“What a career I could make if I chose!” he thought—“What wealth I could amass,—what position! I who know how to quell16 the wildest waves of the sea,—I who, by means of a few drops of liquid, can corrode17 a name or a device so deeply on stone that centuries shall not efface18 it—I who can do so many things that would astonish the vulgar and make them my slaves,—why am I content to live as I do, when I could be greater than a crowned king? Why, because I scorn to trick the ignorant by scientific skill which I have neither the time nor the patience to explain to them—and again—because I want to fathom19 the Impossible;—I want to prove if indeed there is any Impossible. What can be done and proved, when once it is done and proved, I regard as nothing,—and because I know how to smooth the sea, call down the rain, and evoke20 phantoms21 out of the atmosphere, I think such manifestations22 of power trifling23 and inadequate24. These things are all provable; and the performance of them is attained25 through a familiar knowledge of our own earth elements and atmosphere, but to find out the subtle Something that is not of earth, and has not yet been made provable,—that is the aim of my ambition. The Soul! What is it? Of what ethereal composition? of what likeness26? of what feeling? of what capacity? This, and this alone, is the Supreme27 Mystery,—when once we understand it, we shall understand God. The preachers waste their time in urging men and women to save their souls, so long as we remain in total ignorance as to what the Soul is. We cannot be expected to take any trouble to “save” or even regard anything so vague and dubious28 as the Soul under its present conditions. What is visible and provable to our eyes is that our friends die, and, to all intents and purposes, disappear. We never know them as they were any more, ... and, ... what is still more horrible to think of, but is nevertheless true,—our natural tendency is to forget them,—indeed, after three or four years, perhaps less, we should find it difficult, without the aid of a photograph or painted picture, to recall their faces to our memories. And it is curious to think of it, but we really remember their ways, their conversation, and their notions of life better than their actual physiognomies. All this is very strange and very perplexing too,—and it is difficult to imagine the reason for such perpetual tearing down of affections, and such bitter loss and harassment29, unless there is some great Intention behind it all,—an Intention of which it is arranged we shall be made duly cognisant. If we are not to be made cognisant,—if we are not to have a full and perfect Explanation,—then the very fact of Life being lived at all is a mere30 cruelty,—a senseless jest which lacks all point,—and the very grandeur31 and immensity of the Universe becomes nothing but the meanest display of gigantic Force remorselessly put forth32 to overwhelm creatures who have no power to offer resistance to its huge tyranny. If I could but fathom that ultimate purpose of things!—if I could but seize the subtle clue—for I believe it is something very slight and delicate which by its very fineness we have missed,—something which has to do with the Eternal Infinitesimal—that marvellous power which creates animated33 and regularly organised beings, many thousands of whose bodies laid together would not extend one inch. It is not to the Infinitely34 Great one must look for the secret of creation, but to the Infinitely Little.”
So he mused35, as he sat by the couch of Lilith and watched her sleeping that enchanted36 sleep of death-in-life. Old Zaroba, though now perfectly passive and obedient, and fulfilling all his commands with scrupulous37 exactitude, was not without her own ideas and hopes as she went about her various duties connected with the care of the beautiful tranced girl. She seldom spoke38 to Féraz now except on ordinary household matters, and he understood and silently respected her reserve. She would sit in her accustomed corner of Lilith’s regal apartment, weaving her thread-work mechanically, but ever and anon lifting her burning eyes to look at El-Râmi’s absorbed face and note the varied39 expressions she saw, or fancied she saw there.
“The feverish40 trouble has begun”—she muttered to herself on one occasion, as she heard her master sigh deeply—“The stir in the blood,—the restlessness—the wonder—the desire. And out of heart’s pain comes heart’s peace;—and out of desire, accomplishment41; and shall not the old gods of the world rejoice to see love born again of flames and tears and bitter-sweet as in the ancient days? For there is no love now such as there used to be—the pale Christ has killed it,—and the red rose aglow42 with colour and scent43 is now but a dull weed on a tame shore, washed by the salt sea, but never warmed by the sun. In the days of old, in the nights when Ashtaroth was queen of the silver hours, the youths and maidens44 knew what it was to love in the very breath of Love!—and the magic of all Nature, the music of the woods and waters, the fire of the stars, the odours of the flowers—all these were in the dance and beat of the young blood, and in the touch of the soft red lips as they met and clung together in kisses sweeter than honey in wine. But now—now the world has grown old and cold, and dreary45 and joyless,—it is winter among men and the summer is past.”
So she would murmur46 to herself in her wild half-poetical jargon47 of language—her voice never rising above an inarticulate whisper. El-Râmi never heard her or seemed to regard her—he had no eyes except for the drowsing Lilith.
