Through the open door of the drawing-room I was annoyed to hear a visitor holding forth1 steadily2 in an unctuous3 deep voice.
Mrs. Haldin’s armchair by the window stood empty. On the sofa, Nathalie Haldin raised her charming grey eyes in a glance of greeting accompanied by the merest hint of a welcoming smile. But she made no movement. With her strong white hands lying inverted5 in the lap of her mourning dress she faced a man who presented to me a robust6 back covered with black broadcloth, and well in keeping with the deep voice. He turned his head sharply over his shoulder, but only for a moment.
“Ah! your English friend. I know. I know. That’s nothing.”
He wore spectacles with smoked glasses, a tall silk hat stood on the floor by the side of his chair. Flourishing slightly a big soft hand he went on with his discourse7, precipitating8 his delivery a little more.
“I have never changed the faith I held while wandering in the forests and bogs9 of Siberia. It sustained me then — it sustains me now. The great Powers of Europe are bound to disappear — and the cause of their collapse10 will be very simple. They will exhaust themselves struggling against their proletariat. In Russia it is different. In Russia we have no classes to combat each other, one holding the power of wealth, and the other mighty11 with the strength of numbers. We have only an unclean bureaucracy in the face of a people as great and as incorruptible as the ocean. No, we have no classes. But we have the Russian woman. The admirable Russian woman! I receive most remarkable13 letters signed by women. So elevated in tone, so courageous14, breathing such a noble ardour of service! The greatest part of our hopes rests on women. I behold15 their thirst for knowledge. It is admirable. Look how they absorb, how they are making it their own. It is miraculous16. But what is knowledge? . . . I understand that you have not been studying anything especially — medicine for instance. No? That’s right. Had I been honoured by being asked to advise you on the use of your time when you arrived here I would have been strongly opposed to such a course. Knowledge in itself is mere4 dross17.”
He had one of those bearded Russian faces without shape, a mere appearance of flesh and hair with not a single feature having any sort of character. His eyes being hidden by the dark glasses there was an utter absence of all expression. I knew him by sight. He was a Russian refugee of mark. All Geneva knew his burly black-coated figure. At one time all Europe was aware of the story of his life written by himself and translated into seven or more languages. In his youth he had led an idle, dissolute life. Then a society girl he was about to marry died suddenly and thereupon he abandoned the world of fashion, and began to conspire18 in a spirit of repentance19, and, after that, his native autocracy20 took good care that the usual things should happen to him. He was imprisoned21 in fortresses22, beaten within an inch of his life, and condemned23 to work in mines, with common criminals. The great success of his book, however, was the chain.
I do not remember now the details of the weight and length of the fetters24 riveted25 on his limbs by an “Administrative” order, but it was in the number of pounds and the thickness of links an appalling26 assertion of the divine right of autocracy. Appalling and futile27 too, because this big man managed to carry off that simple engine of government with him into the woods. The sensational28 clink of these fetters is heard all through the chapters describing his escape — a subject of wonder to two continents. He had begun by concealing29 himself successfully from his guard in a hole on a river bank. It was the end of the day; with infinite labour he managed to free one of his legs. Meantime night fell. He was going to begin on his other leg when he was overtaken by a terrible misfortune. He dropped his file.
All this is precise yet symbolic30; and the file had its pathetic history. It was given to him unexpectedly one evening, by a quiet, pale-faced girl. The poor creature had come out to the mines to join one of his fellow convicts, a delicate young man, a mechanic and a social democrat31, with broad cheekbones and large staring eyes. She had worked her way across half Russia and nearly the whole of Siberia to be near him, and, as it seems, with the hope of helping32 him to escape. But she arrived too late. Her lover had died only a week before.
