Great influx4, that morning, to the H?tel Bellevue on the Little Scheideck. In spite of the rain and the squalls, tables had been laid outside in the shelter of the veranda5, amid a great display of alpenstocks, flasks6, telescopes, cuckoo clocks in carved wood, so that tourists could, while breakfasting, contemplate8 at a depth of six thousand feet before them the wonderful valley of Grindel-wald on the left, that of Lauterbrunnen on the right, and opposite, within gunshot as it seemed, the immaculate, grandiose9 slopes of the Jungfrau, its névés, glaciers10, all that reverberating12 whiteness which illumines the air about it, making glasses more transparent13, and linen14 whiter.
But now, for a time, general attention was attracted to a noisy, bearded caravan15, which had just arrived on horse, mule16, and donkey-back, also in a chaise à porteurs, who had prepared themselves to climb the mountain by a copious17 breakfast, and were now in a state of hilarity18, the racket of which contrasted with the bored and solemn airs of the very distinguished19 Rices and Prunes20 collected on the Scheideck, such as: Lord Chipendale, the Belgian senator and his family, the Austro-Hungarian diplomat21, and several others. It would certainly have been supposed that the whole party of these bearded men sitting together at table were about to attempt the ascension, for one and all were busy with preparations for departure, rising, rushing about to give directions to the guides, inspecting the provisions, and calling to each other from end to end of the terrace in stentorian22 tones.
“Hey! Placide, vé! the cooking-pan, see if it is in the knapsack!.. Don’t forget the reed-lamp, au mouain.”
Not until the actual departure took place was it seen that, of all the caravan, only one was to make the ascension: but which one?
“Children, are we ready?” said the good Tar-tarin in a joyous23, triumphant24 voice, in which not a shade of anxiety trembled at the possible dangers of the trip — his last doubt as to the Company’s manipulation of Switzerland being dissipated that very morning before the two glaciers of Grindel-wald each protected by a wicket and a turnstile, with this inscription25 “Entrance to the glacier11: one franc fifty.”
He could, therefore, enjoy without anxiety this departure in apotheosis26, the joy of feeling himself looked at, envied, admired by those bold little misses in boys’ caps who laughed at him so prettily27 on the Rigi-Kulm, and were now enthusiastically comparing his short person with the enormous mountain he was about to climb. One drew his portrait in her album, another sought the honour of touching28 his alpenstock. “Tchemppegne!.. Tchemppegne!..” called out of a sudden a tall, funereal29 Englishman with a brick-coloured skin, coming up to him, bottle and glass in hand. Then, after obliging the hero to drink with him:
“Lord Chipendale, sir . . . And you?”
“Tartarin of Tarascon.”
“Oh! yes . . . Tartarine . . . Capital name for a horse,” said the lord, who must have been one of those great turfmen across the Channel.
The Austro-Hungarian diplomat also came to press the Alpinist’s hand between his mittens30, remembering vaguely31 to have seen him somewhere. “Enchanted32!.. enchanted!..” he enunciated33 several times, and then, not knowing how to get out of it, he added: “My compliments to madame . . . ” his social formula for cutting short presentations.
But the guides were impatient; they must reach before nightfall the hut of the Alpine Club, where they were to sleep for the first stage, and there was not a minute to lose. Tartarin felt it, saluted34 all with a circular gesture, smiled at the malicious35 misses, and then, in a voice of thunder, commanded:
“Pascalon, the banner!”
It waved to the breeze; the Southerners took off their hats, for they love theatricals36 at Tarascon; and at the cry, a score of times repeated: “Long live the president!.. Long live Tartarin!.. Ah! ah!..fen37 dé brut!..” the column moved off, the two guides in front carrying the knapsack, the provisions, and a supply of wood; then came Pascalon bearing the oriflamme, and lastly the P. C. A. with the delegates who proposed to accompany him as far as the glacier of the Guggi.
Thus deployed39 in procession, bearing its flapping flag along the sodden40 way beneath those barren or snowy crests42, the cortège vaguely recalled the funeral marches of an All Souls’ day in the country.
Suddenly the Commander cried out, alarmed: ”Vé! those oxen!”
