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Unit 7The MonsterDeems Taylor1He was an undersized little man, with a head too big for his body ― a sickly little man. His nerves were bad. He had skin trouble. It was agony for him to wear anything next to his skin coarser than silk. And he had delusions of grandeur.2He was a monster of conceit. Never for one minute did he look at the world or at people, except in relation to himself. He believed himself to be one of the greatest dramatists in the world, one of the greatest thinkers, and one of the greatest composers. To hear him talk, he was Shakespeare, and Beethoven, and Plato, rolled into one. He was one of the most exhausting conversationalists that ever lived.Sometimes he was brilliant; sometimes he was maddeningly tiresome. But whether he was being brilliant or dull, he had one sole topic of conversation: himself. What he thought and what he did.3He had a mania for being in the right. The slightest hint of disagreement, from anyone, on the most trivial point, was enough to set him off on a harangue that might last for hours, in which he proved himself right in so many ways, and with such exhausting volubility, that in the end his hearer, stunned and deafened, would agree with him, for the sake of peace.4It never occurred to him that he and his doing were not of the most intense and fascinating interest to anyone with whom he came in contact. He had theories about almost any subject under the sun, including vegetarianism, the drama, politics, and music; and in support of these theories he wrote pamphlets, letters, books ...thousands upon thousands of words, hundreds and hundreds of pages. He not only wrote these things, and published them ― usually at somebody else’s expense ― but he would sit and read them aloud, for hours, to his friends, and his family.5He had the emotional stability of a six-year-old child. When he felt out of sorts, he would rave and stamp, or sink into suicidal gloom and talk darkly of going to the East to end his days as a Buddhist monk. Ten minutes later, when something pleased him he would rush out of doors and run around the garden, or jump up and down off the sofa, or stand on his head. He could be grief-stricken over the death ofa pet dog, and could be callous and heartless to a degree that would have made aRoman emperor shudder.6He was almost innocent of any sense of responsibility. He was convinced thatthe world owed him a living. In support of this belief, he borrowed money from everybody who was good for a loan ― men, women, friends, or strange rs. He wrote begging letters by the score, sometimes groveling without shame, at others loftily offering his intended benefactor the privilege of contributing to his support, and being mortally offended if the recipient declined the honor.7What money he could lay his hand on he spent like an Indian rajah. No one will ever know ― certainly he never knows ― how much money he owed. We do know that his greatest benefactor gave him $6,000 to pay the most pressing of his debts in one city, and a year later had to give him $16,000 to enable him to live in another city without being thrown into jail for debt.8He was equally unscrupulous in other ways. An endless procession of women marched through his life. His first wife spent twenty years enduring and forgiving his infidelities. His second wife had been the wife of his most devoted friend and admirer, from whom he stole her. And even while he was trying to persuade her to leave her first husband he was writing to a friend to inquire whether he could suggest some wealthy woman ― any wealthy woman ― whom he could marry for her money.9He had a genius for making enemies. He would insult a man who disagreed with him about the weather. He would pull endless wires in order to meet some man who admired his work and was able and anxious to be of use to him ― and would proceed to make a mortal enemy of him with some idiotic and wholly uncalled-for exhibition of arrogance and bad manners. A character in one of his operas was a caricature of one of the most powerful music critics of his day. Not content with burlesquing him, he invited the critic to his house and read him the libretto aloud in front of his friends.10The name of this monster was Richard Wagner. Everything I have said about him you can find on record ― in newspapers, in police reports, in the testimony of people who knew him, in his own letters, between the lines of his autobiography.And the curious thing about this record is that it doesn’t matter in the least.11Because this undersized, sickly, disagreeable, fascinating little man was right all the time, the joke was on us. He was one of the world’s greatest dramatists; he was a great thinker; he was one of the most stupendous musical geniuses that, up to now, the world has ever seen. The world did owe him a living. What if he did talk about himself all the time? If he talked about himself for twenty-four hours every day for the span of his life he would not have uttered half the number of words that othermen have spoken and written about him since his death.12When you consider what he wrote ― thirteen operas and music dramas, eleven of them still holding the stage, eight of them unquestionably