With such words did old Bulba greet his two sons, who had been absent for their education at the Royal Seminary of Kief, and had now returned home to their father.
His sons had but just dismounted from their horses. They were a couple of stout1 lads who still looked bashful, as became youths recently released from the seminary. Their firm healthy faces were covered with the first down of manhood, down which had, as yet, never known a razor. They were greatly discomfited2 by such a reception from their father, and stood motionless with eyes fixed3 upon the ground.
“Stand still, stand still! let me have a good look at you,” he continued, turning them around. “How long your gaberdines are! What gaberdines! There never were such gaberdines in the world before. Just run, one of you! I want to see whether you will not get entangled4 in the skirts, and fall down.”
“Don’t laugh, don’t laugh, father!” said the eldest6 lad at length.
“How touchy7 we are! Why shouldn’t I laugh?”
“Because, although you are my father, if you laugh, by heavens, I will strike you!”
“What kind of son are you? what, strike your father!” exclaimed Taras Bulba, retreating several paces in amazement8.
“Yes, even my father. I don’t stop to consider persons when an insult is in question.”
“So you want to fight me? with your fist, eh?”
“Any way.”
“Well, let it be fisticuffs,” said Taras Bulba, turning up his sleeves. “I’ll see what sort of a man you are with your fists.”
And father and son, in lieu of a pleasant greeting after long separation, began to deal each other heavy blows on ribs9, back, and chest, now retreating and looking at each other, now attacking afresh.
“Look, good people! the old man has gone man! he has lost his senses completely!” screamed their pale, ugly, kindly10 mother, who was standing11 on the threshold, and had not yet succeeded in embracing her darling children. “The children have come home, we have not seen them for over a year; and now he has taken some strange freak — he’s pommelling them.”
“Yes, he fights well,” said Bulba, pausing; “well, by heavens!” he continued, rather as if excusing himself, “although he has never tried his hand at it before, he will make a good Cossack! Now, welcome, son! embrace me,” and father and son began to kiss each other. “Good lad! see that you hit every one as you pommelled me; don’t let any one escape. Nevertheless your clothes are ridiculous all the same. What rope is this hanging there? — And you, you lout12, why are you standing there with your hands hanging beside you?” he added, turning to the youngest. “Why don’t you fight me? you son of a dog!”
“What an idea!” said the mother, who had managed in the meantime to embrace her youngest. “Who ever heard of children fighting their own father? That’s enough for the present; the child is young, he has had a long journey, he is tired.” The child was over twenty, and about six feet high. “He ought to rest, and eat something; and you set him to fighting!”
“You are a gabbler!” said Bulba. “Don’t listen to your mother, my lad; she is a woman, and knows nothing. What sort of petting do you need? A clear field and a good horse, that’s the kind of petting for you! And do you see this sword? that’s your mother! All the rest people stuff your heads with is rubbish; the academy, books, primers, philosophy, and all that, I spit upon it all!” Here Bulba added a word which is not used in print. “But I’ll tell you what is best: I’ll take you to Zaporozhe[1] this very week. That’s where there’s science for you! There’s your school; there alone will you gain sense.”
[1] The Cossack country beyond (za) the falls (porozhe) of the Dnieper.
“And are they only to remain home a week?” said the worn old mother sadly and with tears in her eyes. “The poor boys will have no chance of looking around, no chance of getting acquainted with the home where they were born; there will be no chance for me to get a look at them.”
“Enough, you’ve howled quite enough, old woman! A Cossack is not born to run around after women. You would like to hide them both under your petticoat, and sit upon them as a hen sits on eggs. Go, go, and let us have everything there is on the table in a trice. We don’t want any dumplings, honey-cakes, poppy-cakes, or any other such messes: give us a whole sheep, a goat, mead14 forty years old, and as much corn-brandy as possible, not with raisins15 and all sorts of stuff, but plain scorching16 corn-brandy, which foams17 and hisses18 like mad.”
