IT was getting dark; it would soon be night.
Gusev, a discharged soldier, sat up in his hammock and said in an undertone:
“I say, Pavel Ivanitch. A soldier at Sutchan told me: while they were sailing a big fish came into collision with their ship and stove a hole in it.”
The nondescript individual whom he was addressing, and whom everyone in the ship’s hospital called Pavel Ivanitch, was silent, as though he had not heard.
And again a stillness followed . . . The wind frolicked with the rigging, the screw throbbed1, the waves lashed2, the hammocks creaked, but the ear had long ago become accustomed to these sounds, and it seemed that everything around was asleep and silent. It was dreary3. The three invalids4 — two soldiers and a sailor — who had been playing cards all the day were asleep and talking in their dreams.
It seemed as though the ship were beginning to rock. The hammock slowly rose and fell under Gusev, as though it were heaving a sigh, and this was repeated once, twice, three times. . . . Something crashed on to the floor with a clang: it must have been a jug5 falling down.
“The wind has broken loose from its chain . . . ” said Gusev, listening.
This time Pavel Ivanitch cleared his throat and answered irritably6:
“One minute a vessel’s running into a fish, the next, the wind’s breaking loose from its chain. Is the wind a beast that it can break loose from its chain?”
“That’s how christened folk talk.”
“They are as ignorant as you are then. They say all sorts of things. One must keep a head on one’s shoulders and use one’s reason. You are a senseless creature.”
Pavel Ivanitch was subject to sea-sickness. When the sea was rough he was usually ill-humoured, and the merest trifle would make him irritable7. And in Gusev’s opinion there was absolutely nothing to be vexed8 about. What was there strange or wonderful, for instance, in the fish or in the wind’s breaking loose from its chain? Suppose the fish were as big as a mountain and its back were as hard as a sturgeon: and in the same way, supposing that away yonder at the end of the world there stood great stone walls and the fierce winds were chained up to the walls . . . if they had not broken loose, why did they tear about all over the sea like maniacs9, and struggle to escape like dogs? If they were not chained up, what did become of them when it was calm?
Gusev pondered for a long time about fishes as big as a mountain and stout10, rusty11 chains, then he began to feel dull and thought of his native place to which he was returning after five years’ service in the East. He pictured an immense pond covered with snow. . . . On one side of the pond the red-brick building of the potteries12 with a tall chimney and clouds of black smoke; on the other side — a village. . . . His brother Alexey comes out in a sledge13 from the fifth yard from the end; behind him sits his little son Vanka in big felt over-boots, and his little girl Akulka, also in big felt boots. Alexey has been drinking, Vanka is laughing, Akulka’s face he could not see, she had muffled14 herself up.
“You never know, he’ll get the children frozen . . . ” thought Gusev. “Lord send them sense and judgment15 that they may honour their father and mother and not be wiser than their parents.”
“They want re-soleing,” a delirious16 sailor says in a bass17 voice. “Yes, yes!”
Gusev’s thoughts break off, and instead of a pond there suddenly appears apropos18 of nothing a huge bull’s head without eyes, and the horse and sledge are not driving along, but are whirling round and round in a cloud of smoke. But still he was glad he had seen his own folks. He held his breath from delight, shudders19 ran all over him, and his fingers twitched20.
“The Lord let us meet again,” he muttered feverishly21, but he at once opened his eyes and sought in the darkness for water.
He drank and lay back, and again the sledge was moving, then again the bull’s head without eyes, smoke, clouds. . . . And so on till daybreak.
II
The first outline visible in the darkness was a blue circle — the little round window; then little by little Gusev could distinguish his neighbour in the next hammock, Pavel Ivanitch. The man slept sitting up, as he could not breathe lying down. His face was grey, his nose was long and sharp, his eyes looked huge from the terrible thinness of his face, his temples were sunken, his beard was skimpy, his hair was long. . . . Looking at him you could not make out of what class he was, whether he were a gentleman, a merchant, or a peasant. Judging from his expression and his long hair he might have been a hermit22 or a lay brother in a monastery23 — but if one listened to what he said it seemed that he could not be a monk24. He was worn out by his cough and his illness and by the stifling25 heat, and breathed with difficulty, moving his parched26 lips. Noticing that Gusev was looking at him he turned his face towards him and said:
“I begin to guess. . . . Yes. . . . I understand it all perfectly28 now.”
