Nine o’clock was ringing from the belfry at Chamonix of a cold night shivering with the north wind and rain; the black streets, the darkened houses (except, here and there, the fa?ades and courtyards of hotels where the gas was still burning) made the surroundings still more gloomy under the vague reflection of the snow of the mountains, white as a planet on the night of the sky.
At the H?tel Baltet, one of the best and most frequented inns of this Alpine village, the numerous travellers and boarders had disappeared one by one, weary with the excursions of the day, until no one was left in the grand salon3 but one English traveller playing silently at backgammon with his wife, his innumerable daughters, in brown-holland aprons4 with bibs, engaged in copying notices of an approaching evangelical service, and a young Swede sitting before the fireplace, in which was a good fire of blazing logs. The latter was pale, hollow-cheeked, and gazed at the flame with a gloomy air as he drank his grog of kirsch and seltzer. From time to time some belated traveller crossed the salon, with soaked gaiters and streaming mackintosh, looked at the great barometer5 hanging to the wall, tapped it, consulted the mercury as to the weather of the following day, and went off to bed in consternation6. Not a word; no other manifestations7 of life than the crackling of the fire, the pattering on the panes8, and the angry roll of the Arve under the arches of its wooden bridge, a few yards distant from the hotel.
Suddenly the door of the salon opened, a porter in a silver-laced coat came in, carrying valises and rugs, with four shivering Alpinists behind him, dazzled by the sudden change from icy darkness into warmth and light.
“Boudiou! what weather!..”
“Something to eat, zou!“
“Warm the beds, que!“
They all talked at once from the depths of their mufflers and ear-pads, and it was hard to know which to obey, when a short stout9 man, whom the others called ”présidain“ enforced silence by shouting more loudly than they.
“In the first place, give me the visitors’ book,” he ordered. Turning it over with a numbed10 hand, he read aloud the names of all who had been at the hotel for the last week: “‘Doctor Schwanthaler and madame.’ Again!.. ‘Astier-Réhu of the French Academy . . . ‘” He deciphered thus two or three pages, turning pale when he thought he saw the name he was in search of. Then, at the end, flinging the book on the table with a laugh of triumph, the squat11 man made a boyish gambol12 quite extraordinary in one of his bulky shape: “He is not here, vé! he has n’t come . . . And yet he must have stopped here if he had . . . Done for! Coste-calde . . . lagadigadeou!.. quick! to our suppers, children!.. “And the worthy13 Tartarin, having bowed to the ladies, marched to the dining-room, followed by the famished14 and tumultuous delegation15.
Ah, yes! the delegation, all of them, even Bravida himself . . . Is it possible? come now!.. But — just think what would be said of them down there in Tarascon, if they returned without Tartarin? They each felt this. And, at the moment of separation in the station at Geneva, the buffet16 witnessed a pathetic scene of tears, embraces, heartrending adieus to the banner; as the result of which adieus the whole company piled itself into the landau which Tartarin had chartered to take him to Chamonix. A glorious route, which they did with their eyes shut, wrapped in their rugs and filling the carriage with sonorous17 snores, unmindful of the wonderful landscape, which, from Sallanches, was unrolling before them in a mist of blue rain: ravines, forests, foaming18 waterfalls, with the crest19 of Mont Blanc above the clouds, visible or vanishing, according to the lay of the land in the valley they were crossing. Tired of that sort of natural beauty, our Tarasconese friends thought only of making up for the wretched night they had spent behind the bolts of Chillon. And even now, at the farther end of the long, deserted20 dining-room of the H?tel Baltet, when served with the warmed-over soup and entrées of the table d’h?te, they ate voraciously21, without saying a word, eager only to get to bed. All of a sudden, Excourbaniès, who was swallowing his food like a somnambulist, came out of his plate, and sniffing22 the air about him, remarked: “I smell garlic!..”
“True, I smell it,” said Bravida. And the whole party, revived by this reminder23 of home, these fumes24 of the national dishes, which Tartarin, at least, had not inhaled25 for so long, turned round in their chairs with gluttonous26 anxiety. The odour came from the other end of the dining-room, from a little room where some one was supping apart, a personage of importance, no doubt, for the white cap of the head cook was constantly appearing at the wicket that opened into the kitchen as he passed to the girl in waiting certain little covered dishes which she conveyed to the inner apartment.