Bulba led his sons into the principal room of the hut; and two pretty servant girls wearing coin necklaces, who were arranging the apartment, ran out quickly. They were either frightened at the arrival of the young men, who did not care to be familiar with anyone; or else they merely wanted to keep up their feminine custom of screaming and rushing away headlong at the sight of a man, and then screening their blushes for some time with their sleeves. The hut was furnished according to the fashion of that period — a fashion concerning which hints linger only in the songs and lyrics19, no longer sung, alas20! in the Ukraine as of yore by blind old men, to the soft tinkling21 of the native guitar, to the people thronging22 round them — according to the taste of that warlike and troublous time, of leagues and battles prevailing23 in the Ukraine after the union. Everything was cleanly smeared24 with coloured clay. On the walls hung sabres, hunting-whips, nets for birds, fishing-nets, guns, elaborately carved powder-horns, gilded25 bits for horses, and tether-ropes with silver plates. The small window had round dull panes26, through which it was impossible to see except by opening the one moveable one. Around the windows and doors red bands were painted. On shelves in one corner stood jugs27, bottles, and flasks28 of green and blue glass, carved silver cups, and gilded drinking vessels29 of various makes — Venetian, Turkish, Tscherkessian, which had reached Bulba’s cabin by various roads, at third and fourth hand, a thing common enough in those bold days. There were birch-wood benches all around the room, a huge table under the holy pictures in one corner, and a huge stove covered with particoloured patterns in relief, with spaces between it and the wall. All this was quite familiar to the two young men, who were wont30 to come home every year during the dog-days, since they had no horses, and it was not customary to allow students to ride afield on horseback. The only distinctive31 things permitted them were long locks of hair on the temples, which every Cossack who bore weapons was entitled to pull. It was only at the end of their course of study that Bulba had sent them a couple of young stallions from his stud.
Bulba, on the occasion of his sons’ arrival, ordered all the sotniks or captains of hundreds, and all the officers of the band who were of any consequence, to be summoned; and when two of them arrived with his old comrade, the Osaul or sub-chief, Dmitro Tovkatch, he immediately presented the lads, saying, “See what fine young fellows they are! I shall send them to the Setch[2] shortly.” The guests congratulated Bulba and the young men, telling them they would do well and that there was no better knowledge for a young man than a knowledge of that same Zaporozhian Setch.
[2] The village or, rather, permanent camp of the Zaporozhian Cossacks.
“Come, brothers, seat yourselves, each where he likes best, at the table; come, my sons. First of all, let’s take some corn-brandy,” said Bulba. “God bless you! Welcome, lads; you, Ostap, and you, Andrii. God grant that you may always be successful in war, that you may beat the Musselmans and the Turks and the Tatars; and that when the Poles undertake any expedition against our faith, you may beat the Poles. Come, clink your glasses. How now? Is the brandy good? What’s corn-brandy in Latin? The Latins were stupid: they did not know there was such a thing in the world as corn-brandy. What was the name of the man who wrote Latin verses? I don’t know much about reading and writing, so I don’t quite know. Wasn’t it Horace?”
“What a dad!” thought the elder son Ostap. “The old dog knows everything, but he always pretends the contrary.”
“I don’t believe the archimandrite allowed you so much as a smell of corn-brandy,” continued Taras. “Confess, my boys, they thrashed you well with fresh birch-twigs on your backs and all over your Cossack bodies; and perhaps, when you grew too sharp, they beat you with whips. And not on Saturday only, I fancy, but on Wednesday and Thursday.”
“What is past, father, need not be recalled; it is done with.”
“Let them try it know,” said Andrii. “Let anybody just touch me, let any Tatar risk it now, and he’ll soon learn what a Cossack’s sword is like!”
“Good, my son, by heavens, good! And when it comes to that, I’ll go with you; by heavens, I’ll go too! What should I wait here for? To become a buckwheat-reaper and housekeeper32, to look after the sheep and swine, and loaf around with my wife? Away with such nonsense! I am a Cossack; I’ll have none of it! What’s left but war? I’ll go with you to Zaporozhe to carouse33; I’ll go, by heavens!” And old Bulba, growing warm by degrees and finally quite angry, rose from the table, and, assuming a dignified34 attitude, stamped his foot. “We will go to-morrow! Wherefore delay? What enemy can we besiege35 here? What is this hut to us? What do we want with all these things? What are pots and pans to us?” So saying, he began to knock over the pots and flasks, and to throw them about.
