When that name “Tarascon” sounds trumpetlike along the track of the Paris-Lyons-Mediterranean, in the limpid4, vibrant5 blue of a Proven?al sky, inquisitive6 heads are visible at all the doors of the express train, and from carriage to carriage the travellers say to each other: “Ah! here is Tarascon!.. Now, for a look at Tarascon.”
What they can see of it is, nevertheless, nothing more than a very ordinary, quiet, clean little town with towers, roofs, and a bridge across the Rhone. But the Tarasconese sun and its marvellous effects of mirage7, so fruitful in surprises, inventions, delirious8 absurdities9, this joyous10 little populace, not much larger than a chick-pea, which reflects and sums up in itself the instincts of the whole French South, lively, restless, gabbling, exaggerated, comical, impressionable — that is what the people on the express-train look out for as they pass, and it is that which has made the popularity of the place.
In memorable11 pages, which modesty12 prevents him from mentioning more explicitly13, the historiographer of Tarascon essayed, once upon a time, to depict14 the happy days of the little town, leading its club life, singing its romantic songs (each his own) and, for want of real game, organizing curious cap-hunts. Then, war having come and the dark times, Tarascon became known by its heroic defence, its torpedoed15 esplanade, the club and the Café de la Comédie, both made impregnable; all the inhabitants enrolled16 in guerilla companies, their breasts braided with death’s head and cross-bones, all beards grown, and such a display of battle-axes, boarding cutlasses, and American revolvers that the unfortunate inhabitants ended by frightening themselves and no longer daring to approach one another in the streets.
Many years have passed since the war, many a worthless almanac has been put in the fire, but Tarascon has never forgotten; and, renouncing17 the futile18 amusements of other days, it thinks of nothing now but how to make blood and muscle for the service of future revenge. Societies for pistol-shooting and gymnastics, costumed and equipped, all having band and banners; armouries, boxing-gloves, single-sticks, list-shoes; foot races and flat-hand fights between persons in the best society; these things have taken the place of the former cap-hunts and the platonic19 cynegetical discussions in the shop of the gunsmith Costecalde.
And finally the club, the old club itself, abjuring20 bouillotte and bézique, is now transformed into a “Club Alpin” under the patronage21 of the famous Alpine2 Club of London, which has borne even to India the fame of its climbers. With this difference, that the Tarasconese, instead of expatriating themselves on foreign summits, are content with those they have in hand, or rather underfoot, at the gates of their town.
“The Alps of Tarascon?” you ask. No; but the Alpines, that chain of mountainettes, redolent of thyme and lavender, not very dangerous, nor yet very high (five to six hundred feet above sea-level), which make an horizon of blue waves along the Proven?al roads and are decorated by the local imagination with the fabulous22 and characteristic names of: Mount Terrible; The End of the World; The Peak of the Giants, etc.
‘T is a pleasure to see, of a Sunday morning, the gaitered Tarasconese, pickaxe in hand, knapsack and tent on their backs, starting off, bugles23 in advance, for ascensions, of which the Forum24, the local journal, gives full account with a descriptive luxury and wealth of epithets25 — abysses, gulfs, terrifying gorges26 — as if the said ascension were among the Himalayas. You can well believe that from this exercise the aborigines have acquired fresh strength and the “double muscles” heretofore reserved to the only Tartarin, the good, the brave, the heroic Tartarin.
If Tarascon epitomizes the South, Tartarin epitomizes Tarascon. He is not only the first citizen of the town, he is its soul, its genius, he has all its finest whimseys. We know his former exploits, his triumphs as a singer (oh! that duet of “Robert le Diable” in Bézuquet’s pharmacy27!), and the amazing odyssey28 of his lion-hunts, from which he returned with that splendid camel, the last in Algeria, since deceased, laden29 with honours and preserved in skeleton at the town museum among other Tarasconese curiosities.
Tartarin himself has not degenerated30; teeth still good and eyes good, in spite of his fifties; still that amazing imagination which brings nearer and enlarges all objects with the power of a telescope. He remains31 the same man as he of whom the brave Commander Bravida used to say: “He’s a lapin . . . ”
Or, rather, two lapins! For in Tartarin, as in all the Tarasconese, there is a warren race and a cabbage race, very clearly accentuated32: the roving rabbit of the warren, adventurous33, headlong; and the cabbage-rabbit, homekeeping, coddling, nervously34 afraid of fatigue35, of draughts36, and of any and all accidents that may lead to death.
We know that this prudence37 did not prevent him from showing himself brave and even heroic on occasion; but it is permissible38 to ask what he was doing on the Rigi (Regina Montium) at his age, when he had so dearly bought the right to rest and comfort.
To that inquiry39 the infamous40 Costecalde can alone reply.