“Some one from the South, that’s certain,” murmured the gentle Pascalon; and the president, becoming ghastly at the idea of Costecalde, said commandingly:—
“Go and see, Spiridion . . . and bring us word who it is . . . ”
A loud roar of laughter came from that little apartment as soon as the brave “gong” entered it, at the order of his chief; and he presently returned, leading by the hand a tall devil with a big nose, a mischievous27 eye, and a napkin under his chin, like the gastronomic28 horse.
“Vi! Bompard . . . ”
“Té! the Impostor . . . ”
“Hé! Gonzague . . . How are you?”
“Différemment, messieurs: your most obedient . . . ” said the courier, shaking hands with all, and sitting down at the table of the Tarasconese to share with them a dish of mushrooms with garlic prepared by mère Baltet, who, together with her husband had a horror of the cooking for the table d’h?te.
Was it the national concoction29, or the joy of meeting a compatriot, that delightful30 Bompard with his inexhaustible imagination? Certain it is that weariness and the desire to sleep took wings, champagne31 was uncorked, and, with moustachios all messy with froth, they laughed and shouted and gesticulated, clasping one another round the body effusively32 happy.
“I’ll not leave you now, vé!“ said Bompard. “My Peruvians have gone . . . I am free . . . ”
“Free!.. Then to-morrow you and I will ascend33 Mont Blanc.”
“Ah! you do Mont Blanc to-morrow?” said Bompard, without enthusiasm.
“Yes, I knock out Costecalde . . . When he gets here, uit!.. No Mont Blanc for him . . . You’ll go, qué, Gonzague?”
“I ‘ll go . . . I ‘ll go . . . that is, if the weather permits . . . The fact is, that the mountain is not always suitable at this season.”
“Ah! va?! not suitable indeed!..” exclaimed Tartarin, crinkling up his eyes by a meaning laugh which Bompard seemed not to understand.
“Let us go into the salon for our coffee . . . We ‘ll consult père Baltet. He knows all about it, he ’s an old guide who has made the ascension twenty-seven times.”
All the delegates cried out: “Twenty-seven times! Boufre!“
“Bompard always exaggerates,” said the P. C. A. severely34, but not without a touch of envy.
In the salon they found the daughters of the minister still bending over their notices, while the father and mother were asleep at their backgammon, and the tall Swede was stirring his seltzer grog with the same disheartened gesture. But the invasion of the Tarasconese Alpinists, warmed by champagne, caused, as may well be supposed, some distraction35 of mind to the young conventiclers. Never had those charming young persons seen coffee taken with such rollings of the eyes and pantomimic action.
“Sugar, Tartarin?”
“Of course not, commander . . . You know very well . . . Since Africa!..”
“True; excuse me . . . Té! here comes M. Baltet.”
“Sit down there, qué. Monsieur Baltet.”
“Vive Monsieur Baltet!.. Ha! ha! fen36 dé brut.”
Surrounded, captured by all these men whom he had never seen before in his life, père Baltet smiled with a tranquil37 air. A robust38 Savoyard, tall and broad, with a round back and slow walk, a heavy face, close-shaven, enlivened by two shrewd eyes, that were still young, contrasting oddly with his baldness, caused by chills at dawn upon the mountain.
“These gentlemen wish to ascend Mont Blanc?” he said, gauging39 the Tarasconese Alpinists with a glance both humble40 and sarcastic41. Tartarin was about to reply, but Bompard forestalled42 him:— “Isn’t the season too far advanced?” “Why, no,” replied the former guide. “Here’s a Swedish gentleman who goes up to-morrow, and I am expecting at the end of this week two American gentlemen to make the ascent43; and one of them is blind.”
“I know. I met them on the Guggi.” “Ah! monsieur has been upon the Guggi?” “Yes, a week ago, in doing the Jungfrau.” Here a quiver among the evangelical conventiclers; all pens stopped, and heads were raised in the direction of Tartarin, who, to the eyes of these English maidens44, resolute45 climbers, expert in all sports, acquired considerable authority. He had gone up the Jungfrau!
“A fine thing!” said père Baltet, considering the P. C. A. with some astonishment46; while Pascalon, intimidated47 by the ladies and blushing and stuttering, murmured softly:—
“Ma-a-aster, tell them the . . . the . . . thing . . . crevasse48.”