Through that obscure episode, as he says, in the history of ideas in Russia, the file came into his hands, and inspired him with an ardent33 resolution to regain34 his liberty. When it slipped through his fingers it was as if it had gone straight into the earth. He could by no manner of means put his hand on it again in the dark. He groped systematically35 in the loose earth, in the mud, in the water; the night was passing meantime, the precious night on which he counted to get away into the forests, his only chance of escape. For a moment he was tempted36 by despair to give up; but recalling the quiet, sad face of the heroic girl, he felt profoundly ashamed of his weakness. She had selected him for the gift of liberty and he must show himself worthy37 of the favour conferred by her feminine, indomitable soul. It appeared to be a sacred trust. To fail would have been a sort of treason against the sacredness of self-sacrifice and womanly love.
There are in his book whole pages of self- analysis whence emerges like a white figure from a dark confused sea the conviction of woman’s spiritual superiority — his new faith confessed since in several volumes. His first tribute to it, the great act of his conversion38, was his extraordinary existence in the endless forests of the Okhotsk Province, with the loose end of the chain wound about his waist. A strip torn off his convict shirt secured the end firmly. Other strips fastened it at intervals39 up his left leg to deaden the clanking and to prevent the slack links from getting hooked in the bushes. He became very fierce. He developed an unsuspected genius for the arts of a wild and hunted existence. He learned to creep into villages without betraying his presence by anything more than an occasional faint jingle40. He broke into outhouses with an axe41 he managed to purloin42 in a wood-cutters’ camp. In the deserted43 tracts44 of country he lived on wild berries and hunted for honey. His clothing dropped off him gradually. His naked tawny45 figure glimpsed vaguely46 through the bushes with a cloud of mosquitoes and flies hovering47 about the shaggy head, spread tales of terror through whole districts. His temper grew savage49 as the days went by, and he was glad to discover that that there was so much of a brute50 in him. He had nothing else to put his trust in. For it was as though there had been two human beings indissolubly joined in that enterprise. The civilized51 man, the enthusiast52 of advanced humanitarian53 ideals thirsting for the triumph of spiritual love and political liberty; and the stealthy, primeval savage, pitilessly cunning in the preservation54 of his freedom from day to day, like a tracked wild beast.
The wild beast was making its way instinctively55 eastward56 to the Pacific coast, and the civilised humanitarian in fearful anxious dependence57 watched the proceedings58 with awe59. Through all these weeks he could never make up his mind to appeal to human compassion60. In the wary61 primeval savage this shyness might have been natural, but the other too, the civilized creature, the thinker, the escaping “political” had developed an absurd form of morbid62 pessimism63, a form of temporary insanity64, originating perhaps in the physical worry and discomfort65 of the chain. These links, he fancied, made him odious66 to the rest of mankind. It was a repugnant and suggestive load. Nobody could feel any pity at the disgusting sight of a man escaping with a broken chain. His imagination became affected67 by his fetters in a precise, matter-of-fact manner. It seemed to him impossible that people could resist the temptation of fastening the loose end to a staple68 in the wall while they went for the nearest police official. Crouching69 in holes or hidden in thickets70, he had tried to read the faces of unsuspecting free settlers working in the clearings or passing along the paths within a foot or two of his eyes. His feeling was that no man on earth could be trusted with the temptation of the chain.
One day, however, he chanced to come upon a solitary71 woman. It was on an open slope of rough grass outside the forest. She sat on the bank of a narrow stream; she had a red handkerchief on her head and a small basket was lying on the ground near her hand. At a little distance could be seen a cluster of log cabins, with a water-mill over a dammed pool shaded by birch trees and looking bright as glass in the twilight72. He approached her silently, his hatchet73 stuck in his iron belt, a thick cudgel in his hand; there were leaves and bits of twig74 in his tangled75 hair, in his matted beard; bunches of rags he had wound round the links fluttered from his waist. A faint clink of his fetters made the woman turn her head. Too terrified by this savage apparition76 to jump up or even to scream, she was yet too stout-hearted to faint. . . . Expecting nothing less than to be murdered on the spot she covered her eyes with her hands to avoid the sight of the descending78 axe. When at last she found courage to look again, she saw the shaggy wild man sitting on the bank six feet away from her. His thin, sinewy79 arms hugged his naked legs; the long beard covered the knees on which he rested his chin; all these clasped, folded limbs, the bare shoulders, the wild head with red staring eyes, shook and trembled violently while the bestial80 creature was making efforts to speak. It was six weeks since he had heard the sound of his own voice. It seemed as though he had lost the faculty81 of speech. He had become a dumb and despairing brute, till the woman’s sudden, unexpected cry of profound pity, the insight of her feminine compassion discovering the complex misery83 of the man under the terrifying aspect of the monster, restored him to the ranks of humanity. This point of view is presented in his book, with a very effective eloquence84. She ended, he says, by shedding tears over him, sacred, redeeming85 tears, while he also wept with joy in the manner of a converted sinner. Directing him to hide in the bushes and wait patiently (a police patrol was expected in the Settlement) she went away towards the houses, promising86 to return at night.