Costecalde, gunsmith by trade, represents a type that is rather rare in Tarascon. Envy, base, malignant41 envy, is visible in the wicked curve of his thin lips, and a species of yellow bile, proceeding42 from his liver in puffs43, suffuses44 his broad, clean-shaven, regular face, with its surface dented45 as if by a hammer, like an ancient coin of Tiberius or Caracalla. Envy with him is a disease, which he makes no attempt to hide, and, with the fine Tarasconese temperament46 that overlays everything, he sometimes says in speaking of his infirmity: “You don’t know how that hurts me . . . ”
Naturally the curse of Costecalde is Tartarin. So much fame for a single man! He everywhere! always he! And slowly, subterraneously47, like a worm within the gilded48 wood of an idol49, he saps from below for the last twenty years that triumphant50 renown51, and gnaws52 it, and hollows it. When, in the evening, at the club, Tartarin relates his encounters with lions and his wanderings in the great Sahara, Costecalde sits by with mute little laughs, and incredulous shakes of the head.
“But the skins, au mouain, Costecalde . . . those lions’ skins he sent us, which are there, in the salon53 of the club?..”
“Té! pardi . . . Do you suppose there are no furriers in Algeria?..”
“But the marks of the balls, all round, in the heads?”
“Et autremain, did n’t we ourselves in the days of the cap-hunts see ragged54 caps torn with bullets at the hatters’ for sale to clumsy shots?”
No doubt the long established fame of Tartarin as a slayer55 of wild beasts resisted these attacks; but the Alpinist in himself was open to criticism, and Costecalde did not deprive himself of the opportunity, being furious that a man should be elected as president of the “Club of the Alpines” whom age had visibly overweighted and whose liking56, acquired in Algeria, for Turkish slippers57 and flowing garments predisposed to laziness.
In fact, Tartarin seldom took part in the ascensions; he was satisfied to accompany them with votive wishes, and to read in full session, with rolling eyes, and intonations58 that turned the ladies pale, the tragic59 narratives60 of the expeditions.
Costecalde, on the contrary, wiry, vigorous “Cock-leg,” as they called him, was always the foremost climber; he had done the Alpines, one by one, planting on their summits inaccessible61 the banner of the Club, La Tarasque, starred in silver. Nevertheless, he was only vice-president, V. P. C. A. But he manipulated the place so well that evidently, at the coming elections, Tartarin would be made to skip.
Warned by his faithfuls — Bézuquet the apothecary62, Excourbaniès, the brave Commander Bravida — the hero was at first possessed63 by black disgust, by that indignant rancour which ingratitude64 and injustice65 arouse in the noblest soul. He wanted to quit everything, to expatriate himself, to cross the bridge and go and live in Beaucaire, among the Volsci; after that, he grew calmer.
To quit his little house, his garden, his beloved habits, to renounce66 his chair as president of the Club of the Alpines, founded by himself, to resign that majestic67 P. C. A. which adorned68 and distinguished69 his cards, his letter-paper, and even the lining70 of his hat! Not possible, vé! Suddenly there came into his head an electrifying71 idea . . .
In a word, the exploits of Costecalde were limited to excursions among the Alpines. Why should not Tartarin, during the three months that still intervened before the elections, why should he not attempt some grandiose72 adventure? plant, for instance, the standard of the Club on the highest peak of Europe, the Jungfrau or the Mont Blanc?
What triumph on his return! what a slap in the face to Costecalde when the Forum should publish an account of the ascension! Who would dare to dispute his presidency73 after that?
Immediately he set to work; sent secretly to Paris for quantities of works on Alpine adventure: Whymper’s “Scrambles,” Tyndall’s “Glaciers,” the “Mont-Blanc” of Stephen d’Arve, reports of the Alpine Club, English and Swiss; cramming74 his head with a mass of mountaineering terms — chimneys, couloirs, moulins, névés, séracs, moraines, rotures — without knowing very well what they meant.
At night, his dreams were fearful with interminable slides and sudden falls into bottomless crevasses75. Avalanches76 rolled him down, icy arêtes caught his body on the descent; and long after his waking and the chocolate he always took in bed, the agony and the oppression of that nightmare clung to him. But all this did not hinder him, once afoot, from devoting his whole morning to the most laborious77 training exercises.
Around Tarascon is a promenade78 planted with trees which, in the local dictionary, is called the “Tour de Ville.” Every Sunday afternoon, the Tarasconese, who, in spite of their imagination, are a people of routine, make the tour of their town, and always in the same direction. Tartarin now exercised himself by making it eight times, ten times, of a morning, and often reversed the way. He walked, his hands behind his back, with short-mountain-steps, both slow and sure, till the shopkeepers, alarmed by this infraction79 of local habits, were lost in suppositions of all possible kinds.
At home, in his exotic garden, he practised the art of leaping crevasses, by jumping over the basin in which a few gold-fish were swimming about among the water-weeds. On two occasions he fell in, and was forced to change his clothes. Such mishaps80 inspired him only the more, and, being subject to vertigo81, he practised walking on the narrow masonry82 round the edge of the water, to the terror of his old servant-woman, who understood nothing of these performances.
During this time, he ordered, in Avignon, from an excellent locksmith, crampons of the Whymper pattern, and a Kennedy ice-axe; also he procured83 himself a reed-wick lamp, two impermeable84 coverlets, and two hundred feet of rope of his own invention, woven with iron wire.
