On the 10th of August, 1880, at that fabled4 hour of the setting sun so vaunted by the guide-books Joanne and Baedeker, an hermetic yellow fog, complicated with a flurry of snow in white spirals, enveloped5 the summit of the Rigi (Regina monhum) and its gigantic hotel, extraordinary to behold6 on the arid7 waste of those heights — that Rigi-Kulm, glassed-in like a conservatory8, massive as a citadel9, where alight for a night and a day a flock of tourists, worshippers of the sun.
While awaiting the second dinner-gong, the transient inmates10 of the vast and gorgeous caravansary, half frozen in their chambers11 above, or gasping12 on the divans13 of the reading-rooms in the damp heat of lighted furnaces, were gazing, in default of the promised splendours, at the whirling white atoms and the lighting15 of the great lamps on the portico16, the double glasses of which were creaking in the wind.
To climb so high, to come from all four corners of the earth to see that . . . Oh, Baedeker!..
Suddenly, something emerged from the fog and advanced toward the hotel with a rattling17 of metal, an exaggeration of motions, caused by strange accessories.
At a distance of twenty feet through the fog the torpid18 tourists, their noses against the panes19, the misses with curious little heads trimmed like those of boys, took this apparition for a cow, and then for a tinker bearing his utensils20.
Ten feet nearer the apparition changed again, showing a crossbow on the shoulder, and the visored cap of an archer21 of the middle ages, with the visor lowered, an object even more unlikely to meet with on these heights than a strayed cow or an ambulating tinker.
On the portico the archer was no longer anything but a fat, squat22, broad-backed man, who stopped to get breath and to shake the snow from his leggings, made like his cap of yellow cloth, and from his knitted comforter, which allowed scarcely more of his face to be seen than a few tufts of grizzling beard and a pair of enormous green spectacles made as convex as the glass of a stereoscope. An alpenstock, knapsack, coil of rope worn in saltire, crampons and iron hooks hanging to the belt of an English blouse with broad pleats, completed the accoutrement of this perfect Alpinist.
On the desolate23 summits of Mont Blanc or the Finsteraarhorn this clambering apparel would have seemed very natural, but on the Rigi-Kulm ten feet from a railway track! —
The Alpinist, it is true, came from the side opposite to the station, and the state of his leggings testified to a long march through snow and mud.
For a moment he gazed at the hotel and its surrounding buildings, seemingly stupefied at finding, two thousand and more yards above the sea, a building of such importance, glazed24 galleries, colonnades25, seven storeys of windows, and a broad portico stretching away between two rows of globe-lamps which gave to this mountain-summit the aspect of the Place de l’Opéra of a winter’s evening.
But, surprised as he may have been, the people in the hotel were more surprised still, and when he entered the immense antechamber an inquisitive26 hustling27 took place in the doorways28 of all the salons31: gentlemen armed with billiard-cues, others with open newspapers, ladies still holding their book or their work pressed forward, while in the background, on the landing of the staircase, heads leaned over the baluster and between the chains of the lift.
The man said aloud, in a powerful deep bass32 voice, the chest voice of the South, resounding33 like cymbals:—
“Coquin de bon sort! what an atmosphere!”
Then he stopped short, to take off his cap and his spectacles.
He was suffocating34.
The dazzle of the lights, the heat of the gas and furnace, in contrast with the cold darkness without, and this sumptuous35 display, these lofty ceilings, these porters bedizened with Regina Montium in letters of gold on their naval36 caps, the white cravats37 of the waiters and the battalion38 of Swiss girls in their native costumes coming forward at sound of the gong, all these things bewildered him for a second — but only one.
He felt himself looked at and instantly recovered his self-possession, like a comedian39 facing a full house.
“Monsieur desires..?”
This was the manager of the hotel, making the inquiry40 with the tips of his teeth, a very dashing manager, striped jacket, silken whiskers, the head of a lady’s dressmaker.
The Alpinist, not disturbed, asked for a room, “A good little room, au mouain?“ perfectly41 at ease with that majestic42 manager, as if with a former schoolmate.
But he came near being angry when a Bernese servant-girl, advancing, candle in hand, and stiff in her gilt43 stomacher and puffed44 muslin sleeves, inquired if Monsieur would be pleased to take the lift. The proposal to commit a crime would not have made him more indignant.