Some cattle were now seen browsing43 the short grass in the hollows of the ground. The former captain of equipment had a nervous and quite insurmountable terror of those animals, and as he could not be left alone the delegation44 was forced to stop. Pascalon transmitted the standard to the guides. Then, with a last embrace, hasty injunctions, and one eye on the cows:
“Adieu, adieu, qué!“
“No imprudence, au mouain . . . ” they parted. As for proposing to the president to go up with him, no one even thought of it; ’twas so high, boufre! And the nearer they came to it the higher it grew, the abysses were more abysmal45, the peaks bristled46 up in a white chaos47, which looked to be insurmountable. It was better to look at the ascension from the Scheideck.
In all his life, naturally, the president of the Club of the Alpines48 had never set foot on a glacier. There is nothing of that sort on the mountainettes of Tarascon, little hills as balmy and dry as a packet of lavender; and yet the approaches to the Guggi gave him the impression of having already seen them, and wakened recollections of hunts in Provence at the end of the Camargue, near to the sea. The same turf always getting shorter and parched49, as if seared by fire. Here and there were puddles50 of water, infiltrations of the ground betrayed by puny51 reeds, then came the moraine, like a sandy dune52 full of broken shells and cinders53, and, far at the end, the glacier, with its blue-green waves crested54 with white and rounded in form, a silent, congealed55 ground-swell56. The wind which came athwart it, whistling and strong, had the same biting, salubrious freshness as his own sea-breeze.
“No, thank you . . . I have my crampons . . . ” said Tartarin to the guide, who offered him woollen socks to draw on over his boots; “Kennedy crampons . . . perfected . . . very convenient . . . ” He shouted, as if to a deaf person, in order to make himself understood by Christian57 Inebnit, who knew no more French than his comrade Kaufmann; and then the P. C. A. sat down upon the moraine and strapped58 on a species of sandal with three enormous and very strong iron spikes59. He had practised them a hundred times, these Kennedy crampons, manoeuvring them in the garden of the baobab; nevertheless, the present effect was unexpected. Beneath the weight of the hero the spikes were driven into the ice with such force that all efforts to withdraw them were vain. Behold60 him, therefore, nailed to the glacier, sweating, swearing, making with arms and alpenstock most desperate gymnastics and reduced finally to shouting for his guides, who had gone forward, convinced that they had to do with an experienced Alpinist.
Under the impossibility of uprooting61 him, they undid62 the straps63, and, the crampons, abandoned in the ice, being replaced by a pair of knitted socks, the president continued his way, not without much difficulty and fatigue64. Unskilful in holding his stick, his legs stumbled over it, then its iron point skated and dragged him along if he leaned upon it too heavily. He tried the ice-axe65 — still harder to manoeuvre66, the swell of the glacier increasing by degrees, and pressing up, one above another, its motionless waves with all the appearance of a furious and petrified67 tempest.
Apparent immobility only, for hollow crackings, subterranean68 gurgles, enormous masses of ice displacing themselves slowly, as if moved by the machinery69 of a stage, indicated the inward life of this frozen mass and its treacherous70 elements. To the eyes of our Alpinist, wherever he cast his axe crevasses71 were opening, bottomless pits, where masses of ice in fragments rolled indefinitely. The hero fell repeatedly; once to his middle in one of those greenish gullies, where his broad shoulders alone kept him from going to the bottom.
On seeing him so clumsy, and yet so tranquil72, so sure of himself, laughing, singing, gesticulating, as he did while breakfasting, the guides imagined that Swiss champagne73 had made an impression upon him. What else could they suppose of the president of an Alpine Club, a renowned74 ascensionist, of whom his friends spoke75 only with “Ahs!” and exultant76 gestures. After taking him each by the arm with the respectful firmness of policemen putting into a carriage an overcome heir to a title, they endeavoured, by the help of monosyllables and gestures, to rouse his mind to a sense of the dangers of the route, the necessity of reaching the hut before nightfall, with threats of crevasses, cold, avalanches77. Finally, with the point of their ice-picks they showed him the enormous accumulation of ice, of névé not yet transformed into glacier rising before them to the zenith in blinding repetition.
But the worthy78 Tartarin laughed at all that: “Ha! va?! crevasses!.. Ha! va?! those avalanches!..” and he burst out laughing, winked79 his eye, and prodded80 their sides with his elbows to let them know they could not fool him, for he was in the secret of the comedy.
