his friends. Franz Overbeck grew anxious and went up to Sils-Maria to distract him from the solitude which wounded and consumed him. His sister, a prudent lady, and bourgeois340 in her tastes, advised him in answer to his[Pg 269] complaints: "You are alone, it is true," said she to him; "have you not sought solitude? Get an appointment in some University: when you have a title and pupils, you will be recognised and people will cease to ignore your books." Nietzsche listened indulgently, but did listen, and wrote to the Rector of Leipsic, who, without hesitation, dissuaded341 him from making any overtures342, no German University being in a position to allow an atheist343, a declared anti-Christian, among its teachers. "This reply has given me courage!" wrote Nietzsche to Peter Gast; to his sister he sent a strong letter whose thrusts she felt.
"It is necessary that I be misunderstood, better still, I go to meet calumny344 and contempt. My 'near ones' will be the first against me: last summer I understood that, and I was magnificently conscious that I was at last on my road. When it comes to me to think, 'I can no longer endure solitude,' then I experience an unspeakable humiliation before myself—I feel myself in revolt against what there is of highest in me...."
In September he directed his steps towards Naumburg, where it was his intention to stay some weeks. His mother and sister inspired in him a mixed feeling, which baffles analysis. He liked his own people because they were his own, and because he was tender, faithful, infinitely sensible to memories. But every one of his ideas, every one of his desires, drew him from them, and his mind despised them. Nevertheless the old house of Naumburg was the only place in the world where there was, so long as he stayed there for a short time only, some sweetness of life for him.
Mother and daughter were quarrelling. Lisbeth loved a certain F?rster, an agitator345, an idealogue of Germanist and anti-Semitic views, who was organising a colonial[Pg 270] enterprise in Paraguay. She wished to marry him and to follow him; her despairing mother wished to retain her. Madame Nietzsche welcomed her son as a saviour346 and related to him the mad projects which Lisbeth was forming. He was overwhelmed; he knew the person and his ideas, he despised the low and dull passions which the propaganda excited, and suspected him of having spoken maliciously347 of his work. That Lisbeth, the companion of his childhood, should follow this man was more than he could allow. He called her, spoke violently to her. She answered him bravely. There was little that was delicate or subtle in this woman's composition, but she had energy. Friedrich Nietzsche, so weak in the depth of his soul, valued in her the quality which he lacked. He might sermonise, scold, but he could not get his way.
The late autumn came, and Naumburg was covered with fogs. Nietzsche left and went to Genoa. These quarrels had lessened348 his self-respect.
"Things go badly with me, very badly," he wrote in October to Fr?ulein von Meysenbug; "my visit in Germany is the cause. I can live only at the seaside. Every other climate depresses me, destroys my nerves and eyes, makes me melancholy, puts me into a black humour—that awful tare349; I have had to combat it in my life more than the hydras and other celebrated350 monsters. In trivial ennui351 is hidden the most dangerous enemy; great calamity352 adds to one's stature353...."
Towards mid-November he left Genoa, and, circling the western coast, began the quest for a winter residence. He passed by San Remo, Mentone, Monaco, and stopped at Nice, which enchanted354 him. There he found that keen air and that plenitude of light, that multitude of[Pg 271] bright days which he needed: "Light, light, light," he wrote'; "I have regained355 my equilibrium356."
The cosmopolitan357 city displeased him, and at first he rented a room in a house of the old Italian city, not Nice, but Nizza, as he always wrote. For neighbours he had quite simple people, workmen, masons, employés, who all spoke Italian. It was in similar conditions that in 1881 he had enjoyed at Genoa a certain happiness.
He chased away his vain thoughts and made an energetic effort to complete Zarathustra. But then arose the greatest of his misfortunes: the difficulty of his work was extreme, perhaps insurmountable. To complete Zarathustra—what did that imply? The work was immense: it had to be a poem which would make the poems of Wagner forgotten; a gospel which should make the Gospel forgotten. From 1875 to 1881, during six years, Friedrich Nietzsche had examined all the moral systems and shown the illusion which is at their foundation; he had defined his idea of the Universe: it was a blind mechanism358, a wheel which turned eternally and without object. Yet he wished to be a prophet, an enunciator359 of virtues and of purposes: "I am he who dictates the values for a thousand years," he said in those notes in which his pride bursts forth360. "To imprint361 his hand on the centuries, as on soft wax, write on the will of millennia362 as upon brass363, harder than brass, more noble than brass, there," Zarathustra was to say, "is the beatitude of the Creator."
What laws, what tables, did Nietzsche wish to dictate? What values would he choose to honour or depreciate364? and what right had he to choose, to build up an order of beauty, an order of virtue, in nature, where a mechanical order reigns365? He had the right of the poet, no doubt, whose genius, the creator of illusions, imposes upon the imagination of man this love or that hatred, this[Pg 272] good or that evil. Thus Nietzsche would answer us, but he did not fail to recognise the difficulty. On the last pages of the second part of his poem he avowed it.
"This, this is my danger," says Zarathustra, "that my glance throweth itself to the summit, whereas my hand would fain grasp and rest upon—the void."
He wished to bring his task to a head. He had felt, this very summer, as something very close and urgent, the tragic menace that hung over his life. He was in haste to complete a work which he could at last present as the expression of his final desires, as his final thought. He had intended to complete his poem in three parts; three were written and almost nothing was said. The drama was not sketched366. Zarathustra had to be shown at close quarters with men, announcing the Eternal Return, humiliating the feeble, strengthening the strong, destroying the ancient ways of humanity; Zarathustra as lawgiver dictating367 his Tables, dying at last of pity and of joy as he contemplates368 his work. Let us follow his notes:—
"Zarathustra reaches at the same moment the most extreme distress369 and his greatest happiness. At the most terrible moment of the contrast, he is broken.
"The most tragical history with a divine dénouement.
"Zarathustra becomes gradually more grand. His doctrine develops with his grandeur.
"The Eternal Return shines like a sun setting on the last catastrophe313."
"In the last section great synthesis of him who creates, who loves, who destroys."
In the month of August, Nietzsche had indicated a dénouement. His condition of mind was then very bad,[Pg 273] and his work suffered in consequence. He now took up the draft again, and tried to make the best of it.
It was a drama which he had the ambition to write. He places his action in an antique frame, in a city devastated370 by the pest. The inhabitants wish to commence a new era. They seek a lawgiver; they call Zarathustra, who descends371 among them, followed by his disciples.
"Go," said he to them, "announce the Eternal Return."
The disciples are afraid and avow146 it.
"We can endure thy doctrine," they say, "but can this multitude?"
"We must make an experiment with truth!" answers Zarathustra. "And if the truth should destroy humanity, so be it!"
The disciples hesitate again. He commands: "I have put in your hands the hammer which must strike men; strike!"
But they fear the people and abandon their master. Then Zarathustra speaks alone. The crowd as it hears him is terrified, loses its temper and its wits.
"A man kills himself: another goes mad. A divine pride of the poet animates372 him: everything must be brought to light. And at the moment that he announces the Eternal Return and the Superman together, he yields to pity.
"Everyone disowns him. 'We must,' they say, 'stifle373 this doctrine and kill Zarathustra.'
"'There is now no soul on the earth who loves me,' he murmurs374; 'how shall I be able to love life?'
"He dies of sadness on discovering the suffering which is his work.
"'Through love I have caused the greatest sorrow; now I yield to the sorrow which I have caused.'
[Pg 274]
"All go, and Zarathustra, left alone, touches his serpent with his hand: 'Who counsels wisdom to me?'—The serpent bites him. The eagle tears the serpent to bits, the lion throws itself upon the eagle. As soon as Zarathustra sees the combat of the animals, he dies.
"Fifth Act: The Lauds375.
"The league of the faithful who sacrifice themselves upon the tomb of Zarathustra. They had fled: now, seeing him dead, they become the inheritors of his soul and rise to his height.
"Funeral ceremony: 'It is we who have killed him.'—The Lauds.
"The great Noon. Midday and eternity."
Friedrich Nietzsche abandoned this plan, which yet gives glimpses of great beauty. Did he dislike displaying the humiliation of his hero? Probably, and we shall note his search for a triumphant376 dénouement. But it is chiefly to be noted377 that he has dashed against a fundamental difficulty, the nature of which he perhaps does not plainly conceive: the two symbols on which he bases his poem, the Eternal Return and the Superman, in conjunction create a misunderstanding which renders the completion of the work impossible. The Eternal Return is a bitter truth which suppresses all hope. The Superman is a hope, an illusion. From one to the other there is no passage, the contradiction is complete. If Zarathustra teaches the Eternal Return, he will fail to excite in men's souls an impassioned belief in superhumanity. And if he teaches the Superman, how can he propagate the moral terrorism of the Eternal Return? Nevertheless, Friedrich Nietzsche assigns him these two tasks; the breathless disorder378 of his thoughts drives him to this absurdity379.
Does he clearly perceive the problem? We do not know. These real difficulties against which he breaks are[Pg 275] never avowed. But if he perceives them ill, at least he feels the inconvenience and seeks by instinct some way of escape.
He writes a second sketch which is certainly skilful87: the same scene, the same fever-stricken city, the same supplication380 to Zarathustra, who comes among a decimated people. But he comes as a benefactor and is careful about announcing the terrible doctrine. First, he gives his laws and has them accepted. Then, and only then, will he announce the Eternal Return. What are these laws which he has given? Friedrich Nietzsche indicates them. Here is one of the very rare pages, in which we discern the order which he has dreamed.
"(a) The day divided afresh: physical exercises for all the ages of life. Competition as a principle.
. . . . . . . . . . . .
"(b) The new nobility and its education. Unity280. Obtained by selection. For the foundation of each family, a festival.