As if providentially appointed to be the newly wedded87 wife of the village blacksmith, the woman persuaded her husband to come out with her, bringing some tools of his trade, a hammer, a chisel88, a small anvil89. . . . “My fetters”— the book says —” were struck off on the banks of the stream, in the starlight of a calm night by an athletic90, taciturn young man of the people, kneeling at my feet, while the woman like a liberating91 genius stood by with clasped hands.” Obviously a symbolic couple. At the same time they furnished his regained92 humanity with some decent clothing, and put heart into the new man by the information that the seacoast of the Pacific was only a very few miles away. It could be seen, in fact, from the top of the next ridge93 . . . .
The rest of his escape does not lend itself to mystic treatment and symbolic interpretation94. He ended by finding his way to the West by the Suez Canal route in the usual manner. Reaching the shores of South Europe he sat down to write his autobiography95 — the great literary success of its year. This book was followed by other books written with the declared purpose of elevating humanity. In these works he preached generally the cult82 of the woman. For his own part he practised it under the rites96 of special devotion to the transcendental merits of a certain Madame de S— — a lady of advanced views, no longer very young, once upon a time the intriguing97 wife of a now dead and forgotten diplomat98. Her loud pretensions99 to be one of the leaders of modern thought and of modern sentiment, she sheltered (like Voltaire and Mme. de Stael) on the republican territory of Geneva. Driving through the streets in her big landau she exhibited to the indifference100 of the natives and the stares of the tourists a long-waisted, youthful figure of hieratic stiffness, with a pair of big gleaming eyes, rolling restlessly behind a short veil of black lace, which, coming down no further than her vividly101 red lips, resembled a mask. Usually the “heroic fugitive102” (this name was bestowed103 upon him in a review of the English edition of his book)— the “ heroic fugitive ” accompanied her, sitting, portentously104 bearded and darkly bespectacled, not by her side, but opposite her, with his back to the horses. Thus, facing each other, with no one else in the roomy carriage, their airings suggested a conscious public manifestation105. Or it may have been unconscious. Russian simplicity106 often marches innocently on the edge of cynicism for some lofty purpose. But it is a vain enterprise for sophisticated Europe to try and understand these doings. Considering the air of gravity extending even to the physiognomy of the coachman and the action of the showy horses, this quaint107 display might have possessed108 a mystic significance, but to the corrupt12 frivolity109 of a Western mind, like my own, it seemed hardly decent.
However, it is not becoming for an obscure teacher of languages to criticize a “heroic fugitive” of worldwide celebrity110. I was aware from hearsay111 that he was an industrious112 busy- body, hunting up his compatriots in hotels, in private lodgings113, and — I was told — conferring upon them the honour of his notice in public gardens when a suitable opening presented itself. I was under the impression that after a visit or two, several months before, he had given up the ladies Haldin — no doubt reluctantly, for there could be no question of his being a determined114 person. It was perhaps to be expected that he should reappear again on this terrible occasion, as a Russian and a revolutionist, to say the right thing, to strike the true, perhaps a comforting, note. But I did not like to see him sitting there. I trust that an unbecoming jealousy115 of my privileged position had nothing to do with it. I made no claim to a special standing116 for my silent friendship. Removed by the difference of age and nationality as if into the sphere of another existence, I produced, even upon myself, the effect of a dumb helpless ghost, of an anxious immaterial thing that could only hover48 about without the power to protect or guide by as much as a whisper. Since Miss Haldin with her sure instinct had refrained from introducing me to the burly celebrity, I would have retired117 quietly and returned later on, had I not met a peculiar118 expression in her eyes which I interpreted as a request to stay, with the view, perhaps, of shortening an unwelcome visit.