The poor old woman, well used to such freaks on the part of her husband, looked sadly on from her seat on the wall-bench. She did not dare say a word; but when she heard the decision which was so terrible for her, she could not refrain from tears. As she looked at her children, from whom so speedy a separation was threatened, it is impossible to describe the full force of her speechless grief, which seemed to quiver in her eyes and on her lips convulsively pressed together.
Bulba was terribly headstrong. He was one of those characters which could only exist in that fierce fifteenth century, and in that half-nomadic corner of Europe, when the whole of Southern Russia, deserted36 by its princes, was laid waste and burned to the quick by pitiless troops of Mongolian robbers; when men deprived of house and home grew brave there; when, amid conflagrations37, threatening neighbours, and eternal terrors, they settled down, and growing accustomed to looking these things straight in the face, trained themselves not to know that there was such a thing as fear in the world; when the old, peacable Slav spirit was fired with warlike flame, and the Cossack state was instituted — a free, wild outbreak of Russian nature — and when all the river-banks, fords, and like suitable places were peopled by Cossacks, whose number no man knew. Their bold comrades had a right to reply to the Sultan when he asked how many they were, “Who knows? We are scattered38 all over the steppes; wherever there is a hillock, there is a Cossack.”
It was, in fact, a most remarkable39 exhibition of Russian strength, forced by dire40 necessity from the bosom41 of the people. In place of the original provinces with their petty towns, in place of the warring and bartering42 petty princes ruling in their cities, there arose great colonies, kurens[3], and districts, bound together by one common danger and hatred43 against the heathen robbers. The story is well known how their incessant44 warfare45 and restless existence saved Europe from the merciless hordes46 which threatened to overwhelm her. The Polish kings, who now found themselves sovereigns, in place of the provincial47 princes, over these extensive tracts48 of territory, fully49 understood, despite the weakness and remoteness of their own rule, the value of the Cossacks, and the advantages of the warlike, untrammelled life led by them. They encouraged them and flattered this disposition50 of mind. Under their distant rule, the hetmans or chiefs, chosen from among the Cossacks themselves, redistributed the territory into military districts. It was not a standing army, no one saw it; but in case of war and general uprising, it required a week, and no more, for every man to appear on horseback, fully armed, receiving only one ducat from the king; and in two weeks such a force had assembled as no recruiting officers would ever have been able to collect. When the expedition was ended, the army dispersed51 among the fields and meadows and the fords of the Dnieper; each man fished, wrought52 at his trade, brewed53 his beer, and was once more a free Cossack. Their foreign contemporaries rightly marvelled54 at their wonderful qualities. There was no handicraft which the Cossack was not expert at: he could distil55 brandy, build a waggon56, make powder, and do blacksmith’s and gunsmith’s work, in addition to committing wild excesses, drinking and carousing57 as only a Russian can — all this he was equal to. Besides the registered Cossacks, who considered themselves bound to appear in arms in time of war, it was possible to collect at any time, in case of dire need, a whole army of volunteers. All that was required was for the Osaul or sub-chief to traverse the market-places and squares of the villages and hamlets, and shout at the top of his voice, as he stood in his waggon, “Hey, you distillers and beer-brewers! you have brewed enough beer, and lolled on your stoves, and stuffed your fat carcasses with flour, long enough! Rise, win glory and warlike honours! You ploughmen, you reapers58 of buckwheat, you tenders of sheep, you danglers after women, enough of following the plough, and soiling your yellow shoes in the earth, and courting women, and wasting your warlike strength! The hour has come to win glory for the Cossacks!” These words were like sparks falling on dry wood. The husbandman broke his plough; the brewers and distillers threw away their casks and destroyed their barrels; the mechanics and merchants sent their trade and their shop to the devil, broke pots and everything else in their homes, and mounted their horses. In short, the Russian character here received a profound development, and manifested a powerful outwards59 expression.