worth ranking among the world’s great musico-dramatic masterpieces ― when you listen to what he wrote, the debts and heartaches that people had to endure from him don’t seem much of a price.13What if he was faithless to his friends and to his wives? He had one mistress to whom he was faithful to the day of his death: Music. Not for a single moment did he ever compromise with what he believed, with what he dreamed. There is not a line of his music that could have been conceived by a little mind. Even when he is dull, or downright bad, he is dull in the grand manner. Listening to his music, one does not forgive him for what he may or may not have been. It is not a matter of forgiveness. It is a matter of being dumb with wonder that his poor brain and body didn’t burst under the torment of the demon of creative energy that lived inside him, struggling, clawing, scratching to be released; tearing, shrieking at him to write the music that was in him. The miracle is that what he did in the little space of seventy years could have been done at all, even by a great genius. Is it any wonder he had no time to be a man?畸人迪姆斯·泰勒1 他是个大头小身体、病怏怏的矬子；成日神经兮兮，皮肤也有毛病。
UNIT 7 THE MONSTERWords and Expressionsundersized:a. smaller than the usual or normal sizeAntonym: oversizede.g.Although he seemed thin and undersized compared with his cousins, he was reallyas hard as nails and didn’t fall ill half as often as th ey did.agony: n. very severe pain; a very sad, difficult, or unpleasant experiencee.g.It was agony not knowing if she would live.He groaned in agony.delusion: n.a false belief or opinionCollocation: under the delusion (that)e.g.That sick man is under the delusion that he is Napoleon.He is under the delusion that I am going to cheat him.delusions of grandeur(妄自尊大): a belief that you are more important than you really arein/with relation to: with/in reference to; concerning; with regard toe.g.It’s best to plan with relation to anticipated changes in one’s earnings.Demand is high in relation to supply.That argument changes nothing with relation to our plans for hiring workers.(all) rolled into one: integrate several things or features into onee.g.She has become his assistant and secretary rolled into one.mania: n. extremely strong enthusiasm for sth., esp. among a lot of people Synonym: craze; fad; obsessione.g.The country has a mania for soccer.She has a mania for driving fast cars.set sb. off: make sb. start to laugh, cry, or talk a lote.g.Your rude behavior set off Mrs. Franklin.My sister was an unpredictable young woman, and I never knew what would set her off.for the sake of sb. / fo r sb.’s sake: for the good or advantage ofe.g.If you won’t do it for your own sake, then do it for mine.Their parents only stayed together for the sake of the children.for the sake of sth. / for sth.’s sake: because of; for the purpose ofe.g. I’ll give up smoking for the sake of health.My art does not try to serve society; it’s just art for art’s sake.at sb.’s expense: with sb. paying the coste.g.He had his book printed at his own expense.We were entertained at the editor’s expense.at the expense of: causing the loss ofe.g.He finished the job at the expense of his health.out of sorts: in a bad temper; feeling unwell or annoyede.g.He was out of sorts because of the weather.by the score: large numbers of, a great manye.g.There are fans by the score waiting for the star at the entrance.grovel: v. show too much respect for sb. or be too willing to obey sb., because you want to please them or you are afraid of themCollocation: grovel at the feet of sb. 拜倒在某人的脚下e.g.The dog grovelled at his feet when he shouted at it.lay/get/put hands on: find, obtaine.g. As soon as I lay hands on the book, I’ll call you.He couldn’t seem to put his hands on last year’s sales figures.pull wires/strings: use one’s influence or authority, usually in secret, in order to bring about a desired result.e.g.He had his uncle pull strings to get him a promotion.If you want to see our boss I can pull strings for you.(read) between the lines: understand the unexpressed but implied meaning of sth. said or writtene.g.Her letter sounded cheerful enough, but I read a certain sadness between the lines.They say that everything’s fine, but reading between the lines I suspect they have some marital problems.hold the stage: be performed; be the center of attentione.g.We had only one hour to discuss the question and Mr. Hones held the stage for most of it.compromise: v. reach an agreement in which everyone involved accepts less than what they wanted at firstCollocation: compromise with sb.e.g.She admitted that she was unable to compromise.His workmates demanded that he never compromise with the bosses.compromise: n.Collocation: reach / arrive at / come to / make a compromisee.g.Both sides have agreed to meet, in the hope of reaching a compromise.Neither of them is willing to make compromises.Cultural background1. List of some common musical instruments1) Stringed Instruments 弦乐器Viola 中提琴Cello 大提琴Guitar 吉他Violin 小提琴Harp 竖琴2) Keyboard Instruments键盘乐器Piano 钢琴Pipe organ 管风琴3) Percussion Instruments打击乐器Triangle 三角铁Drum 大鼓Cymbal 钹Gong 锣Tambourine 铃鼓Xylophone 木琴Dulcimer 扬琴Chimes/Tubular bell 管钟4) Wind Instrument 管乐器；吹奏乐器①Brass Instruments 铜管乐器French horn 