If he had been asked, at this particular time, why he went to that room day after day, to stare silently at his beautiful “subject” and ponder on everything connected with her, he could not have answered the question. He did not himself know why. Something there was in him, as in every portion of created matter, which remained inexplicable,—something of his own nature which he neither understood nor cared to analyse. He who sought to fathom the last depth of research concerning God and the things divine would have been compelled to own, had he been cross-examined on the matter, that he found it impossible to fathom himself. The clue to his own Ego48 was as desperately49 hard to seize, as curiously50 subtle and elusive51, as the clue to the riddle52 of Creation. He was wont53 to pride himself on his consistency—yet in his heart of hearts he knew that in many things he was inconsistent,—he justly triumphed in his herculean Will-force,—yet now he was obliged to admit to himself that there was something in the silent placid54 aspect of Lilith as she lay before him, subservient55 to his command, that quite unnerved him and scattered56 his thoughts. It had not used to be so—but now,—it was so. And he dated the change, whether rightly or wrongly, from the day on which the monk57 from Cyprus had visited him, and this thought made him restless and irritable58, and full of unjust and unreasonable59 suspicions. For had not the “Master,” as he was known in the community to which he belonged, said that he had seen the Soul of Lilith, while he, El-Râmi, had never attained to so beatific60 an altitude of vision? Then was it not possible that, notwithstanding his rectitude and steadfastness61 of purpose, the “Master,” great and Christ-like in self-denial though he was, might influence Lilith in some unforeseen way? Then there was Féraz—Féraz, whose supplications and protestations had won a smile from the tranced girl, and who therefore must assuredly have roused in her some faint pleasure and interest. Such thoughts as these rankled62 in his mind and gave him no peace—for they conveyed to him the unpleasing idea that Lilith was not all his own as he desired her to be,—others had a share in her thoughts. Could he have nothing entirely63 to himself? he would demand angrily of his own inner consciousness—not even this life which he had, as it were, robbed from death? And an idea, which had at first been the merest dim suggestion, now deepened into a passionate64 resolve—he would make her his own so thoroughly65 and indissolubly that neither gods nor devils should snatch her from him.
“Her life is mine!” he said—“And she shall live as long as I please. Her body shall sleep, ... if I still choose, ... or ... it shall wake. But whether awake, or sleeping in the flesh, her spirit shall obey me always—like the satellite of a planet, that disembodied Soul shall be mine for ever!”
When he spoke thus to himself, he was sitting in his usual contemplative attitude by the couch where Lilith lay;—he rose up suddenly and paced the room, drawing back the velvet66 portière and setting open the door of the ante-chamber as though he craved67 for fresh air. Music sounded through the house, ... it was Féraz singing. His full pure tenor68 voice came floating up, bearing with it the words he sang:
“And neither the angels in heaven above,
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee!
“For the stars never rise, but I feel the bright eyes
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee,—
And the moon never beams without bringing me dreams
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee—
And so all the night-tide I lie down by the side
Of my darling, my darling, my life and my bride,
In her tomb by the sounding sea!”
With a shaking hand El-Râmi shut the door more swiftly than he had opened it, and dragged the heavy portière across it to deaden the sound of that song!—to keep it out from his ears ... from his heart, ... to stop its passionate vibration70 from throbbing71 along his nerves like creeping fire. ...
“And so all the night-tide I lie down by the side
Of my darling, my darling, my life and my bride.” ...
“God!—my God!” he muttered incoherently—“What ails72 me? ... Am I going mad that I should dream thus?”
He gazed round the room wildly, his hand still clutching the velvet portière,—and met the keenly watchful73 glance of Zaroba. Her hands were mechanically busy with her thread-work,—but her eyes, black, piercing and brilliant, were fixed74 on him steadfastly75. Something in her look compelled his attention,—something in his compelled hers. They stared across the room at each other, as though a Thought had sprung between them like an armed soldier with drawn76 sword, demanding from each the pass-word to a mystery. In and out, across and across went the filmy glistening77 threads in Zaroba’s wrinkled hands, but her eyes never moved from El-Râmi’s face, and she looked like some weird78 sorceress weaving a web of destiny.
“For you were the days of Ashtaroth!” she said in a low, monotonous79, yet curiously thrilling tone—“You are born too late, El-Râmi,—the youth of the world has departed and the summer seasons of the heart are known on earth no more. You are born too late—too late!—the Christ claims all,—the body, the blood, the nerve and the spirit,—every muscle of His white limbs on the cross must be atoned80 for by the dire81 penance82 and torture of centuries of men. So that now even love is a thorn in the flesh and its prick83 must be paid with a price,—these are the hours of woe84 preceding the end. The blood that runs in your veins85, El-Râmi, has sprung from kings and strong rulers of men,—and the pale faint spirits of this dull day have naught86 to do with its colour and glow. And it rebels, O El-Râmi!—as God liveth, it rebels!—it burns in your heart—the proud, strong heart,—like ruddy wine in a ruby87 cup; it rebels, El-Râmi!—it rises to passion as rise the waves of the sea to the moon, by a force and an impulse in Nature stronger than yours! Ay, ay!—for you were the days of Ashtaroth”—and her voice sank into a wailing88 murmur—“but now—now—the Christ claims all.”