[3] Cossack villages. In the Setch, a large wooden barrack.
Taras was one of the band of old-fashioned leaders; he was born for warlike emotions, and was distinguished60 for his uprightness of character. At that epoch61 the influence of Poland had already begun to make itself felt upon the Russian nobility. Many had adopted Polish customs, and began to display luxury in splendid staffs of servants, hawks62, huntsmen, dinners, and palaces. This was not to Taras’s taste. He liked the simple life of the Cossacks, and quarrelled with those of his comrades who were inclined to the Warsaw party, calling them serfs of the Polish nobles. Ever on the alert, he regarded himself as the legal protector of the orthodox faith. He entered despotically into any village where there was a general complaint of oppression by the revenue farmers and of the addition of fresh taxes on necessaries. He and his Cossacks executed justice, and made it a rule that in three cases it was absolutely necessary to resort to the sword. Namely, when the commissioners63 did not respect the superior officers and stood before them covered; when any one made light of the faith and did not observe the customs of his ancestors; and, finally, when the enemy were Mussulmans or Turks, against whom he considered it permissible64, in every case, to draw the sword for the glory of Christianity.
Now he rejoiced beforehand at the thought of how he would present himself with his two sons at the Setch, and say, “See what fine young fellows I have brought you!” how he would introduce them to all his old comrades, steeled in warfare; how he would observe their first exploits in the sciences of war and of drinking, which was also regarded as one of the principal warlike qualities. At first he had intended to send them forth66 alone; but at the sight of their freshness, stature67, and manly68 personal beauty his martial69 spirit flamed up and he resolved to go with them himself the very next day, although there was no necessity for this except his obstinate70 self-will. He began at once to hurry about and give orders; selected horses and trappings for his sons, looked through the stables and storehouses, and chose servants to accompany them on the morrow. He delegated his power to Osaul Tovkatch, and gave with it a strict command to appear with his whole force at the Setch the very instant he should receive a message from him. Although he was jolly, and the effects of his drinking bout13 still lingered in his brain, he forgot nothing. He even gave orders that the horses should be watered, their cribs filled, and that they should be fed with the finest corn; and then he retired71, fatigued72 with all his labours.
“Now, children, we must sleep, but to-morrow we shall do what God wills. Don’t prepare us a bed: we need no bed; we will sleep in the courtyard.”
Night had but just stole over the heavens, but Bulba always went to bed early. He lay down on a rug and covered himself with a sheepskin pelisse, for the night air was quite sharp and he liked to lie warm when he was at home. He was soon snoring, and the whole household speedily followed his example. All snored and groaned73 as they lay in different corners. The watchman went to sleep the first of all, he had drunk so much in honour of the young masters’ home-coming.
The mother alone did not sleep. She bent74 over the pillow of her beloved sons, as they lay side by side; she smoothed with a comb their carelessly tangled5 locks, and moistened them with her tears. She gazed at them with her whole soul, with every sense; she was wholly merged75 in the gaze, and yet she could not gaze enough. She had fed them at her own breast, she had tended them and brought them up; and now to see them only for an instant! “My sons, my darling sons! what will become of you! what fate awaits you?” she said, and tears stood in the wrinkles which disfigured her once beautiful face. In truth, she was to be pitied, as was every woman of that period. She had lived only for a moment of love, only during the first ardour of passion, only during the first flush of youth; and then her grim betrayer had deserted her for the sword, for his comrades and his carouses76. She saw her husband two or three days in a year, and then, for several years, heard nothing of him. And when she did see him, when they did live together, what a life was hers! She endured insult, even blows; she felt caresses77 bestowed78 only in pity; she was a misplaced object in that community of unmarried warriors79, upon which wandering Zaporozhe cast a colouring of its own. Her pleasureless youth flitted by; her ripe cheeks and bosom withered80 away unkissed and became covered with premature81 wrinkles. Love, feeling, everything that is tender and passionate82 in a woman, was converted in her into maternal83 love. She hovered84 around her children with anxiety, passion, tears, like the gull85 of the steppes. They were taking her sons, her darling sons, from her — taking them from her, so that she should never see them again! Who knew? Perhaps a Tatar would cut off their heads in the very first skirmish, and she would never know where their deserted bodies might lie, torn by birds of prey86; and yet for each single drop of their blood she would have given all hers. Sobbing87, she gazed into their eyes, and thought, “Perhaps Bulba, when he wakes, will put off their departure for a day or two; perhaps it occurred to him to go so soon because he had been drinking.”