“A lift! he!.. for him!..” And his cry, his gesture, set all his metals rattling.
Quickly appeased45, however, he said to the maiden46, in an amiable47 tone: ”Pedibusse cum jambisse, my pretty little cat . . . ” And he went up behind her, his broad back filling the stairway, parting the persons he met on his way, while throughout the hotel the clamorous48 questions ran: “Who is he? What’s this?” muttered in the divers49 languages of all four quarters of the globe. Then the second dinner-gong sounded, and nobody thought any longer of this extraordinary personage.
A sight to behold, that dining-room of the Rigi-Kulm.
Six hundred covers around an immense horseshoe table, where tall, shallow dishes of rice and of prunes, alternating in long files with green plants, reflected in their dark or transparent50 sauces the flame of the candles in the chandeliers and the gilding51 of the panelled ceiling.
As in all Swiss tables d’h?te, rice and prunes divided the dinner into two rival factions52, and merely by the looks of hatred53 or of hankering cast upon those dishes it was easy to tell to which party the guests belonged. The Rices were known by their anaemic pallor, the Prunes by their congested skins.
That evening the latter were the most numerous, counting among them several important personalities54, European celebrities55, such as the great historian Astier-Réhu, of the French Academy, Baron56 von Stolz, an old Austro-Hungarian diplomat57, Lord Chipendale (?), a member of the Jockey-Club and his niece (h’m, h’m!), the illustrious doctor-professor Schwanthaler, from the University of Bonn, a Peruvian general with eight young daughters.
To these the Rices could only oppose as a picket-guard a Belgian senator and his family, Mme. Schwanthaler, the professor’s wife, and an Italian tenor58, returning from Russia, who displayed his cuffs59, with buttons as big as saucers, upon the tablecloth60.
It was these opposing currents which no doubt caused the stiffness and embarrassment61 of the company. How else explain the silence of six hundred half-frozen, scowling62, distrustful persons, and the sovereign contempt they appeared to affect for one another? A superficial observer might perhaps have attributed this stiffness to stupid Anglo-Saxon haughtiness63 which, nowadays, gives the tone in all countries to the travelling world.
No! no! Beings with human faces are not born to hate one another thus at first sight, to despise each other with their very noses, lips, and eyes for lack of a previous introduction. There must be another cause.
Rice and Prunes, I tell you. There you have the explanation of the gloomy silence weighing upon this dinner at the Rigi-Kulm, which, considering the number and international variety of the guests, ought to have been lively, tumultuous, such as we imagine the repasts at the foot of the Tower of Babel to have been.
The Alpinist entered the room, a little overcome by this refectory of monks64, apparently65 doing penance66 beneath the glare of chandeliers; he coughed noisily without any one taking notice of him, and seated himself in his place of last-comer at the end of the room. Divested67 of his accoutrements, he was now a tourist like any other, but of aspect more amiable, bald, barrel-bellied, his beard pointed68 and bunchy, his nose majestic, his eyebrows69 thick and ferocious70, overhanging the glance of a downright good fellow.
Rice or Prunes? No one knew as yet.
Hardly was he installed before he became uneasy, and leaving his place with an alarming bound: “Ouf! what a draught71!” he said aloud, as he sprang to an empty chair with its back laid over on the table.
He was stopped by the Swiss maid on duty — from the canton of Uri, that one — silver chains and white muslin chemisette.
“Monsieur, this place is engaged . . . ”
Then a young lady, seated next to the chair, of whom the Alpinist could see only her blond hair rising from the whiteness of virgin72 snows, said, without turning round, and with a foreign accent:
“That place is free; my brother is ill, and will not be down.”
“Ill?..” said the Alpinist, seating himself, with an anxious, almost affectionate manner . . . “Ill? Not dangerously, au moins.”
He said au mouain, and the word recurred73 in all his remarks, with other vocable parasites74, such as hé, que, téy zou, vé, va?, et autrement, différemment, etc., still further emphasized by a Southern accent, displeasing75, apparently, to the young lady, for she answered with a glacial glance of a black blue, the blue of an abyss.
His neighbour on the right had nothing encouraging about him either; this was the Italian tenor, a gay bird with a low forehead, oily pupils, and the moustache of a matador76, which he twirled with nervous fingers at being thus separated from his pretty neighbour. But the good Alpinist had a habit of talking as he ate; it was necessary for his health.