"(c) The experiments. (With the wicked, punishments.) Charity in a new form, based on a concern for the generations to come. The wicked respectable so far as they are destroyers, for destruction is necessary. And also as a source of strength.
"To let oneself be taught by the wicked, not to deny them competition. To utilise the degenerate381.—Punishment justifiable382 when the criminal is utilised for experimental purposes (for a new aliment). Punishment is thus made holy.
"(d) To save woman by keeping her woman.
"(e) The slaves (a hive). The humble and their virtues. To teach the enduring of repose110. Multiplication383 of machines. Transformation384 of the machines into beauty.
"'For you faith and servitude!'
[Pg 276]
"The times of solitude. Division of the times and days. Food. Simplicity385. A feature of union between the poor and the rich.
"Solitude necessary from time to time, that the being may examine himself and concentrate.
. . . . . . . . . . . .
"The ordinance386 of festivals, founded on a system of the Universe: festival of cosmic relations, festival of the earth, festival of friendship, of the great Noon."
Zarathustra explains his laws, he makes them loved by all; he repeats his sermons nine times, and finally announces the Eternal Return. He speaks to the people; his words have the accent of a prayer.
The great question:
"The laws have already been given. Everything is ready for the production of the Superman—grand and awful moment! Zarathustra reveals his doctrine of the Eternal Return—which may now be endured; he himself, for the first time, endures it.
"Decisive moment: Zarathustra interrogates387 all this multitude assembled for the festival.
"'Do you wish,' he says, 'the return of it all?' All reply: Yes!
"He dies of joy.
"Zarathustra dying holds the earth locked in his arms. And although no one said a word, they all knew that Zarathustra was dead."
It is a fine issue: Nietzsche was soon to find it too easy, too fine a one. This Platonic388 aristocracy, rather quickly established, left him in doubt. It corresponded exactly to his desires; did it correspond to his thoughts? Nietzsche, ready in the destruction of all the ancient[Pg 277] moralities, did not find that he had the right of proposing another so soon? All answered: Yes! Was that conceivable? Human societies would always draw after them an imperfect mass which would have to be constrained389 by force or by laws. Friedrich Nietzsche knew it: "I am a seer," he wrote in his notes; "but my conscience casts an inexorable light upon my vision, and I am myself the doubter." He gave up this last plan. Never was he to recount the active life and the death of Zarathustra.
No document admits us to the secret of his sadness. No letter, no word presents us with the expression of it, We may, surely, take this very silence as the avowal390 of his distress and humiliation. Friedrich Nietzsche had always wished to write a classical work, a history, system, or poem, worthy of the old Greeks whom he had chosen for masters. And never had he been able to give a form to this ambition.
At the end of this year 1883 he had made an all but despairing attempt; the abundance, the importance of his notes let us measure the vastness of a work which was entirely vain. He could neither found his moral ideal nor compose his tragic poem; at the same moment he fails in his two works and sees his dream vanish. What is he? An unhappy soul, capable of short efforts, of lyrical songs and cries.
The year 1884 opened sadly. Some chance fine weather in January reanimated him. Suddenly he improvised: no city, no people, no laws; a disorder of complaints, appeals, and moral fragments which seem to be the debris391 left over from the ruin of his great work. It is the third part of Zarathustra. The prophet, like Friedrich Nietzsche, lives alone and retired392 upon his mountain. He speaks to himself, deceives himself, forgets that he is alone; he threatens, he exhorts393 a humanity which neither fears nor hearkens to him.[Pg 278] He preaches to it the contempt of customary virtues, the cult73 of courage, love of strength and of the nascent394 generations. But he does not go down to it, and no one hears his predication. He is sad, he desires to die. Then, Life, who surprises his desire, comes to him and raises his courage.
"O Zarathustra!" says the goddess, "do not crack thy whip so terribly. Thou knowest, noise murdereth thought. And even now I have very tender thoughts. Hear me, thou art not faithful enough unto me, thou lovest me not nearly as much as thou sayst, I know, for thou thinkest of leaving me...."
Zarathustra listens to the reproach, smiles and hesitates. "True," he says at last, "but thou also knowest. ..." They gaze at each other, and he tells her something in her ear, among all her confused, stupid yellow tresses. "What though I die?" he says; "nothing can separate, nothing can reconcile, for every moment has its return, every moment is eternal."
"What," answers the goddess, "that thou knowest, Zarathustra? That no one knoweth."
Their eyes meet. They look at the green meadow over which the cool of evening was spreading; they weep, then, in silence, they listen, they understand the eleven sayings of the old bell which strikes midnight in the mountain.
One! Oh man! Lose not sight!
Two! What saith the deep midnight?
Three! I lay in sleep, in sleep;
Four! From deep dream, I woke to light.
Five! The world is deep,
Six! And deeper than ever day thought it might.
Seven! Deep is its woe395—
Eight! And deeper than woe—delight.
Nine! Saith woe: Pass, go!
Ten! Eternity's sought by all delight[Pg 279]—Eleven! Eternity deep by all delight.[8]
Twelve!
. . . . . . . . . . . .
Then Zarathustra rises: he has recovered his security, his sweetness, and his strength. He takes up his staff and sings as he goes down towards men. A similar versicle completes the seven strophes of his hymn:
"Never yet have I found the woman by whom I would like to have children, if it be not the woman whom I love: for I love thee, oh Eternity!
"For I love thee, oh Eternity!"
At the opening of the poem Zarathustra entered the great town—the Multi-coloured Cow he names it—and began his apostolate. At the end of the third part Zarathustra descends to the great town to recommence his apostolate there. Friedrich Nietzsche, a vanquished warrior274, after two years of labour, has quailed396. In 1872 he sent to Fr?ulein von Meysenbug the interrupted series of his lectures on the future of Universities: "It gives one a terrible thirst," he said to her, "and, in the long run, nothing to drink." The same words apply to his poem.
[6] Albergo la Poata (information given by M Lanzky).
[7] An unpublished letter, communicated by M. Romain Rolland.
[8] Translation published by T. Fisher Unwin.
III
Heinrich von Stein
In April, 1884, the third and fourth sections (of Zarathustra) were published simultaneously. For the moment Nietzsche seems to have been happy.
"Everything comes in its own good time," he wrote to[Pg 280] Peter Gast on March 5th. "I am forty and I find myself at the very point I proposed, when twenty, to reach at this age. It has been a fine, a long, and a formidable passage."
"To you," he wrote to Rohde, "who are homo litteratus, I need not hesitate to avow that in my opinion I have with this Zarathustra brought the German language to its pitch of perfection. After Luther and Goethe a third step remained to be taken—and consider, my old and dear comrade, were ever strength, subtlety397, and beauty of sound so linked in our language? My style is a dance; I trifle with symmetries of all sorts, and I play on these symmetries even in my selection of vowels398."
This joy lasted only for a little while. Without fresh work to hand Nietzsche's ardour had no purpose and turned to ennui. Should he arrange his system methodically, draw up a "philosophy of the future"? He considers this, but finds that he is weary of thought and of writing. What he needs is rest and the refreshment399 of music; but the music which he could love does not exist. Italian music is flabby, German music preachy, and his taste is for the live and the lyrical; for something grave and delicate; something rhythmical, scornful, and passionate400. Carmen pleases him well enough, and yet to Carmen he prefers the compositions of his disciple, Peter Gast. "I need your music," he wrote to Gast.
Peter Gast was at this time in Venice, where Nietzsche wished to join him. But Venice was damp, and he dared not leave Nice before mid-April. Clearly an invalid's exigencies401 are becoming each year more and more urgent. A gloomy day lowers his spirits, a week without the sun prostrates402 him.
On the 26th of April he arrived in Venice. Peter Gast found rooms for him not far from the Rialto, with windows that opened on the Grand Canal. He had not[Pg 281] been in Venice for four years, and it was with a child's pleasure that he remade the acquaintance of the loved city. He stayed in the labyrinth403 of Venice; Venice—whose spirit is compounded of the magic of sun and water, the gracefulness404 of a gay and tactful people, and glimpses of unexpected gardens with flowers and mosses405 springing among the stones. "One hundred profound solitudes," he notes, "compose Venice—hence her magic. A symbol for the men of the future." For four or five hours every day he walked the little streets as he had walked the hills, sometimes isolating406 himself, sometimes moving with the Italian crowd.
He was endlessly reflecting upon the difficulties of his task. What should he write next? He had thought of annotating407 some verses of his poem by means of a series of pamphlets, but then no one had read the words of Zarathustra. Those friends to whom they had been sent preserved a melancholy silence which constantly astonished him. A young author, Heinrich von Stein, was almost alone in sending him a word of warm congratulation. Nietzsche therefore gave up the idea, feeling that it would be ridiculous to comment upon a Bible which the public ignored.
Very seriously he considered a "philosophy of the future." His intention was to give up, or at least to defer119, further work on his poem; he would confine himself to long study—"five, six years of meditation and of silence, maybe"—and formulate42 his system in a precise and definite manner. Various projects were in his mind when, towards the middle of June, he left Venice for Switzerland. He wished first to read certain books on historical and natural science in the libraries of Basle, but his stay in that town was brief, for he found the heavy heat oppressive and his friends there failed to please him. Either they had not read Thus Spake Zarathustra or they had read it very badly. "I might[Pg 282] have been among cows," he wrote to Peter Gast, and returned to the Engadine.
On the 20th of August Heinrich von Stein wrote that he was coming.