He picked up his hat, but only to deposit it on his knees.
“We shall meet again, Natalia Victorovna. To- day I have called only to mark those feelings towards your honoured mother and yourself, the nature of which you cannot doubt. I needed no urging, but Eleanor — Madame de S—— herself has in a way sent me. She extends to you the hand of feminine fellowship. There is positively119 in all the range of human sentiments no joy and no sorrow that woman cannot understand, elevate, and spiritualize by her interpretation. That young man newly arrived from St. Petersburg, I have mentioned to you, is already under the charm.”
At this point Miss Haldin got up abruptly120. I was glad. He did not evidently expect anything so decisive and, at first, throwing his head back, he tilted121 up his dark glasses with bland122 curiosity. At last, recollecting123 himself, he stood up hastily, seizing his hat off his knees with great adroitness124.
“How is it, Natalia Victorovna, that you have kept aloof125 so long, from what after all is — let disparaging126 tongues say what they like — a unique centre of intellectual freedom and of effort to shape a high conception of our future? In the case of your honoured mother I understand in a measure. At her age new ideas — new faces are not perhaps. . . . But you! Was it mistrust — or indifference? You must come out of your reserve. We Russians have no right to be reserved with each other. In our circumstances it is almost a crime against humanity. The luxury of private grief is not for us. Nowadays the devil is not combated by prayers and fasting. And what is fasting after all but starvation. You must not starve yourself, Natalia Victorovna. Strength is what we want. Spiritual strength, I mean. As to the other kind, what could withstand us Russians if we only put it forth? Sin is different in our day, and the way of salvation127 for pure souls is different too. It is no longer to be found in monasteries128 but in the world, in the . . . .”
The deep sound seemed to rise from under the floor, and one felt steeped in it to the lips. Miss Haldin’s interruption resembled the effort of a drowning person to keep above water. She struck in with an accent of impatience129 —
“But, Peter Ivanovitch, I don’t mean to retire into a monastery130. Who would look for salvation there?”
“I spoke131 figuratively,” he boomed.
“Well, then, I am speaking figuratively too. But sorrow is sorrow and pain is pain in the old way. They make their demands upon people. One has got to face them the best way one can. I know that the blow which has fallen upon us so unexpectedly is only an episode in the fate of a people. You may rest assured that I don’t forget that. But just now I have to think of my mother. How can you expect me to leave her to herself . . .?”
“That is putting it in a very crude way,” he protested in his great effortless voice.
Miss Haldin did not wait for the vibration132 to die out.
“And run about visiting amongst a lot of strange people. The idea is distasteful for me; and I do not know what else you may mean?”
He towered before her, enormous, deferential133, cropped as close as a convict and this big pinkish poll evoked134 for me the vision of a wild head with matted locks peering through parted bushes, glimpses of naked, tawny limbs slinking behind the masses of sodden135 foliage136 under a cloud of flies and mosquitoes. It was an involuntary tribute to the vigour137 of his writing. Nobody could doubt that he had wandered in Siberian forests, naked and girt with a chain. The black broadcloth coat invested his person with a character of austere138 decency139 — something recalling a missionary140.
“Do you know what I want, Natalia Victorovna?” he uttered solemnly. “I want you to be a fanatic141.”
“A fanatic?”
“Yes. Faith alone won’t do.”
His voice dropped to a still lower tone. He raised for a moment one thick arm; the other remained hanging down against his thigh142, with the fragile silk hat at the end.
“I shall tell you now something which I entreat143 you to ponder over carefully. Listen, we need a force that would move heaven and earth — nothing less.”
The profound, subterranean144 note of this “nothing less” made one shudder145, almost, like the deep muttering of wind in the pipes of an organ.