“What do you understand, Pavel Ivanitch?”
“I’ll tell you. . . . It has always seemed to me strange that terribly ill as you are you should be here in a steamer where it is so hot and stifling and we are always being tossed up and down, where, in fact, everything threatens you with death; now it is all clear to me. . . . Yes. . . . Your doctors put you on the steamer to get rid of you. They get sick of looking after poor brutes29 like you. . . . You don’t pay them anything, they have a bother with you, and you damage their records with your deaths — so, of course, you are brutes! It’s not difficult to get rid of you. . . . All that is necessary is, in the first place, to have no conscience or humanity, and, secondly31, to deceive the steamer authorities. The first condition need hardly be considered, in that respect we are artists; and one can always succeed in the second with a little practice. In a crowd of four hundred healthy soldiers and sailors half a dozen sick ones are not conspicuous32; well, they drove you all on to the steamer, mixed you with the healthy ones, hurriedly counted you over, and in the confusion nothing amiss was noticed, and when the steamer had started they saw that there were paralytics and consumptives in the last stage lying about on the deck. . . . ”
Gusev did not understand Pavel Ivanitch; but supposing he was being blamed, he said in self-defence:
“I lay on the deck because I had not the strength to stand; when we were unloaded from the barge33 on to the ship I caught a fearful chill.”
“It’s revolting,” Pavel Ivanitch went on. “The worst of it is they know perfectly well that you can’t last out the long journey, and yet they put you here. Supposing you get as far as the Indian Ocean, what then? It’s horrible to think of it.. .. And that’s their gratitude34 for your faithful, irreproachable35 service!”
Pavel Ivanitch’s eyes looked angry; he frowned contemptuously and said, gasping36:
“Those are the people who ought to be plucked in the newspapers till the feathers fly in all directions.”
The two sick soldiers and the sailor were awake and already playing cards. The sailor was half reclining in his hammock, the soldiers were sitting near him on the floor in the most uncomfortable attitudes. One of the soldiers had his right arm in a sling37, and the hand was swathed up in a regular bundle so that he held his cards under his right arm or in the crook38 of his elbow while he played with the left. The ship was rolling heavily. They could not stand up, nor drink tea, nor take their medicines.
“Were you an officer’s servant?” Pavel Ivanitch asked Gusev.
“Yes, an officer’s servant.”
“My God, my God!” said Pavel Ivanitch, and he shook his head mournfully. “To tear a man out of his home, drag him twelve thousand miles away, then to drive him into consumption and . . . and what is it all for, one wonders? To turn him into a servant for some Captain Kopeikin or midshipman Dirka! How logical!”
“It’s not hard work, Pavel Ivanitch. You get up in the morning and clean the boots, get the samovar, sweep the rooms, and then you have nothing more to do. The lieutenant40 is all the day drawing plans, and if you like you can say your prayers, if you like you can read a book or go out into the street. God grant everyone such a life.”
“Yes, very nice, the lieutenant draws plans all the day and you sit in the kitchen and pine for home. . . . Plans indeed! . . . It is not plans that matter, but a human life. Life is not given twice, it must be treated mercifully.”
“Of course, Pavel Ivanitch, a bad man gets no mercy anywhere, neither at home nor in the army, but if you live as you ought and obey orders, who has any need to insult you? The officers are educated gentlemen, they understand. . . . In five years I was never once in prison, and I was never struck a blow, so help me God, but once.”
“What for?”
“For fighting. I have a heavy hand, Pavel Ivanitch. Four Chinamen came into our yard; they were bringing firewood or something, I don’t remember. Well, I was bored and I knocked them about a bit, one’s nose began bleeding, damn the fellow.. .. The lieutenant saw it through the little window, he was angry and gave me a box on the ear.”
“Foolish, pitiful man . . . ” whispered Pavel Ivanitch. “You don’t understand anything.”
He was utterly41 exhausted42 by the tossing of the ship and closed his eyes; his head alternately fell back and dropped forward on his breast. Several times he tried to lie down but nothing came of it; his difficulty in breathing prevented it.
“And what did you hit the four Chinamen for?” he asked a little while afterwards.
“Oh, nothing. They came into the yard and I hit them.”