The arrival of these different articles from Avignon, the mysterious goings and comings which their construction required, puzzled the Taras-conese much, and it was generally said about town: “The president is preparing a stroke.” But what? Something grand, you may be sure, for, in the beautiful words of the brave and sententious Commander Bravida, retired85 captain of equipment, who never spoke86 except in apothegms: “Eagles hunt no flies.”
With his closest intimates Tartarin remained impenetrable. Only, at the sessions of the Club, they noticed the quivering of his voice and the lightning flash of his eyes whenever he addressed Costecalde — the indirect cause of this new expedition, the dangers and fatigues87 of which became more pronounced to his mind the nearer he approached it. The unfortunate man did not attempt to disguise them; in fact he took so black a view of the matter that he thought it indispensable to set his affairs in order, to write those last wishes, the expression of which is so trying to the Tarasconese, lovers of life, that most of them die intestate.
On a radiant morning in June, beneath a cloudless arched and splendid sky, the door of his study open upon the neat little garden with its gravelled paths, where the exotic plants stretched forth88 their motionless lilac shadows, where the fountain tinkled89 its silvery note ‘mid the merry shouts of the Savoyards, playing at marbles before the gate, behold90 Tartarin! in Turkish slippers, wide flannel91 under-garments, easy in body, his pipe at hand, reading aloud as he wrote the words:—
“This is my last will and testament.”
Ha! one may have one’s heart in the right place and solidly hooked there, but these are cruel moments. Nevertheless, neither his hand nor his voice trembled while he distributed among his fellow-citizens all the ethnographical riches piled in his little home, carefully dusted and preserved in immaculate order.
“To the Club of the Alpines, my baobab (arbos gigantea) to stand on the chimney-piece of the hall of sessions;”
To Bravida, his carbines, revolvers, hunting knives, Malay krishes, tomahawks, and other murderous weapons;
To Excourbaniès, all his pipes, calumets, narghilés, and pipelets for smoking kif and opium93;
To Costecalde — yes, Costecalde himself had his legacy94 — the famous poisoned arrows (Do not touch).
Perhaps beneath this gift was the secret hope that the traitor95 would touch and die; but nothing of the kind was exhaled96 by the will, which closed with the following words, of a divine meekness97:
“I beg my dear Alpinists not to forget their president . . . I wish them to forgive my enemy as I have forgiven him, although it is he who has caused my death . . . ”
Here Tartarin was forced to stop, blinded by a flood of tears. For a minute he beheld98 himself crushed, lying in fragments at the foot of a high mountain, his shapeless remains gathered up in a barrow, and brought back to Tarascon. Oh, the power of that Proven?al imagination! he was present at his own funeral; he heard the lugubrious99 chants, and the talk above his grave: “Poor Tartarin, péchère!“ and, mingling100 with the crowd of his faithful friends, he wept for himself.
But immediately after, the sight of the sun streaming into his study and glittering on the weapons and pipes in their usual order, the song of that thread of a fountain in the middle of the garden recalled him to the actual state of things. Différemment, why die? Why go, even? Who obliged him? What foolish vanity! Risk his life for a presidential chair and three letters!..
’Twas a passing weakness, and it lasted no longer than any other. At the end of five minutes the will was finished, signed, the flourish added, sealed with an enormous black seal, and the great man had concluded his last preparations for departure.
Once more had the warren Tartarin triumphed over the cabbage Tartarin. It could be said of the Tarasconese hero, as was said of Turenne: “His body was not always willing to go into battle, but his will led him there in spite of himself.”
The evening of that same day, as the last stroke of ten was sounding from the tower of the town-hall, the streets being already deserted101, a man, after brusquely slamming a door, glided102 along through the darkened town, where nothing lighted the fronts of the houses, save the hanging-lamps of the streets and the pink and green bottles of the pharmacy Bézuquet, which projected their reflections on the pavement, together with a silhouette103 of the apothecary himself resting his elbows on his desk and sound asleep on the Codex; — a little nap, which he took every evening from nine to ten, to make himself, so he said, the fresher at night for those who might need his services. That, between ourselves, was a mere104 tarasconade, for no one ever waked him at night, in fact he himself had cut the bell-wire, in order that he might sleep more tranquilly105.
Suddenly Tartarin entered, loaded with rugs, carpet-bag in hand, and so pale, so discomposed, that the apothecary, with that fiery106 local imagination from which the pharmacy was no preservative107, jumped to the conclusion of some alarming misadventure and was terrified. “Unhappy man!” he cried, “what is it?.. you are poisoned?.. Quick! quick! some ipeca . . . ”
And he sprang forward, bustling108 among his bottles. To stop him, Tartarin was forced to catch him round the waist. “Listen to me, qué diable!“ and his voice grated with the vexation of an actor whose entrance has been made to miss fire. As soon as the apothecary was rendered motionless behind the counter by an iron wrist, Tartarin said in a low voice:—
“Are we alone, Bézuquet?”
“Bé! yes,” ejaculated the other, looking about in vague alarm . . . “Pascalon has gone to bed.” [ Pascalon was his pupil.] “Mamma too; why do you ask?”
“Shut the shutters109,” commanded Tartarin, without replying; “we might be seen from without.”