法国号Bugle 单号/军乐号Cornet 短号Trumpet 小号②Woodwind Instruments木管乐器Clarinet 单簧管Bassoon 低音管/巴松管Flute 长笛Oboe 双簧管Saxophone 萨克斯Accordion 手风琴harmonica 口琴2. List of some musical termsThis is a list of musical terms that are likely to be encountered in printed scores, music reviews, and program notes.cycle套曲: a set of songs intended to be performed as a groupsuite组曲: an instrumental piece consisting of several shorter piecessonata奏鸣曲: a piece of music for one instrument or for one instrument and piano, usually divided into three or four partssymphony交响曲: an elaborate musical composition for full orchestra, typically in four movements, at least one of which is traditionally in sonata formconcerto协奏曲: a musical composition for a solo instrument or instruments accompanied by an orchestra, especially one conceived on a relatively large scale overture序曲: an orchestral piece at the beginning of an opera, suite, play, oratorio, or other extended compositionprelude前奏曲: an introductory piece of music, most commonly an orchestral opening to an act of an opera, the first movement of a suite, or a piece preceding a fugue impromptu即兴曲: a short piece of instrumental music, especially a solo, that is reminiscent of an improvisationaccompaniment伴奏: the part of a piece of music that supports the tune or someone singingsolo独奏；独唱: a piece of vocal or instrumental music or a dance, or a part or passage in one, for one performerensemble重奏；重唱: a group of musicians, dancers, or actors who perform together chamber music室内乐: music for a small ensemble of instruments, intended for performance in a room or chamber, as opposed to a church or larger buildingduet二重奏: a piece of music written for two performers. On the piano such a piece would involve two players on one instrument.trio三重奏: a composition designed for three players or the name of a group of three playersquartet四重奏: a composition for four players or the name for a group of four players。
Unit 4 When we abuse animals, we debase ourselves人类虐待动物就是在贬损自己Moving a cow by chaining it to a tractor and dragging it by its leg says a lot about how we perceive and value animals. When the Humane Society video that showed this and other brutal slaughterhouse treatment made the rounds on the Internet a few weeks ago, it caused public shock and led to a federal investigation. But there's a deeper lesson that all of us – whether or not we eat meat – need to take to heart: we degrade ourselves when we degrade animals.将一头牛锁在一辆拖拉机上然后拖动很好地表明了我们对动物的看法和感受。
当人道协会的这个展现了这样场面等其它屠宰场里残忍对待的录像片在数周前网上散布后它引起了公众的震惊，导致联邦政府开展调查。
但是对我们所有人来说这还是一个更为深刻的教训--不论我们是否吃肉--应该铭刻在心中：在贬低动物的同时我们在贬低自己。
Much as bullies demoralize themselves when they dominate or ride roughshod over those who are meek, vulnerable, or defenseless, it should be obvious that human beings are the ones demoralized by the commission of inhumane acts.正如那些欺负者们当控制那些温顺、脆弱或没有抵抗力的人们或骑在他们头上是在将自己的道德败坏一样去进行那些残忍的虐待动物的活动中人类的道德也被这种非人道的行为所败坏。
7A1|返朴归真| 琳达·韦尔特纳“我们讨论的是简化生活，而不是物质匮乏，”我的朋友萨拉解释说，“绝对不是你不可以做你喜欢的那些事情，而是你在改变，不再喜欢同样的事情罢了。
一些旧的习惯看上去是那样的浪费又不能令人满意，你真的对它们失去了兴趣。
所以你仍然拥有你需要的每一件东西——只不过不需要花那么多的钱罢了。
”2当我第一次遇见他们时，萨拉和迈克尔夫妇双双从业，拥有自己的住宅和用一大笔贷款购置的一条大船。
随着女儿的出世而他们又想亲自抚养她，他们开始对“自愿简朴”的理念产生了兴趣。
他们俩谁都不愿意把他们视为生活中最重要的部分仅仅局限于上班前的一小段时间和下班后已疲惫不堪的那几个小时。
3“许多人认为，因为有了孩子而且东西越来越贵，唯一的办法就是更加努力地工作以便挣更多的钱。
其实这并不是唯一的办法，”迈克尔坚持说。
4这对夫妻的决定是把两份全职工作业换成两份半日工作，并且削减消费。
他们决定只把钱花在有助于实现他们的主要目标的东西上：构建一个把家庭和友谊、工作和娱乐融为一体的生活天地，而且还是一个不浪费地球资源的生活天地。
5现在他们还在原来的那个近郊社区，住在一幢自己设计的、漂亮而节能的房子里。
按许多标准来看，房子虽然小了点，却容易清扫、布置、维修和供暖。
一层是个大房间，厨房靠墙，摆着一张桦木餐桌和吃饭用的几把椅子；一张舒适的长沙发和一个柴炉就把日常起居的范围圈定了；角落是工作区。
楼上是他们的卧室、一个萨拉和迈克尔共用的办公室和一间浴室。
整幢房子明亮简洁，同周围环境十分和谐。
很快，前门外还要建一个太阳能温室。
6一对只有兼职工作的夫妻怎么会有钱建造自己的房子、拥有一辆汽车并同另一对夫妻共享一艘小船，而且所有这一切都不曾贷款呢？他们如何能够维持足以提供他们想要的“一切”的那样一种高生活水平呢？他们放弃的而且不再怀念是哪些东西呢？7首先，他们放弃了乱七八糟的昂贵东西：（浴室）药柜里满满的从来不用的化妆品和在柜台上随时可以买到的药品；堆放在厨房壁柜里的最终只会丢弃的各种东西。
Unit 7 The MonsterKey to the ExercisesText comprehensionI. Decide which of the following best states the author's purpose of writing.CII. Judge, according to the text, whether the following statements are true or false.1. T (Refer to Paragraphs 2?.)2. F (Refer to Paragraph 5, which suggests he was emotionally unstable.)3. F (Refer to Paragraph 7, which states he was responsible for large sums of debt.)4. T (Refer to Paragraph 8. A lot of women came into his life as a result of his pursuit, and were abandoned by him in the end.)5. T (Refer to Paragraph 12.)III. A nswer the following questions.1. Refer to Paragraph 1. He had a short stature with a disproportionately large head. And he had skin diseases.2. Refer to Paragraph 2. He believed he was one of the greatest men in the world, a great composer, a great thinker and a great dramatist combined into one. A man of such arrogance cannot help but take himself to be the center of conversations.3. Refer to Paragraph 3. If anyone showed slight disagreement with him, he would make a lengthy and aggressive speech for hours to prove himself to be in the right. This would force his dazed and deafened hearer to surrender.4. Refer to Paragraph5. He was emotionally capricious like a child. Rapture in him could easily turn into extreme melancholy. He was heartless and callous to a frightening degree on some occasions. Moreover, his emotional states always found outward expression.5. Refer to Paragraphs 11 and 12. The author says