And a stillness followed. . . . The card-players had been playing for two hours with enthusiasm and loud abuse of one another, but the motion of the ship overcame them, too; they threw aside the cards and lay down. Again Gusev saw the big pond, the brick building, the village. . . . Again the sledge was coming along, again Vanka was laughing and Akulka, silly little thing, threw open her fur coat and stuck her feet out, as much as to say: “Look, good people, my snowboots are not like Vanka’s, they are new ones.”
“Five years old, and she has no sense yet,” Gusev muttered in delirium43. “Instead of kicking your legs you had better come and get your soldier uncle a drink. I will give you something nice.”
Then Andron with a flintlock gun on his sh oulder was carrying a hare he had killed, and he was followed by the decrepit44 old Jew Isaitchik, who offers to barter45 the hare for a piece of soap; then the black calf46 in the shed, then Domna sewing at a shirt and crying about something, and then again the bull’s head without eyes, black smoke. . . .
Overhead someone gave a loud shout, several sailors ran by, they seemed to be dragging something bulky over the deck, something fell with a crash. Again they ran by. . . . Had something gone wrong? Gusev raised his head, listened, and saw that the two soldiers and the sailor were playing cards again; Pavel Ivanitch was sitting up moving his lips. It was stifling, one hadn’t strength to breathe, one was thirsty, the water was warm, disgusting. The ship heaved as much as ever.
Suddenly something strange happened to one of the soldiers playing cards. . . . He called hearts diamonds, got muddled47 in his score, and dropped his cards, then with a frightened, foolish smile looked round at all of them.
“I shan’t be a minute, mates, I’ll . . . ” he said, and lay down on the floor.
Everybody was amazed. They called to him, he did not answer.
“Stephan, maybe you are feeling bad, eh?” the soldier with his arm in a sling asked him. “Perhaps we had better bring the priest, eh?”
“Have a drink of water, Stepan . . . ” said the sailor. “Here, lad, drink.”
“Why are you knocking the jug against his teeth?” said Gusev angrily. “ Don’t you see, turnip48 head?’
“What?”
“What?” Gusev repeated, mimicking49 him. “There is no breath in him, he is dead! That’s what! What nonsensical people, Lord have mercy on us . . .!”
III
The ship was not rocking and Pavel Ivanitch was more cheerful. He was no longer ill-humoured. His face had a boastful, defiant50, mocking expression. He looked as though he wanted to say: “Yes, in a minute I will tell you something that will make you split your sides with laughing.” The little round window was open and a soft breeze was blowing on Pavel Ivanitch. There was a sound of voices, of the plash of oars51 in the water. . . . Just under the little window someone began droning in a high, unpleasant voice: no doubt it was a Chinaman singing.
“Here we are in the harbour,” said Pavel Ivanitch, smiling ironically. “Only another month and we shall be in Russia. Well, worthy52 gentlemen and warriors53! I shall arrive at Odessa and from there go straight to Harkov. In Harkov I have a friend, a literary man. I shall go to him and say, ‘Come, old man, put aside your horrid54 subjects, ladies’ amours and the beauties of nature, and show up human depravity.’ ”
For a minute he pondered, then said:
“Gusev, do you know how I took them in?”
“Took in whom, Pavel Ivanitch?”
“Why, these fellows. . . . You know that on this steamer there is only a first-class and a third-class, and they only allow peasants — that is the rift-raft — to go in the third. If you have got on a reefer jacket and have the faintest resemblance to a gentleman or a bourgeois55 you must go first-class, if you please. You must fork out five hundred roubles if you die for it. Why, I ask, have you made such a rule? Do you want to raise the prestige of educated Russians thereby56? Not a bit of it. We don’t let you go third-class simply because a decent person can’t go third-class; it is very horrible and disgusting. Yes, indeed. I am very grateful for such solicitude57 for decent people’s welfare. But in any case, whether it is nasty there or nice, five hundred roubles I haven’t got. I haven’t pilfered58 government money. I haven’t exploited the natives, I haven’t trafficked in contraband59, I have flogged no one to death, so judge whether I have the right to travel first-class and even less to reckon myself of the educated class? But you won’t catch them with logic39. . . . One has to resort to deception60. I put on a workman’s coat and high boots, I assumed a drunken, servile mug and went to the agents: ‘Give us a little ticket, your honour,’ said I. . . . ”
“Why, what class do you belong to?” asked a sailor.