Bézuquet obeyed, trembling. An old bachelor, living with his mother, whom he never quitted, he had all the gentleness and timidity of a girl, contrasting oddly with his swarthy skin, his hairy lips, his great hooked nose above a spreading moustache; in short, the head of an Algerine pirate before the conquest. These antitheses111 are frequent in Tarascon, where heads have too much character, Roman or Saracen, heads with the expression of models for a school of design, but quite out of place in bourgeois112 trades among the manners and customs of a little town.
For instance, Excourbaniès, who has all the air of a conquistador, companion of Pizarro, rolls flaming eyes in selling haberdashery to induce the purchase of two sous’ worth of thread. And Bézuquet, labelling liquorice and sirupus gummi, resembles an old sea-rover of the Barbary coast.
When the shutters were put up and secured by iron bolts and transversal bars, “Listen, Ferdinand . . . ” said Tartarin, who was fond of calling people by their Christian113 names. And thereupon he unbosomed himself, emptied his heart full of bitterness at the ingratitude of his compatriots, related the manoeuvres of “Cock-leg,” the trick about to be played upon him at the coming elections, and the manner in which he expected to parry the blow.
Before all else, the matter must be kept very secret; it must not be revealed until the moment when success was assured, unless some unforeseen accident, one of those frightful114 catastrophes115 —“Hey, Bézuquet! don’t whistle in that way when I talk to you.”
This was one of the apothecary’s ridiculous habits. Not talkative by nature (a negative quality seldom met with in Tarascon, and which won him this confidence of the president), his thick lips, always in the form of an O, had a habit of perpetually whistling that gave him an appearance of laughing in the nose of the world, even on the gravest occasions.
So that, while the hero made allusion116 to his possible death, saying, as he laid upon the counter a large sealed envelope, “This is my last will and testament, Bézuquet; it is you whom I have chosen as testamentary executor . . . ” “Hui . . . hui . . . hui . . . ” whistled the apothecary, carried away by his mania117, while at heart he was deeply moved and fully92 conscious of the grandeur118 of his r?le.
Then, the hour of departure being at hand, he desired to drink to the enterprise, “something good, qué? a glass of the elixir119 of Garus, hey?” After several closets had been opened and searched, he remembered that mamma had the keys of the Garus. To get them it would be necessary to awaken120 her and tell who was there. The elixir was therefore changed to a glass of the sirop de Calabre, a summer drink, inoffensive and modest, which Bézuquet invented, advertising121 it in the Forum as follows: Sirop de Calabre, ten sous a bottle, including the glass (verre). “Sirop de Cadavre, including the worms (vers),” said that infernal Costecalde, who spat122 upon all success. But, after all, that horrid123 play upon words only served to swell124 the sale, and the Tarasconese to this day delight in their sirop de cadavre.
Libations made and a few last words exchanged, they embraced, Bézuquet whistling as usual in his moustache, adown which rolled great tears.
“Adieu, au mouain“ . . . said Tartarin in a rough tone, feeling that he was about to weep himself, and as the shutter110 of the door had been lowered the hero was compelled to creep out of the pharmacy on his hands and knees.
This was one of the trials of the journey now about to begin.
Three days later he landed in Vitznau at the foot of the Rigi. As the mountain for his début, the Rigi had attracted him by its low altitude (5900 feet, about ten times that of Mount Terrible, the highest of the Alpines) and also on account of the splendid panorama125 to be seen from the summit — the Bernese Alps marshalled in line, all white and rosy126, around the lakes, awaiting the moment when the great ascensionist should cast his ice-axe upon one of them.
Certain of being recognized on the way and perhaps followed —‘t was a foible of his to believe that throughout all France his fame was as great and popular as it was at Tarascon — he had made a great détour before entering Switzerland and did not don his accoutrements until after he had crossed the frontier. Luckily for him; for never could his armament have been contained in one French railway-carriage.
But, however convenient the Swiss compartments127 might be, the Alpinist, hampered128 with utensils129 to which he was not, as yet, accustomed, crushed toe-nails with his crampons, harpooned130 travellers who came in his way with the point of his alpenstock, and wherever he went, in the stations, the steamers, and the hotel salons131, he excited as much amazement132 as he did maledictions, avoidance, and angry looks, which he could not explain to himself though his affectionate and communicative nature suffered from them. To complete his discomfort133, the sky was always gray, with flocks of clouds and a driving rain.
It rained at Bale, on the little white houses, washed and rewashed by the hands of a maid and the waters of heaven. It rained at Lucerne, on the quay134 where the trunks and boxes appeared to be saved, as it were, from shipwreck135, and when he arrived at the station of Vitznau, on the shore of the lake of the Four-Cantons, the same deluge136 was descending137 on the verdant138 slopes of the Rigi, straddled by inky clouds and striped with torrents139 that leaped from rock to rock in cascades141 of misty142 sleet143, bringing down as they came the loose stones and the pine-needles. Never had Tartarin seen so much water.
He entered an inn and ordered a café au lait with honey and butter, the only really good things he had as yet tasted during his journey. Then, reinvigorated, and his beard sticky with honey, cleaned on a corner of his napkin, he prepared to attempt his first ascension.
“Et autremain“ he asked, as he shifted his knapsack, “how long does it take to ascend144 the Rigi?”