The moon from the summit of the heavens had long since lit up the whole courtyard filled with sleepers88, the thick clump89 of willows90, and the tall steppe-grass, which hid the palisade surrounding the court. She still sat at her sons’ pillow, never removing her eyes from them for a moment, nor thinking of sleep. Already the horses, divining the approach of dawn, had ceased eating and lain down upon the grass; the topmost leaves of the willows began to rustle91 softly, and little by little the rippling92 rustle descended93 to their bases. She sat there until daylight, unwearied, and wishing in her heart that the night might prolong itself indefinitely. From the steppes came the ringing neigh of the horses, and red streaks94 shone brightly in the sky. Bulba suddenly awoke, and sprang to his feet. He remembered quite well what he had ordered the night before. “Now, my men, you’ve slept enough! ’tis time, ’tis time! Water the horses! And where is the old woman?” He generally called his wife so. “Be quick, old woman, get us something to eat; the way is long.”
The poor old woman, deprived of her last hope, slipped sadly into the hut.
Whilst she, with tears, prepared what was needed for breakfast, Bulba gave his orders, went to the stable, and selected his best trappings for his children with his own hand.
The scholars were suddenly transformed. Red morocco boots with silver heels took the place of their dirty old ones; trousers wide as the Black Sea, with countless95 folds and plaits, were kept up by golden girdles from which hung long slender thongs96, with tassles and other tinkling things, for pipes. Their jackets of scarlet97 cloth were girt by flowered sashes into which were thrust engraved98 Turkish pistols; their swords clanked at their heels. Their faces, already a little sunburnt, seemed to have grown handsomer and whiter; their slight black moustaches now cast a more distinct shadow on this pallor and set off their healthy youthful complexions99. They looked very handsome in their black sheepskin caps, with cloth-of-gold crowns.
When their poor mother saw them, she could not utter a word, and tears stood in her eyes.
“Now, my lads, all is ready; no delay!” said Bulba at last. “But we must first all sit down together, in accordance with Christian65 custom before a journey.”
All sat down, not excepting the servants, who had been standing respectfully at the door.
“Now, mother, bless your children,” said Bulba. “Pray God that they may fight bravely, always defend their warlike honour, always defend the faith of Christ; and, if not, that they may die, so that their breath may not be longer in the world.”
“Come to your mother, children; a mother’s prayer protects on land and sea.”
The mother, weak as mothers are, embraced them, drew out two small holy pictures, and hung them, sobbing, around their necks. “May God’s mother — keep you! Children, do not forget your mother — send some little word of yourselves —” She could say no more.
“Now, children, let us go,” said Bulba.
At the door stood the horses, ready saddled. Bulba sprang upon his “Devil,” which bounded wildly, on feeling on his back a load of over thirty stone, for Taras was extremely stout and heavy.
When the mother saw that her sons were also mounted, she rushed towards the younger, whose features expressed somewhat more gentleness than those of his brother. She grasped his stirrup, clung to his saddle, and with despair in her eyes, refused to loose her hold. Two stout Cossacks seized her carefully, and bore her back into the hut. But before the cavalcade100 had passed out of the courtyard, she rushed with the speed of a wild goat, disproportionate to her years, to the gate, stopped a horse with irresistible101 strength, and embraced one of her sons with mad, unconscious violence. Then they led her away again.