“Vé! the pretty buttons . . . ” he said to himself, aloud, eying the cuffs of his neighbour. “Notes of music, inlaid in jasper — why, the effect is charmain!..”
His metallic77 voice rang on the silence, but found no echo.
“Surely monsieur is a singer, que?“
“Non capisco,” growled78 the Italian into his moustache.
For a moment the man resigned himself to devour79 without uttering a word, but the morsels80 choked him. At last, as his opposite neighbour, the Austro-Hungarian diplomat, endeavoured to reach the mustard-pot with the tips of his shaky old fingers, covered with mittens81, he passed it to him obligingly. “Happy to serve you, Monsieur le baron,” for he had heard some one call him so.
Unfortunately, poor M. de Stoltz, in spite of his shrewd and knowing air contracted in diplomatic juggling82, had now lost both words and ideas, and was travelling among the mountains for the special purpose of recovering them. He opened his eyes wide upon that unknown face, and shut them again without a word. It would have taken ten old diplomats83 of his present intellectual force to have constructed in common a formula of thanks.
At this fresh failure the Alpinist made a terrible grimace84, and the abrupt85 manner in which he seized the bottle standing86 near him might have made one fear he was about to cleave87 the already cracked head of the diplomatist Not so! It was only to offer wine to his pretty neighbour, who did not hear him, being absorbed by a semi-whispered conversation in a soft and lively foreign warble with two young men seated next to her. She bent88 to them, and grew animated89. Little frizzles of hair were seen shining in the light against a dainty, transparent, rosy90 ear . . . Polish, Russian, Norwegian?.. from the North certainly; and a pretty song of those distant lands coming to his lips, the man of the South began tranquilly91 to hum:—
O coumtesso gento,
Estelo dou Nord,
Que la neu argento,
Qu’ Amour friso en or. {*}
* O pretty countess,
Light of the North,
Which the snow silvers,
And Love curls in gold.
(Frédéric Mistral.)
The whole table turned round; they thought him mad. He coloured, subsided92 into his plate, and did not issue again except to repulse93 vehemently94 one of the sacred compote-dishes that was handed to him.
“Prunes! again!.. Never in my life!”
This was too much.
A grating of chairs was heard. The academician, Lord Chipendale (?), the Bonn professor, and other notabilities rose, and left the room as if protesting.
The Rices followed almost immediately, on see-tog the second compote-dish rejected as violently as the first.
Neither Rice nor Prunes!.. then what?..
All withdrew; and it was truly glacial, that silent defile95 of scornful noses and mouths with their corners disdainfully turned down at the luckless man, who was left alone in the vast gorgeous dining-room, engaged in sopping97 his bread in his wine after the fashion of his country, crushed beneath the weight of universal disdain96.
My friends, let us never despise any one. Contempt is the resource of parvenus98, prigs, ugly folk, and fools; it is the mask behind which nonentity99 shelters itself, and sometimes blackguardism; it dispenses100 with mind, judgment101, and good-will. All humpbacked persons are contemptuous; all crooked102 noses wrinkle with disdain when they see a straight one.
He knew that, this worthy103 Alpinist. Having passed, by several years, his “fortieth,” that landing on the fourth storey where man discovers and picks up the magic key which opens life to its recesses104, and reveals its monotonous105 and deceptive106 labyrinth107; conscious, moreover, of his value, of the importance of his mission, and of the great name he bore, he cared nothing for the opinion of such persons as these. He knew that he need only name himself and cry out “’Tis I . . . ” to change to grovelling108 respect those haughty109 lips; but he found his incognito110 amusing.
He suffered only at not being able to talk, to make a noise, unbosom himself, press hands, lean familiarly on shoulders, and call men by their Christian111 names. That is what oppressed him on the Rigi-Kulm.
Oh! above all, not being able to speak.
“I shall have dyspepsia as sure as fate,” said the poor devil, wandering about the hotel and not knowing what to do with himself.
He entered a café, vast and deserted112 as a church on a week day, called the waiter, “My good friend,” and ordered “a mocha without sugar, que’.” And as the waiter did not ask, “Why no sugar?” the Alpinist added quickly, “’Tis a habit I acquired in Africa, at the period of my great hunts.”