“One hour, one hour and a quarter, monsieur; but make haste about it; the train is just starting.”
“A train upon the Rigi!.. you are joking!..”
Through the leaded panes145 of the tavern146 window he was shown the train that was really starting. Two great covered carriages, windowless, pushed by a locomotive with a short, corpulent chimney, in shape like a saucepan, a monstrous147 insect, clinging to the mountain and clambering, breathless up its vertiginous148 slopes.
The two Tartarins, cabbage and warren, both, at the same instant, revolted at the thought of going up in that hideous149 mechanism150. One of them thought it ridiculous to climb the Alps in a lift; as for the other, those aerial bridges on which the track was laid, with the prospect151 of a fall of 4000 feet at the slightest derailment, inspired him with all sorts of lamentable152 reflections, justified153 by the little cemetery154 of Vitzgau, the white tombs of which lay huddled155 together at the foot of the slope, like linen156 spread out to bleach157 in the yard of a wash-house. Evidently the cemetery is there by way of precaution, so that, in case of accident, the travellers may drop on the very spot.
“I’ll go afoot,” the valiant158 Tarasconese said to himself; “’twill exercise me . . . zou!”
And he started, wholly preoccupied159 with manoeuvring his alpenstock in presence of the staff of the hotel, collected about the door and shouting directions to him about the path, to which he did not listen. He first followed an ascending160 road, paved with large irregular, pointed161 stones like a lane at the South, and bordered with wooden gutters162 to carry off the rains.
To right and left were great orchards163, fields of rank, lush grass crossed by the same wooden conduits for irrigation through hollowed trunks of trees. All this made a constant rippling164 from top to bottom of the mountain, and every time that the ice-axe of the Alpinist became hooked as he walked along in the lower branches of an oak or a walnut-tree, his cap crackled as if beneath the nozzle of a watering-pot.
“Diou! what a lot of water!” sighed the man of the South. But it was much worse when the pebbly165 path abruptly166 ceased and he was forced to puddle167 along in the torrent140 or jump from rock to rock to save his gaiters. Then a shower joined in, penetrating168, steady, and seeming to get colder the higher he went. When he stopped to recover breath he could hear nothing else than a vast noise of waters in which he seemed to be sunk, and he saw, as he turned round, the clouds descending into the lake in delicate long filaments169 of spun170 glass through which the chalets of Vitznau shone like freshly varnished171 toys.
Men and children passed him with lowered heads and backs bent172 beneath hods of white-wood, containing provisions for some villa173 or pension, the balconies of which could be distinguished on the slopes. “Rigi-Kulm?” asked Tartarin, to be sure he was heading in the right direction. But his extraordinary equipment, especially, that knitted muffler which masked his face, cast terror along the way, and all whom he addressed only opened their eyes wide and hastened their steps without replying.
Soon these encounters became rare. The last human being whom he saw was an old woman washing her linen in the hollowed trunk of a tree under the shelter of an enormous red umbrella, planted in the ground.
“Rigi-Kulm?” asked the Alpinist.
The old woman raised an idiotic174, cadaverous face, with a goitre swaying upon her throat as large as the rustic175 bell of a Swiss cow. Then, after gazing at him for a long time, she was seized with inextinguishable laughter, which stretched her mouth from ear to ear, wrinkled up the corners of her little eyes, and every time she opened them the sight of Tartarin, planted before her with his ice-axe on his shoulder, redoubled her joy.
“Tron de l’air!“ growled176 the Tarasconese, “lucky for her that she’s a woman . . . ” Snorting with anger, he continued his way and lost it in a pine-wood, where his boots slipped on the oozing177 moss178.
Beyond this point the landscape changed. No more paths, or trees, or pastures. Gloomy, denuded179 slopes, great boulders180 of rock which he scaled on his knees for fear of falling; sloughs181 full of yellow mud, which he crossed slowly, feeling before him with his alpenstock and lifting his feet like a knife-grinder. At every moment he looked at the compass hanging to his broad watch-ribbon; but whether it were the altitude or the variations of the temperature, the needle seemed untrue. And how could he find his bearings in a thick yellow fog that hindered him from seeing ten steps about him — steps that were now, within a moment, covered with an icy glaze182 that made the ascent183 more difficult.
Suddenly he stopped; the ground whitened vaguely184 before him . . . Look out for your eyes!..
He had come to the region of snows . . .
Immediately he pulled out his spectacles, took them from their case, and settled them securely on his nose. The moment was a solemn one. Slightly agitated185, yet proud all the same, it seemed to Tar-tarin that in one bound he had risen 3000 feet toward the summits and his greatest dangers.
He now advanced with more precaution, dreaming of crevasses and fissures186 such as the books tell of, and cursing in the depths of his heart those people at the inn who advised him to mount straight and take no guide. After all, perhaps he had mistaken the mountain! More than six hours had he tramped, and the Rigi required only three. The wind blew, a chilling wind that whirled the snow in that crepuscular187 fog.