Stein was at this time a very young man, scarcely twenty-six years of age. But there was no German writer of whom greater things were expected than of him. In 1878 he had published a little volume called The Ideals of Materialism408, Lyrical Philosophy. Friedrich Nietzsche made the acquaintance of the author, in whose essay he recognised a research analogous409 to his own. He thought that he had found a kindred spirit, a comrade in his task; but this hope deceived him. Fr?ulein von Meysenbug had prided herself on bringing Heinrich von Stein under Wagner's influence. It was her defect to be always more benevolent than far-sighted. Thanks to her good offices, Wagner's house was opened to Stein as it had been opened ten years earlier to Nietzsche, and there Stein lived in spite of Nietzsche's warning, "You admire Wagner, and it is right that you should do so—provided your admiration does not last long." Wagner talked, and Stein, who could neither free himself from the master's influence nor oppose it, listened. His intellectual quest, which had hitherto been unquiet but fruitful, now came to an end. He closed his notebooks; he was conquered by a man too great for him, sucked in and sucked dry.
The works which he published—he died at thirty—are temperate70 and acute, but they lack one quality, precisely that which gives a high value to his first essays—audacity, daring, the charm of a nascent thought, ill-expressed but intense.
Nietzsche continued to interest himself in Stein, and superintended the young man's work and his[Pg 283] friendships. "Heinrich von Stein," he wrote in July to Madame Overbeck, "is at present the adorer of Miss Salomé. My successor in that employment as in much else." The danger that Stein ran caused him a great deal of uneasiness. Stein, however, read and appreciated his books, as Nietzsche rejoiced to know.
He was strangely moved on receiving the letter, for Stein had seemed to understand Thus Spake Zarathustra, and it might be that a longing for liberty was the explanation of his visit. Stein would make up to him for all the friends that he had lost; and what a revenge, moreover, if he should conquer this disciple of Wagner's, this philosopher from Bayreuth! He hastily sent a welcome, signed "The Solitary of Sils-Maria."
There is a possible interpretation410 of Stein's movements which never occurred to Nietzsche.
It must be remembered that Stein was the intimate and faithful friend of Cosima Wagner; and certainly he did not now come to Nietzsche without first consulting this shrewd woman and receiving her approbation411. Moreover, Nietzsche himself had not yet attacked, but had merely withdrawn from Wagner. In July, 1882, he had seemed favourable to a reconciliation. Fr?ulein von Meysenbug's endeavours, whether he had authorised them or no, caused him to consider the possibility; and in February, 1883, after Wagner's death, he wrote to Cosima Wagner. He had so far been able to avoid saying anything irreparable, and all his later work, even the very end of Zarathustra, with its very vague lyricism, did not close the door on the hope of an understanding. This was Stein's own impression, and he wrote to Nietzsche:
"How I long for you to come this summer to Bayreuth and hear Parsifal. When I think of that work I imagine a poem of pure beauty, a spiritual adventure that[Pg 284] is purely412 human, the development of a youth who becomes a man. I can find in Parsifal no pseudo-Christianity of any sort and fewer tendencies than in any other of Wagner's works. If I write to you—in a spirit at once audacious and timid—it is not because I am a Wagnerian, but because I wish for Parsifal such a hearer as you, and for such a hearer as you I wish Parsifal."
Cosima Wagner's judgments413 were sound, and she knew Nietzsche's worth. She now carried the heavy burden of Wagner's fame; she had a tradition to prolong, a heritage to maintain. By recalling Nietzsche to her side she would aid an extraordinary man, a rare soul that was wasting itself in solitary effort, and she would aid herself at the same time—or so she may have thought. One does not like to say in so many words that she chose Heinrich von Stein as emissary and conciliator. But one may be certain that she knew of, and did not disapprove414, the young man's attempt.
If there was such a thing as a Wagnerian equal to the enterprise, it was Heinrich von Stein. He was the most open-minded of the disciples. For him that mysticism of doubtful quality which Parsifal propagated was not the last word in religion. He included Schiller, Goethe, and Wagner in one tradition as the creators of myths and the educators of their age and race. For him the theatre of Bayreuth was not an apotheosis415, but a promise, an instrument for the future, the symbol of a lyrical tradition.
Stein was anxious to acquit416 himself well of his mission, but he spoke little. It was Nietzsche himself, the man, to whom he appealed, who spoke, and who saw that he was heard. We may perhaps picture the interview and Nietzsche's words:
"You admire Wagner? Who does not? As well as you and better than you have I known, revered417, and hearkened[Pg 285] to him. I learnt from him not the style of his art, but the style of his life—his valour and enterprise. I am aware that I have been accused of ingratitude418, which is a word I ill understand. I have continued my work. In the best sense of the word, I am his disciple. You frequent Bayreuth, which is very agreeable for you, too agreeable. Wagner offers you for your delight all the legends, all the beliefs of the past—German, Celtic, pagan, and Christian. You should leave him for the same reason that I left him, because this delight is destructive to the spirit which seeks truth. Mark you, I say no word against art or religion. I believe that their day will be again. Not one of the old values will be abandoned. They will re-appear, transfigured no doubt, and more powerful and more intense, in a world thoroughly419 illuminated420 to its depths by science. We shall rediscover all the things that we loved in our childhood and in our adolescence421, all that has upheld and exalted422 our fathers—a poetry, a goodness, the most sublime virtues, the humblest, too, each in its glory and its dignity. But we must accept the darkness, we must renounce423 and search. ... The possibilities are unheard of, but alone I am weak. Help me, therefore; stay or come back here, six thousand feet above Bayreuth!"[9]
Stein listened. His diary reveals the growing vividness of his impressions:
"24 viii. '84. Sils-Maria. Evening with Nietzsche.
"27. His freedom of intellect, the imagery of his speech, a great impression. Snow and winter winds. Headaches. At night I watch him suffer.
"29. He has not slept, but has all the ardour of a young man. A sunny and magnificent day!"
After three days, the too-youthful emissary left, greatly moved by what had passed, and promising424 to rejoin Nietzsche at Nice, as the latter, at least, understood.[Pg 286] Nietzsche felt that he had greatly carried the day. "Such an encounter as ours must have an early and far-reaching importance," he wrote to Stein a few days after his departure. "Believe me, you now belong to that little band whose fate, for good or ill, is linked to mine." Stein answered that the days at Sils-Maria were to him a great memory, a grave and solemn moment of his life; and then, rather prudently425, went on to speak of the binding426 conditions imposed on him by his works and his profession. What he did not say was, "Yes, I am yours."
Was Nietzsche's mind open enough to perceive the reservation? One cannot tell. He was making marvellous plans, and dreamt anew of an "ideal cloister427." To Fr?ulein von Meysenbug he made the na?ve proposal that she should come to Nice and spend the winter near him.
Chance permits us to discover the depths of his soul. He had gone down to Basle in September, and there Overbeck visited him at his hotel, and found him in bed, suffering from a sick headache, very low in himself, and at the same time exceedingly talkative. His excited speech troubled Overbeck, who was initiated into the mystery of the "Eternal Return." "One day we shall be here together again in this very place; I again, as I now am, sick; you again, as now you are, amazed at my words." He spoke in a low and trembling voice, and his face was troubled—this is the Nietzsche that Lou Salomé has described. Overbeck listened gently, but avoided argument of any sort, and left with evil forebodings. Not until the tragic meeting in Turin in January, 1889, was he again to see his friend.
Nietzsche merely passed through Basle. His sister, whom he had not seen since the quarrel of the previous[Pg 287] autumn, gave him a rendezvous at Zürich. It was to announce her marriage, which had taken place in secret some months before. She was now no longer Fr?ulein Nietzsche but Madame F?rster, ready to leave for Paraguay with the colonists428 who were under the charge of her husband. Recrimination would therefore have been a waste of time. The step had been taken; Nietzsche did not discuss it, and did his best to be pleasant once again to the sister who was lost to him. "My brother," wrote Madame F?rster, "seems to be in a very satisfactory condition. He is bright and charming; we have been together for six weeks, talking, laughing over everything."
She has left us a record of these days which she supposes—or pretends to suppose—were happy. Nietzsche came upon the works of one Freiligrath, a mediocre and popular poet. On the cover of the volume was inscribed429 Thirty—eighth Edition. With comical solemnity he exclaimed, "Here, then, we have at last a true German poet. The Germans buy his verse!" He decided to be a good German for the day, and bought a copy. He read and was hugely diverted—
"Wüstenk?nig ist der L?we;
Will er sein Gebiet durchfliegen."
(King of deserts is the Hon:
Will he traverse his dominion430.)
He declaimed the pompous431 hemistiches. The Zürich hotel resounded432 with his childish laughter as he amused himself improvising433 verses on every subject in the manner of a Freiligrath.
"Hullo!" said an old general to the brother and sister. "What is amusing you two? It makes one jealous to hear you. One wants to laugh like you."
It is unlikely that Nietzsche had much cause for[Pg 288] laughter. One wonders whether he could contemplate those thirty-eight editions of Freiligrath without bitterness. During his stay in Zürich he went to the library to look through the files of the newspapers and reviews for his name. It would have meant a good deal to him to have read a capable criticism of his work, to have seen his thought reflected in another's; but no voice ever answered his labours.
"The sky is beautiful, worthy of Nice, and this has lasted for days," he wrote to Peter Gast on September 30th. "My sister is with me, and it is very agreeable for us to be doing each other good when for so long we had been doing harm only. My head is full of the most extravagant434 lyrics435 that ever haunted a poet's skull436. I have had a letter from Stein. This year has brought me many good things, and one of the most precious of its gifts has been Stein, a new and a sincere friend.
"In short, let us be full of hope; or we may better express it by saying with old Keller—
"'Trinkt, O Augen, was die Wimper h?lt
Von dem goldnen Ueberfluss der Welt! '"
Brother and sister left Zürich, the one bound for Naumburg, the other for Nice. On the way Nietzsche stopped at Mentone. Hardly had he settled down there than he wrote: "This is a magnificent place. I have already discovered eight walks. I hope that no one will join me. I need absolute quiet."