He heard her as one may hear incoherencies in a nightmare vision;—only a few weeks ago he would have been angry with her for what he would then have termed her foolish jargon,—but he was not angry now. Why should he be angry? he wondered dully—had he time to even think of anger while thus unnerved by that keen tremor89 that quivered through his frame—a tremor he strove in vain to calm? His hand fell from the curtain,—the sweet distracting song of Poe’s “Annabel Lee” had ceased,—and he advanced into the room again, his heart beating painfully still, his head a little drooped90 as though with a sense of conscious shame. He moved slowly to where the roses in the Venetian vase exhaled91 their odours on the air, and breaking one off its branch toyed with it aimlessly, letting its pale pink leaves flutter down one by one on the violet carpet at his feet. Suddenly, as though he had resolved a doubt and made up his mind to something, he turned towards Zaroba, who watched him fixedly,—and with a mute signal bade her leave the apartment. She rose instantly, and crossing her hands upon her breast made her customary obeisance92 and waited,—for he looked at her with a meditative93 expression which implied that he had not yet completed his instructions. Presently, and with some hesitation94, he made her another sign—a sign which had the effect of awakening95 a blaze of astonishment96 in her dark sunken eyes.
“No more to-night!” she repeated aloud—“It is your will that I return here no more to-night?”
Zaroba paused an instant, and then with a swift noiseless step went to the couch of Lilith and bent98 yearningly99 above that exquisite100 sleeping form.
“Star of my heart!” she muttered—“Child whose outward fairness I have ever loved, unheedful of the soul within,—may there still be strength enough left in the old gods to bid thee wake!”
El-Râmi caught her words, and a faint smile, proud yet bitter, curved his delicate lips.
“The old gods or the new—does it matter which?” he mused vaguely101.—“And what is their strength compared with the Will of Man by which the very elements are conquered and made the slaves of his service? ‘My Will is God’s Will’ should be every strong man’s motto. But I—am I strong—or the weakest of the weak? ... and ... shall the Christ claim all?”
The soft fall of the velvet portière startled him as it dropped behind the retreating figure of Zaroba—she had left the room, and he was alone,—alone with Lilith.
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收听单词发音
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1
abstruse
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| adj.深奥的，难解的 | |
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ardently
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| adv.热心地，热烈地 | |
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reposed
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| v.将（手臂等）靠在某人（某物）上( repose的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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4
eternity
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| n.不朽，来世；永恒，无穷 | |
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conversant
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| adj.亲近的，有交情的，熟悉的 | |
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concise
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| adj.简洁的，简明的 | |
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versed
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| adj. 精通，熟练 | |
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pertain
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| v.(to)附属，从属；关于；有关；适合，相称 | |
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remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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epitome
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| n.典型，梗概 | |
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deity
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| n.神，神性；被奉若神明的人(或物) | |
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12
jumble
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| vt.使混乱，混杂；n.混乱；杂乱的一堆 | |
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rebellious
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| adj.造反的，反抗的，难控制的 | |
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14
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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15
miraculous
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| adj.像奇迹一样的，不可思议的 | |
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16
quell
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| v.压制，平息，减轻 | |
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17
corrode
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| v.使腐蚀，侵蚀，破害；v.腐蚀，被侵蚀 | |
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18
efface
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| v.擦掉，抹去 | |
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fathom
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| v.领悟，彻底了解 | |
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20
evoke
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| vt.唤起，引起，使人想起 | |
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21
phantoms
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| n.鬼怪，幽灵( phantom的名词复数 ) | |
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22
manifestations
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| n.表示，显示（manifestation的复数形式） | |
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trifling
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| adj.微不足道的；没什么价值的 | |
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24
inadequate
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| adj.(for,to)不充足的，不适当的 | |
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attained
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| （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） | |
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26
likeness
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| n.相像，相似（之处） | |
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27
supreme
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| adj.极度的，最重要的；至高的，最高的 | |
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28
dubious
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| adj.怀疑的，无把握的；有问题的，靠不住的 | |
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29
harassment
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| n.骚扰，扰乱，烦恼，烦乱 | |
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30
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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31
grandeur
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| n.伟大，崇高，宏伟，庄严，豪华 | |
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32
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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33
animated
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| adj.生气勃勃的，活跃的，愉快的 | |
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infinitely
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| adv.无限地，无穷地 | |
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35
mused
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| v.沉思，冥想( muse的过去式和过去分词 )；沉思自语说（某事） | |
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36
enchanted
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| adj. 被施魔法的，陶醉的，入迷的 动词enchant的过去式和过去分词 | |
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37
scrupulous
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| adj.审慎的，小心翼翼的，完全的，纯粹的 | |
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38
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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39
varied
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| adj.多样的，多变化的 | |
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40
feverish
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| adj.发烧的，狂热的，兴奋的 | |