He was about to recount them, but the waiter had fled on his phantom113 slippers114 to Lord Chipendale, stranded115, full length, upon a sofa and crying, in mournful tones: “Tchempègne!.. tchempègne!..” The cork116 flew with its silly noise, and nothing more was heard save the gusts117 of wind in the monumental chimney and the hissing118 click of the snow against the panes.
Very dismal119 too was the reading-room; all the journals in hand, hundreds of heads bent down around the long green tables beneath the reflectors. From time to time a yawn, a cough, the rustle120 of a turned leaf; and soaring high above the calm of this hall of study, erect121 and motionless, their backs to the stove, both solemn and both smelling equally musty, were the two pontiffs of official history, Astier-Réhu and Schwanthaler, whom a singular fatality122 had brought face to face on the summit of the Rigi, after thirty years of insults and of rending123 each other to shreds124 in explanatory notes referring to “Schwanthaler, jackass,” ”vir ineptissimus, Astier-Réhu.”
You can imagine the reception which the kindly125 Alpinist received on drawing up a chair for a bit of instructive conversation in that chimney corner. From the height of these two caryatides there fell upon him suddenly one of those currents of air of which he was so afraid. He rose, paced the hall, as much to warm himself as to recover self-confidence, and opened the bookcase. A few English novels lay scattered126 about in company with several heavy Bibles and tattered127 volumes of the Alpine128 Club. He took up one of the latter, and carried it off to read in bed, but was forced to leave it at the door, the rules not allowing the transference of the library to the chambers.
Then, still continuing to wander about, he opened the door of the billiard-room, where the Italian tenor, playing alone, was producing effects of torso and cuffs for the edification of their pretty neighbour, seated on a divan14, between the two young men, to whom she was reading a letter. On the entrance of the Alpinist she stopped, and one of the young men rose, the taller, a sort of moujik, a dog-man, with hairy paws, and long, straight, shining black hair joining an unkempt beard. He made two steps in the direction of the new-comer, looked at him provocatively129, and so fiercely that the worthy Alpinist, without demanding an explanation, made a prudent130 and judicious131 half-turn to the right.
“Différemment, they are not affable, these Northerners,” he said aloud; and he shut the door noisily, to prove to that savage132 that he was not afraid of him.
The salon30 remained as a last refuge; he went there . . . Coquin de sort! . . . The morgue, my good friends, the morgue of the Saint-Bernard where the monks expose the frozen bodies found beneath the snows in the various attitudes in which congealing133 death has stiffened134 them, can alone describe that salon of the Rigi-Kulm.
All those numbed135, mute women, in groups upon the circular sofas, or isolated136 and fallen into chairs here and there; all those misses, motionless be-. neath the lamps on the round tables, still holding in their hands the book or the work they were employed on when the cold congealed137 them. Among them were the daughters of the general, eight little Peruvians with saffron skins, their features convulsed, the vivid ribbons on their gowns contrasting with the dead-leaf tones of English fashions; poor little sunny-climes, easy to imagine as laughing and frolicking beneath their cocoa-trees and now more distressing138 to behold than the rest in their glacial, mute condition. In the background, before the piano, was the death-mask of the old diplomat, his mittened139 hands resting inert140 upon the keyboard, the yellowing tones of which were reflected on his face.
Betrayed by his strength and his memory, lost in a polka of his own composition, beginning it again and again, unable to remember its conclusion, the unfortunate Stoltz had gone to sleep while playing, and with him all the ladies on the Rigi, nodding, as they slumbered141, romantic curls, or those peculiar142 lace caps, in shape like the crust of a vol-au-vent, that English dames143 affect, and which seem to be part of the canf of travelling.
The entrance of the Alpinist did not awaken144 them, and he himself had dropped upon a divan, overcome by such icy discouragement, when the sound of vigorous, joyous145 chords burst from the vestibule; where three “musicos,” harp146, flute147, and violin, ambulating minstrels with pitiful faces, and long overcoats flapping their legs, who infest148 the Swiss hostelries, had just arrived with their instruments.
At the very first notes our man sprang up as if galvanized.
“Zou! bravo!.. forward, music!”