“Clerical. My father was an honest priest, he always told the great ones of the world the truth to their faces; and he had a great deal to put up with in consequence.”
Pavel Ivanitch was exhausted with talking and gasped61 for breath, but still went on:
“Yes, I always tell people the truth to their faces. I am not afraid of anyone or anything. There is a vast difference between me and all of you in that respect. You are in darkness, you are blind, crushed; you see nothing and what you do see you don’t understand. . . . You are told the wind breaks loose from its chain, that you are beasts, Petchenyegs, and you believe it; they punch you in the neck, you kiss their hands; some animal in a sable-lined coat robs you and then tips you fifteen kopecks and you: ‘Let me kiss your hand, sir.’ You are pariahs62, pitiful people. . . . I am a different sort. My eyes are open, I see it all as clearly as a hawk63 or an eagle when it floats over the earth, and I understand it all. I am a living protest. I see irresponsible tyranny — I protest. I see cant64 and hypocrisy65 — I protest. I see swine triumphant66 — I protest. And I cannot be suppressed, no Spanish Inquisition can make me hold my tongue. No. . . . Cut out my tongue and I would protest in dumb show; shut me up in a cellar — I will shout from it to be heard half a mile away, or I will starve myself to death that they may have another weight on their black consciences. Kill me and I will haunt them with my ghost. All my acquaintances say to me: ‘You are a most insufferable person, Pavel Ivanitch.’ I am proud of such a reputation. I have served three years in the far East, and I shall be remembered there for a hundred years: I had rows with everyone. My friends write to me from Russia, ‘Don’t come back,’ but here I am going back to spite them . . . yes. . . . That is life as I understand it. That is what one can call life.”
Gusev was looking at the little window and was not listening. A boat was swaying on the transparent67, soft, turquoise68 water all bathed in hot, dazzling sunshine. In it there were naked Chinamen holding up cages with canaries and calling out:
“It sings, it sings!”
Another boat knocked against the first; the steam cutter darted69 by. And then there came another boat with a fat Chinaman sitting in it, eating rice with little sticks.
Languidly the water heaved, languidly the white seagulls floated over it.
“I should like to give that fat fellow one in the neck,” thought Gusev, gazing at the stout Chinaman, with a yawn.
He dozed70 off, and it seemed to him that all nature was dozing71, too. Time flew swiftly by; imperceptibly the day passed, imperceptibly the darkness came on. . . . The steamer was no longer standing72 still, but moving on further.
IV
Two days passed, Pavel Ivanitch lay down instead of sitting up; his eyes were closed, his nose seemed to have grown sharper.
“Pavel Ivanitch,” Gusev called to him. “Hey, Pavel Ivanitch.”
Pavel Ivanitch opened his eyes and moved his lips.
“Are you feeling bad?”
“No . . . it’s nothing . . . ” answered Pavel Ivanitch, gasping. “Nothing; on the contrary — I am rather better. . . . You see I can lie down. I am a little easier. . . . ”
“Well, thank God for that, Pavel Ivanitch.”
“When I compare myself with you I am sorry for you . . . poor fellow. My lungs are all right, it is only a stomach cough. . . . I can stand hell, let alone the Red Sea. Besides I take a critical attitude to my illness and to the medicines they give me for it. While you . . . you are in darkness. . . . It’s hard for you, very, very hard!”
The ship was not rolling, it was calm, but as hot and stifling as a bath-house; it was not only hard to speak but even hard to listen. Gusev hugged his knees, laid his head on them and thought of his home. Good heavens, what a relief it was to think of snow and cold in that stifling heat! You drive in a sledge, all at once the horses take fright at something and bolt. . . . Regardless of the road, the ditches, the ravines, they dash like mad things, right through the village, over the pond by the pottery73 works, out across the open fields. “Hold on,” the pottery hands and the peasants sho ut, meeting them. “Hold on.” But why? Let the keen, cold wind beat in one’s face and bite one’s hands; let the lumps of snow, kicked up by the horses’ hoofs74, fall on one’s cap, on one’s back, down one’s collar, on one’s chest; let the runners ring on the snow, and the traces and the sledge be smashed, deuce take them one and all! And how delightful75 when the sledge upsets and you go flying full tilt76 into a drift, face downwards77 in the snow, and then you get up white all over with icicles on your moustaches; no cap, no gloves, your belt undone78. . . . People laugh, the dogs bark. . . .