The guides at last ended by making merry with the Tarasconese songs, and when they rested a moment on a solid block to let their monsieur get his breath, they yodelled in the Swiss way, though not too loudly, for fear of avalanches, nor very long, for time was getting on. They knew the coming of night by the sharper cold, but especially by the singular change in hue81 of these snows and ice-packs, heaped-up, overhanging, which always keep, even under misty82 skies, a rainbow tinge83 of colour until the daylight fades, rising higher and higher to the vanishing summits, where the snows take on the livid, spectral84 tints85 of the lunar universe. Pallor, petrifaction86, silence, death itself. And the good Tartarin, so warm, so living, was beginning to lose his liveliness when the distant cry of a bird, the note of a “snow partridge” brought back before his eyes a baked landscape, a copper-coloured setting sun, and a band of Taras-conese sportsmen, mopping their faces, seated on their empty game-bags, in the slender shade of an olive-tree. The recollection was a comfort to him.
At the same moment Kaufmann pointed88 to something that looked like a faggot of wood on the snow. ‘T was the hut. It seemed as if they could get to it in a few strides, but, in point of fact, it took a good half-hour’s walking. One of the guides went on ahead to light the fire. Darkness had now come on; the north wind rattled89 on the cadaverous way, and Tartarin, no longer paying attention to anything, supported by the stout90 arm of the mountaineer, stumbled and bounded along without a dry thread on him in spite of the falling temperature. All of a sudden a flame shot up before him, together with an appetizing smell of onion soup.
They were there.
Nothing can be more rudimentary than these halting-places established on the mountains by the Alpine Club of Switzerland. A single room, in which an inclined plane of hard wood serves as a bed and takes up nearly all the space, leaving but little for the stove and the long table, screwed to the floor like the benches that are round it. The table was already laid; three bowls, pewter spoons, the reed-lamp to heat the coffee, two cans of Chicago preserved meats already opened. Tartarin thought the dinner delicious although the fumes91 of the onion soup infected the atmosphere, and the famous spirit-lamp, which ought to have made its pint92 of coffee in three minutes, refused to perform its functions.
At the dessert he sang; that was his only means of conversing93 with his guides. He sang them the airs of his native land: La Tarasque, and Les Filles d’Avignon. To which the guides responded with local songs in German patois94: Mi Vater isch en Appenzeller . . . aou . . . aou . . . Worthy fellows with hard, weather-beaten features as if cut from the rock, beards in the hollows that looked like moss95 and those clear eyes, used to great spaces, like the eyes of sailors. The same sensation of the sea and the open, which he had felt just now on approaching Guggi, Tartarin again felt here, in presence of these mariners96 of the glacier in this close cabin, low and smoky, the regular forecastle of a ship; in the dripping of the snow from the roof as it melted with the warmth; in the great gusts97 of wind, shaking everything, cracking the boards, fluttering the flame of the lamp, and falling abruptly98 into vast, unnatural99 silence, like the end of the world.
They had just finished dinner when heavy steps upon the ringing path and voices were heard approaching. Violent blows with the butt100 end of some weapon shook the door. Tartarin, greatly excited, looked at his guides . . . A nocturnal attack on these heights!.. The blows redoubled. “Who goes there?” cried the hero, jumping for his ice-axe; but already the hut was invaded by two gigantic Yankees, in white linen masks, their clothing soaked with snow and sweat, and behind them guides, porters, a whole caravan, on its return from ascending101 the Jungfrau.
“You are welcome, milords,” said Tartarin, with a liberal, dispensing102 gesture, of which the milords showed not the slightest need in making themselves free of everything. In a trice the table was surrounded, the dishes removed, the bowls and spoons rinsed103 in hot water for the use of the new arrivals (according to established custom in Alpine huts); the boots of the milords smoked before the stove, while they themselves, bare-footed, their feet wrapped in straw, were sprawling104 at their ease before a fresh onion soup.
Father and son, these two Americans; two red-haired giants, with heads of pioneers, hard and self-reliant. One of them, the elder, had two dilated105 eyes, almost white, in a bloated, sun-burned, fissured106 face, and presently, by the hesitating way in which he groped for his bowl and spoon, and the care with which his son looked after him, Tartarin became aware that this was the famous blind Alpinist of whom he had been told, not believing the tale, at the H?tel Bellevue; a celebrated107 climber in his youth, who now, in spite of his sixty years and his infirmity, was going over with his son the scenes of his former exploits. He had already done the Wetterhorn and the Jungfrau, and was intending to attack the Matterhorn and the Mont Blanc, declaring that the air upon summits, that glacial breath with its taste of snow, caused him inexpressible joy, and a perfect recall of his lost vigour108.
“Différemment,” asked Tartarin of one of the porters, for the Yankees were not communicative, and answered only by a “yes” or a “no” to all his advances ”différemment inasmuch as he can’t see, how does he manage at the dangerous places?”