It is possible that the project which he had formed at the beginning of the summer, when he spoke of six years of meditation and of silence, was again in his mind. But he lacked the force of will which long and silent meditation demands. He was, however, deeply moved by the hope of a friend and by the loss of a sister, and his lyric[Pg 289] impatience broke the bonds. Yielding to instinct he composed poems off-hand—songs, short stanzas437, epigrams. Practically all the poems which are to be found in his later works—the light verse, the biting distich, inserted in the second edition of the Gaya Scienza, the grandiose Dionysian chants—were finished or conceived during these few weeks. And once more he began to think of the still incomplete Thus Spake Zarathustra. "A fourth, a fifth, a sixth part are inevitable," he writes. "Whatever happens I must bring my son Zarathustra to his noble end. Alive, he leaves me no peace."
At the end of October Nietzsche left Mentone. The sight of so many invalids438 disturbed him, and he set out for Nice.
There an unexpected companion, Paul Lanzky by name, soon joined him. Lanzky was an "intellectual," by birth a German and by taste a Florentine, who lived a wandering life. Chance had put the works of Nietzsche into his hands; and he had understood them. Applying to Schmeitzner, the publisher, for the author's address, he was told—" Herr Friedrich Nietzsche lives a very lonely life in Italy. Write to Poste Restante, Genoa." The philosopher replied promptly439 and graciously, "Come to Nice this winter and we will talk!" So Nietzsche was not so unsociable and solitary after all! This correspondence took place during the autumn of 1883, but Lanzky was not free at the moment, and begged to be excused. In October, 1884, he reached the rendezvous. Meanwhile he had had the opportunity of acquainting himself with the two last sections of Zarathustra, and had published very intelligent summaries of them in a Leipsic magazine and in the Rivista Europea of Florence.
On the very morning of his arrival in Nice there was[Pg 290] a knock at his door. A gentle-looking man entered the room and came towards him smiling. "Also Sie sind gekommen!" said Nietzsche. "So here you are!" He took him by the arm, and examined curiously440 this student of his works. "Let's see what you are made of!"
Nietzsche's eyes were fixed upon him; those eyes which had once been beautiful, and were, at moments, still beautiful, clouded though they now were by reason of prolonged suffering. Lanzky was astonished. He had come to do honour to a redoubtable prophet, and here was the most affable, the simplest, and, as it seemed to him, the most modest of German professors.
As the two men went out together, Lanzky avowed his surprise—" Master," he began....
"You are the first to call me by that name," said Nietzsche with a smile. But he let the word pass, for he knew that he was a master.
"Master," continued Lanzky, "what a mistaken idea of you one gathers from your books; tell me ..."
"No, no, not to-day. You do not know Nice. I will do the honours, and show you this sea, these mountains, these walks.... Another day we shall talk, if you will."
By the time they returned it was six o'clock in the evening, and Lanzky had discovered how tireless a walker was his prophet.
They organised their life in common. At six o'clock in the morning it was Nietzsche's custom to make himself a cup of tea, which he took alone; towards eight Lanzky would knock at his door and ask how he had passed the night—Nietzsche often slept badly—and how he intended to employ his morning. Usually Nietzsche began the day by skimming the newspapers in a public reading hall; he then went to the shore, where Lanzky either joined him or respected his desire for a solitary walk. Both of them lunched in their pension. In the afternoon they walked out together. At night,[Pg 291] Nietzsche wrote or Lanzky read to him aloud, often from some French book, such as the Letters of the Abbé Galiani, Stendhal's Le Rouge441 et le Noir, La Chartreuse, L'Armance.
To live courteously442, yet withhold443 from ordinary gaze the secret of one's life, is a whole art in itself; and this art Nietzsche had mastered. Indeed, as regards the scheme of manners that he had composed for himself, this solitary of the table d'h?te was, deliberately444, hypocritical and almost cunning. More than once Lanzky was nonplussed445. One Sunday a young lady asked Nietzsche had he been to church.
"To-day, no," he replied courteously.
To Lanzky, who admired his prudence446, he explained that every truth was not good for everyone. "If I had troubled that girl's mind," he added, "I should be horrified447."
Occasionally it amused him to announce his future greatness. He would tell his neighbours during meals that in forty years' time he would be illustrious throughout Europe.
They would say: "Well, then lend us your books."
He refused their requests most positively448, and again explained to Lanzky that his writings were not for the man in the street.
"Master," asked Lanzky, "why do you print them?"
It appears that no answer was given to this reasonable question.
Nietzsche, however, dissembled even with Lanzky. The formation of a society of friends, of an idealistic phalanstery similar to that in which Emerson lived—this old dream of his he loved to repeat and elaborate for him.
He often led Lanzky to the peninsula of Saint-Jean. "Here," he would say in Biblical phrase—"Here we shall pitch our tents." He went so far as to select a group[Pg 292] of little villas449 which seemed to be suitable for his purpose. But the members were not yet decided upon, and the name of Heinrich von Stein, the only friend, the only disciple whom he really wanted, was never mentioned in Lanzky's presence.
There was no news of Stein's coming, nor of his plans. To Nietzsche he gave no sign. We may assume that he had gone to Sils-Maria to conciliate, if possible, the two masters. But one of them had said that he must choose between the two: perhaps he had been disturbed for a moment. He returned, however, to his Germany, and there he saw Cosima Wagner again. Nietzsche had required that he should choose, and he remained faithful to Wagner.
Nietzsche anticipated a new desertion. He was afraid, and, yielding to a humble and mournful impulse, wrote, in the form of a poem, an appeal which he addressed to the young man:
O midday of life! O solemn time!
O garden of summer!
Unquiet happiness I am there: listening, waiting!
Night and day, living in hope of the friend;
"Where are ye, friends? Come! It is time, it is time!"[10]
Heinrich von Stein felt it incumbent450 upon him to reply. He wrote: "To an appeal such as yours there is but one suitable reply. It is that I should come and give myself entirely to you, vowing451, as to the noblest of tasks, all my time to the understanding of the new Gospel which you have to preach. But this is forbidden me. An idea, however, strikes me. Every month I[Pg 293] entertain two friends and read with them some article from the Wagner-Lexicon. It is taken as text, and, on it, I speak to them. These conversations are becoming more and more lofty and free. Latterly we have found this definition of ?sthetic emotion—a passage to the impersonal452 through very fulness of personality. I think that our meetings would please you. And how if Nietzsche should now and again send us the text? Would you communicate with us in this way? Would you not see in such a correspondence an introduction, a step towards your idea of a cloister?"
This letter was obviously the letter of an excellent pupil, and it exasperated453 Nietzsche. Wagner was named, doubtless intentionally454, and the Wagnerian Encyclopedia455, the sum of an absurd and puerile theology, was indicated as the text of Stein's meditations. Here was the old adversary456 again standing255 in the way, Wagner, the quack457 of thought, the seducer458 of young men. F?rster, who was taking his sister from him, was a Wagnerian; and Heinrich von Stein, on Wagner's account, refused him his devotion. It was a cruel liberty that he had won, alone and at the cost of a struggle whose wounds he still bore. He wrote to his sister:
"What a foolish letter Stein has written me in answer to such poetry! I am painfully affected. Here I am ill again. I have recourse to the old means [chloral], and I utterly459 hate all men, myself included, whom I have known. I sleep well, but on waking I experience misanthropy and rancour. And yet there can be few men living who are better disposed, more benevolent than I!"
Lanzky remarked Nietzsche's trouble of mind without suspecting the cause. The crisis was very severe, but[Pg 294] Nietzsche did not allow himself to be crushed by it and laboured energetically. More often now than heretofore he walked alone, and Lanzky would watch him trip as lightly as a dancer across the Promenade460 des Anglais or over the mountain paths. He would leap and gambol461 at times, and then suddenly interrupt his capers462 to write down a few words with a pencil. What was the new work on which he was busy? Lanzky had no idea.
One morning in March he entered, as was his custom, the little room which the philosopher occupied, to find him in bed notwithstanding the advanced hour. He made anxious enquiries.
"I am ill," said Nietzsche; "I have just had my confinement463."
"What's that you say?" asked Lanzky, much perturbed464.
"The fourth part of Zarathustra is written."
This fourth section does not enable us to discover at length an advance in the work, an attained precision of thought. It is merely a singular fragment, an "interlude," as Nietzsche called it. It illustrates465 a strange episode in the life of the hero, one which has disconcerted many a reader. We may perhaps best understand it if we consider the deception466 to which Nietzsche has just been subjected.
The superior men go up to Zarathustra and surprise him in his mountainous solitude: an old pope, an old historian, an old king, unhappy beings who are suffering from their abasement467 and wish to ask succour of a sage122 whose strength they feel. Was it not thus that Stein, that distinguished468 young man, etiolated by Bayreuth, went to Nietzsche?
Zarathustra admits these superior men to his presence,[Pg 295] and keeping in check his savage humour, makes them sit down in his cave, is sorry for their disquietude, listens and talks to them. Was it not thus that Nietzsche had received Stein?
Zarathustra's soul is in its depths less hard than it should be, and he allows himself to be seduced by the morbid469 charm and delicacy of the superior men; he takes pity on them and, forgetting that their misery is irremediable, yields to the pleasures of hope. He had looked for friends, and, perhaps, with these "superior men" they have come at last. Had not Nietzsche hoped for some help from Stein?
Zarathustra leaves his friends for a moment, and ascends470 alone to the mountain. He returns to his cave to find the "superior men," all of them prostrate127 before a donkey. The aged117 pope is saying Mass before the new idol296. In this posture471 Stein, interpreting a Wagnerian bible with two friends, had been surprised by Nietzsche.
Zarathustra hunts his guests away, and calls for new workmen for a new world. But will he ever find them?
"My children, my pure-blooded race, my beautiful new race; what is it that keeps my children upon their isles472?
"Is it not time, full time—I murmur it in thine ear, good spirit of the tempests,—that they should return to their father? do they not know that my hair grows gray and whitens in waiting?