The president smiled. “Child!..” he said: but, all the same, he began the tale of his fall; first with a careless, indifferent air, and then with startled motions, jigglings at the end of the rope over the abyss, hands outstretched and appealing. The young ladies quivered, and devoured49 him with those cold English eyes, those eyes that open round.
In the silence that followed, rose the voice of Bompard:—
“On Chimborazo we never roped one another to cross crevasses50.”
The delegates looked at one another. As a tarasconade that remark surpassed them all.
“Oh, that Bompard, pas mouain . . . ” murmured Pascalon, with ingenuous51 admiration52.
But père Baltet, taking Chimborazo seriously, protested against the practice of not roping. According to him, no ascension over ice was possible without a rope, a good rope of Manila hemp53; then, if one slipped, the others could hold him.
“Unless the rope breaks, Monsieur Baltet,” said Tartarin, remembering the catastrophe54 on the Matterhorn.
But the landlord, weighing his words, replied:
“The rope did not break on the Matterhorn . . . the rear guide cut it with a blow of his axe55 . . . ”
As Tartarin expressed indignation —
“Beg pardon, monsieur, but the guide had a right to do it . . . He saw the impossibility of holding back those who had fallen, and he detached himself from them to save his life, that of his son, and of the traveller they were accompanying . . . Without his action seven persons would have lost their lives instead of four.”
Then a discussion began. Tartarin thought that in letting yourself be roped in file you were bound in honour to live and die together; and growing excited, especially in presence of ladies, he backed his opinion by facts and by persons present: “Tomorrow, té! to-morrow, in roping myself to Bom-pard, it is not a simple precaution that I shall take, it is an oath before God and man to be one with my companion and to die sooner than return without him, coquin de sort!“
“I accept the oath for myself, as for you, Tar-tarin . . . ” cried Bompard from the other side of the round table.
Exciting moment!
The minister, electrified56, rose, came to the hero and inflicted57 upon him a pump-handle exercise of the hand that was truly English. His wife did likewise, then all the young ladies continued the shake hands with enough vigour58 to have brought water to the fifth floor of the house. The delegates, I ought to mention, were less enthusiastic.
“Eh, bé! as for me,” said Bravida, “I am of M. Baltet’s opinion. In matters of this kind, each man should look to his own skin, pardi! and I understand that cut of the axe perfectly59.”
“You amaze me, Placide,” said Tartarin, severely; adding in a low voice: “Behave yourself! England is watching us.”
The old captain, who certainly had kept a root of bitterness in his heart ever since the excursion to Chillon, made a gesture that signified: “I don’t care that for England . . . ” and might perhaps have drawn60 upon himself a sharp rebuke61 from the president, irritated at so much cynicism, but at this moment the young man with the heart-broken look, filled to the full with grog and melancholy62, brought his extremely bad French into the conversation. He thought, he said, that the guide was right to cut the rope: to deliver from existence those four unfortunate men, still young, condemned63 to live for many years longer; to send them, by a mere64 gesture, to peace, to nothingness — what a noble and generous action!
Tartarin exclaimed against it:—
“Pooh! young man, at your age, to talk of life with such aversion, such anger . . . What has life done to you?”
“Nothing; it bores me.” He had studied philosophy at Christiania, and since then, won to the ideas of Schopenhauer and Hartmann, he had found existence dreary65, inept66, chaotic67. On the verge68 of suicide he shut his books, at the entreaty69 of his parents, and started to travel, striking everywhere against the same distress70, the gloomy wretchedness of this life. Tartarin and his friends, he said, seemed to him the only beings content to live that he had ever met with.
The worthy P. C. A. began to laugh. “It is all race, young man. Everybody feels like that in Tarascon. That’s the land of the good God. From morning till night we laugh and sing, and the rest of the time we dance the farandole . . . like this . . . té!“ So saying, he cut a double shuffle71 with the grace and lightness of a big cockchafer trying its wings.
But the delegates had not the steel nerves nor the indefatigable72 spirit of their chief. Excour-baniès growled73 out: “He ‘ll keep us here till midnight.” But Bravida jumped up, furious. “Let us go to bed, vé! I can’t stand my sciatica . . . ” Tartarin consented, remembering the ascension on the morrow; and the Tarasconese, candlesticks in hand, went up the broad staircase of granite74 that led to the chambers75, while Baltet went to see about provisions and hire the mules76 and guides.