“Oh! he has got the mountaineer’s foot; besides, his son watches over him, and places his heels . . . And it is a fact that he has never had an accident.”
“All the more because accidents in Switzerland are never very terrible, qué?“ With a comprehending smile to the puzzled porter, Tartarin, more and more convinced that the “whole thing was blague,” stretched himself out on the plank109 rolled in his blanket, the muffler up to his eyes, and went to sleep, in spite of the light, the noise, the smoke of the pipes and the smell of the onion soup . . .
“Mossié!.. Mossié!..”
One of his guides was shaking him for departure, while the other poured boiling coffee into the bowls. A few oaths and the groans110 of sleepers111 whom Tartarin crushed on his way to the table, and then to the door. Abruptly he found himself outside, stung by the cold, dazzled by the fairy-like reflections of the moon upon that white expanse, those motionless congealed cascades112, where the shadow of the peaks, the aiguilles, the séracs, were sharply defined in the densest113 black. No longer the sparkling chaos of the afternoon, nor the livid rising upward of the gray tints of evening, but a strange irregular city of darksome alleys114, mysterious passages, doubtful corners between marble monuments and crumbling115 ruins — a dead city, with broad desert spaces.
Two o’clock! By walking well they could be at the top by mid-day. ”Zou!“ said the P. C. A., very lively, and dashing forward, as if to the assault. But his guides stopped him. They must be roped for the dangerous passages.
“Ah! va?, roped!.. Very good, if that amuses you.”
Christian Inebnit took the lead, leaving twelve feet of rope between himself and Tartarin, who was separated by the same length from the second guide who carried the provisions and the banner. The hero kept his footing better than he did the day before; and confidence in the Company must indeed have been strong, for he did not take seriously the difficulties of the path — if we can call a path the terrible ridge87 of ice along which they now advanced with precaution, a ridge but a few feet wide and so slippery that Christian was forced to cut steps with his ice-axe.
The line of the ridge sparkled between two depths of abysses on either side. But if you think that Tartarin was frightened, not at all! Scarcely did he feel the little quiver of the cuticle116 of a freemason novice117 when subjected to his opening test. He placed his feet most precisely118 in the holes which the first guide cut for them, doing all that he saw the guide do, as tranquil as he was in the garden of the baobab when he practised around the margin119 of the pond, to the terror of the goldfish. At one place the ridge became so narrow that he was forced to sit astride of it, and while they went slowly forward, helping120 themselves with their hands, a loud detonation121 echoed up, on their right, from beneath them. “Avalanche!” said Inebnit, keeping motionless till the repercussion122 of the echoes, numerous, grandiose, filling the sky, died away at last in a long roll of thunder in the far distance, where the final detonation was lost. After which, silence once more covered all as with a winding-sheet.
The ridge passed, they went up a névé the slope of which was rather gentle but its length interminable. They had been climbing nearly an hour when a slender pink line began to define the summits far, far above their heads. It was the dawn, thus announcing itself. Like a true Southerner, enemy to shade, Tartarin trolled out his liveliest song:
Grand souleu de la Proven?o
Gai compaire dou mistrau —
A violent shake of the rope from before and behind stopped him short in the middle of his couplet. “Hush123 . . . Hush . . . ” said Inebnit, pointing with his ice-axe to the threatening line of gigantic séracs on their tottering124 foundations which the slightest jar might send thundering down the steep. But Tartarin knew what that meant; he was not the man to ply38 with any such tales, and he went on singing in a resounding125 voice:
Tu qu ‘escoulès la Duran?o
Commo un flot dé vin de Crau.
The guides, seeing that they could not silence their crazy singer, made a great détour to get away from the séracs, and presently were stopped by an enormous crevasse, the glaucous green sides of which were lighted, far down their depths, by the first furtive126 rays of the dawn. What is called in Switzerland “a snow bridge” spanned it; but so slight was it, so fragile, that they had scarcely advanced a step before it crumbled127 away in a cloud of white dust, dragging down the leading guide and Tartarin, hanging to the rope which Rodolphe Kaufmann, the rear guide, was alone left to hold, clinging with all the strength of his mountain vigour to his pick-axe, driven deeply into the ice. But although he was able to hold the two men suspended in the gulf128 he had not enough force to draw them up and he remained, crouching129 on the snow, his teeth clenched130, his muscles straining, and too far from the crevasse to see what was happening.