The young Cossacks rode on sadly, repressing their tears out of fear of their father, who, on his side, was somewhat moved, although he strove not to show it. The morning was grey, the green sward bright, the birds twittered rather discordantly102. They glanced back as they rode. Their paternal103 farm seemed to have sunk into the earth. All that was visible above the surface were the two chimneys of their modest hut and the tops of the trees up whose trunks they had been used to climb like squirrels. Before them still stretched the field by which they could recall the whole story of their lives, from the years when they rolled in its dewy grass down to the years when they awaited in it the dark-browed Cossack maiden104, running timidly across it on quick young feet. There is the pole above the well, with the waggon wheel fastened to its top, rising solitary105 against the sky; already the level which they have traversed appears a hill in the distance, and now all has disappeared. Farewell, childhood, games, all, all, farewell!
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2
discomfited
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| v.使为难( discomfit的过去式和过去分词)；使狼狈；使挫折；挫败 | |
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3
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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4
entangled
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| adj.卷入的；陷入的；被缠住的；缠在一起的v.使某人（某物/自己）缠绕，纠缠于（某物中），使某人（自己）陷入（困难或复杂的环境中）( entangle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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5
tangled
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| adj. 纠缠的，紊乱的 动词tangle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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6
eldest
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| adj.最年长的，最年老的 | |
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7
touchy
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| adj.易怒的；棘手的 | |
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8
amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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ribs
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| n.肋骨( rib的名词复数 )；（船或屋顶等的）肋拱；肋骨状的东西；（织物的）凸条花纹 | |
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10
kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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lout
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| n.粗鄙的人；举止粗鲁的人 | |
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13
bout
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| n.侵袭，发作；一次(阵，回)；拳击等比赛 | |
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mead
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| n.蜂蜜酒 | |
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raisins
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| n.葡萄干( raisin的名词复数 ) | |
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scorching
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| adj. 灼热的 | |
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foams
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| n.泡沫，泡沫材料( foam的名词复数 ) | |
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hisses
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| 嘶嘶声( hiss的名词复数 ) | |
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lyrics
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| n.歌词 | |
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alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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tinkling
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| n.丁当作响声 | |
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thronging
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| v.成群，挤满( throng的现在分词 ) | |
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prevailing
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| adj.盛行的；占优势的；主要的 | |
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smeared
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| 弄脏； 玷污； 涂抹； 擦上 | |
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gilded
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| a.镀金的，富有的 | |
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panes
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| 窗玻璃( pane的名词复数 ) | |
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jugs
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| （有柄及小口的）水壶( jug的名词复数 ) | |
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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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vessels
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| n.血管( vessel的名词复数 )；船；容器；（具有特殊品质或接受特殊品质的）人 | |
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wont
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| adj.习惯于；v.习惯；n.习惯 | |
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distinctive
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| adj.特别的，有特色的，与众不同的 | |
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housekeeper
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| n.管理家务的主妇，女管家 | |
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carouse
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| v.狂欢；痛饮；n.狂饮的宴会 | |
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dignified
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| a.可敬的，高贵的 | |
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besiege
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| vt.包围，围攻，拥在...周围 | |
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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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37
conflagrations
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| n.大火（灾）( conflagration的名词复数 ) | |
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38
scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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40
dire
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| adj.可怕的，悲惨的，阴惨的，极端的 | |
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41
bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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42
bartering
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| v.作物物交换，以货换货( barter的现在分词 ) | |
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43
hatred
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| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
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44
incessant
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| adj.不停的，连续的 | |
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45
warfare
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| n.战争(状态)；斗争；冲突 | |
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46
hordes
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| n.移动着的一大群( horde的名词复数 )；部落 | |
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47
provincial
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| adj.省的，地方的；n．外省人，乡下人 | |
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48
tracts
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| 大片土地( tract的名词复数 )； 地带； （体内的）道； （尤指宣扬宗教、伦理或政治的）短文 | |
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49
fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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disposition
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| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
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51
dispersed