“Té! it is snowing . . . ”
Those were the first words of the worthy Tartarin when he woke in the morning and saw his windows covered with frost and his bedroom inundated77 with white reflections. But when he hooked his little mirror as usual to the window-fastening, he understood his mistake, and saw that Mont Blanc, sparkling before him in the splendid sunshine, was the cause of that light. He opened his window to the breeze of the glacier78, keen and refreshing79, bringing with it the sound of the cattle-bells as the herds80 followed the long, lowing sound of the shepherd’s horn. Something fortifying81, pastoral, filled the atmosphere such as he had never before breathed in Switzerland.
Below, an assemblage of guides and porters awaited him. The Swede was already mounted upon his mule2, and among the spectators, who formed a circle, was the minister’s family, all those active young ladies, their hair in early morning style, who had come for another “shake hands” with the hero who had haunted their dreams.
“Splendid weather! make haste!..” cried the landlord, whose skull82 was gleaming in the sunshine like a pebble83. But though Tartarin himself might hasten, it was not so easy a matter to rouse from sleep his dear Alpinists, who intended to accompany him as far as the Pierre-Pointue, where the mule-path ends. Neither prayers nor arguments could persuade the Commander to get out of bed. With his cotton nightcap over his ears and his face to the wall, he contented84 himself with replying to Tartarin’s objurgations by a cynical85 Tarasconese proverb: “Whoso has the credit of getting up early may sleep until midday . . . ” As for Bom-pard, he kept repeating, the whole time, “Ah, va?, Mont Blanc . . . what a humbug86 . . . ” Nor did they rise until the P. C. A. had issued a formal order.
At last, however, the caravan87 started, and passed through the little streets in very imposing88 array: Pascalon on the leading mule, banner unfurled; and last in file, grave as a mandarin89 amid the guides and porters on either side his mule, came the worthy Tartarin, more stupendously Alpinist than ever, wearing a pair of new spectacles with smoked and convex glasses, and his famous rope made at Avignon, recovered — we know at what cost.
Very much looked at, almost as much as the banner, he was jubilant under his dignified90 mask, enjoyed the picturesqueness91 of these Savoyard village streets, so different from the too neat, too varnished92 Swiss village, looking like a new toy; he enjoyed the contrast of these hovels scarcely rising above the ground, where the stable fills the largest space, with the grand and sumptuous93 hotels five storeys high, the glittering signs of which were as much out of keeping with the hovels as the gold-laced cap of the porter and the pumps and black coats of the waiters with the Savoyard head-gear, the fustian94 jackets, the felt hats of the charcoal-burners with their broad wings.
On the square were landaus with the horses taken out, manure-carts side by side with travelling-carriages, and a troop of pigs idling in the sun before the post-office, from which issued an Englishman in a white linen95 cap, with a package of letters and a copy of The Times, which he read as he walked along, before he opened his correspondence. The cavalcade96 of the Tarasconese passed all this, accompanied by the scuffling of mules, the war-cry of Excourbaniès (to whom the sun had restored the use of his gong), the pastoral chimes on the neighbouring slopes, and the dash of the river, gushing97 from the glacier in a torrent98 all white and sparkling, as if it bore upon its breast both sun and snow.
On leaving the village Bompard rode his mule beside that of the president, and said to the latter; rolling his eyes in a most extraordinary manner: “Tartarin, I must speak to you . . . ”
“Presently . . . ” said the P. C. A., then engaged in a philosophical99 discussion with the young Swede, whose black pessimism100 he was endeavouring to correct by the marvellous spectacle around them, those pastures with great zones of light and shade, those forests of sombre green crested101 with the whiteness of the dazzling névés.
After two attempts to speak to the president, Bompard was forced to give it up. The Arve having been crossed by a little bridge, the caravan now entered one of those narrow, zigzag102 roads among the firs where the mules, one by one, follow with their fantastic sabots all the sinuosities of the ravines, and our tourists had their attention fully103 occupied in keeping their equilibrium104 by the help of many an ”Outre!.. Boufre!.. gently, gently!..” with which they guided their beasts.
At the chalet of the Pierre-Pointue, where Pas-calon and Excourbaniès were to wait the return of the excursionists, Tartarin, much occupied in ordering breakfast and in looking after porters and guides, still paid no attention to Bompard’s whisperings. But — singular fact, which was not remarked until later — in spite of the fine weather, the good wine, and that purified atmosphere of ten thousand feet above sea-level, the breakfast was melancholy. While they heard the guides laughing and making merry apart, the table of the Taras-conese was silent except for the rattle105 of glasses and the clatter106 of the heavy plates and covers on the white wood. Was it the presence of that morose107 Swede, or the visible uneasiness of Bompard, or some presentiment108? At any rate, the party set forth109, sad as a battalion110 without its band, towards the glacier of the Bossons, where the true ascent begins.