Stunned131 at first by the fall, and blinded by snow, Tartarin waved his arms and legs at random132, like a puppet out of order; then, drawing himself up by means of the rope, he hung suspended over the abyss, his nose against its icy side, which his breath polished, in the attitude of a plumber133 in the act of soldering134 a waste-pipe. He saw the sky above him growing paler and the stars disappearing; below he could fathom135 the gulf and its opaque136 shadows, from which rose a chilling breath.
Nevertheless, his first bewilderment over, he recovered his self-possession and his fine good-humour.
“Hey! up there! père Kaufmann, don’t leave us to mildew137 here, qué! there ’s a draught138 all round, and besides, this cursed rope is cutting our loins.”
Kaufmann was unable to answer; to have unclenched his teeth would have lessened139 his strength. But Inebnit shouted from below:
“Mossié . . . Mossié . . . ice-axe . . . ” for his own had been lost in the fall; and, the heavy implement140 being now passed from the hands of Tartarin to those of the guide (with difficulty, owing to the space that separated the two hanged ones), the mountaineer used it to make notches141 in the ice-wall before him, into which he could fasten both hands and feet.
The weight of the rope being thus lessened by at least one-half, Rodolphe Kaufmann, with carefully calculated vigour and infinite precautions, began to draw up the president, whose Tarasconese cap appeared at last at the edge of the crevasse. Inebnit followed him in turn and the two mountaineers met again with that effusion of brief words which, in persons of limited elocution, follows great dangers. Both were trembling with their effort, and Tartarin passed them his flask7 of kirsch to steady their legs. He himself was nimble and calm, and while he shook himself free of snow he hummed his song under the nose of his wondering guides, beating time with his foot to the measure:
“Brav . . . brav . . . Franzose . . . ” said Kaufmann, tapping him on the shoulder; to which Tartarin answered with his fine laugh:
“You rogue142! I knew very well there was no danger . . . ”
Never within the memory of guides was there seen such an Alpinist.
They started again, climbing perpendicularly143 a sort of gigantic wall of ice some thousand feet high, in which they were forced to cut steps as they went along, which took much time. The man of Tarascon began to feel his strength give way under the brilliant sun which flooded the whiteness of the landscape and was all the more fatiguing144 to his eyes because he had dropped his green spectacles into the crevasse. Presently, a dreadful sense of weakness seized him, that mountain sickness which produces the same effects as sea-sickness. Exhausted145, his head empty, his legs flaccid, he stumbled and lost his feet, so that the guides were forced to grasp him, one on each side, supporting and hoisting146 him to the top of that wall of ice. Scarcely three hundred feet now separated them from the summit of the Jungfrau; but although the snow was hard and bore them, and the path much easier, this last stage took an almost interminable time, the fatigue and the suffocation147 of the P. C. A. increasing all the while.
Suddenly the mountaineers loosed their hold upon him, and waving their caps began to yodel in a transport of joy. They were there! This spot in immaculate space, this white crest41, somewhat rounded, was the goal, and for that good Tartarin the end of the somnambulic torpor148 in which he had wandered for an hour or more.
“Scheideck! Scheideck!” shouted the guides, showing him far, far below, on a verdant149 plateau emerging from the mists of the valley, the H?tel Bellevue about the size of a thimble.
Thence to where they stood lay a wondrous150 panorama151, an ascent152 of fields of gilded153 snow, oranged by the sun, or else of a deep, cold blue, a piling up of mounds154 of ice, fantastically structured into towers, flèches, aiguilles, arêtes, and gigantic heaps, under which one could well believe that the lost megatherium or mastodon lay sleeping. All the tints of the rainbow played there and met in the bed of vast glaciers rolling down their immovable cascades, crossed by other little frozen torrents155, the surfaces of which the sun’s warmth liquefied, making them smoother and more glittering. But, at the great height at which they stood, all this sparkling brilliance156 calmed itself; a light floated, cold, ecliptic, which made Tartarin shudder157 even more than the sense of silence and solitude158 in that white desert with its mysterious recesses159.
A little smoke, with hollow detonations160, rose from the hotel. They were seen, a cannon161 was fired in their honour, and the thought that they were being looked at, that his Alpinists were there, and the misses, the illustrious Prunes and Rices, all with their opera-glasses levelled up to him, recalled Tartarin to a sense of the grandeur162 of his mission. He tore thee, O Tarasconese banner! from the hands of the guide, waved thee twice or thrice, and then, plunging163 the handle of his ice-axe deep into the snow, he seated himself upon the iron of the pick, banner in hand, superb, facing the public. And there — unknown to himself — by one of those spectral reflections frequent upon summits, taken between the sun and the mists that rose behind him, a gigantic Tartarin was outlined on the sky, broader, dumpier, his beard bristling164 beyond the muffler, like one of those Scandinavian gods enthroned, as the legend has it, among the clouds.