“And are we to find that force in the salon146 of Madame de S——? Excuse me, Peter Ivanovitch, if I permit myself to doubt it. Is not that lady a woman of the great world, an aristocrat147?”
“Prejudice!” he cried. “You astonish me. And suppose she was all that! She is also a woman of flesh and blood. There is always something to weigh down the spiritual side in all of us. But to make of it a reproach is what I did not expect from you. No! I did not expect that. One would think you have listened to some malevolent148 scandal.”
“I have heard no gossip, I assure you. In our province how could we? But the world speaks of her. What can there be in common in a lady of that sort and an obscure country girl like me?”
“She is a perpetual manifestation of a noble and peerless spirit,” he broke in. “Her charm — no, I shall not speak of her charm. But, of course, everybody who approaches her falls under the spell. . . . Contradictions vanish, trouble falls away from one. . . . Unless I am mistaken- -but I never make a mistake in spiritual matters- -you are troubled in your soul, Natalia Victorovna.”
Miss Haldin’s clear eyes looked straight at his soft enormous face; I received the impression that behind these dark spectacles of his he could be as impudent149 as he chose.
“Only the other evening walking back to town from Chateau150 Borel with our latest interesting arrival from Petersburg, I could notice the powerful soothing151 influence — I may say reconciling influence. . . . There he was, all these kilometres along the shores of the lake, silent, like a man who has been shown the way of peace. I could feel the leaven152 working in his soul, you understand. For one thing he listened to me patiently. I myself was inspired that evening by the firm and exquisite153 genius of Eleanor — Madame de S— — you know. It was a full moon and I could observe his face. I cannot be deceived . . . .”
Miss Haldin, looking down, seemed to hesitate.
“Well! I will think of what you said, Peter Ivanovitch. I shall try to call as soon as I can leave mother for an hour or two safely.”
Coldly as these words were said I was amazed at the concession154. He snatched her right hand with such fervour that I thought he was going to press it to his lips or his breast. But he only held it by the finger-tips in his great paw and shook it a little up and down while he delivered his last volley of words.
“That’s right. That’s right. I haven’t obtained your full confidence as yet, Natalia Victorovna, but that will come. All in good time. The sister of Viktor Haldin cannot be without importance. . . . It’s simply impossible. And no woman can remain sitting on the steps. Flowers, tears, applause — that has had its time; it’s a mediaeval conception. The arena155, the arena itself is the place for women!”
He relinquished156 her hand with a flourish, as if giving it to her for a gift, and remained still, his head bowed in dignified157 submission158 before her femininity.
“The arena! . . . You must descend77 into the arena, Natalia.”
He made one step backwards159, inclined his enormous body, and was gone swiftly. The door fell to behind him. But immediately the powerful resonance160 of his voice was heard addressing in the ante-room the middle-aged161 servant woman who was letting him out. Whether he exhorted162 her too to descend into the arena I cannot tell. The thing sounded like a lecture, and the slight crash of the outer door cut it short suddenly.