On setting foot upon the ice, Tartarin could not help smiling at the recollection of the Guggi and his perfected crampons. What a difference between the neophyte111 he then was and the first-class Alpinist he felt he had become! Steady on his heavy boots, which the porter of the hotel had ironed that very morning with four stout nails, expert in wielding112 his ice-axe, he scarcely needed the hand of a guide, and then less to support him than to show him the way. The smoked glasses moderated the reflections of the glacier, which a recent avalanche113 had powdered with fresh snow, and through which little spaces of a glaucous green showed themselves here and there, slippery and treacherous114. Very calm, confident through experience that there was not the slightest danger, Tartarin walked along the verge of the crevasses with their smooth, iridescent115 sides stretching downward indefinitely, and made his way among the séracs, solely116 intent on keeping up with the Swedish student, an intrepid117 walker, whose long gaiters with their silver buckles118 marched, thin and lank119, beside his alpenstock, which looked like a third leg. Their philosophical discussion continuing, in spite of the difficulties of the way, a good stout voice, familiar and panting, could be heard in the frozen space, sonorous as the swell120 of a river: “You know me, Otto . . . ”
Bompard all this time was undergoing misadventures. Firmly convinced, up to that very morning, that Tartarin would never go to the length of his vaunting, and would no more ascend Mont Blanc than he had the Jungfrau, the luckless courier had dressed himself as usual, without nailing his boots, or even utilizing121 his famous invention for shoeing the feet of soldiers, and without so much as his alpenstock, the mountaineers of the Chimborazo never using them. Armed only with a little switch, quite in keeping with the blue ribbon of his hat and his ulster, this approach to the glacier terrified him, for, in spite of his tales, it is, of course, well understood that the Impostor had never in his life made an ascension. He was somewhat reassured122, however, on seeing from the top of the moraine with what facility Tartarin made his way on the ice; and he resolved to follow him as far as the hut on the Grands-Mulets, where it was intended to pass the night. He did not get there without difficulty. His first step laid him flat on his back; at the second he fell forward on his hands and knees: “No, thank you, I did it on purpose,” he said to the guides who endeavoured to pick him up. “American fashion, vé!.. as they do on the Chimborazo.” That position seeming to be convenient, he kept it, creeping on four paws, his hat pushed back, and his ulster sweeping123 the ice like the pelt124 of a gray bear; very calm, withal, and relating to those about him that in the Cordilleras of the Andes he had scaled a mountain thirty thousand feet high. He did not say how much time it took him, but it must have been long, judging by this stage to the Grands-Mulets, where he arrived an hour after Tartarin, a disgusting mass of muddy snow, with frozen hands in his knitted gloves.
In comparison with the hut on the Guggi, that which the commune of Chamonix has built on the Grands-Mulets is really comfortable. When Bompard entered the kitchen, where a grand wood-fire was blazing, he found Tartarin and the Swedish student drying their boots, while the hut-keeper, a shrivelled old fellow with long white hair that fell in meshes125, exhibited the treasures of his little museum.
Of evil augury126, this museum is a reminder of all the catastrophes127 known to have taken place on the Mont Blanc for the forty years that the old man had kept the inn, and as he took them from their show-case, he related the lamentable128 origin of each of them . . . This piece of cloth and those waistcoat buttons were the memorial of a Russian savant, hurled129 by a hurricane upon the Brenva glacier . . . These jaw130 teeth were all that remained of one of the guides of a famous caravan of eleven travellers and porters who disappeared forever in a tourmente of snow . . . In the fading light and the pale reflection of the névés against the window, the production of these mortuary relics131, these monotonous132 recitals133, had something very poignant134 about them, and all the more because the old man softened135 his quavering voice at pathetic items, and even shed tears on displaying a scrap136 of green veil worn by an English lady rolled down by an avalanche in 1827.
In vain Tartarin reassured himself by dates, convinced that in those early days the Company had not yet organized the ascensions without danger; this Savoyard vocero oppressed his heart, and he went to the doorway137 for a moment to breathe.