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41
accomplishment
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| n.完成，成就，（pl.）造诣，技能 | |
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42
aglow
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| adj.发亮的；发红的；adv.发亮地 | |
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43
scent
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| n.气味，香味，香水，线索，嗅觉；v.嗅，发觉 | |
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44
maidens
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| 处女( maiden的名词复数 )； 少女； 未婚女子； （板球运动）未得分的一轮投球 | |
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45
dreary
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| adj.令人沮丧的，沉闷的，单调乏味的 | |
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46
murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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47
jargon
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| n.术语，行话 | |
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48
ego
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| n.自我，自己，自尊 | |
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49
desperately
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| adv.极度渴望地，绝望地，孤注一掷地 | |
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50
curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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51
elusive
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| adj.难以表达(捉摸)的；令人困惑的；逃避的 | |
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52
riddle
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| n.谜，谜语，粗筛；vt.解谜，给…出谜，筛，检查，鉴定，非难，充满于；vi.出谜 | |
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53
wont
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| adj.习惯于；v.习惯；n.习惯 | |
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54
placid
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| adj.安静的，平和的 | |
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55
subservient
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| adj.卑屈的，阿谀的 | |
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56
scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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57
monk
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| n.和尚，僧侣，修道士 | |
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58
irritable
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| adj.急躁的；过敏的；易怒的 | |
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59
unreasonable
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| adj.不讲道理的，不合情理的，过度的 | |
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60
beatific
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| adj.快乐的，有福的 | |
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61
steadfastness
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| n.坚定，稳当 | |
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rankled
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| v.（使）痛苦不已，（使）怨恨不已( rankle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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64
passionate
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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66
velvet
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| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
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67
craved
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| 渴望，热望( crave的过去式 )； 恳求，请求 | |
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68
tenor
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| n.男高音（歌手），次中音（乐器），要旨，大意 | |
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69
demons
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| n.恶人( demon的名词复数 )；恶魔；精力过人的人；邪念 | |
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70
vibration
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| n.颤动，振动；摆动 | |
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71
throbbing
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| a. 跳动的,悸动的 | |
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72
ails
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| v.生病( ail的第三人称单数 )；感到不舒服；处境困难；境况不佳 | |
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73
watchful
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| adj.注意的，警惕的 | |
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74
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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75
steadfastly
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| adv.踏实地，不变地；岿然；坚定不渝 | |
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76
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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glistening
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| adj.闪耀的，反光的v.湿物闪耀，闪亮( glisten的现在分词 ) | |
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weird
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| adj.古怪的，离奇的；怪诞的，神秘而可怕的 | |
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monotonous
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| adj.单调的，一成不变的，使人厌倦的 | |
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80
atoned
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| v.补偿，赎（罪）( atone的过去式和过去分词 )；补偿，弥补，赎回 | |
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dire
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| adj.可怕的，悲惨的，阴惨的，极端的 | |
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82
penance
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| n.（赎罪的）惩罪 | |
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prick
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| v.刺伤，刺痛，刺孔；n.刺伤，刺痛 | |
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84
woe
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| n.悲哀，苦痛，不幸，困难；int.用来表达悲伤或惊慌 | |
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veins
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| n.纹理；矿脉( vein的名词复数 )；静脉；叶脉；纹理 | |
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86
naught
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| n.无，零 [=nought] | |
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87
ruby
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| n.红宝石，红宝石色 | |
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88
wailing
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| v.哭叫，哀号( wail的现在分词 )；沱 | |
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89
tremor
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| n.震动，颤动，战栗，兴奋，地震 | |
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drooped
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| 弯曲或下垂，发蔫( droop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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exhaled
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| v.呼出，发散出( exhale的过去式和过去分词 )；吐出（肺中的空气、烟等），呼气 | |
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obeisance
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| n.鞠躬，敬礼 | |
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meditative
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| adj.沉思的，冥想的 | |
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hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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95
awakening
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| n.觉醒，醒悟 adj.觉醒中的；唤醒的 | |
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astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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98
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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99
yearningly
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| 怀念地，思慕地，同情地； 渴 | |
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100
exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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