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1
apparition
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| n.幽灵，神奇的现象 | |
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alpine
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| adj.高山的；n.高山植物 | |
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crevasse
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| n. 裂缝，破口；v.使有裂缝 | |
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influx
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| n.流入，注入 | |
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veranda
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| n.走廊；阳台 | |
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flasks
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| n.瓶，长颈瓶， 烧瓶( flask的名词复数 ) | |
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flask
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| n.瓶，火药筒，砂箱 | |
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8
contemplate
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| vt.盘算，计议；周密考虑；注视，凝视 | |
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grandiose
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| adj.宏伟的，宏大的，堂皇的，铺张的 | |
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glaciers
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| 冰河，冰川( glacier的名词复数 ) | |
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glacier
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| n.冰川，冰河 | |
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reverberating
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| 回响，回荡( reverberate的现在分词 )； 使反响，使回荡，使反射 | |
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transparent
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| adj.明显的，无疑的；透明的 | |
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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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caravan
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| n.大蓬车；活动房屋 | |
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mule
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| n.骡子，杂种，执拗的人 | |
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copious
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| adj.丰富的，大量的 | |
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hilarity
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| n.欢乐；热闹 | |
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distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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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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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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stentorian
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| adj.大声的，响亮的 | |
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joyous
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| adj.充满快乐的；令人高兴的 | |
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triumphant
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| adj.胜利的，成功的；狂欢的，喜悦的 | |
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inscription
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| n.（尤指石块上的）刻印文字，铭文，碑文 | |
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apotheosis
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| n.神圣之理想；美化；颂扬 | |
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prettily
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| adv.优美地；可爱地 | |
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touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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funereal
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| adj.悲哀的；送葬的 | |
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30
mittens
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| 不分指手套 | |
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31
vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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32
enchanted
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| adj. 被施魔法的，陶醉的，入迷的 动词enchant的过去式和过去分词 | |
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33
enunciated
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| v.（清晰地）发音( enunciate的过去式和过去分词 )；确切地说明 | |
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saluted
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| v.欢迎，致敬( salute的过去式和过去分词 )；赞扬，赞颂 | |
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35
malicious
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| adj.有恶意的，心怀恶意的 | |
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36
theatricals
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| n.（业余性的）戏剧演出，舞台表演艺术；职业演员；戏剧的( theatrical的名词复数 )；剧场的；炫耀的；戏剧性的 | |
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37
fen
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| n.沼泽，沼池 | |
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38
ply
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| v.(搬运工等)等候顾客，弯曲 | |
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39
deployed
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| （尤指军事行动）使展开( deploy的过去式和过去分词 )； 施展； 部署； 有效地利用 | |
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40
sodden
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| adj.浑身湿透的；v.使浸透；使呆头呆脑 | |
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41
crest
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| n.顶点；饰章；羽冠；vt.达到顶点；vi.形成浪尖 | |
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42
crests
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| v.到达山顶（或浪峰）( crest的第三人称单数 )；到达洪峰，达到顶点 | |
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43
browsing
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| v.吃草( browse的现在分词 )；随意翻阅；（在商店里）随便看看；（在计算机上）浏览信息 | |
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44
delegation
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| n.代表团；派遣 | |
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45
abysmal
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| adj.无底的，深不可测的，极深的；糟透的，极坏的；完全的 | |
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46
bristled
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| adj. 直立的，多刺毛的 动词bristle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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47
chaos
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| n.混乱，无秩序 | |
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48
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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49
parched
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| adj.焦干的；极渴的；v.（使）焦干 | |
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50
puddles
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| n.水坑， （尤指道路上的）雨水坑( puddle的名词复数 ) | |
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51
puny
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| adj.微不足道的，弱小的 | |
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52
dune
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| n.(由风吹积而成的)沙丘 | |
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53
cinders
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| n.煤渣( cinder的名词复数 )；炭渣；煤渣路；煤渣跑道 | |
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54
crested
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| adj.有顶饰的，有纹章的，有冠毛的v.到达山顶（或浪峰）( crest的过去式和过去分词 )；到达洪峰，达到顶点 | |
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55
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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56
swell
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| vi.膨胀，肿胀；增长，增强 | |
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57
Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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58
strapped
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| adj.用皮带捆住的，用皮带装饰的；身无分文的；缺钱；手头紧v.用皮带捆扎(strap的过去式和过去分词)；用皮带抽打；包扎；给…打绷带 | |
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59
spikes
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| n.穗( spike的名词复数 )；跑鞋；（防滑）鞋钉；尖状物v.加烈酒于( spike的第三人称单数 )；偷偷地给某人的饮料加入（更多）酒精（ 或药物）；把尖状物钉入；打乱某人的计划 | |
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60
behold
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| v.看，注视，看到 | |
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61
uprooting
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| n.倒根，挖除伐根v.把（某物）连根拔起( uproot的现在分词 )；根除；赶走；把…赶出家园 | |
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62
Undid
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| v. 解开, 复原 | |
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63
straps
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| n.带子( strap的名词复数 )；挎带；肩带；背带v.用皮带捆扎( strap的第三人称单数 )；用皮带抽打；包扎；给…打绷带 | |
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64
fatigue
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| n.疲劳，劳累 | |
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65
axe
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| n.斧子；v.用斧头砍，削减 | |
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66
manoeuvre
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| n.策略，调动；v.用策略，调动 | |
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67
petrified
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| adj.惊呆的；目瞪口呆的v.使吓呆，使惊呆；变僵硬；使石化(petrify的过去式和过去分词) | |
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68
subterranean
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| adj.地下的，地表下的 | |
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69
machinery
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| n.(总称)机械，机器；机构 | |
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70
treacherous
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| adj.不可靠的，有暗藏的危险的；adj.背叛的，背信弃义的 | |
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71
crevasses
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| n.破口，崩溃处，裂缝( crevasse的名词复数 ) | |
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72
tranquil
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| adj. 安静的, 宁静的, 稳定的, 不变的 | |
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73
champagne
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| n.香槟酒；微黄色 | |
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74
renowned
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| adj.著名的，有名望的，声誉鹊起的 | |
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75
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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76
exultant
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| adj.欢腾的，狂欢的，大喜的 | |
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77
avalanches
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| n.雪崩( avalanche的名词复数 ) | |
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78
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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79
winked
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| v.使眼色( wink的过去式和过去分词 )；递眼色（表示友好或高兴等）；（指光）闪烁；闪亮 | |
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80
prodded
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| v.刺，戳( prod的过去式和过去分词 )；刺激；促使；（用手指或尖物）戳 | |
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81
hue
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| n.色度；色调；样子 | |
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82
misty
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| adj.雾蒙蒙的，有雾的 | |
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83
tinge
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| vt.(较淡)着色于，染色；使带有…气息；n.淡淡色彩，些微的气息 | |
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84
spectral
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| adj.幽灵的，鬼魂的 | |
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85
tints
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| 色彩( tint的名词复数 )； 带白的颜色； （淡色）染发剂； 痕迹 | |
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86
petrifaction
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| n.石化，化石；吓呆；惊呆 | |
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87
ridge
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| n.山脊；鼻梁；分水岭 | |
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88
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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89
rattled
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| 慌乱的，恼火的 | |
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91
fumes
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| n.(强烈而刺激的)气味，气体 | |
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92
pint
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| n.品脱 | |
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93
conversing
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| v.交谈，谈话( converse的现在分词 ) | |
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94
patois
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| n.方言；混合语 | |
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95
moss
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| n.苔，藓，地衣 | |
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96
mariners
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| 海员，水手（mariner的复数形式） | |
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97
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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98
abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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99
unnatural
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| adj.不自然的；反常的 | |
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100
butt
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| n.笑柄；烟蒂；枪托；臀部；v.用头撞或顶 | |
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101
ascending
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| adj.上升的，向上的 | |
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102
dispensing
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| v.分配( dispense的现在分词 )；施与；配（药） | |
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103
rinsed
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| v.漂洗( rinse的过去式和过去分词 )；冲洗；用清水漂洗掉（肥皂泡等）；（用清水）冲掉 | |
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104
sprawling
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|
| adj.蔓生的，不规则地伸展的v.伸开四肢坐[躺]( sprawl的现在分词 )；蔓延；杂乱无序地拓展；四肢伸展坐着（或躺着） | |
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105
dilated
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|
| adj.加宽的，扩大的v.（使某物）扩大，膨胀，张大( dilate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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106
fissured
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| adj.裂缝的v.裂开( fissure的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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107
celebrated
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| adj.有名的，声誉卓著的 | |
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108
vigour
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| （=vigor）n.智力，体力，精力 | |
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109
plank
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| n.板条，木板，政策要点，政纲条目 | |
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110
groans
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| n.呻吟，叹息( groan的名词复数 )；呻吟般的声音v.呻吟( groan的第三人称单数 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
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111
sleepers