Night had fallen, engulfing138 the depths. The Bossons stood out, livid, and very close; while the Mont Blanc reared its summit, still rosy139, still caressed140 by the departed sun. The Southerner was recovering his serenity141 from this smile of nature when the shadow of Bompard rose behind him.
“Is that you, Gonzague . . . As you see, I am getting the good of the air . . . He annoyed me, that old fellow, with his stories.”
“Tartarin,” said Bompard, squeezing the arm of the P. C. A. till he nearly ground it, “I hope that this is enough, and that you are going to put an end to this ridiculous expedition.”
The great man opened wide a pair of astonished eyes.
“What stuff are you talking to me now?”
Whereupon Bompard made a terrible picture of the thousand deaths that awaited him; crevasses, avalanches142, hurricanes, whirlwinds . . .
Tartarin interrupted him:—
“Ah! va?, you rogue143; and the Company? Isn’t Mont Blanc managed like the rest?”
“Managed?. the Company?..” said Bompard, bewildered, remembering nothing whatever of his tarasconade, which Tartarin now repeated to him word for word — Switzerland a vast Association, lease of the mountains, machinery144 of the crevasses; on which the former courier burst out laughing.
“What! you really believed me?.. Why, that was a galéjade a fib . . . Among us Taras-conese you ought surely to know what talking means . . . ”
“Then,” asked Tartarin, with much emotion, “the Jungfrau was not prepared?“
“Of course not.”
“And if the rope had broken?..”
“Ah! my poor friend . . . ”
The hero closed his eyes, pale with retrospective terror, and for one moment he hesitated . . . This landscape of polar cataclysm145, cold, gloomy, yawning with gulfs . . . those laments146 of the old hut-man still weeping in his ears . . . Outre! what will they make me do?.. Then, suddenly, he thought of the folk at Tarascon, of the banner to be unfurled “up there,” and he said to himself that with good guides and a trusty companion like Bompard . . . He had done the Jungfrau . . . why should n’t he do Mont Blanc?
Laying his large hand on the shoulder of his friend, he began in a virile147 voice:—
“Listen to me, Gonzague . . . ”
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1
alpine
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| adj.高山的；n.高山植物 | |
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mule
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| n.骡子，杂种，执拗的人 | |
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salon
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| n.[法]沙龙；客厅；营业性的高级服务室 | |
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aprons
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| 围裙( apron的名词复数 )； 停机坪，台口（舞台幕前的部份） | |
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barometer
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| n.气压表，睛雨表，反应指标 | |
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consternation
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| n.大为吃惊，惊骇 | |
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7
manifestations
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| n.表示，显示（manifestation的复数形式） | |
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panes
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| 窗玻璃( pane的名词复数 ) | |
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numbed
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| v.使麻木，使麻痹( numb的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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squat
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| v.蹲坐，蹲下；n.蹲下；adj.矮胖的，粗矮的 | |
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gambol
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| v.欢呼，雀跃 | |
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worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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famished
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| adj.饥饿的 | |
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delegation
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| n.代表团；派遣 | |
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buffet
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| n.自助餐；饮食柜台；餐台 | |
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sonorous
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| adj.响亮的，回响的；adv.圆润低沉地；感人地；n.感人，堂皇 | |
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18
foaming
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| adj.布满泡沫的；发泡 | |
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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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deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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21
voraciously
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| adv.贪婪地 | |
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sniffing
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| n.探查法v.以鼻吸气，嗅，闻( sniff的现在分词 )；抽鼻子（尤指哭泣、患感冒等时出声地用鼻子吸气）；抱怨，不以为然地说 | |
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23
reminder
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| n.提醒物，纪念品；暗示，提示 | |
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24
fumes
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| n.(强烈而刺激的)气味，气体 | |
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25
inhaled
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| v.吸入( inhale的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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26
gluttonous
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| adj.贪吃的，贪婪的 | |
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27
mischievous
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| adj.调皮的，恶作剧的，有害的，伤人的 | |
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28
gastronomic
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| adj.美食（烹饪）法的，烹任学的 | |
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29
concoction
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| n.调配(物)；谎言 | |
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30
delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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31
champagne
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| n.香槟酒；微黄色 | |
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32
effusively
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| adv.变溢地，热情洋溢地 | |
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33
ascend
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| vi.渐渐上升，升高；vt.攀登，登上 | |
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34
severely
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| adv.严格地；严厉地；非常恶劣地 | |
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35
distraction
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| n.精神涣散，精神不集中，消遣，娱乐 | |
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36
fen
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| n.沼泽，沼池 | |
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37
tranquil
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| adj. 安静的, 宁静的, 稳定的, 不变的 | |
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38
robust
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| adj.强壮的，强健的，粗野的，需要体力的，浓的 | |
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39
gauging
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| n.测量[试]，测定，计量v.（用仪器）测量( gauge的现在分词 )；估计；计量；划分 | |
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40
humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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41
sarcastic
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| adj.讥讽的，讽刺的，嘲弄的 | |
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42
forestalled
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| v.先发制人，预先阻止( forestall的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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43
ascent
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| n.(声望或地位)提高；上升，升高；登高 | |
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44
maidens
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| 处女( maiden的名词复数 )； 少女； 未婚女子； （板球运动）未得分的一轮投球 | |
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45
resolute
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| adj.坚决的，果敢的 | |
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46
astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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47
intimidated
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| v.恐吓；威胁adj.害怕的；受到威胁的 | |
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48
crevasse
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| n. 裂缝，破口；v.使有裂缝 | |
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49
devoured
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| 吞没( devour的过去式和过去分词 )； 耗尽； 津津有味地看； 狼吞虎咽地吃光 | |
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50
crevasses
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| n.破口，崩溃处，裂缝( crevasse的名词复数 ) | |
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51
ingenuous
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| adj.纯朴的，单纯的；天真的；坦率的 | |
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52
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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53
hemp
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| n.大麻；纤维 | |
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54
catastrophe
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| n.大灾难，大祸 | |
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55
axe
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| n.斧子；v.用斧头砍，削减 | |
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56
electrified
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| v.使电气化( electrify的过去式和过去分词 )；使兴奋 | |
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57
inflicted
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| 把…强加给，使承受，遭受( inflict的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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58
vigour
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| （=vigor）n.智力，体力，精力 | |
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59
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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60
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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61
rebuke
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| v.指责，非难，斥责 [反]praise | |
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62
melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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63
condemned
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| adj. 被责难的, 被宣告有罪的 动词condemn的过去式和过去分词 | |
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64
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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65
dreary
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| adj.令人沮丧的，沉闷的，单调乏味的 | |
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66
inept
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| adj.不恰当的，荒谬的，拙劣的 | |
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67
chaotic
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| adj.混沌的，一片混乱的，一团糟的 | |
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68
verge
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| n.边，边缘；v.接近，濒临 | |
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69
entreaty
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| n.恳求，哀求 | |
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70
distress
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| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
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71
shuffle
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| n.拖著脚走，洗纸牌；v.拖曳，慢吞吞地走 | |
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72
indefatigable
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| adj.不知疲倦的，不屈不挠的 | |
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73
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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74
granite
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| adj.花岗岩，花岗石 | |
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75
chambers
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| n.房间( chamber的名词复数 )；（议会的）议院；卧室；会议厅 | |
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76
mules
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| 骡( mule的名词复数 )； 拖鞋； 顽固的人； 越境运毒者 | |
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77
inundated
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| v.淹没( inundate的过去式和过去分词 )；（洪水般地）涌来；充满；给予或交予（太多事物）使难以应付 | |
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78
glacier
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| n.冰川，冰河 | |
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79
refreshing
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| adj.使精神振作的，使人清爽的，使人喜欢的 | |
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80
herds
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| 兽群( herd的名词复数 )； 牧群； 人群； 群众 | |
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81
fortifying
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| 筑防御工事于( fortify的现在分词 )； 筑堡于； 增强； 强化（食品） | |
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82
skull
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| n.头骨；颅骨 | |
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83
pebble
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| n.卵石，小圆石 | |
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84
contented
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| adj.满意的，安心的，知足的 | |
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85
cynical
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| adj.(对人性或动机)怀疑的，不信世道向善的 | |
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86
humbug
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| n.花招，谎话，欺骗 | |
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87
caravan
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| n.大蓬车；活动房屋 | |
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88
imposing
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| adj.使人难忘的，壮丽的，堂皇的，雄伟的 | |
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89
Mandarin
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| n.中国官话，国语，满清官吏；adj.华丽辞藻的 | |
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90
dignified
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| a.可敬的，高贵的 | |
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91
picturesqueness
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92
varnished
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| 浸渍过的，涂漆的 | |
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93
sumptuous
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| adj.豪华的，奢侈的，华丽的 | |
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94
fustian
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| n.浮夸的；厚粗棉布 | |