Pavel Ivanitch half opened one eye, looked at Gusev with it, and asked softly:
“Gusev, did your commanding officer steal?”
“Who can tell, Pavel Ivanitch! We can’t say, it didn’t reach us.”
And after that a long time passed in silence. Gusev brooded, muttered something in delirium, and kept drinking water; it was hard for him to talk and hard to listen, and he was afraid of being talked to. An hour passed, a second, a third; evening came on, then night, but he did not notice it. He still sat dreaming of the frost.
There was a sound as though someone came into the hospital, and voices were audible, but a few minutes passed and all was still again.
“The Kingdom of Heaven and eternal peace,” said the soldier with his arm in a sling. “He was an uncomfortable man.”
“What?” asked Gusev. “Who?”
“He is dead, they have just carried him up.”
“Oh, well,” muttered Gusev, yawning, “the Kingdom of Heaven be his.”
“What do you think?” the soldier with his arm in a sling asked Gusev. “Will he be in the Kingdom of Heaven or not?”
“Who is it you are talking about?”
“Pavel Ivanitch.”
“He will be . . . he suffered so long. And there is another thing, he belonged to the clergy79, and the priests always have a lot of relations. Their prayers will save him.”
The soldier with the sling sat down on a hammock near Gusev and said in an undertone:
“And you, Gusev, are not long for this world. You will never get to Russia.”
“Did the doctor or his assistant say so?” asked Gusev.
“It isn’t that they said so, but one can see it. . . . One can see directly when a man’s going to die. You don’t eat, you don’t drink; it’s dreadful to see how thin you’ve got. It’s consumption, in fact. I say it, not to upset you, but because maybe you would like to have the sacrament and extreme unction. And if you have any money you had better give it to the senior officer.”
“I haven’t written home . . . ” Gusev sighed. “I shall die and they won’t know.”
“They’ll hear of it,” the sick sailor brought out in a bass voice. “When you die they will put it down in the Gazette, at Odessa they will send in a report to the commanding officer there and he will send it to the parish or somewhere..
Gusev began to be uneasy after such a conversation and to feel a vague yearning81. He drank water — it was not that; he dragged himself to the window and breathed the hot, moist air — it was not that; he tried to think of home, of the frost — it was not that. . . . At last it seemed to him one minute longer in the ward27 and he would certainly expire.
“It’s stifling, mates . . . ” he said. “I’ll go on deck. Help me up, for Christ’s sake.”
“All right,” assented82 the soldier with the sling. “I’ll carry you, you can’t walk, hold on to my neck.”
Gusev put his arm round the soldier’s neck, the latter put his unhurt arm round him and carried him up. On the deck sailors and time-expired soldiers were lying asleep side by side; there were so many of them it was difficult to pass.
“Stand down,” the soldier with the sling said softly. “Follow me quietly, hold on to my shirt. . . . ”
It was dark. There was no light on deck, nor on the masts, nor anywhere on the sea around. At the furthest end of the ship the man on watch was standing perfectly still like a statue, and it looked as though he were asleep. It seemed as though the steamer were abandoned to itself and were going at its own will.
“Now they will throw Pavel Ivanitch into the sea,” said the soldier with the sling. “In a sack and then into the water.”
“Yes, that’s the rule.”
“But it’s better to lie at home in the earth. Anyway, your mother comes to the grave and weeps.”
“Of course.”
There was a smell of hay and of dung. There were oxen standing with drooping83 heads by the ship’s rail. One, two, three; eight of them! And there was a little horse. Gusev put out his hand to stroke it, but it shook its head, showed its teeth, and tried to bite his sleeve.
“Damned brute30 . . . ” said Gusev angrily.
The two of them, he and the soldier, threaded their way to the head of the ship, then stood at the rail and looked up and down. Overhead deep sky, bright stars, peace and stillness, exactly as at home in the village, below darkness and disorder84. The tall waves were resounding85, no one could tell why. Whichever wave you looked at each one was trying to rise higher than all the rest and to chase and crush the next one; after it a third as fierce and hideous86 flew noisily, with a glint of light on its white crest87.