Night was about to overtake him. Where find a hut? or even a projecting rock to shelter him? All of a sudden, he saw before his nose on the arid188, naked plain a species of wooden chalet, bearing, on a long placard in gigantic type, these letters, which he deciphered with difficulty: PHO . . . TO . . . GRA . . . PHIE DU RI . . . GI KULM. At the same instant the vast hotel with its three hundred windows loomed189 up before him between the great lamp-posts, the globes of which were now being lighted in the fog.
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alpines
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| n.高山的，高山上的（尤指阿尔卑斯山）( alpine的名词复数 ) | |
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alpine
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| adj.高山的；n.高山植物 | |
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testament
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| n.遗嘱；证明 | |
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limpid
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| adj.清澈的，透明的 | |
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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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6
inquisitive
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| adj.求知欲强的，好奇的，好寻根究底的 | |
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mirage
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| n.海市蜃楼，幻景 | |
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8
delirious
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| adj.不省人事的，神智昏迷的 | |
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absurdities
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| n.极端无理性( absurdity的名词复数 )；荒谬；谬论；荒谬的行为 | |
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joyous
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| adj.充满快乐的；令人高兴的 | |
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memorable
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| adj.值得回忆的，难忘的，特别的，显著的 | |
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modesty
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| n.谦逊，虚心，端庄，稳重，羞怯，朴素 | |
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13
explicitly
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| ad.明确地，显然地 | |
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14
depict
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| vt.描画，描绘；描写，描述 | |
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15
torpedoed
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| 用鱼雷袭击（torpedo的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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enrolled
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| adj.入学登记了的v.[亦作enrol]( enroll的过去式和过去分词 )；登记，招收，使入伍（或入会、入学等），参加，成为成员；记入名册；卷起，包起 | |
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17
renouncing
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| v.声明放弃( renounce的现在分词 )；宣布放弃；宣布与…决裂；宣布摒弃 | |
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18
futile
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| adj.无效的，无用的，无希望的 | |
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19
platonic
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| adj.精神的；柏拉图（哲学）的 | |
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20
abjuring
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| v.发誓放弃( abjure的现在分词 )；郑重放弃（意见）；宣布撤回（声明等）；避免 | |
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21
patronage
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| n.赞助，支援，援助；光顾，捧场 | |
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22
fabulous
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| adj.极好的；极为巨大的；寓言中的，传说中的 | |
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23
bugles
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| 妙脆角，一种类似薯片但做成尖角或喇叭状的零食； 号角( bugle的名词复数 )； 喇叭； 匍匐筋骨草； （装饰女服用的）柱状玻璃（或塑料）小珠 | |
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24
forum
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| n.论坛，讨论会 | |
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25
epithets
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| n.（表示性质、特征等的）词语( epithet的名词复数 ) | |
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26
gorges
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| n.山峡，峡谷( gorge的名词复数 )；咽喉v.（用食物把自己）塞饱，填饱( gorge的第三人称单数 )；作呕 | |
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27
pharmacy
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| n.药房，药剂学，制药业，配药业，一批备用药品 | |
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28
odyssey
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| n.长途冒险旅行；一连串的冒险 | |
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29
laden
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| adj.装满了的；充满了的；负了重担的；苦恼的 | |
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30
degenerated
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| 衰退，堕落，退化( degenerate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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31
remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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32
accentuated
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| v.重读( accentuate的过去式和过去分词 )；使突出；使恶化；加重音符号于 | |
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33
adventurous
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| adj.爱冒险的；惊心动魄的，惊险的，刺激的 | |
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34
nervously
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| adv.神情激动地，不安地 | |
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35
fatigue
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| n.疲劳，劳累 | |
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36
draughts
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| n. <英>国际跳棋 | |
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37
prudence
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| n.谨慎，精明，节俭 | |
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38
permissible
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| adj.可允许的，许可的 | |
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39
inquiry
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| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
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40
infamous
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| adj.声名狼藉的，臭名昭著的，邪恶的 | |
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41
malignant
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| adj.恶性的，致命的；恶意的，恶毒的 | |
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42
proceeding
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| n.行动，进行，(pl.)会议录，学报 | |
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43
puffs
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| n.吸( puff的名词复数 )；（烟斗或香烟的）一吸；一缕（烟、蒸汽等）；（呼吸或风的）呼v.使喷出( puff的第三人称单数 )；喷着汽（或烟）移动；吹嘘；吹捧 | |
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44
suffuses
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| v.（指颜色、水气等）弥漫于，布满( suffuse的第三人称单数 ) | |
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45
dented
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| v.使产生凹痕( dent的过去式和过去分词 )；损害；伤害；挫伤（信心、名誉等） | |
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46
temperament
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| n.气质，性格，性情 | |
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47
subterraneously
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| adj.地下的，隐匿的 | |
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48
gilded
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| a.镀金的，富有的 | |
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49
idol
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| n.偶像，红人，宠儿 | |
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50
triumphant
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| adj.胜利的，成功的；狂欢的，喜悦的 | |
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51
renown
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| n.声誉，名望 | |
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52
gnaws
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| 咬( gnaw的第三人称单数 )； （长时间） 折磨某人； （使）苦恼； （长时间）危害某事物 | |
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53
salon
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| n.[法]沙龙；客厅；营业性的高级服务室 | |
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54
ragged
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| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
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55
slayer
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| n. 杀人者，凶手 | |
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56
liking
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| n.爱好；嗜好；喜欢 | |
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57
slippers
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| n. 拖鞋 | |
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58
intonations
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| n.语调，说话的抑扬顿挫( intonation的名词复数 )；（演奏或唱歌中的）音准 | |
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59