And off he went, opening the great doors, feting the musicians, soaking them with champagne149, drunk himself without drinking a drop, solely150 with the music which brought him back to life. He mimicked151 the piston152, he mimicked the harp, he snapped his fingers over his head, and rolled his eyes and danced his steps, to the utter stupefaction of the tourists running in from all sides at the racket. Then suddenly, as the exhilarated musicos struck up a Strauss waltz with the fury of true tziganes, the Alpinist, perceiving in the doorway29 the wife of Professor Schwanthaler, a rotund little Viennese with mischievous153 eyes, still youthful in spite of her powdered gray hair, he sprang up her, caught her by the waist, and whirled her into the room, crying put to the others; “Come on! come on! let us waltz!”
The impetus154 was given, the hotel thawed155 and twirled, carried off its centre. People danced in the vestibule, in the salon, round the long green table of the reading-room. ’Twas that devil of a man who set fire to ice. He, however, danced no more, being out of breath at the end of a couple of turns; but he guided his ball, urged the musicians, coupled the dancers, cast into the arms of the Bonn professor an elderly Englishwoman; and into those of the austere157 Astier-Réhu the friskiest158 of the Peruvian damsels. Resistance was impossible. From that terrible Alpinist issued I know not what mysterious aura which lightened and buoyed159 up every one. And zou! zou! zou! No more contempt and disdain. Neither Rice nor Prunes, only waltzers. Presently the madness spread; it reached the upper storeys, and up through the well of the staircase could be seen to the sixth-floor landing the heavy and high-coloured skirts of the Swiss maids on duty, twirling with the stiffness of automatons160 before a musical chalet.
Ah! the wind may blow without and shake the lamp-posts, make the telegraph wires groan161, and whirl the snow in spirals across that desolate summit Within all are warm, all are comforted, and remain so for that one night.
“Différemment, I must go to bed, myself,” thought the worthy Alpinist, a prudent man, coming from a country where every one packs and unpacks162 himself rapidly. Laughing in his grizzled beard, he slipped away, covertly163 escaping Madame Schwanthaler, who was seeking to hook him again ever since that initial waltz.
He took his key and his bedroom candle; then, on the first landing, he paused a moment to enjoy his work and to look at the mass of congealed ones whom he had forced to thaw156 and amuse themselves.
A Swiss maid approached him all breathless from the waltz, and said, presenting a pen and the hotel register:—
“Might I venture to ask tmossié to be so good as to sign his name?”
He hesitated a moment. Should he, or should he not preserve his incognito?
After all, what matter! Supposing that the news of his presence on the Rigi should reach down there, no one would know what he had come to do in Switzerland. And besides, it would be so droll164 to see, to-morrow morning, the stupor165 of those “Inglichemans” when they should learn the truth . . . For that Swiss girl, of course, would not hold her tongue . . . What surprise, what excitement throughout the hotel!..
“Was it really he?.. he?.. himself?..” These reflections, rapid and vibrant166, passed through his head like the notes of a violin in an orchestra. He took the pen, and with careless hand he signed, beneath Schwanthaler, Astier-Réhu, and other notabilities, the name that eclipsed them all, his name; then he went to his room, without so much as glancing round to see the effect, of which he was sure.
Behind him the Swiss maid looked at the name:
TARTARIN OF TARASCON,
beneath which was added:
P. C. A.
She read it, that Bernese girl, and was not the least dazzled. She did not know what P. C. A. signified, nor had she ever heard of “Dardarin.”
Barbarian167, Va?!