"Go, go, spirit of the tempests, indomitable and beneficent! Leave thy gorges473 and thy mountains, precipitate474 thyself upon the seas and bless my children before the night has come.
"Bear them the benediction475 of my happiness, the benediction of that crown of happy roses! Let these roses fall upon their isles, let them remain fallen there,[Pg 296] as a sign, which asks: 'Whence can such a happiness come? '
. . . . . .
"Then they shall ask: 'Still lives he, our father Zarathustra? What, can our father Zarathustra be still alive? Does our old father, Zarathustra, still love his children?'
"The wind breathes, the wind breathes, the moon shines bright—Oh my far-off, far-off children, why are ye not here, with your father? The wind breathes no cloud passes over the sky, the world sleeps. Oh, joy! Oh, joy!"
Nietzsche omitted this page from his work. Perhaps he felt ashamed of so plain and so melancholy an avowal.
The fourth part of Zarathustra found no publisher. A few months earlier Schmeitzner had informed Nietzsche that "the public would not read his aphorisms." He now contented476 himself with stating that the public had chosen to ignore Zarathustra; and there the matter rested, so far as he was concerned.
Nietzsche then made certain overtures which only hurt his pride and had no result; then he took a more dignified477 course and had the manuscript printed at his own expense in an edition limited to forty copies. To tell the truth, his friends were not so numerous. He found seven consignees—none of whom were truly worthy. If we may guess, these were the seven: his sister—whose loss he never ceased to deplore478; Overbeck -a strict friend, an intelligent reader, but cautious and reserved; Burckhardt, the Basle historian—who always replied to Nietzsche's messages, but was too polite to be easily fathomed479; Peter Gast—the faithful disciple whom, no doubt, Nietzsche found too faithful and obedient; Lanzky—his good companion of the wintertide; Rohde[Pg 297]—who scarcely disguised the ennui that these forced readings gave him. These were the seven, we may presume, who received copies of the work, and not all of them troubled to read this fourth and last section, the interlude which ends, and yet does not complete, Thus Spake Zarathustra.
[9] Phrase in a passage from Ecce Homo.
[10]
"Oh Lebens Mittag! Feierliche Zeit!
Oh Sommergarten!
Unruhig Glück im Stehn und Spahn und Warten!
Der Freunde harr' Ich, Tag und Nacht bereit;
Wo bleibt ihr, Freunde? Kommt! s'ist Zeit! s'ist Zeit!"
点击收听单词发音
1 malicious | |
adj.有恶意的,心怀恶意的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
2 delightful | |
adj.令人高兴的,使人快乐的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
3 hesitation | |
n.犹豫,踌躇 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
4 alpine | |
adj.高山的;n.高山植物 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
5 respite | |
n.休息,中止,暂缓 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
6 rustic | |
adj.乡村的,有乡村特色的;n.乡下人,乡巴佬 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
7 aria | |
n.独唱曲,咏叹调 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
8 Vogue | |
n.时髦,时尚;adj.流行的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
9 affected | |
adj.不自然的,假装的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
10 supplant | |
vt.排挤;取代 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
11 Christian | |
adj.基督教徒的;n.基督教徒 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
12 submission | |
n.服从,投降;温顺,谦虚;提出 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
13 providence | |
n.深谋远虑,天道,天意;远见;节约;上帝 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
14 den | |
n.兽穴;秘密地方;安静的小房间,私室 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
15 aspiration | |
n.志向,志趣抱负;渴望;(语)送气音;吸出 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
16 aspirations | |
强烈的愿望( aspiration的名词复数 ); 志向; 发送气音; 发 h 音 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
17 virile | |
adj.男性的;有男性生殖力的;有男子气概的;强有力的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
18 assent | |
v.批准,认可;n.批准,认可 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
19 longing | |
n.(for)渴望 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
20 longings | |
渴望,盼望( longing的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
21 ripening | |
v.成熟,使熟( ripen的现在分词 );熟化;熟成 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
22 ripen | |
vt.使成熟;vi.成熟 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
23 solitude | |
n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
24 gush | |
v.喷,涌;滔滔不绝(说话);n.喷,涌流;迸发 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
25 presentiment | |
n.预感,预觉 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
26 agitated | |
adj.被鼓动的,不安的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
27 agitate | |
vi.(for,against)煽动,鼓动;vt.搅动 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
28 disposition | |
n.性情,性格;意向,倾向;排列,部署 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
29 resolute | |
adj.坚决的,果敢的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
30 resolutely | |
adj.坚决地,果断地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
31 celestial | |
adj.天体的;天上的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
32 monotonous | |
adj.单调的,一成不变的,使人厌倦的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
33 redoubtable | |
adj.可敬的;可怕的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
34 exalts | |
赞扬( exalt的第三人称单数 ); 歌颂; 提升; 提拔 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
35 meditation | |
n.熟虑,(尤指宗教的)默想,沉思,(pl.)冥想录 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
36 ken | |
n.视野,知识领域 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
37 pessimism | |
n.悲观者,悲观主义者,厌世者 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
38 pessimist | |
n.悲观者;悲观主义者;厌世 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
39 doctrine | |
n.教义;主义;学说 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
40 eternity | |
n.不朽,来世;永恒,无穷 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
41 fugitive | |
adj.逃亡的,易逝的;n.逃犯,逃亡者 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
42 formulate | |
v.用公式表示;规划;设计;系统地阐述 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
43 formulated | |
v.构想出( formulate的过去式和过去分词 );规划;确切地阐述;用公式表示 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
44 rapture | |
n.狂喜;全神贯注;着迷;v.使狂喜 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
45 anguish | |
n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦,烦恼 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
46 simultaneously | |
adv.同时发生地,同时进行地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
47 recoiled | |
v.畏缩( recoil的过去式和过去分词 );退缩;报应;返回 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
48 torment | |
n.折磨;令人痛苦的东西(人);vt.折磨;纠缠 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
49 ascetic | |
adj.禁欲的;严肃的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
50 crux | |
adj.十字形;难事,关键,最重要点 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
51 agitation | |
n.搅动;搅拌;鼓动,煽动 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
52 appease | |
v.安抚,缓和,平息,满足 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
53 unaware | |
a.不知道的,未意识到的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
54 alas | |
int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
55 presentiments | |
n.(对不祥事物的)预感( presentiment的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
56 intensity | |
n.强烈,剧烈;强度;烈度 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
57 shudder | |
v.战粟,震动,剧烈地摇晃;n.战粟,抖动 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
58 inflamed | |
adj.发炎的,红肿的v.(使)变红,发怒,过热( inflame的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
59 sentimental | |
adj.多愁善感的,感伤的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
60 idiotic | |
adj.白痴的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
61 proffer | |
v.献出,赠送;n.提议,建议 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
62 erect | |
n./v.树立,建立,使竖立;adj.直立的,垂直的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
63 seduced | |
诱奸( seduce的过去式和过去分词 ); 勾引; 诱使堕落; 使入迷 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
64 poetic | |
adj.富有诗意的,有诗人气质的,善于抒情的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
65 rhythmical | |
adj.有节奏的,有韵律的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
66 subtitle | |
n.副题(书本中的),说明对白的字幕 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
67 meditations | |
默想( meditation的名词复数 ); 默念; 沉思; 冥想 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
68 solitary | |
adj.孤独的,独立的,荒凉的;n.隐士 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
69 intemperate | |
adj.无节制的,放纵的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
70 temperate | |
adj.温和的,温带的,自我克制的,不过分的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
71 tempted | |
v.怂恿(某人)干不正当的事;冒…的险(tempt的过去分词) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
72 melancholy | |
n.忧郁,愁思;adj.令人感伤(沮丧)的,忧郁的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
73 cult | |
n.异教,邪教;时尚,狂热的崇拜 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
74 prudent | |
adj.谨慎的,有远见的,精打细算的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
75 judgment | |
n.审判;判断力,识别力,看法,意见 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
76 vertigo | |
n.眩晕 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
77 esteemed | |
adj.受人尊敬的v.尊敬( esteem的过去式和过去分词 );敬重;认为;以为 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
78 embarrassment | |
n.尴尬;使人为难的人(事物);障碍;窘迫 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
79 sincerity | |
n.真诚,诚意;真实 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
80 mutual | |
adj.相互的,彼此的;共同的,共有的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
81 withdrawn | |
vt.收回;使退出;vi.撤退,退出 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
82 drawn | |
v.拖,拉,拔出;adj.憔悴的,紧张的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
83 incessant | |
adj.不停的,连续的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
84 favourable | |
adj.赞成的,称赞的,有利的,良好的,顺利的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
85 aphorisms | |
格言,警句( aphorism的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
86 enigma | |
n.谜,谜一样的人或事 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
87 skilful | |
(=skillful)adj.灵巧的,熟练的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
88 vivacity | |
n.快活,活泼,精神充沛 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
89 uprooted | |
v.把(某物)连根拔起( uproot的过去式和过去分词 );根除;赶走;把…赶出家园 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
90 hurrah | |
int.好哇,万岁,乌拉 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
91 touching | |
adj.动人的,使人感伤的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
92 disciple | |
n.信徒,门徒,追随者 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
93 repertoires | |
全部节目( repertoire的名词复数 ); 演奏曲目 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
94 spoke | |
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 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
95 surmounted | |
战胜( surmount的过去式和过去分词 ); 克服(困难); 居于…之上; 在…顶上 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
96 surmount | |
vt.克服;置于…顶上 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
97 commemorated | |
v.纪念,庆祝( commemorate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
98 hideous | |
adj.丑陋的,可憎的,可怕的,恐怖的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
99 avert | |
v.防止,避免;转移(目光、注意力等) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
100 negation | |
n.否定;否认 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
101 gratitude | |