tragic
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| adj.悲剧的，悲剧性的，悲惨的 | |
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60
narratives
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| 记叙文( narrative的名词复数 )； 故事； 叙述； 叙述部分 | |
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61
inaccessible
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| adj.达不到的，难接近的 | |
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62
apothecary
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| n.药剂师 | |
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63
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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64
ingratitude
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| n.忘恩负义 | |
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65
injustice
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| n.非正义，不公正，不公平，侵犯（别人的）权利 | |
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66
renounce
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| v.放弃；拒绝承认，宣布与…断绝关系 | |
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67
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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68
adorned
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| [计]被修饰的 | |
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69
distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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70
lining
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| n.衬里，衬料 | |
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71
electrifying
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| v.使电气化( electrify的现在分词 )；使兴奋 | |
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72
grandiose
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| adj.宏伟的，宏大的，堂皇的，铺张的 | |
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73
presidency
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| n.总统(校长，总经理)的职位(任期) | |
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74
cramming
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| n.塞满，填鸭式的用功v.塞入( cram的现在分词 )；填塞；塞满；（为考试而）死记硬背功课 | |
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75
crevasses
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| n.破口，崩溃处，裂缝( crevasse的名词复数 ) | |
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76
avalanches
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| n.雪崩( avalanche的名词复数 ) | |
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77
laborious
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| adj.吃力的，努力的，不流畅 | |
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78
promenade
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| n./v.散步 | |
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79
infraction
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| n.违反；违法 | |
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80
mishaps
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| n.轻微的事故，小的意外( mishap的名词复数 ) | |
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81
vertigo
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| n.眩晕 | |
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82
masonry
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| n.砖土建筑；砖石 | |
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83
procured
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| v.（努力）取得， （设法）获得( procure的过去式和过去分词 )；拉皮条 | |
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84
impermeable
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| adj.不能透过的，不渗透的 | |
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85
retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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86
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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87
fatigues
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| n.疲劳( fatigue的名词复数 )；杂役；厌倦；（士兵穿的）工作服 | |
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88
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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89
tinkled
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| （使）发出丁当声，（使）发铃铃声( tinkle的过去式和过去分词 )； 叮当响着发出，铃铃响着报出 | |
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90
behold
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| v.看，注视，看到 | |
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91
flannel
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| n.法兰绒；法兰绒衣服 | |
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92
fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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93
opium
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| n.鸦片；adj.鸦片的 | |
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94
legacy
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| n.遗产，遗赠；先人(或过去)留下的东西 | |
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95
traitor
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| n.叛徒，卖国贼 | |
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96
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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97
meekness
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| n.温顺，柔和 | |
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98
beheld
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| v.看，注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
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99
lugubrious
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| adj.悲哀的，忧郁的 | |
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100
mingling
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| adj.混合的 | |
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101
deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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102
glided
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| v.滑动( glide的过去式和过去分词 )；掠过；（鸟或飞机 ） 滑翔 | |
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103
silhouette
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| n.黑色半身侧面影，影子，轮廓；v.描绘成侧面影，照出影子来，仅仅显出轮廓 | |
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104
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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105
tranquilly
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| adv. 宁静地 | |
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106
fiery
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| adj.燃烧着的，火红的；暴躁的；激烈的 | |
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107
preservative
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| n.防腐剂；防腐料；保护料；预防药 | |
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108
bustling
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| adj.喧闹的 | |
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109
shutters
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| 百叶窗( shutter的名词复数 )； （照相机的）快门 | |
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110
shutter
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| n.百叶窗；(照相机)快门；关闭装置 | |
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111
antitheses
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| n.对照，对立的，对比法；对立( antithesis的名词复数 )；对立面；对照；对偶 | |
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112
bourgeois
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| adj./n.追求物质享受的(人)；中产阶级分子 | |
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113
Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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114
frightful
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| adj.可怕的；讨厌的 | |
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115
catastrophes
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| n.灾祸( catastrophe的名词复数 )；灾难；不幸事件；困难 | |
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116
allusion
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| n.暗示，间接提示 | |
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117
mania
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| n.疯狂；躁狂症，狂热，癖好 | |
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118
grandeur
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| n.伟大，崇高，宏伟，庄严，豪华 | |
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119
elixir
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| n.长生不老药，万能药 | |
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120
awaken
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| vi.醒，觉醒；vt.唤醒，使觉醒，唤起，激起 | |
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121
advertising
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| n.广告业；广告活动 a.广告的；广告业务的 | |
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122
spat
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| n.口角，掌击；v.发出呼噜呼噜声 | |
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123
horrid
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| adj.可怕的；令人惊恐的；恐怖的；极讨厌的 | |
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124
swell
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| vi.膨胀，肿胀；增长，增强 | |
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125
panorama