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1
apparition
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| n.幽灵，神奇的现象 | |
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prunes
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| n.西梅脯，西梅干( prune的名词复数 )v.修剪（树木等）( prune的第三人称单数 )；精简某事物，除去某事物多余的部分 | |
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improvised
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| a.即席而作的,即兴的 | |
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fabled
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| adj.寓言中的，虚构的 | |
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enveloped
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| v.包围，笼罩，包住( envelop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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6
behold
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| v.看，注视，看到 | |
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arid
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| adj.干旱的；(土地)贫瘠的 | |
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conservatory
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| n.温室，音乐学院；adj.保存性的，有保存力的 | |
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citadel
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| n.城堡；堡垒；避难所 | |
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inmates
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| n.囚犯( inmate的名词复数 ) | |
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chambers
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| n.房间( chamber的名词复数 )；（议会的）议院；卧室；会议厅 | |
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gasping
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| adj. 气喘的, 痉挛的 动词gasp的现在分词 | |
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divans
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| n.（可作床用的）矮沙发( divan的名词复数 )；（波斯或其他东方诗人的）诗集 | |
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divan
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| n.长沙发；（波斯或其他东方诗人的）诗集 | |
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15
lighting
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| n.照明，光线的明暗，舞台灯光 | |
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portico
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| n.柱廊，门廊 | |
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rattling
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| adj. 格格作响的, 活泼的, 很好的 adv. 极其, 很, 非常 动词rattle的现在分词 | |
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torpid
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| adj.麻痹的，麻木的，迟钝的 | |
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panes
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| 窗玻璃( pane的名词复数 ) | |
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utensils
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| 器具，用具，器皿( utensil的名词复数 )； 器物 | |
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archer
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| n.射手，弓箭手 | |
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squat
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| v.蹲坐，蹲下；n.蹲下；adj.矮胖的，粗矮的 | |
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desolate
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| adj.荒凉的，荒芜的；孤独的，凄凉的；v.使荒芜，使孤寂 | |
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glazed
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| adj.光滑的，像玻璃的；上过釉的；呆滞无神的v.装玻璃( glaze的过去式)；上釉于，上光；（目光）变得呆滞无神 | |
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colonnades
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| n.石柱廊( colonnade的名词复数 ) | |
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inquisitive
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| adj.求知欲强的，好奇的，好寻根究底的 | |
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hustling
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| 催促（hustle的现在分词形式） | |
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doorways
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| n.门口，门道( doorway的名词复数 ) | |
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doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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salon
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| n.[法]沙龙；客厅；营业性的高级服务室 | |
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salons
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| n.（营业性质的）店( salon的名词复数 )；厅；沙龙（旧时在上流社会女主人家的例行聚会或聚会场所）；（大宅中的）客厅 | |
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bass
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| n.男低音(歌手)；低音乐器；低音大提琴 | |
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resounding
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| adj. 响亮的 | |
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suffocating
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| a.使人窒息的 | |
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sumptuous
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| adj.豪华的，奢侈的，华丽的 | |
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36
naval
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| adj.海军的，军舰的，船的 | |
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37
cravats
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| n.（系在衬衫衣领里面的）男式围巾( cravat的名词复数 ) | |
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38
battalion
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| n.营；部队；大队(的人) | |
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39
comedian
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| n.喜剧演员；滑稽演员 | |
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40
inquiry
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| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
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41
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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42
majestic
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| adj.雄伟的，壮丽的，庄严的，威严的，崇高的 | |
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43
gilt
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| adj.镀金的；n.金边证券 | |
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44
puffed
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| adj.疏松的v.使喷出( puff的过去式和过去分词 )；喷着汽（或烟）移动；吹嘘；吹捧 | |
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45
appeased
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| 安抚，抚慰( appease的过去式和过去分词 )； 绥靖（满足另一国的要求以避免战争） | |
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46
maiden
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| n.少女，处女；adj.未婚的，纯洁的，无经验的 | |
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47
amiable
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| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
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48
clamorous
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| adj.吵闹的，喧哗的 | |
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49
divers
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| adj.不同的；种种的 | |
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50
transparent
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| adj.明显的，无疑的；透明的 | |
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51
gilding
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| n.贴金箔，镀金 | |
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52
factions
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| 组织中的小派别，派系( faction的名词复数 ) | |
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53
hatred
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| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
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54
personalities
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| n. 诽谤，（对某人容貌、性格等所进行的）人身攻击； 人身攻击；人格, 个性, 名人( personality的名词复数 ) | |
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55
celebrities
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| n.（尤指娱乐界的）名人( celebrity的名词复数 )；名流；名声；名誉 | |