The sea has no sense and no pity. If the steamer had been smaller and not made of thick iron, the waves would have crushed it to pieces without the slightest compunction, and would have devoured88 all the people in it with no distinction of saints or sinners. The steamer had the same cruel and meaningless expression. This monster with its huge beak89 was dashing onwards, cutting millions of waves in its path; it had no fear of the darkness nor the wind, nor of space, nor of solitude90, caring for nothing, and if the ocean had its people, this monster would have crushed them, too, without distinction of saints or sinners.
“Where are we now?” asked Gusev.
“I don’t know. We must be in the ocean.”
“There is no sight of land . . . ”
“No indeed! They say we shan’t see it for seven days.”
The two soldiers watched the white foam91 with the phosphorus light on it and were silent, thinking. Gusev was the first to break the silence.
“There is nothing to be afraid of,” he said, “only one is full of dread80 as though one were sitting in a dark forest; but if, for instance, they let a boat down on to the water this minute and an officer ordered me to go a hundred miles over the sea to catch fish, I’d go. Or, let’s say, if a Christian92 were to fall into the water this minute, I’d go in after him. A German or a Chinaman I wouldn’t save, but I’d go in after a Christian.”
“And are you afraid to die?”
“Yes. I am sorry for the folks at home. My brother at home, you know, isn’t steady; he drinks, he beats his wife for nothing, he does not honour his parents. Everything will go to ruin without me, and father and my old mother will be begging their bread, I shouldn’t wonder. But my legs won’t bear me, brother, and it’s hot here. Let’s go to sleep.”
V
Gusev went back to the ward and got into his hammock. He was again tormented93 by a vague craving94, and he could not make out what he wanted. There was an oppression on his chest, a throbbing95 in his head, his mouth was so dry that it was difficult for him to move his tongue. He dozed, and murmured in his sleep, and, worn out with nightmares, his cough, and the stifling heat, towards morning he fell into a sound sleep. He dreamed that they were just taking the bread out of the oven in the barracks and he climbed into the stove and had a steam bath in it, lashing96 himself with a bunch of birch twigs97. He slept for two days, and at midday on the third two sailors came down and carried him out.
He was sewn up in sailcloth and to make him heavier they put with him two iron weights. Sewn up in the sailcloth he looked like a carrot or a radish: broad at the head and narrow at the feet. . . . Before sunset they brought him up to the deck and put him on a plank98; one end of the plank lay on the side of the ship, the other on a box, placed on a stool. Round him stood the soldiers and the officers with their caps off.
“Blessed be the Name of the Lord . . . ” the priest began. “As it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be.”
“Amen,” chanted three sailors.
The soldiers and the officers crossed themselves and looked away at the waves. It was strange that a man should be sewn up in sailcloth and should soon be flying into the sea. Was it possible that such a thing might happen to anyone?
The priest strewed99 earth upon Gusev and bowed down. They sang “Eternal Memory.”
The man on watch duty tilted100 up the end of the plank, Gusev slid off and flew head foremost, turned a somersault in the air and splashed into the sea. He was covered with foam and for a moment looked as though he were wrapped in lace, but the minute passed and he disappeared in the waves.
He went rapidly towards the bottom. Did he reach it? It was said to be three miles to the bottom. After sinking sixty or seventy feet, he began moving more and more slowly, swaying rhythmically101, as though he were hesitating and, carried along by the current, moved more rapidly sideways than downwards.
Then he was met by a shoal of the fish called harbour pilots. Seeing the dark body the fish stopped as though petrified102, and suddenly turned round and disappeared. In less than a minute they flew back swift as an arrow to Gusev, and began zig-zagging round him in the water.
After that another dark body appeared. It was a shark. It swam under Gusev with dignity and no show of interest, as though it did not notice him, and sank down upon its back, then it turned belly103 upwards104, basking105 in the warm, transparent water and languidly opened its jaws106 with two rows of teeth. The harbour pilots are delighted, they stop to see what will come next. After playing a little with the body the shark nonchalantly puts its jaws under it, cautiously touches it with its teeth, and the sailcloth is rent its full length from head to foot; one of the weights falls out and frightens the harbour pilots, and striking the shark on the ribs107 goes rapidly to the bottom.
Overhead at this time the clouds are massed together on the side where the sun is setting; one cloud like a triumphal arch, another like a lion, a third like a pair of scissors. . . . From behind the clouds a broad, green shaft108 of light pierces through and stretches to the middle of the sky; a little later another, violet-coloured, lies beside it; next that, one of gold, then one rose-coloured. . . . The sky turns a soft lilac. Looking at this gorgeous, enchanted109 sky, at first the ocean scowls110, but soon it, too, takes tender, joyous111, passionate112 colours for which it is hard to find a name in human speech.