adj.感激,感谢 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
102 refinements | |
n.(生活)风雅;精炼( refinement的名词复数 );改良品;细微的改良;优雅或高贵的动作 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
103 creeks | |
n.小湾( creek的名词复数 );小港;小河;小溪 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
104 gaily | |
adv.欢乐地,高兴地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
105 penetrate | |
v.透(渗)入;刺入,刺穿;洞察,了解 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
106 procured | |
v.(努力)取得, (设法)获得( procure的过去式和过去分词 );拉皮条 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
107 supreme | |
adj.极度的,最重要的;至高的,最高的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
108 tranquilly | |
adv. 宁静地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
109 tranquil | |
adj. 安静的, 宁静的, 稳定的, 不变的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
110 repose | |
v.(使)休息;n.安息 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
111 reposed | |
v.将(手臂等)靠在某人(某物)上( repose的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
112 attained | |
(通常经过努力)实现( attain的过去式和过去分词 ); 达到; 获得; 达到(某年龄、水平、状况) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
113 divers | |
adj.不同的;种种的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
114 prodigious | |
adj.惊人的,奇妙的;异常的;巨大的;庞大的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
115 sublime | |
adj.崇高的,伟大的;极度的,不顾后果的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
116 poetical | |
adj.似诗人的;诗一般的;韵文的;富有诗意的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
117 aged | |
adj.年老的,陈年的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
118 deference | |
n.尊重,顺从;敬意 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
119 defer | |
vt.推迟,拖延;vi.(to)遵从,听从,服从 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
120 vessel | |
n.船舶;容器,器皿;管,导管,血管 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
121 Mediterranean | |
adj.地中海的;地中海沿岸的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
122 sage | |
n.圣人,哲人;adj.贤明的,明智的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
123 impromptus | |
n.即兴曲( impromptu的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
124 curb | |
n.场外证券市场,场外交易;vt.制止,抑制 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
125 decided | |
adj.决定了的,坚决的;明显的,明确的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
126 prostrated | |
v.使俯伏,使拜倒( prostrate的过去式和过去分词 );(指疾病、天气等)使某人无能为力 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
127 prostrate | |
v.拜倒,平卧,衰竭;adj.拜倒的,平卧的,衰竭的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
128 insistent | |
adj.迫切的,坚持的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
129 delicacy | |
n.精致,细微,微妙,精良;美味,佳肴 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
130 exquisite | |
adj.精美的;敏锐的;剧烈的,感觉强烈的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
131 impatience | |
n.不耐烦,急躁 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
132 initiated | |
n. 创始人 adj. 新加入的 vt. 开始,创始,启蒙,介绍加入 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
133 initiate | |
vt.开始,创始,发动;启蒙,使入门;引入 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
134 hearth | |
n.壁炉炉床,壁炉地面 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
135 rugged | |
adj.高低不平的,粗糙的,粗壮的,强健的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
136 vowed | |
起誓,发誓(vow的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
137 enticed | |
诱惑,怂恿( entice的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
138 enthusiasts | |
n.热心人,热衷者( enthusiast的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
139 odious | |
adj.可憎的,讨厌的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
140 attentive | |
adj.注意的,专心的;关心(别人)的,殷勤的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
141 perplexed | |
adj.不知所措的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
142 foliage | |
n.叶子,树叶,簇叶 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
143 pastor | |
n.牧师,牧人 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
144 grandeur | |
n.伟大,崇高,宏伟,庄严,豪华 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
145 pious | |
adj.虔诚的;道貌岸然的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
146 avow | |
v.承认,公开宣称 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
147 avowed | |
adj.公开声明的,承认的v.公开声明,承认( avow的过去式和过去分词) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
148 confided | |
v.吐露(秘密,心事等)( confide的过去式和过去分词 );(向某人)吐露(隐私、秘密等) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
149 disdains | |
鄙视,轻蔑( disdain的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
150 augured | |
v.预示,预兆,预言( augur的过去式和过去分词 );成为预兆;占卜 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
151 liaison | |
n.联系,(未婚男女间的)暖昧关系,私通 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
152 abstain | |
v.自制,戒绝,弃权,避免 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
153 liberated | |
a.无拘束的,放纵的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
154 hymn | |
n.赞美诗,圣歌,颂歌 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
155 displease | |
vt.使不高兴,惹怒;n.不悦,不满,生气 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
156 displeased | |
a.不快的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
157 dictated | |
v.大声讲或读( dictate的过去式和过去分词 );口授;支配;摆布 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
158 dictate | |
v.口授;(使)听写;指令,指示,命令 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
159 discreetly | |
ad.(言行)审慎地,慎重地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
160 fixed | |
adj.固定的,不变的,准备好的;(计算机)固定的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
161 rendezvous | |
n.约会,约会地点,汇合点;vi.汇合,集合;vt.使汇合,使在汇合地点相遇 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
162 reconciliation | |
n.和解,和谐,一致 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
163 overture | |
n.前奏曲、序曲,提议,提案,初步交涉 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
164 miserable | |
adj.悲惨的,痛苦的;可怜的,糟糕的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
165 animated | |
adj.生气勃勃的,活跃的,愉快的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
166 dedicated | |
adj.一心一意的;献身的;热诚的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
167 sketch | |
n.草图;梗概;素描;v.素描;概述 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
168 sketches | |
n.草图( sketch的名词复数 );素描;速写;梗概 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
169 modesty | |
n.谦逊,虚心,端庄,稳重,羞怯,朴素 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
170 feigned | |
a.假装的,不真诚的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
171 sobbed | |
哭泣,啜泣( sob的过去式和过去分词 ); 哭诉,呜咽地说 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
172 ordeal | |
n.苦难经历,(尤指对品格、耐力的)严峻考验 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
173 tragic | |
adj.悲剧的,悲剧性的,悲惨的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
174 entirely | |
ad.全部地,完整地;完全地,彻底地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
175 Christians | |
n.基督教徒( Christian的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
176 espouse | |
v.支持,赞成,嫁娶 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
177 ardent | |
adj.热情的,热烈的,强烈的,烈性的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
178 brutal | |
adj.残忍的,野蛮的,不讲理的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
179 lessen | |
vt.减少,减轻;缩小 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
180 meditate | |
v.想,考虑,(尤指宗教上的)沉思,冥想 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
181 confessions | |
n.承认( confession的名词复数 );自首;声明;(向神父的)忏悔 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
182 caress | |
vt./n.爱抚,抚摸 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
183 enervated | |
adj.衰弱的,无力的v.使衰弱,使失去活力( enervate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
184 exhausted | |
adj.极其疲惫的,精疲力尽的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
185 satiety | |
n.饱和;(市场的)充分供应 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
186 initiation | |
n.开始 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
187 tinged | |
v.(使)发丁丁声( ting的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
188 brook | |
n.小河,溪;v.忍受,容让 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
189 remains | |
n.剩余物,残留物;遗体,遗迹 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
190 tragical | |
adj. 悲剧的, 悲剧性的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
191 reticent | |
adj.沉默寡言的;言不如意的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
192 captivity | |
n.囚禁;被俘;束缚 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
193 hampered | |
妨碍,束缚,限制( hamper的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
194 posterity | |
n.后裔,子孙,后代 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
195 hostility | |
n.敌对,敌意;抵制[pl.]交战,战争 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
196 virtue | |
n.德行,美德;贞操;优点;功效,效力 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
197 virtues | |
美德( virtue的名词复数 ); 德行; 优点; 长处 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
198 puerile | |
adj.幼稚的,儿童的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
199 shafts | |
n.轴( shaft的名词复数 );(箭、高尔夫球棒等的)杆;通风井;一阵(疼痛、害怕等) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
200 supremacy | |
n.至上;至高权力 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
201 condemn | |
vt.谴责,指责;宣判(罪犯),判刑 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
202 condemns | |
v.(通常因道义上的原因而)谴责( condemn的第三人称单数 );宣判;宣布…不能使用;迫使…陷于不幸的境地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
203 vile | |
adj.卑鄙的,可耻的,邪恶的;坏透的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
204 strife | |
n.争吵,冲突,倾轧,竞争 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
205 rife | |
adj.(指坏事情)充斥的,流行的,普遍的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
206 impaired | |
adj.受损的;出毛病的;有(身体或智力)缺陷的v.损害,削弱( impair的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
207 infinitely | |
adv.无限地,无穷地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
208 detested | |
v.憎恶,嫌恶,痛恨( detest的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
209 determined | |
adj.坚定的;有决心的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
210 rupture | |
n.破裂;(关系的)决裂;v.(使)破裂 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
211 essentially | |
adv.本质上,实质上,基本上 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
212 veneration | |
n.尊敬,崇拜 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
213 piety | |
n.虔诚,虔敬 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
214 admiration | |
n.钦佩,赞美,羡慕 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
215 incapable | |
adj.无能力的,不能做某事的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
216 constrain | |
vt.限制,约束;克制,抑制 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
217 benevolent | |
adj.仁慈的,乐善好施的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
218 whatsoever | |
adv.(用于否定句中以加强语气)任何;pron.无论什么 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
219 lucid | |
adj.明白易懂的,清晰的,头脑清楚的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
220 polemics | |
n.辩论术,辩论法;争论( polemic的名词复数 );辩论;辩论术;辩论法 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
221 contradictory | |
adj.反驳的,反对的,抗辩的;n.正反对,矛盾对立 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
222 adjourn | |
v.(使)休会,(使)休庭 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
223 adjourned | |
(使)休会, (使)休庭( adjourn的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
224 orthography | |
n.拼字法,拼字式 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
225 naught | |
n.无,零 [=nought] | |
参考例句: |
|
|
226 evade | |
vt.逃避,回避;避开,躲避 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
227 worthy | |
adj.(of)值得的,配得上的;有价值的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
228 awakened | |
v.(使)醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 );(使)觉醒;弄醒;(使)意识到 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