that Wagner was among the greatest dramatists, the greatest thinkers and the most tremendous musical geniuses in our world. His immortal works far exceeded in value the tortures his arrogance inflicted upon others and the debts he owed.6. Refer to Paragraph 13. The tremendous creative power, which propelled him to produce so many memorable works in his lifetime, could have crushed his poor brain and body. However, he miraculously survived and made all the immortal accomplishments. In this sense he was a monster rather than a human being.IV. Explain in your own words the following sentences.1. He almost had no sense of responsibility.2. He wrote large numbers of letters begging for money. In some letters he was servile without shame, and in other letters he loftily offered his targeted benefactor the privilege of contributing to his support. If the recipient refused to accept his offer, i.e. refused to lend him money, he would fly into a rage.3. He would use his influence on as many people as possible in order to meet some admirer of his who was only too glad to offer him his help.4. Since Wagner was driven by such tremendous forces, it is no surprise that he didn't behave like a normal human being.Structural analysis of the textIn the first 10 paragraphs, we can find the following words and expressions used to describe Richard Wagner as a monster of conceit: delusions of grandeur / a monster of conceit / believed himself to be one of the greatest dramatists in the world, one of the greatest thinkers, and one of the greatest composers / the most exhausting conversationalist / proved himself right in so many ways / had theories about almost any subject under the sun / almost innocent of any sense of responsibility / an endless procession of women.In the remaining paragraphs, we can find the following words and expressions used to describe him as a great genius: right all the time / one of the world's greatest dramatists / a great thinker / one of the most stupendous musical geniuses / owe him a living.Rhetorical features of the textThe repetitive use of the third person pronoun he creates suspense in the reader's mind. This is one of the effective ways to hold the reader's attention and make him read on.Vocabulary exercisesI. Explain the underlined part in each sentence in your own words.1. person with extremely excessive self-pride2. with all their talents combined in him3. in a bad temper; unwell or annoyed4. without5. use as much influence of his as possible (from behind the scenes)6. make concessionII. Fill in the blank in each sentence with a phrase from the box in its appropriate form.1. pulled wires2. be content with3. rolled into one4. between the lines of5. sink into6. innocent of7. out of sorts8. lay my hands onIII. Fill in the blanks with the appropriate forms of the given words.1. callousness2. tormentor3. inconceivable4. arrogantly5. gloomy6. tragedy7. delusion 8. loftyIV. Choose the word that can replace the underlined part in each sentence without changing its original meaning.1. A2. B3. C4. A5. C6. B7. A8. DV. Give a synonym or an antonym of the word underlined in each sentence in the sense it is used.1. Antonym: humbleness (modesty)2. Synonym: amazing (stunning, miraculous)3. Synonym: cold-blooded (inhumane, merciless)4. Synonym: void5. Antonym: ethical (moral, principled, scrupulous)6. Synonym: parody (caricature)7. Antonym: exhilaration (bliss, ecstasy)8. Synonym: proudly (self-importantly)VI. Explain the meaning of the underlined part in each sentence.1. company2. controlled3. imprecise4. out of fashion5. immediately6. coverGrammar exercisesI. Complete the following sentences with prepositions.1. at2. on3. to4. at5. from6. of7. in, for, at 8. on, of, of9. over 10. on, under, out ofII. Fill in the blank in each sentence with the choice you think the most appropriate. 1. C 2. A 3. B 4. C5. D6. D7. B8. DIII. R ewrite the following paragraph, using appropriate coordinators so as to make it more concise.Both John and I wanted to go to the movies, but we could not agree on which picture we should go to see. A new picture was showing at the Palace and another at the Globe. Neither John nor I had seen either of these pictures. I wanted to see the one at the Globe, but John didn't.IV. Join the sentences in each group into one without using and, but or so.1. My cousin, John, who has a beautiful tenor voice, is appearing at the Royal Festival Hall, where I am going to meet him after the concert.2. The roller coaster, which made its appearance in 1884, is still one of the most exciting rides in an amusement park.3. As I could not find a British-made ballpoint pen, I bought a French one, which was expensive although it was an extremely simple pen.4. Everybody who is interested in brass rubbings should visit our village church because it contains some beautiful brasses which date from the 14th century.5. Despite free medical treatment being available to everybody in the country, there are still a number of private hospitals, which are mostly patronized by foreign visitors who do not want to wait for a bed in a National Health Service hospital.6. Crochet, which used to be a favourite pastime in Victorian times, is back in fashion because clothes have become so expensive