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throbbed
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| 抽痛( throb的过去式和过去分词 )； （心脏、脉搏等）跳动 | |
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lashed
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| adj.具睫毛的v.鞭打( lash的过去式和过去分词 )；煽动；紧系；怒斥 | |
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dreary
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| adj.令人沮丧的，沉闷的，单调乏味的 | |
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invalids
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| 病人，残疾者( invalid的名词复数 ) | |
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jug
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| n.(有柄，小口，可盛水等的)大壶，罐，盂 | |
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irritably
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| ad.易生气地 | |
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irritable
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| adj.急躁的；过敏的；易怒的 | |
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vexed
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| adj.争论不休的；（指问题等）棘手的；争论不休的问题；烦恼的v.使烦恼( vex的过去式和过去分词 )；使苦恼；使生气；详细讨论 | |
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maniacs
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| n.疯子（maniac的复数形式） | |
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rusty
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| adj.生锈的；锈色的；荒废了的 | |
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potteries
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| n.陶器( pottery的名词复数 )；陶器厂；陶土；陶器制造（术） | |
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sledge
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| n.雪橇，大锤；v.用雪橇搬运，坐雪橇往 | |
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muffled
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| adj.（声音）被隔的；听不太清的；（衣服）裹严的；蒙住的v.压抑，捂住( muffle的过去式和过去分词 )；用厚厚的衣帽包着（自己） | |
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15
judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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delirious
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| adj.不省人事的，神智昏迷的 | |
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bass
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| n.男低音(歌手)；低音乐器；低音大提琴 | |
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18
apropos
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| adv.恰好地；adj.恰当的；关于 | |
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19
shudders
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| n.颤动，打颤，战栗( shudder的名词复数 )v.战栗( shudder的第三人称单数 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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twitched
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| vt.& vi.（使）抽动，（使）颤动（twitch的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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21
feverishly
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| adv. 兴奋地 | |
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22
hermit
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| n.隐士，修道者；隐居 | |
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23
monastery
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| n.修道院，僧院，寺院 | |
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24
monk
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| n.和尚，僧侣，修道士 | |
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25
stifling
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| a.令人窒息的 | |
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26
parched
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| adj.焦干的；极渴的；v.（使）焦干 | |
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27
ward
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| n.守卫，监护，病房，行政区，由监护人或法院保护的人（尤指儿童）；vt.守护，躲开 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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29
brutes
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| 兽( brute的名词复数 )； 畜生； 残酷无情的人； 兽性 | |
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30
brute
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| n.野兽，兽性 | |
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31
secondly
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| adv.第二，其次 | |
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32
conspicuous
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| adj.明眼的，惹人注目的；炫耀的，摆阔气的 | |
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33
barge
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| n.平底载货船，驳船 | |
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34
gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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35
irreproachable
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| adj.不可指责的，无过失的 | |
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36
gasping
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| adj. 气喘的, 痉挛的 动词gasp的现在分词 | |
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37
sling
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| vt.扔；悬挂；n.挂带；吊索，吊兜；弹弓 | |
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38
crook
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| v.使弯曲；n.小偷，骗子，贼；弯曲(处) | |
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39
logic
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| n.逻辑(学)；逻辑性 | |
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40
lieutenant
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| n.陆军中尉，海军上尉；代理官员，副职官员 | |
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41
utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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42
exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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43
delirium
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| n. 神智昏迷,说胡话;极度兴奋 | |
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44
decrepit
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| adj.衰老的，破旧的 | |
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45
barter
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| n.物物交换，以货易货，实物交易 | |
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46
calf
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| n.小牛，犊，幼仔，小牛皮 | |
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47
muddled
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| adj.混乱的；糊涂的；头脑昏昏然的v.弄乱，弄糟( muddle的过去式)；使糊涂；对付，混日子 | |
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48
turnip
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| n.萝卜，芜菁 | |
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49
mimicking
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| v.（尤指为了逗乐而）模仿( mimic的现在分词 )；酷似 | |
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50
defiant
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| adj.无礼的，挑战的 | |
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51
oars
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| n.桨，橹( oar的名词复数 )；划手v.划（行）( oar的第三人称单数 ) | |
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52
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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53
warriors
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| 武士，勇士，战士( warrior的名词复数 ) | |
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54
horrid
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| adj.可怕的；令人惊恐的；恐怖的；极讨厌的 | |
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bourgeois
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| adj./n.追求物质享受的(人)；中产阶级分子 | |
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56
thereby
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| adv.因此，从而 | |
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57
solicitude
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| n.焦虑 | |