229 perfidious | |
adj.不忠的,背信弃义的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
230 humiliation | |
n.羞辱 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
231 briefly | |
adv.简单地,简短地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
232 importuned | |
v.纠缠,向(某人)不断要求( importune的过去式和过去分词 );(妓女)拉(客) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
233 recesses | |
n.壁凹( recess的名词复数 );(工作或业务活动的)中止或暂停期间;学校的课间休息;某物内部的凹形空间v.把某物放在墙壁的凹处( recess的第三人称单数 );将(墙)做成凹形,在(墙)上做壁龛;休息,休会,休庭 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
234 coves | |
n.小海湾( cove的名词复数 );家伙 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
235 humiliate | |
v.使羞辱,使丢脸[同]disgrace | |
参考例句: |
|
|
236 misery | |
n.痛苦,苦恼,苦难;悲惨的境遇,贫苦 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
237 sojourn | |
v./n.旅居,寄居;逗留 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
238 promontory | |
n.海角;岬 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
239 situated | |
adj.坐落在...的,处于某种境地的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
240 maxim | |
n.格言,箴言 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
241 discomfort | |
n.不舒服,不安,难过,困难,不方便 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
242 meditated | |
深思,沉思,冥想( meditate的过去式和过去分词 ); 内心策划,考虑 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
243 fatality | |
n.不幸,灾祸,天命 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
244 suavity | |
n.温和;殷勤 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
245 vanquished | |
v.征服( vanquish的过去式和过去分词 );战胜;克服;抑制 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
246 inclinations | |
倾向( inclination的名词复数 ); 倾斜; 爱好; 斜坡 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
247 depict | |
vt.描画,描绘;描写,描述 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
248 languor | |
n.无精力,倦怠 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
249 renovated | |
翻新,修复,整修( renovate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
250 glorification | |
n.赞颂 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
251 humble | |
adj.谦卑的,恭顺的;地位低下的;v.降低,贬低 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
252 imprisoned | |
下狱,监禁( imprison的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
253 salvation | |
n.(尤指基督)救世,超度,拯救,解困 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
254 vehemence | |
n.热切;激烈;愤怒 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
255 standing | |
n.持续,地位;adj.永久的,不动的,直立的,不流动的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
256 animating | |
v.使有生气( animate的现在分词 );驱动;使栩栩如生地动作;赋予…以生命 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
257 transgress | |
vt.违反,逾越 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
258 awakening | |
n.觉醒,醒悟 adj.觉醒中的;唤醒的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
259 frightful | |
adj.可怕的;讨厌的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
260 attentively | |
adv.聚精会神地;周到地;谛;凝神 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
261 erase | |
v.擦掉;消除某事物的痕迹 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
262 dreaded | |
adj.令人畏惧的;害怕的v.害怕,恐惧,担心( dread的过去式和过去分词) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
263 evoke | |
vt.唤起,引起,使人想起 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
264 serene | |
adj. 安详的,宁静的,平静的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
265 conjure | |
v.恳求,祈求;变魔术,变戏法 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
266 insolent | |
adj.傲慢的,无理的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
267 sneer | |
v.轻蔑;嘲笑;n.嘲笑,讥讽的言语 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
268 sneering | |
嘲笑的,轻蔑的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
269 slandered | |
造谣中伤( slander的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
270 fecund | |
adj.多产的,丰饶的,肥沃的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
271 dictates | |
n.命令,规定,要求( dictate的名词复数 )v.大声讲或读( dictate的第三人称单数 );口授;支配;摆布 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
272 descend | |
vt./vi.传下来,下来,下降 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
273 warriors | |
武士,勇士,战士( warrior的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
274 warrior | |
n.勇士,武士,斗士 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
275 formerly | |
adv.从前,以前 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
276 hierarchy | |
n.等级制度;统治集团,领导层 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
277 ensemble | |
n.合奏(唱)组;全套服装;整体,总效果 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
278 brutality | |
n.野蛮的行为,残忍,野蛮 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
279 aggression | |
n.进攻,侵略,侵犯,侵害 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
280 unity | |
n.团结,联合,统一;和睦,协调 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
281 amiable | |
adj.和蔼可亲的,友善的,亲切的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
282 humiliated | |
感到羞愧的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
283 disquieted | |
v.使不安,使忧虑,使烦恼( disquiet的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
284 insomnia | |
n.失眠,失眠症 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
285 enquired | |
打听( enquire的过去式和过去分词 ); 询问; 问问题; 查问 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
286 hymns | |
n.赞美诗,圣歌,颂歌( hymn的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
287 thwarted | |
阻挠( thwart的过去式和过去分词 ); 使受挫折; 挫败; 横过 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
288 platitudes | |
n.平常的话,老生常谈,陈词滥调( platitude的名词复数 );滥套子 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
289 harassed | |
adj. 疲倦的,厌烦的 动词harass的过去式和过去分词 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
290 caverns | |
大山洞,大洞穴( cavern的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
291 hatred | |
n.憎恶,憎恨,仇恨 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
292 instinctive | |
adj.(出于)本能的;直觉的;(出于)天性的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
293 shudders | |
n.颤动,打颤,战栗( shudder的名词复数 )v.战栗( shudder的第三人称单数 );发抖;(机器、车辆等)突然震动;颤动 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
294 incense | |
v.激怒;n.香,焚香时的烟,香气 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
295 idols | |
偶像( idol的名词复数 ); 受崇拜的人或物; 受到热爱和崇拜的人或物; 神像 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
296 idol | |
n.偶像,红人,宠儿 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
297 piazza | |
n.广场;走廊 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
298 murmur | |
n.低语,低声的怨言;v.低语,低声而言 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
299 improvise | |
v.即兴创作;临时准备,临时凑成 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
300 poignant | |
adj.令人痛苦的,辛酸的,惨痛的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
301 dispersed | |
adj. 被驱散的, 被分散的, 散布的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
302 precisely | |
adv.恰好,正好,精确地,细致地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
303 disciples | |
n.信徒( disciple的名词复数 );门徒;耶稣的信徒;(尤指)耶稣十二门徒之一 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
304 improvised | |
a.即席而作的,即兴的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
305 disdained | |
鄙视( disdain的过去式和过去分词 ); 不屑于做,不愿意做 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
306 adversaries | |
n.对手,敌手( adversary的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
307 benefactor | |
n. 恩人,行善的人,捐助人 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
308 manifestation | |
n.表现形式;表明;现象 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
309 grandiose | |
adj.宏伟的,宏大的,堂皇的,铺张的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
310 annihilate | |
v.使无效;毁灭;取消 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
311 scattered | |
adj.分散的,稀疏的;散步的;疏疏落落的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
312 shambles | |
n.混乱之处;废墟 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
313 catastrophe | |
n.大灾难,大祸 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
314 unbearable | |
adj.不能容忍的;忍受不住的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
315 contemplate | |
vt.盘算,计议;周密考虑;注视,凝视 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
316 derided | |
v.取笑,嘲笑( deride的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
317 enunciate | |
v.发音;(清楚地)表达 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
318 prey | |
n.被掠食者,牺牲者,掠食;v.捕食,掠夺,折磨 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
319 savage | |
adj.野蛮的;凶恶的,残暴的;n.未开化的人 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
320 prescriptions | |
药( prescription的名词复数 ); 处方; 开处方; 计划 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
321 attenuate | |
v.使变小,使减弱 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
322 annihilator | |
n.歼灭者,消灭者;灭火器;零化子 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
323 disperses | |
v.(使)分散( disperse的第三人称单数 );疏散;驱散;散布 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
324 falters | |
(嗓音)颤抖( falter的第三人称单数 ); 支吾其词; 蹒跚; 摇晃 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
325 evokes | |
产生,引起,唤起( evoke的第三人称单数 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
326 irritable | |
adj.急躁的;过敏的;易怒的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
327 bruised | |
[医]青肿的,瘀紫的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
328 avenge | |
v.为...复仇,为...报仇 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
329 irritation | |
n.激怒,恼怒,生气 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
330 insidious | |
adj.阴险的,隐匿的,暗中为害的,(疾病)不知不觉之间加剧 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
331 liar | |
n.说谎的人 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
332 knave | |
n.流氓;(纸牌中的)杰克 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
333 calumniator | |
n.中伤者,诽谤者 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
334 plunder | |
vt.劫掠财物,掠夺;n.劫掠物,赃物;劫掠 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
335 filthy | |
adj.卑劣的;恶劣的,肮脏的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
336 venerated | |
敬重(某人或某事物),崇敬( venerate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
337 prospects | |
n.希望,前途(恒为复数) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
338 mediocre | |
adj.平常的,普通的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
339 dedication | |
n.奉献,献身,致力,题献,献辞 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
340 bourgeois | |
adj./n.追求物质享受的(人);中产阶级分子 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
341 dissuaded | |
劝(某人)勿做某事,劝阻( dissuade的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
342 overtures | |
n.主动的表示,提议;(向某人做出的)友好表示、姿态或提议( overture的名词复数 );(歌剧、芭蕾舞、音乐剧等的)序曲,前奏曲 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
343 atheist | |
n.无神论者 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
344 calumny | |
n.诽谤,污蔑,中伤 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
345 agitator | |
n.鼓动者;搅拌器 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
346 saviour | |
n.拯救者,救星 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
347 maliciously | |
adv.有敌意地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
348 lessened | |
减少的,减弱的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
349 tare | |
n.皮重;v.量皮重 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
350 celebrated | |
adj.有名的,声誉卓著的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
351 ennui | |
n.怠倦,无聊 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
352 calamity | |
n.灾害,祸患,不幸事件 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
353 stature | |
n.(高度)水平,(高度)境界,身高,身材 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
354 enchanted | |
adj. 被施魔法的,陶醉的,入迷的 动词enchant的过去式和过去分词 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