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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unctuous
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| adj.油腔滑调的，大胆的 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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inverted
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| adj.反向的，倒转的v.使倒置，使反转( invert的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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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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discourse
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| n.论文，演说；谈话；话语；vi.讲述，著述 | |
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precipitating
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| adj.急落的，猛冲的v.（突如其来地）使发生( precipitate的现在分词 )；促成；猛然摔下；使沉淀 | |
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bogs
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| n.沼泽，泥塘( bog的名词复数 )；厕所v.（使）陷入泥沼， （使）陷入困境( bog的第三人称单数 )；妨碍，阻碍 | |
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collapse
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| vi.累倒；昏倒；倒塌；塌陷 | |
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mighty
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corrupt
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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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courageous
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behold
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miraculous
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dross
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conspire
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repentance
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autocracy
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imprisoned
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fortresses
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condemned
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fetters
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riveted
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appalling
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futile
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sensational
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concealing
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symbolic
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democrat
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helping
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ardent
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regain
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systematically
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tempted
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worthy
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conversion
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intervals
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| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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jingle
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axe
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| n.斧子；v.用斧头砍，削减 | |
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purloin
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| v.偷窃 | |
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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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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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45
tawny
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| adj.茶色的，黄褐色的；n.黄褐色 | |
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46
vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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47
hovering
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| 鸟( hover的现在分词 )； 靠近（某事物）； （人）徘徊； 犹豫 | |
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48
hover
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| vi.翱翔，盘旋；徘徊；彷徨，犹豫 | |
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49
savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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50
brute
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| n.野兽，兽性 | |
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51
civilized
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| a.有教养的，文雅的 | |
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52
enthusiast
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| n.热心人，热衷者 | |
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53
humanitarian
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| n.人道主义者，博爱者，基督凡人论者 | |
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54
preservation
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| n.保护，维护，保存，保留，保持 | |
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55
instinctively
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| adv.本能地 | |
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56
eastward
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| adv.向东；adj.向东的；n.东方，东部 | |
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57
dependence
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| n.依靠，依赖；信任，信赖；隶属 | |
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58
proceedings
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| n.进程，过程，议程；诉讼(程序)；公报 | |
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59
awe
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| n.敬畏，惊惧；vt.使敬畏，使惊惧 | |
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60
compassion
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| n.同情，怜悯 | |
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61
wary
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| adj.谨慎的，机警的，小心的 | |
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62
morbid
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| adj.病的；致病的；病态的；可怕的 | |
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63
pessimism
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| n.悲观者，悲观主义者，厌世者 | |
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64
insanity
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| n.疯狂，精神错乱；极端的愚蠢，荒唐 | |
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65
discomfort
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| n.不舒服，不安，难过，困难，不方便 | |
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66
odious
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| adj.可憎的，讨厌的 | |
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67
affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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68
staple
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| n.主要产物，常用品，主要要素，原料，订书钉，钩环；adj.主要的，重要的；vt.分类 | |
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69
crouching
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| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的现在分词 ) | |
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70
thickets
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| n.灌木丛( thicket的名词复数 )；丛状物 | |
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71
solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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72
twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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73
hatchet
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| n.短柄小斧；v.扼杀 | |
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74
twig
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| n.小树枝，嫩枝；v.理解 | |
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75
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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76
apparition
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| n.幽灵，神奇的现象 | |
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77
descend
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| vt./vi.传下来，下来，下降 | |
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78
descending
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| n. 下行 adj. 下降的 | |
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79
sinewy
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| adj.多腱的，强壮有力的 | |
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80
bestial
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| adj.残忍的；野蛮的 | |
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81
faculty
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| n.才能；学院，系；(学院或系的)全体教学人员 | |
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82
cult
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| n.异教，邪教；时尚，狂热的崇拜 | |
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83
misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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84
eloquence
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| n.雄辩；口才，修辞 | |
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85
redeeming
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| 补偿的，弥补的 | |
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86
promising
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| adj.有希望的，有前途的 | |
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87
wedded
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| adj.正式结婚的；渴望…的，执著于…的v.嫁，娶，（与…）结婚( wed的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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88
chisel
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| n.凿子；v.用凿子刻，雕，凿 | |
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89
anvil
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| n.铁钻 | |
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90
athletic
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| adj.擅长运动的，强健的；活跃的，体格健壮的 | |