that it is worthwhile to make them.7. Clanging its bell, the empty cable car approaches, swaying as though slightly drunk.8. We arrived by plane from Denver, a 16-minute flight that culminated in a breathtaking touchdown at a tiny airport tucked in among the Rocky Mountains.V. Replace the underlined parts by infinitive phrases.1. The child is lonely; he would be happier if he had someone to play with.2. I have some letters to write.3. He was the first man to leave the burning building.4. The pilot was the only man to survive the crash.5. The last one to leave the room must turn out the lights.6. That is the largest ship to be built.7. My files are all over the place. I wish I had a box to keep them in.8. I don't much care for cooking for myself; if I had a family to cook for I'd be more interested.VI. Make sentences of your own after the sentences given below, keeping the underlined structures in your sentences.(Reference version)1. Work interests him to such a degree that he thinks about nothing else.2. What if they do not come?Translation exercisesI. Translate the following sentences into Chinese.1. 任何人只要有一丝半点的不同意见，即使再微不足道，也足够让他高谈阔论几个钟头，用他那十分累人的雄辩从多方面论证自己是正确的，结果是他的听众听得目瞪口呆，两耳震聋，为了息事宁人，只好顺从他。
Unit 7The MonsterDeems Taylor1He was an undersized little man, with a head too big for his body ―a sickly little man. His nerves were bad. He had skin trouble. It was agony for him to wearanything next to his skin coarser than silk. And he had delusions of grandeur.2He was a monster of conceit. Never for one minute did he look at the world or at people, except in relation to himself. He believed himself to be one of the greatest dramatists in the world, one of the greatest thinkers, and one of the greatest composers. To hear him talk, he was Shakespeare, and Beethoven, and Plato, rolledinto one. He was one of the most exhausting conversationalists that ever lived. Sometimes he was brilliant; sometimes he was maddeningly tiresome. But whetherhe was being brilliant or dull, he had one sole topic of conversation: himself. Whathe thought and what he did.3He had a mania for being in the right. The slightest hint of disagreement, from anyone, on the most trivial point, was enough to set him off on a harangue thatmight last for hours, in which he proved himself right in so many ways, and withsuch exhausting volubility, that in the end his hearer, stunned and deafened, would agree with him, for the sake of peace.4It never occurred to him that he and his doing were not of the most intense and fascinating interest to anyone with whom he came in contact. He had theories about almost any subject under the sun, including vegetarianism, the drama, politics, and music; and in support of these theories he wrote pamphlets, letters, books ... thousands upon thousands of words, hundreds and hundreds of pages. He not only wrote these things, and published them ―usually at somebody else's expense ―but he would sit and read them aloud, for hours, to his friends, and his family.5He had the emotional stability of a six-year-old child. When he felt out of sorts, he would rave and stamp, or sink into suicidal gloom and talk darkly of going to the East to end his days as a Buddhist monk. Ten minutes later, when somethingpleased him he would rush out of doors and run around the garden, or jump up and down off the sofa, or stand on his head. He could be grief-stricken over the death ofa pet dog, and could be callous and heartless to a degree that would have made a Roman emperor shudder.thatwas convinced He responsibility. of sense any of innocent was almost He 6．the world owed him a living. In support of this belief, he borrowed money from everybody who was good for a loan ―men, women, friends, or strangers. He wrote begging letters by the score, sometimes groveling without shame, at others loftilyoffering his intended benefactor the privilege of contributing to his support, andbeing mortally offended if the recipient declined the honor.7What money he could lay his hand on he spent like an Indian rajah. No one will ever know ―certainly he never knows ―how much money he owed. We do know that his greatest benefactor gave him $6,000 to pay the most pressing of his debtsin one city, and a year later had to give him $16,000 to enable him to live in another city without being thrown into jail for debt.8He was equally unscrupulous in other ways. An endless procession of women marched through his life. His first wife spent twenty years enduring and forgivinghis infidelities. His second wife had been the wife of his most devoted friend and admirer, from whom he stole her. And even while he was trying to persuade her to leave her first husband he was writing to a friend to inquire whether he couldsuggest some wealthy woman ―any wealthy woman ―whom he could marry for her money.9He had a genius for making enemies. He would insult a man who disagreed with him about the weather. He would pull endless wires in order to meet some manwho admired his work and was able and anxious to be of use to him ―and would proceed to make a mortal enemy of him with some idiotic and wholly uncalled-for exhibition of arrogance and bad manners. A character in one of his operas was a caricature of one of the most powerful music critics of his