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58
pilfered
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| v.偷窃（小东西），小偷( pilfer的过去式和过去分词 )；偷窃（一般指小偷小摸） | |
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59
contraband
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| n.违禁品，走私品 | |
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60
deception
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| n.欺骗，欺诈；骗局，诡计 | |
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61
gasped
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| v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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62
pariahs
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| n.被社会遗弃者( pariah的名词复数 )；贱民 | |
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63
hawk
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| n.鹰，骗子；鹰派成员 | |
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64
cant
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| n.斜穿，黑话，猛扔 | |
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65
hypocrisy
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| n.伪善，虚伪 | |
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66
triumphant
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| adj.胜利的，成功的；狂欢的，喜悦的 | |
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67
transparent
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| adj.明显的，无疑的；透明的 | |
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68
turquoise
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| n.绿宝石；adj.蓝绿色的 | |
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69
darted
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| v.投掷，投射( dart的过去式和过去分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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70
dozed
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| v.打盹儿，打瞌睡( doze的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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71
dozing
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| v.打瞌睡,假寐 n.瞌睡 | |
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72
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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73
pottery
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| n.陶器，陶器场 | |
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74
hoofs
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| n.（兽的）蹄，马蹄( hoof的名词复数 )v.（兽的）蹄，马蹄( hoof的第三人称单数 ) | |
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75
delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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76
tilt
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| v.(使)倾侧；(使)倾斜；n.倾侧；倾斜 | |
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77
downwards
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| adj./adv.向下的（地），下行的（地） | |
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78
undone
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| a.未做完的，未完成的 | |
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79
clergy
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| n.[总称]牧师，神职人员 | |
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80
dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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81
yearning
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| a.渴望的；向往的；怀念的 | |
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82
assented
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| 同意，赞成( assent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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83
drooping
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| adj. 下垂的，无力的 动词droop的现在分词 | |
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84
disorder
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| n.紊乱，混乱；骚动，骚乱；疾病，失调 | |
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85
resounding
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| adj. 响亮的 | |
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86
hideous
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| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
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87
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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88
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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89
beak
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| n.鸟嘴，茶壶嘴，钩形鼻 | |
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90
solitude
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| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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91
foam
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| v./n.泡沫，起泡沫 | |
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92
Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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93
tormented
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| 饱受折磨的 | |
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94
craving
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| n.渴望,热望 | |
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95
throbbing
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| a. 跳动的,悸动的 | |
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96
lashing
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| n.鞭打；痛斥；大量；许多v.鞭打( lash的现在分词 )；煽动；紧系；怒斥 | |
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97
twigs
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| 细枝，嫩枝( twig的名词复数 ) | |
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98
plank
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| n.板条，木板，政策要点，政纲条目 | |
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99
strewed
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| v.撒在…上( strew的过去式和过去分词 )；散落于；点缀；撒满 | |
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100
tilted
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| v. 倾斜的 | |
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101
rhythmically
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| adv.有节奏地 | |
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102
petrified
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| adj.惊呆的；目瞪口呆的v.使吓呆，使惊呆；变僵硬；使石化(petrify的过去式和过去分词) | |
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103
belly
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| n.肚子，腹部；(像肚子一样)鼓起的部分，膛 | |
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104
upwards
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| adv.向上，在更高处...以上 | |
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105
basking
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| v.晒太阳，取暖( bask的现在分词 )；对…感到乐趣；因他人的功绩而出名；仰仗…的余泽 | |
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106
jaws
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| n.口部；嘴 | |
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107
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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108
shaft
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| n.(工具的)柄，杆状物 | |
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109
enchanted
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| adj. 被施魔法的，陶醉的，入迷的 动词enchant的过去式和过去分词 | |
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110
scowls
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| 不悦之色，怒容( scowl的名词复数 ) | |
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111
joyous
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| adj.充满快乐的；令人高兴的 | |
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112
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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