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| n.卧铺（通常以复数形式出现）；卧车( sleeper的名词复数 )；轨枕；睡觉（呈某种状态）的人；小耳环 | |
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112
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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113
densest
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| 密集的( dense的最高级 )； 密度大的； 愚笨的； （信息量大得）难理解的 | |
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114
alleys
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| 胡同，小巷( alley的名词复数 )； 小径 | |
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115
crumbling
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| adj.摇摇欲坠的 | |
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116
cuticle
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| n.表皮 | |
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117
novice
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| adj.新手的，生手的 | |
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118
precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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119
margin
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| n.页边空白；差额；余地，余裕；边，边缘 | |
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120
helping
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| n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的，辅助的 | |
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121
detonation
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| n.爆炸；巨响 | |
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122
repercussion
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| n.[常pl.](不良的)影响，反响，后果 | |
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123
hush
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| int.嘘，别出声；n.沉默，静寂；v.使安静 | |
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124
tottering
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| adj.蹒跚的，动摇的v.走得或动得不稳( totter的现在分词 )；踉跄；蹒跚；摇摇欲坠 | |
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125
resounding
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| adj. 响亮的 | |
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126
furtive
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| adj.鬼鬼崇崇的，偷偷摸摸的 | |
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127
crumbled
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| （把…）弄碎， （使）碎成细屑( crumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 衰落； 坍塌； 损坏 | |
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128
gulf
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| n.海湾；深渊，鸿沟；分歧，隔阂 | |
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129
crouching
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| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的现在分词 ) | |
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130
clenched
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| v.紧握，抓紧，咬紧( clench的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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131
stunned
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| adj. 震惊的，惊讶的 动词stun的过去式和过去分词 | |
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132
random
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| adj.随机的；任意的；n.偶然的(或随便的)行动 | |
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133
plumber
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| n.(装修水管的)管子工 | |
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134
soldering
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| n.软焊；锡焊；低温焊接；热焊接v.（使）焊接，焊合( solder的现在分词 ) | |
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135
fathom
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| v.领悟，彻底了解 | |
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136
opaque
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| adj.不透光的；不反光的，不传导的；晦涩的 | |
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137
mildew
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| n.发霉；v.（使）发霉 | |
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138
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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139
lessened
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| 减少的，减弱的 | |
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140
implement
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| n.(pl.)工具，器具；vt.实行，实施，执行 | |
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141
notches
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| n.（边缘或表面上的）V型痕迹( notch的名词复数 )；刻痕；水平；等级 | |
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142
rogue
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| n.流氓；v.游手好闲 | |
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143
perpendicularly
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| adv. 垂直地, 笔直地, 纵向地 | |
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144
fatiguing
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| a.使人劳累的 | |
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145
exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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146
hoisting
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| 起重，提升 | |
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147
suffocation
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| n.窒息 | |
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148
torpor
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| n.迟钝；麻木；（动物的）冬眠 | |
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149
verdant
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| adj.翠绿的，青翠的，生疏的，不老练的 | |
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150
wondrous
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| adj.令人惊奇的，奇妙的；adv.惊人地；异乎寻常地；令人惊叹地 | |
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151
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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152
ascent
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| n.(声望或地位)提高；上升，升高；登高 | |
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153
gilded
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| a.镀金的，富有的 | |
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154
mounds
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| 土堆，土丘( mound的名词复数 )； 一大堆 | |
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155
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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156
brilliance
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| n.光辉，辉煌，壮丽，（卓越的）才华，才智 | |
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157
shudder
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| v.战粟，震动，剧烈地摇晃；n.战粟，抖动 | |
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158
solitude
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| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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159
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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160
detonations
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| n.爆炸 （声）( detonation的名词复数 ) | |
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161
cannon
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| n.大炮，火炮；飞机上的机关炮 | |
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162
grandeur
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| n.伟大，崇高，宏伟，庄严，豪华 | |
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163
plunging
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| adj.跳进的，突进的v.颠簸( plunge的现在分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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164
bristling
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| a.竖立的 | |
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