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| adj. 被驱散的, 被分散的, 散布的 | |
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52
wrought
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| v.引起；以…原料制作；运转；adj.制造的 | |
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53
brewed
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| 调制( brew的过去式和过去分词 )； 酝酿； 沏（茶）； 煮（咖啡） | |
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54
marvelled
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| v.惊奇，对…感到惊奇( marvel的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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distil
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| vt.蒸馏；提取…的精华，精选出 | |
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56
waggon
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| n.运货马车，运货车；敞篷车箱 | |
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57
carousing
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| v.痛饮，闹饮欢宴( carouse的现在分词 ) | |
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reapers
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| n.收割者，收获者( reaper的名词复数 )；收割机 | |
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outwards
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| adj.外面的，公开的，向外的；adv.向外；n.外形 | |
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distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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epoch
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| n.(新)时代；历元 | |
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62
hawks
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| 鹰( hawk的名词复数 )； 鹰派人物，主战派人物 | |
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commissioners
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| n.专员( commissioner的名词复数 )；长官；委员；政府部门的长官 | |
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permissible
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| adj.可允许的，许可的 | |
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Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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stature
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| n.（高度）水平，（高度）境界，身高，身材 | |
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manly
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| adj.有男子气概的；adv.男子般地，果断地 | |
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martial
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| adj.战争的，军事的，尚武的，威武的 | |
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obstinate
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| adj.顽固的，倔强的，不易屈服的，较难治愈的 | |
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retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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fatigued
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| adj. 疲乏的 | |
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73
groaned
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| v.呻吟( groan的过去式和过去分词 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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merged
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| （使）混合( merge的过去式和过去分词 )； 相融； 融入； 渐渐消失在某物中 | |
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carouses
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| v.痛饮，闹饮欢宴( carouse的第三人称单数 ) | |
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caresses
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| 爱抚，抚摸( caress的名词复数 ) | |
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78
bestowed
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| 赠给，授予( bestow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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79
warriors
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| 武士，勇士，战士( warrior的名词复数 ) | |
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80
withered
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| adj. 枯萎的，干瘪的，（人身体的部分器官）因病萎缩的或未发育良好的 动词wither的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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81
premature
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| adj.比预期时间早的；不成熟的，仓促的 | |
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passionate
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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83
maternal
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| adj.母亲的，母亲般的，母系的，母方的 | |
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84
hovered
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| 鸟( hover的过去式和过去分词 )； 靠近（某事物）； （人）徘徊； 犹豫 | |
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85
gull
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| n.鸥；受骗的人；v.欺诈 | |
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86
prey
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| n.被掠食者，牺牲者，掠食；v.捕食，掠夺，折磨 | |
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87
sobbing
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| <主方>Ⅰ adj.湿透的 | |
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88
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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89
clump
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| n.树丛，草丛；vi.用沉重的脚步行走 | |
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willows
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| n.柳树( willow的名词复数 )；柳木 | |
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rustle
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| v.沙沙作响；偷盗(牛、马等)；n.沙沙声声 | |
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rippling
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| 起涟漪的，潺潺流水般声音的 | |
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93
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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94
streaks
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| n.（与周围有所不同的）条纹( streak的名词复数 )；（通常指不好的）特征（倾向）；（不断经历成功或失败的）一段时期v.快速移动( streak的第三人称单数 )；使布满条纹 | |
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95
countless
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| adj.无数的，多得不计其数的 | |
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96
thongs
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| 的东西 | |
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97
scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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engraved
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| v.在（硬物）上雕刻（字，画等）( engrave的过去式和过去分词 )；将某事物深深印在（记忆或头脑中） | |
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99
complexions
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| 肤色( complexion的名词复数 )； 面色； 局面； 性质 | |
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100
cavalcade
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| n.车队等的行列 | |
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101
irresistible
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| adj.非常诱人的，无法拒绝的，无法抗拒的 | |
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102
discordantly
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| adv.不一致地，不和谐地 | |
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103
paternal
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| adj.父亲的，像父亲的，父系的，父方的 | |
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104
maiden
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| n.少女，处女；adj.未婚的，纯洁的，无经验的 | |
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105
solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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