day. Not content with burlesquing him, he invited the critic to his house and read him the libretto aloud in front of his friends.10The name of this monster was Richard Wagner. Everything I have said about him you can find on record ―in newspapers, in police reports, in the testimony of people who knew him, in his own letters, between the lines of his autobiography.And the curious thing about this record is that it doesn't matter in the least.11Because this undersized, sickly, disagreeable, fascinating little man was right all the time, the joke was on us. He was one of the world's greatest dramatists; he was a great thinker; he was one of the most stupendous musical geniuses that, up to now,the world has ever seen. The world did owe him a living. What if he did talk about himself all the time? If he talked about himself for twenty-four hours every day forthe span of his life he would not have uttered half the number of words that othermen have spoken and written about him since his death.12When you consider what he wrote ―thirteen operas and music dramas, eleven of them still holding the stage, eight of them unquestionably worth ranking amongthe world's great musico-dramatic masterpieces ―when you listen to what he wrote, the debts and heartaches that people had to endure from him don't seem much of a price.13What if he was faithless to his friends and to his wives? He had one mistress to whom he was faithful to the day of his death: Music. Not for a single moment did he ever compromise with what he believed, with what he dreamed. There is not a lineof his music that could have been conceived by a little mind. Even when he is dull,or downright bad, he is dull in the grand manner. Listening to his music, one doesnot forgive him for what he may or may not have been. It is not a matter offorgiveness. It is a matter of being dumb with wonder that his poor brain and bodydidn't burst under the torment of the demon of creative energy that lived inside him, struggling, clawing, scratching to be released; tearing, shrieking at him to write themusic that was in him. The miracle is that what he did in the little space of seventyyears could have been done at all, even by a great genius. Is it any wonder he had no time to be a man?畸人迪姆斯·泰勒1 他是个大头小身体、病怏怏的矬子；成日神经兮兮，皮肤也有毛病。
DeemsTaylor: The Monste r怪才他身材矮小，头却很大，与他的身材很不相称——是个满脸病容的矮子。
他神经兮兮，有皮肤病，贴身穿比丝绸粗糙一点的任何衣服都会使他痛苦不堪。
而且他还是个夸大妄想狂。
他是个极其自负的怪人。
除非事情与自己有关，否则他从来不屑对世界或世人瞧上一眼。
对他来说，他不仅是世界上最重要的人物，而且在他眼里，他是惟一活在世界上的人。
他认为自己是世界上最伟大的戏剧家之一、最伟大的思想家之一、最伟大的作曲家之一。
听听他的谈话，仿佛他就是集莎士比亚、贝多芬、柏拉图三人于一身。
想要听到他的高论十分容易，他是世上最能使人筋疲力竭的健谈者之一。
同他度过一个夜晚，就是听他一个人滔滔不绝地说上一晚。
有时，他才华横溢；有时，他又令人极其厌烦。
但无论是妙趣横生还是枯燥无味，他的谈话只有一个主题：他自己，他自己的所思所为。
他狂妄地认为自己总是正确的。
任何人在最无足轻重的问题上露出丝毫的异议，都会激得他的强烈谴责。
他可能会一连好几个小时滔滔不绝，千方百计地证明自己如何如何正确。
有了这种使人耗尽心力的雄辩本事，听者最后都被他弄得头昏脑涨，耳朵发聋，为了图个清静，只好同意他的说法。
他从来不会觉得，对于跟他接触的人来说，他和他的所作所为并不是使人产生强烈兴趣而为之倾倒的事情。
他几乎对世间的任何领域都有自己的理论，包括素食主义、戏剧、政治以及音乐。
为了证实这些理论，他写小册子、写信、写书……文字成千上万，连篇累牍。
他不仅写了，还出版了这些东西——所需费用通常由别人支付——而他会坐下来大声读给朋友和家人听，一读就是好几个小时。
他写歌剧，但往往是刚有个故事梗概，他就邀请——或者更确切说是召集——一群朋友到家里，高声念给大家听。
Unit 7The MonsterDeems Taylor1He was an undersized little man, with a head too big for his body ― a sickly little man. His nerves were bad. He had skin trouble. It was agony for him to wear anything next to his skin coarser than silk. And he had delusions of grandeur.2He was a monster of conceit. Never for one minute did he look at the world or at people, except in relation to himself. He believed himself to be one of the greatest dramatists in the world, one of the greatest thinkers, and one of the greatest composers. To hear him talk, he was Shakespeare, and Beethoven, and Plato, rolled into one. He was one of the most exhausting conversationalists that ever lived.Sometimes he was brilliant; sometimes he was maddeningly tiresome. But whether he was being brilliant or dull, he had one sole topic of conversation: himself. What he thought and what he did.3He had a mania for being in the right. The slightest hint of disagreement, from anyone, on the most trivial point, was enough to set him off on a harangue that might last for hours, in which he proved himself right in so many ways, and with such exhausting volubility, that in the end his hearer, stunned and deafened, would agree with him, for the sake of peace.4It never occurred to him that he and his doing were not of the most intense and fascinating interest to anyone with whom he came in contact. He had theories about almost any subject under the sun, including vegetarianism, the drama, politics, and music; and in support of these theories he wrote pamphlets, letters, books ...thousands upon thousands of words, hundreds and hundreds of pages. He not only wrote these things, and published them ― usually at somebody else’s expense ― but he would sit and read them aloud, for hours, to his friends, and his family.5He had the emotional stability of a six-year-old child. When he felt out of sorts, he would rave and stamp, or sink into suicidal gloom and talk darkly of going to the East to end his days as a Buddhist monk. Ten minutes later, when something pleased him he would rush out of doors and run around the garden, or jump up and down off the sofa, or stand on his head. He could be grief-stricken over the death ofa pet dog, and could be