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56
baron
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| n.男爵；(商业界等)巨头，大王 | |
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57
diplomat
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| n.外交官，外交家；能交际的人，圆滑的人 | |
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58
tenor
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| n.男高音（歌手），次中音（乐器），要旨，大意 | |
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59
cuffs
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| n.袖口( cuff的名词复数 )v.掌打，拳打( cuff的第三人称单数 ) | |
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60
tablecloth
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| n.桌布，台布 | |
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61
embarrassment
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| n.尴尬；使人为难的人(事物)；障碍；窘迫 | |
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62
scowling
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| 怒视，生气地皱眉( scowl的现在分词 ) | |
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63
haughtiness
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| n.傲慢；傲气 | |
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64
monks
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| n.修道士，僧侣( monk的名词复数 ) | |
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65
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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66
penance
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| n.（赎罪的）惩罪 | |
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67
divested
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| v.剥夺( divest的过去式和过去分词 )；脱去（衣服）；2。从…取去…；1。（给某人）脱衣服 | |
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68
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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69
eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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70
ferocious
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| adj.凶猛的，残暴的，极度的，十分强烈的 | |
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71
draught
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| n.拉，牵引，拖；一网（饮，吸，阵)；顿服药量，通风；v.起草，设计 | |
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72
virgin
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| n.处女，未婚女子；adj.未经使用的；未经开发的 | |
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73
recurred
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| 再发生，复发( recur的过去式和过去分词 )； 治愈 | |
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74
parasites
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| 寄生物( parasite的名词复数 )； 靠他人为生的人； 诸虫 | |
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75
displeasing
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| 不愉快的，令人发火的 | |
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76
matador
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| n.斗牛士 | |
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77
metallic
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|
| adj.金属的；金属制的；含金属的；产金属的；像金属的 | |
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78
growled
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|
| v.（动物）发狺狺声， （雷）作隆隆声( growl的过去式和过去分词 )；低声咆哮着说 | |
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79
devour
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| v.吞没；贪婪地注视或谛听，贪读；使着迷 | |
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80
morsels
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| n.一口( morsel的名词复数 )；（尤指食物）小块，碎屑 | |
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81
mittens
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| 不分指手套 | |
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82
juggling
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|
| n. 欺骗, 杂耍(=jugglery) adj. 欺骗的, 欺诈的 动词juggle的现在分词 | |
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83
diplomats
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|
| n.外交官( diplomat的名词复数 )；有手腕的人，善于交际的人 | |
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84
grimace
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|
| v.做鬼脸，面部歪扭 | |
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85
abrupt
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|
| adj.突然的，意外的；唐突的，鲁莽的 | |
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86
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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87
cleave
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| v．(clave；cleaved)粘着，粘住；坚持；依恋 | |
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88
bent
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|
| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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89
animated
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| adj.生气勃勃的，活跃的，愉快的 | |
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90
rosy
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| adj.美好的，乐观的，玫瑰色的 | |
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91
tranquilly
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| adv. 宁静地 | |
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92
subsided
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| v.（土地）下陷（因在地下采矿）( subside的过去式和过去分词 )；减弱；下降至较低或正常水平；一下子坐在椅子等上 | |
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93
repulse
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|
| n.击退，拒绝；vt.逐退，击退，拒绝 | |
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94
vehemently
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| adv. 热烈地 | |
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95
defile
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| v.弄污，弄脏；n.(山间)小道 | |
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96
disdain
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| n.鄙视，轻视；v.轻视，鄙视，不屑 | |
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97
sopping
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| adj. 浑身湿透的 动词sop的现在分词形式 | |
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98
parvenus
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| n.暴富者( parvenu的名词复数 )；暴发户；新贵；傲慢自负的人 | |
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99
nonentity
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| n.无足轻重的人 | |
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100
dispenses
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| v.分配，分与；分配( dispense的第三人称单数 )；施与；配（药） | |
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101
judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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102
crooked
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| adj.弯曲的；不诚实的，狡猾的，不正当的 | |
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103
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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104
recesses
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| 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 | |
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105
monotonous
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|
| adj.单调的，一成不变的，使人厌倦的 | |
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106
deceptive
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|
| adj.骗人的，造成假象的，靠不住的 | |
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107
labyrinth
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| n.迷宫；难解的事物；迷路 | |
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108
grovelling
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|
| adj.卑下的，奴颜婢膝的v.卑躬屈节，奴颜婢膝( grovel的现在分词 )；趴 | |
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109
haughty
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| adj.傲慢的，高傲的 | |
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110
incognito
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| adv.匿名地；n.隐姓埋名；adj.化装的，用假名的，隐匿姓名身份的 | |
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111
Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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112
deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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113
phantom
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| n.幻影，虚位，幽灵；adj.错觉的，幻影的，幽灵的 | |
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114
slippers
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| n. 拖鞋 | |
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115
stranded
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| a.搁浅的，进退两难的 | |
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116
cork
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| n.软木，软木塞 | |
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117
gusts
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| 一阵强风( gust的名词复数 )； （怒、笑等的）爆发； （感情的）迸发； 发作 | |
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118
hissing
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| n. 发嘶嘶声, 蔑视 动词hiss的现在分词形式 | |
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119
dismal
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| adj.阴沉的，凄凉的，令人忧郁的，差劲的 | |
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120
rustle
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| v.沙沙作响；偷盗(牛、马等)；n.沙沙声声 | |
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121
erect
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| n./v.树立，建立，使竖立；adj.直立的，垂直的 | |
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122
fatality
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| n.不幸，灾祸，天命 | |
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123
rending
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| v.撕碎( rend的现在分词 )；分裂；（因愤怒、痛苦等而）揪扯（衣服或头发等）；（声音等）刺破 | |
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124
shreds
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| v.撕碎，切碎( shred的第三人称单数 )；用撕毁机撕毁（文件） | |
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125
kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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126
scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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127
tattered
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| adj.破旧的，衣衫破的 | |
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128
alpine
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| adj.高山的；n.高山植物 | |
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129
provocatively
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130
prudent
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| adj.谨慎的，有远见的，精打细算的 | |
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131
judicious
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| adj.明智的，明断的，能作出明智决定的 | |
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132
savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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133
congealing
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| v.使凝结，冻结( congeal的现在分词 )；（指血）凝结 | |
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134
stiffened
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| 加强的 | |
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135
numbed
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| v.使麻木，使麻痹( numb的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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136
isolated
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| adj.与世隔绝的 | |
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137
congealed
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| v.使凝结，冻结( congeal的过去式和过去分词 )；（指血）凝结 | |
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138
distressing
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| a.使人痛苦的 | |
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139
mittened
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| v.（使）变得潮湿，变得湿润( moisten的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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140
inert
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| adj.无活动能力的，惰性的；迟钝的 | |
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141
slumbered
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| 微睡，睡眠（slumber的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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142
peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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143
dames
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| n.（在英国）夫人（一种封号），夫人（爵士妻子的称号）( dame的名词复数 )；女人 | |
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144
awaken
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| vi.醒，觉醒；vt.唤醒，使觉醒，唤起，激起 | |
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145
joyous
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| adj.充满快乐的；令人高兴的 | |
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146
harp
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| n.竖琴；天琴座 | |
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147
flute
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| n.长笛；v.吹笛 | |
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148
infest
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| v.大批出没于；侵扰；寄生于 | |
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149
champagne
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| n.香槟酒；微黄色 | |
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150
solely
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| adv.仅仅，唯一地 | |
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151
mimicked
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| v.（尤指为了逗乐而）模仿( mimic的过去式和过去分词 )；酷似 | |
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152
piston
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| n.活塞 | |
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153
mischievous
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| adj.调皮的，恶作剧的，有害的，伤人的 | |
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154
impetus
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| n.推动，促进，刺激；推动力 | |
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155
thawed
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| 解冻 | |
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156
thaw
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| v.（使）融化，（使）变得友善；n.融化，缓和 | |
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157
austere
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| adj.艰苦的；朴素的，朴实无华的；严峻的 | |
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158
friskiest
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| adj.活泼的，闹着玩的( frisky的最高级 ) | |
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159
buoyed
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| v.使浮起( buoy的过去式和过去分词 )；支持；为…设浮标；振奋…的精神 | |
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160
automatons
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| n.自动机，机器人( automaton的名词复数 ) | |
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161
groan
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| vi./n.呻吟，抱怨；(发出)呻吟般的声音 | |
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162
unpacks
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| v.从（包裹等）中取出（所装的东西），打开行李取出( unpack的第三人称单数 )；拆包；解除…的负担；吐露（心事等） | |
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163
covertly
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| adv.偷偷摸摸地 | |
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164
droll
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| adj.古怪的，好笑的 | |
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165
stupor
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| v.昏迷；不省人事 | |
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166
vibrant
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| adj.震颤的，响亮的，充满活力的，精力充沛的，(色彩)鲜明的 | |
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167
barbarian
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| n.野蛮人；adj.野蛮(人)的；未开化的 | |
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