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| n.全景，全景画，全景摄影，全景照片[装置] | |
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126
rosy
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| adj.美好的，乐观的，玫瑰色的 | |
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127
compartments
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| n.间隔( compartment的名词复数 )；（列车车厢的）隔间；（家具或设备等的）分隔间；隔层 | |
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128
hampered
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| 妨碍，束缚，限制( hamper的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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129
utensils
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| 器具，用具，器皿( utensil的名词复数 )； 器物 | |
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130
harpooned
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| v.鱼镖，鱼叉( harpoon的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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131
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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132
amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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133
discomfort
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| n.不舒服，不安，难过，困难，不方便 | |
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134
quay
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| n.码头，靠岸处 | |
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shipwreck
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| n.船舶失事，海难 | |
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deluge
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| n./vt.洪水，暴雨，使泛滥 | |
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descending
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| n. 下行 adj. 下降的 | |
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verdant
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| adj.翠绿的，青翠的，生疏的，不老练的 | |
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torrents
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| n.倾注；奔流( torrent的名词复数 )；急流；爆发；连续不断 | |
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torrent
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| n.激流，洪流；爆发，(话语等的)连发 | |
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141
cascades
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| 倾泻( cascade的名词复数 )； 小瀑布（尤指一连串瀑布中的一支）； 瀑布状物； 倾泻（或涌出）的东西 | |
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misty
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| adj.雾蒙蒙的，有雾的 | |
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sleet
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| n.雨雪；v.下雨雪，下冰雹 | |
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ascend
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| vi.渐渐上升，升高；vt.攀登，登上 | |
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panes
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| 窗玻璃( pane的名词复数 ) | |
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tavern
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| n.小旅馆，客栈；小酒店 | |
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monstrous
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| adj.巨大的；恐怖的；可耻的，丢脸的 | |
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vertiginous
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| adj.回旋的；引起头晕的 | |
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hideous
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| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
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mechanism
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| n.机械装置；机构，结构 | |
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prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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lamentable
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| adj.令人惋惜的，悔恨的 | |
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justified
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| a.正当的，有理的 | |
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154
cemetery
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| n.坟墓，墓地，坟场 | |
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huddled
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| 挤在一起（huddle的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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linen
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| n.亚麻布，亚麻线，亚麻制品；adj.亚麻布制的，亚麻的 | |
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bleach
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| vt.使漂白；vi.变白；n.漂白剂 | |
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valiant
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| adj.勇敢的，英勇的；n.勇士，勇敢的人 | |
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preoccupied
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| adj.全神贯注的，入神的；被抢先占有的；心事重重的v.占据（某人）思想，使对…全神贯注，使专心于( preoccupy的过去式) | |
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ascending
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| adj.上升的，向上的 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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gutters
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| （路边）排水沟( gutter的名词复数 )； 阴沟； （屋顶的）天沟； 贫贱的境地 | |
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orchards
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| （通常指围起来的）果园( orchard的名词复数 ) | |
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rippling
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| 起涟漪的，潺潺流水般声音的 | |
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pebbly
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| 多卵石的，有卵石花纹的 | |
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abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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puddle
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| n.(雨)水坑，泥潭 | |
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penetrating
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| adj.（声音）响亮的，尖锐的adj.（气味）刺激的adj.（思想）敏锐的，有洞察力的 | |
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filaments
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| n.（电灯泡的）灯丝( filament的名词复数 )；丝极；细丝；丝状物 | |
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spun
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| v.纺，杜撰，急转身 | |
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varnished
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| 浸渍过的，涂漆的 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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villa
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| n.别墅，城郊小屋 | |
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idiotic
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| adj.白痴的 | |
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rustic
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| adj.乡村的，有乡村特色的；n.乡下人，乡巴佬 | |
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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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oozing
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| v.（浓液等）慢慢地冒出，渗出( ooze的现在分词 )；使（液体）缓缓流出；（浓液）渗出，慢慢流出 | |
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178
moss
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| n.苔，藓，地衣 | |
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denuded
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| adj.[医]变光的，裸露的v.使赤裸( denude的过去式和过去分词 )；剥光覆盖物 | |
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boulders
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| n.卵石( boulder的名词复数 )；巨砾；（受水或天气侵蚀而成的）巨石；漂砾 | |
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181
sloughs
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| n.沼泽( slough的名词复数 )；苦难的深渊；难以改变的不良心情；斯劳(Slough)v.使蜕下或脱落( slough的第三人称单数 )；舍弃；除掉；摒弃 | |
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182
glaze
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| v.因疲倦、疲劳等指眼睛变得呆滞，毫无表情 | |
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183
ascent
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| n.(声望或地位)提高；上升，升高；登高 | |
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vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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agitated
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| adj.被鼓动的，不安的 | |
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186
fissures
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| n.狭长裂缝或裂隙( fissure的名词复数 )；裂伤；分歧；分裂v.裂开( fissure的第三人称单数 ) | |
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187
crepuscular
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| adj.晨曦的；黄昏的；昏暗的 | |
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arid
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| adj.干旱的；(土地)贫瘠的 | |
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loomed
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| v.隐约出现，阴森地逼近( loom的过去式和过去分词 )；隐约出现，阴森地逼近 | |
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