callous and heartless to a degree that would have made aRoman emperor shudder.6He was almost innocent of any sense of responsibility. He was convinced thatthe world owed him a living. In support of this belief, he borrowed money from everybody who was good for a loan ― men, women, friends, or strange rs. He wrote begging letters by the score, sometimes groveling without shame, at others loftily offering his intended benefactor the privilege of contributing to his support, and being mortally offended if the recipient declined the honor.7What money he could lay his hand on he spent like an Indian rajah. No one will ever know ― certainly he never knows ― how much money he owed. We do know that his greatest benefactor gave him $6,000 to pay the most pressing of his debts in one city, and a year later had to give him $16,000 to enable him to live in another city without being thrown into jail for debt.8He was equally unscrupulous in other ways. An endless procession of women marched through his life. His first wife spent twenty years enduring and forgiving his infidelities. His second wife had been the wife of his most devoted friend and admirer, from whom he stole her. And even while he was trying to persuade her to leave her first husband he was writing to a friend to inquire whether he could suggest some wealthy woman ― any wealthy woman ― whom he could marry for her money.9He had a genius for making enemies. He would insult a man who disagreed with him about the weather. He would pull endless wires in order to meet some man who admired his work and was able and anxious to be of use to him ― and would proceed to make a mortal enemy of him with some idiotic and wholly uncalled-for exhibition of arrogance and bad manners. A character in one of his operas was a caricature of one of the most powerful music critics of his day. Not content with burlesquing him, he invited the critic to his house and read him the libretto aloud in front of his friends.10The name of this monster was Richard Wagner. Everything I have said about him you can find on record ― in newspapers, in police reports, in the testimony of people who knew him, in his own letters, between the lines of his autobiography.And the curious thing about this record is that it doesn’t matter in the least.11Because this undersized, sickly, disagreeable, fascinating little man was right all the time, the joke was on us. He was one of the world’s greatest dramatists; he was a great thinker; he was one of the most stupendous musical geniuses that, up to now, the world has ever seen. The world did owe him a living. What if he did talk about himself all the time? If he talked about himself for twenty-four hours every day for the span of his life he would not have uttered half the number of words that othermen have spoken and written about him since his death.12When you consider what he wrote ― thirteen operas and music dramas, eleven of them still holding the stage, eight of them unquestionably worth ranking among the world’s great musico-dramatic masterpieces ― when you listen to what he wrote, the debts and heartaches that people had to endure from him don’t seem much of a price.13What if he was faithless to his friends and to his wives? He had one mistress to whom he was faithful to the day of his death: Music. Not for a single moment did he ever compromise with what he believed, with what he dreamed. There is not a line of his music that could have been conceived by a little mind. Even when he is dull, or downright bad, he is dull in the grand manner. Listening to his music, one does not forgive him for what he may or may not have been. It is not a matter of forgiveness. It is a matter of being dumb with wonder that his poor brain and body didn’t burst under the torment of the demon of creative energy that lived inside him, struggling, clawing, scratching to be released; tearing, shrieking at him to write the music that was in him. The miracle is that what he did in the little space of seventy years could have been done at all, even by a great genius. Is it any wonder he had no time to be a man?畸人迪姆斯·泰勒1 他是个大头小身体、病怏怏的矬子；成日神经兮兮，皮肤也有毛病。
Unit 7The MonsterDeems Taylor1He was an undersized little man, with a head too big for his body ― a sickly little man. His nerves were bad. He had skin trouble. It was agony for him to wear anything next to his skin coarser than silk. And he had delusions of grandeur.2He was a monster of conceit. Never for one minute did he look at the world or at people, except in relation to himself. He believed himself to be one of the greatest dramatists in the world, one of the greatest thinkers, and one of the greatest composers. To hear him talk, he was Shakespeare, and Beethoven, and Plato, rolled into one. He was one of the most exhausting conversationalists that ever lived.Sometimes he was brilliant; sometimes he was maddeningly tiresome. But whether he was being brilliant or dull, he had one sole topic of conversation: himself. What he thought and what he did.3He had a mania for being in the right. The slightest hint of disagreement, from anyone, on the most trivial point, was enough to set him off on a harangue that might last for hours, in which he proved himself right in so many ways, and with such