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95
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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96
cavalcade
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| n.车队等的行列 | |
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97
gushing
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| adj.迸出的；涌出的；喷出的；过分热情的v.喷，涌( gush的现在分词 )；滔滔不绝地说话 | |
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98
torrent
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| n.激流，洪流；爆发，(话语等的)连发 | |
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99
philosophical
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| adj.哲学家的，哲学上的，达观的 | |
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100
pessimism
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| n.悲观者，悲观主义者，厌世者 | |
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101
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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102
zigzag
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| n.曲折，之字形；adj.曲折的，锯齿形的；adv.曲折地，成锯齿形地；vt.使曲折；vi.曲折前行 | |
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103
fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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104
equilibrium
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| n.平衡，均衡，相称，均势，平静 | |
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105
rattle
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| v.飞奔，碰响；激怒；n.碰撞声；拨浪鼓 | |
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106
clatter
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| v./n.(使)发出连续而清脆的撞击声 | |
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107
morose
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| adj.脾气坏的，不高兴的 | |
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108
presentiment
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| n.预感，预觉 | |
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109
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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110
battalion
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| n.营；部队；大队(的人) | |
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111
neophyte
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| n.新信徒；开始者 | |
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112
wielding
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| 手持着使用（武器、工具等）( wield的现在分词 )； 具有； 运用（权力）； 施加（影响） | |
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113
avalanche
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| n.雪崩，大量涌来 | |
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114
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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115
iridescent
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| adj.彩虹色的，闪色的 | |
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116
solely
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| adv.仅仅，唯一地 | |
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117
intrepid
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| adj.无畏的，刚毅的 | |
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118
buckles
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| 搭扣，扣环( buckle的名词复数 ) | |
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119
lank
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| adj.瘦削的；稀疏的 | |
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120
swell
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| vi.膨胀，肿胀；增长，增强 | |
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121
utilizing
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| v.利用，使用( utilize的现在分词 ) | |
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122
reassured
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| adj.使消除疑虑的；使放心的v.再保证，恢复信心( reassure的过去式和过去分词) | |
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123
sweeping
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| adj.范围广大的，一扫无遗的 | |
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124
pelt
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| v.投掷，剥皮，抨击，开火 | |
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125
meshes
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| 网孔( mesh的名词复数 )； 网状物； 陷阱； 困境 | |
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126
augury
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| n.预言，征兆，占卦 | |
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127
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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128
lamentable
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| adj.令人惋惜的，悔恨的 | |
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129
hurled
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| v.猛投，用力掷( hurl的过去式和过去分词 )；大声叫骂 | |
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130
jaw
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| n.颚，颌，说教，流言蜚语；v.喋喋不休，教训 | |
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131
relics
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| [pl.］n.遗物，遗迹，遗产；遗体，尸骸 | |
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132
monotonous
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| adj.单调的，一成不变的，使人厌倦的 | |
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133
recitals
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| n.独唱会( recital的名词复数 )；独奏会；小型音乐会、舞蹈表演会等；一系列事件等的详述 | |
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134
poignant
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| adj.令人痛苦的，辛酸的，惨痛的 | |
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135
softened
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| （使）变软( soften的过去式和过去分词 )； 缓解打击； 缓和； 安慰 | |
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136
scrap
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| n.碎片；废料；v.废弃，报废 | |
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137
doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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138
engulfing
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| adj.吞噬的v.吞没，包住( engulf的现在分词 ) | |
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139
rosy
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| adj.美好的，乐观的，玫瑰色的 | |
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140
caressed
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| 爱抚或抚摸…( caress的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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141
serenity
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| n.宁静，沉着，晴朗 | |
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142
avalanches
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| n.雪崩( avalanche的名词复数 ) | |
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143
rogue
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| n.流氓；v.游手好闲 | |
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144
machinery
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| n.(总称)机械，机器；机构 | |
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145
cataclysm
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| n.洪水，剧变，大灾难 | |
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146
laments
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| n.悲恸，哀歌，挽歌( lament的名词复数 )v.（为…）哀悼，痛哭，悲伤( lament的第三人称单数 ) | |
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147
virile
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| adj.男性的；有男性生殖力的；有男子气概的；强有力的 | |
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