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91
liberating
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| 解放，释放( liberate的现在分词 ) | |
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92
regained
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| 复得( regain的过去式和过去分词 )； 赢回； 重回； 复至某地 | |
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93
ridge
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| n.山脊；鼻梁；分水岭 | |
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94
interpretation
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| n.解释，说明，描述；艺术处理 | |
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95
autobiography
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| n.自传 | |
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96
rites
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| 仪式，典礼( rite的名词复数 ) | |
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97
intriguing
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| adj.有趣的；迷人的v.搞阴谋诡计(intrigue的现在分词)；激起…的好奇心 | |
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98
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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99
pretensions
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| 自称( pretension的名词复数 )； 自命不凡； 要求； 权力 | |
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100
indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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101
vividly
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| adv.清楚地，鲜明地，生动地 | |
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102
fugitive
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| adj.逃亡的，易逝的；n.逃犯，逃亡者 | |
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103
bestowed
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| 赠给，授予( bestow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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104
portentously
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105
manifestation
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| n.表现形式；表明；现象 | |
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106
simplicity
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| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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107
quaint
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| adj.古雅的，离奇有趣的，奇怪的 | |
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108
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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109
frivolity
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| n.轻松的乐事，兴高采烈；轻浮的举止 | |
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110
celebrity
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| n.名人，名流；著名，名声，名望 | |
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111
hearsay
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| n.谣传，风闻 | |
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112
industrious
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| adj.勤劳的，刻苦的，奋发的 | |
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113
lodgings
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| n. 出租的房舍, 寄宿舍 | |
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114
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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115
jealousy
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| n.妒忌，嫉妒，猜忌 | |
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116
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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117
retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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118
peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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119
positively
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| adv.明确地，断然，坚决地；实在，确实 | |
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120
abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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121
tilted
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| v. 倾斜的 | |
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122
bland
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| adj.淡而无味的，温和的，无刺激性的 | |
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123
recollecting
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| v.记起，想起( recollect的现在分词 ) | |
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124
adroitness
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125
aloof
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| adj.远离的；冷淡的，漠不关心的 | |
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126
disparaging
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| adj.轻蔑的，毁谤的v.轻视( disparage的现在分词 )；贬低；批评；非难 | |
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127
salvation
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| n.（尤指基督）救世，超度，拯救，解困 | |
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128
monasteries
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| 修道院( monastery的名词复数 ) | |
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129
impatience
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| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
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130
monastery
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| n.修道院，僧院，寺院 | |
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131
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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132
vibration
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| n.颤动，振动；摆动 | |
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133
deferential
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| adj. 敬意的，恭敬的 | |
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134
evoked
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| [医]诱发的 | |
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135
sodden
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| adj.浑身湿透的；v.使浸透；使呆头呆脑 | |
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136
foliage
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| n.叶子，树叶，簇叶 | |
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137
vigour
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| （=vigor）n.智力，体力，精力 | |
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138
austere
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| adj.艰苦的；朴素的，朴实无华的；严峻的 | |
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139
decency
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| n.体面，得体，合宜，正派，庄重 | |
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140
missionary
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| adj.教会的，传教(士)的；n.传教士 | |
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141
fanatic
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| n.狂热者，入迷者；adj.狂热入迷的 | |
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142
thigh
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| n.大腿；股骨 | |
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143
entreat
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| v.恳求，恳请 | |
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144
subterranean
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| adj.地下的，地表下的 | |
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145
shudder
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| v.战粟，震动，剧烈地摇晃；n.战粟，抖动 | |
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146
salon
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| n.[法]沙龙；客厅；营业性的高级服务室 | |
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147
aristocrat
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| n.贵族，有贵族气派的人，上层人物 | |
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148
malevolent
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| adj.有恶意的，恶毒的 | |
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149
impudent
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| adj.鲁莽的，卑鄙的，厚颜无耻的 | |
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150
chateau
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| n.城堡，别墅 | |
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151
soothing
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| adj.慰藉的；使人宽心的；镇静的 | |
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152
leaven
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| v.使发酵；n.酵母；影响 | |
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153
exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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154
concession
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| n.让步，妥协；特许(权) | |
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155
arena
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| n.竞技场，运动场所；竞争场所，舞台 | |
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156
relinquished
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| 交出，让给( relinquish的过去式和过去分词 )； 放弃 | |
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157
dignified
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| a.可敬的，高贵的 | |
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158
submission
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| n.服从，投降；温顺，谦虚；提出 | |
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159
backwards
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| adv.往回地，向原处，倒，相反，前后倒置地 | |
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160
resonance
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| n.洪亮；共鸣；共振 | |
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161
middle-aged
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| adj.中年的 | |
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162
exhorted
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| v.劝告，劝说( exhort的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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