exhausting volubility, that in the end his hearer, stunned and deafened, would agree with him, for the sake of peace.4It never occurred to him that he and his doing were not of the most intense and fascinating interest to anyone with whom he came in contact. He had theories about almost any subject under the sun, including vegetarianism, the drama, politics, and music; and in support of these theories he wrote pamphlets, letters, books ...thousands upon thousands of words, hundreds and hundreds of pages. He not only wrote these things, and published them ― usually at somebody else’s expense ― but he would sit and read them aloud, for hours, to his friends, and his family.5He had the emotional stability of a six-year-old child. When he felt out of sorts, he would rave and stamp, or sink into suicidal gloom and talk darkly of going to the East to end his days as a Buddhist monk. Ten minutes later, when something pleased him he would rush out of doors and run around the garden, or jump up and down off the sofa, or stand on his head. He could be grief-stricken over the death ofa pet dog, and could be callous and heartless to a degree that would have made aRoman emperor shudder.6He was almost innocent of any sense of responsibility. He was convinced thatthe world owed him a living. In support of this belief, he borrowed money from everybody who was good for a loan ― men, women, friends, or strange rs. He wrote begging letters by the score, sometimes groveling without shame, at others loftily offering his intended benefactor the privilege of contributing to his support, and being mortally offended if the recipient declined the honor.7What money he could lay his hand on he spent like an Indian rajah. No one will ever know ― certainly he never knows ― how much money he owed. We do know that his greatest benefactor gave him $6,000 to pay the most pressing of his debts in one city, and a year later had to give him $16,000 to enable him to live in another city without being thrown into jail for debt.8He was equally unscrupulous in other ways. An endless procession of women marched through his life. His first wife spent twenty years enduring and forgiving his infidelities. His second wife had been the wife of his most devoted friend and admirer, from whom he stole her. And even while he was trying to persuade her to leave her first husband he was writing to a friend to inquire whether he could suggest some wealthy woman ― any wealthy woman ― whom he could marry for her money.9He had a genius for making enemies. He would insult a man who disagreed with him about the weather. He would pull endless wires in order to meet some man who admired his work and was able and anxious to be of use to him ― and would proceed to make a mortal enemy of him with some idiotic and wholly uncalled-for exhibition of arrogance and bad manners. A character in one of his operas was a caricature of one of the most powerful music critics of his day. Not content with burlesquing him, he invited the critic to his house and read him the libretto aloud in front of his friends.10The name of this monster was Richard Wagner. Everything I have said about him you can find on record ― in newspapers, in police reports, in the testimony of people who knew him, in his own letters, between the lines of his autobiography.And the curious thing about this record is that it doesn’t matter in the least.11Because this undersized, sickly, disagreeable, fascinating little man was right all the time, the joke was on us. He was one of the world’s greatest dramatists; he was a great thinker; he was one of the most stupendous musical geniuses that, up to now, the world has ever seen. The world did owe him a living. What if he did talk about himself all the time? If he talked about himself for twenty-four hours every day for the span of his life he would not have uttered half the number of words that othermen have spoken and written about him since his death.12When you consider what he wrote ― thirteen operas and music dramas, eleven of them still holding the stage, eight of them unquestionably worth ranking among the world’s great musico-dramatic masterpieces ― when you listen to what he wrote, the debts and heartaches that people had to endure from him don’t seem much of a price.13What if he was faithless to his friends and to his wives? He had one mistress to whom he was faithful to the day of his death: Music. Not for a single moment did he ever compromise with what he believed, with what he dreamed. There is not a line of his music that could have been conceived by a little mind. Even when he is dull, or downright bad, he is dull in the grand manner. Listening to his music, one does not forgive him for what he may or may not have been. It is not a matter of forgiveness. It is a matter of being dumb with wonder that his poor brain and body didn’t burst under the torment of the demon of creative energy that lived inside him, struggling, clawing, scratching to be released; tearing, shrieking at him to write the music that was in him. The miracle is that what he did in the little space of seventy years could have been done at all, even by a great genius. Is it any wonder he had no time to be a man?畸人迪姆斯·泰勒1 他是个大头小身体、病怏怏的矬子；成日神经兮兮，皮肤也有毛病。