355 regained | |
复得( regain的过去式和过去分词 ); 赢回; 重回; 复至某地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
356 equilibrium | |
n.平衡,均衡,相称,均势,平静 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
357 cosmopolitan | |
adj.世界性的,全世界的,四海为家的,全球的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
358 mechanism | |
n.机械装置;机构,结构 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
359 enunciator | |
n.声明者,宣言者,发音清晰者 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
360 forth | |
adv.向前;向外,往外 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
361 imprint | |
n.印痕,痕迹;深刻的印象;vt.压印,牢记 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
362 millennia | |
n.一千年,千禧年 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
363 brass | |
n.黄铜;黄铜器,铜管乐器 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
364 depreciate | |
v.降价,贬值,折旧 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
365 reigns | |
n.君主的统治( reign的名词复数 );君主统治时期;任期;当政期 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
366 sketched | |
v.草拟(sketch的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
367 dictating | |
v.大声讲或读( dictate的现在分词 );口授;支配;摆布 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
368 contemplates | |
深思,细想,仔细考虑( contemplate的第三人称单数 ); 注视,凝视; 考虑接受(发生某事的可能性); 深思熟虑,沉思,苦思冥想 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
369 distress | |
n.苦恼,痛苦,不舒适;不幸;vt.使悲痛 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
370 devastated | |
v.彻底破坏( devastate的过去式和过去分词);摧毁;毁灭;在感情上(精神上、财务上等)压垮adj.毁坏的;极为震惊的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
371 descends | |
v.下来( descend的第三人称单数 );下去;下降;下斜 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
372 animates | |
v.使有生气( animate的第三人称单数 );驱动;使栩栩如生地动作;赋予…以生命 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
373 stifle | |
vt.使窒息;闷死;扼杀;抑止,阻止 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
374 murmurs | |
n.低沉、连续而不清的声音( murmur的名词复数 );低语声;怨言;嘀咕 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
375 lauds | |
v.称赞,赞美( laud的第三人称单数 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
376 triumphant | |
adj.胜利的,成功的;狂欢的,喜悦的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
377 noted | |
adj.著名的,知名的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
378 disorder | |
n.紊乱,混乱;骚动,骚乱;疾病,失调 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
379 absurdity | |
n.荒谬,愚蠢;谬论 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
380 supplication | |
n.恳求,祈愿,哀求 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
381 degenerate | |
v.退步,堕落;adj.退步的,堕落的;n.堕落者 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
382 justifiable | |
adj.有理由的,无可非议的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
383 multiplication | |
n.增加,增多,倍增;增殖,繁殖;乘法 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
384 transformation | |
n.变化;改造;转变 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
385 simplicity | |
n.简单,简易;朴素;直率,单纯 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
386 ordinance | |
n.法令;条令;条例 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
387 interrogates | |
n.询问( interrogate的名词复数 );审问;(在计算机或其他机器上)查询v.询问( interrogate的第三人称单数 );审问;(在计算机或其他机器上)查询 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
388 platonic | |
adj.精神的;柏拉图(哲学)的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
389 constrained | |
adj.束缚的,节制的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
390 avowal | |
n.公开宣称,坦白承认 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
391 debris | |
n.瓦砾堆,废墟,碎片 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
392 retired | |
adj.隐退的,退休的,退役的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
393 exhorts | |
n.劝勉者,告诫者,提倡者( exhort的名词复数 )v.劝告,劝说( exhort的第三人称单数 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
394 nascent | |
adj.初生的,发生中的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
395 woe | |
n.悲哀,苦痛,不幸,困难;int.用来表达悲伤或惊慌 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
396 quailed | |
害怕,发抖,畏缩( quail的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
397 subtlety | |
n.微妙,敏锐,精巧;微妙之处,细微的区别 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
398 vowels | |
n.元音,元音字母( vowel的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
399 refreshment | |
n.恢复,精神爽快,提神之事物;(复数)refreshments:点心,茶点 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
400 passionate | |
adj.热情的,热烈的,激昂的,易动情的,易怒的,性情暴躁的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
401 exigencies | |
n.急切需要 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
402 prostrates | |
v.使俯伏,使拜倒( prostrate的第三人称单数 );(指疾病、天气等)使某人无能为力 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
403 labyrinth | |
n.迷宫;难解的事物;迷路 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
404 gracefulness | |
参考例句: |
|
|
405 mosses | |
n. 藓类, 苔藓植物 名词moss的复数形式 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
406 isolating | |
adj.孤立的,绝缘的v.使隔离( isolate的现在分词 );将…剔出(以便看清和单独处理);使(某物质、细胞等)分离;使离析 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
407 annotating | |
v.注解,注释( annotate的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
408 materialism | |
n.[哲]唯物主义,唯物论;物质至上 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
409 analogous | |
adj.相似的;类似的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
410 interpretation | |
n.解释,说明,描述;艺术处理 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
411 approbation | |
n.称赞;认可 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
412 purely | |
adv.纯粹地,完全地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
413 judgments | |
判断( judgment的名词复数 ); 鉴定; 评价; 审判 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
414 disapprove | |
v.不赞成,不同意,不批准 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
415 apotheosis | |
n.神圣之理想;美化;颂扬 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
416 acquit | |
vt.宣判无罪;(oneself)使(自己)表现出 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
417 revered | |
v.崇敬,尊崇,敬畏( revere的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
418 ingratitude | |
n.忘恩负义 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
419 thoroughly | |
adv.完全地,彻底地,十足地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
420 illuminated | |
adj.被照明的;受启迪的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
421 adolescence | |
n.青春期,青少年 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
422 exalted | |
adj.(地位等)高的,崇高的;尊贵的,高尚的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
423 renounce | |
v.放弃;拒绝承认,宣布与…断绝关系 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
424 promising | |
adj.有希望的,有前途的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
425 prudently | |
adv. 谨慎地,慎重地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
426 binding | |
有约束力的,有效的,应遵守的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
427 cloister | |
n.修道院;v.隐退,使与世隔绝 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
428 colonists | |
n.殖民地开拓者,移民,殖民地居民( colonist的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
429 inscribed | |
v.写,刻( inscribe的过去式和过去分词 );内接 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
430 dominion | |
n.统治,管辖,支配权;领土,版图 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
431 pompous | |
adj.傲慢的,自大的;夸大的;豪华的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
432 resounded | |
v.(指声音等)回荡于某处( resound的过去式和过去分词 );产生回响;(指某处)回荡着声音 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
433 improvising | |
即兴创作(improvise的现在分词形式) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
434 extravagant | |
adj.奢侈的;过分的;(言行等)放肆的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
435 lyrics | |
n.歌词 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
436 skull | |
n.头骨;颅骨 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
437 stanzas | |
节,段( stanza的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
438 invalids | |
病人,残疾者( invalid的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
439 promptly | |
adv.及时地,敏捷地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
440 curiously | |
adv.有求知欲地;好问地;奇特地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
441 rouge | |
n.胭脂,口红唇膏;v.(在…上)擦口红 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
442 courteously | |
adv.有礼貌地,亲切地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
443 withhold | |
v.拒绝,不给;使停止,阻挡 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
444 deliberately | |
adv.审慎地;蓄意地;故意地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
445 nonplussed | |
adj.不知所措的,陷于窘境的v.使迷惑( nonplus的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
446 prudence | |
n.谨慎,精明,节俭 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
447 horrified | |
a.(表现出)恐惧的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
448 positively | |
adv.明确地,断然,坚决地;实在,确实 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
449 villas | |
别墅,公馆( villa的名词复数 ); (城郊)住宅 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
450 incumbent | |
adj.成为责任的,有义务的;现任的,在职的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
451 vowing | |
起誓,发誓(vow的现在分词形式) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
452 impersonal | |
adj.无个人感情的,与个人无关的,非人称的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
453 exasperated | |
adj.恼怒的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
454 intentionally | |
ad.故意地,有意地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
455 encyclopedia | |
n.百科全书 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
456 adversary | |
adj.敌手,对手 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
457 quack | |
n.庸医;江湖医生;冒充内行的人;骗子 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
458 seducer | |
n.诱惑者,骗子,玩弄女性的人 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
459 utterly | |
adv.完全地,绝对地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
460 promenade | |
n./v.散步 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
461 gambol | |
v.欢呼,雀跃 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
462 capers | |
n.开玩笑( caper的名词复数 );刺山柑v.跳跃,雀跃( caper的第三人称单数 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
463 confinement | |
n.幽禁,拘留,监禁;分娩;限制,局限 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
464 perturbed | |
adj.烦燥不安的v.使(某人)烦恼,不安( perturb的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
465 illustrates | |
给…加插图( illustrate的第三人称单数 ); 说明; 表明; (用示例、图画等)说明 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
466 deception | |
n.欺骗,欺诈;骗局,诡计 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
467 abasement | |
n.滥用 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
468 distinguished | |
adj.卓越的,杰出的,著名的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
469 morbid | |
adj.病的;致病的;病态的;可怕的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
470 ascends | |
v.上升,攀登( ascend的第三人称单数 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
471 posture | |
n.姿势,姿态,心态,态度;v.作出某种姿势 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
472 isles | |
岛( isle的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
473 gorges | |
n.山峡,峡谷( gorge的名词复数 );咽喉v.(用食物把自己)塞饱,填饱( gorge的第三人称单数 );作呕 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
474 precipitate | |
adj.突如其来的;vt.使突然发生;n.沉淀物 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
475 benediction | |
n.祝福;恩赐 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
476 contented | |
adj.满意的,安心的,知足的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
477 dignified | |
a.可敬的,高贵的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
478 deplore | |
vt.哀叹,对...深感遗憾 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
479 fathomed | |
理解…的真意( fathom的过去式和过去分词 ); 彻底了解; 弄清真相 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
欢迎访问英文小说网 |