A solemn place is a mountain-top. The thin, spiritualized air is all alive with mysteries, which, down below in the sordid5 atmosphere, visit only the brains of men whom we lock up as mad. The drying-up of the great globe-floods; the slow birth of vegetation; the rank growth of uncouth6 monsters; the coming of the fleet-footed, bare-skinned savage7 beast called man; the primeval aeons of warfare8 wherein knowledge of fire, of metals, of tanned hides and habitations was laboriously9 developed and the huger reptiles10 were destroyed; the dawn of history through the clouds of sun and serpent worship; the weary ages of brutish raids and massacres11, of barbaric creeds12 and cruel lusts—all this the mountain-tops have stood still and watched, and, so far as in them lay, understood.
Some have comprehended more of what they saw than others. The tallest man is not necessarily the wisest. So there are very lofty mountains which remain stupid, despite their advantages, and there are relatively13 small mountains which have come to be almost human in their understanding of and sympathy with the world-long drama they have watched unfolding itself. The Brocken, for example, is scarcely nipple-high to many another of its German brethren, yet which of the rest has such rich memories, stretching back through countless15 centuries of Teuton, Slav, Alemanni, Suevi, Frank and Celt to the days when nomad16 strove with troglodyte17, and the great cave-bear grappled with the mammoth18 in the silent fastnesses of the Harz.
In Desmond, the broad-based, conical Gabriel has as unique a character of another kind. There is nothing of the frank and homely19 German familiarity in the reputation it enjoys at home. To be sure, the mountain is scarred to the throat by bogcutters; cabins and the ruins of cabins lurk20 hidden in clefts21 of rocks more than half-way up its gray, furze-clad sides; yet it produces the effect of standing14 sternly aloof22 from human things. The peasants think of it as a sacred eminence23. It has its very name from the legend of the archangel, who flying across Europe in disgust at man’s iniquities24, could not resist the temptation to descend25 for a moment to touch with his foot this beautiful mountain gem26 in the crown of Carbery.
Kate explained this legend to her young companion from Houghton County, and showed him the marks of the celestial27 visitor’s foot plainly visible in the rock. He bestowed28 such critical, not to say professional, scrutiny29 upon these marks that she made haste to take up another branch of the ancient fable30.
“And this little round lake here,” she went on, “they’ll all tell you ’t was made by bodily lifting out a great cylinder31 of rock and carting it miles through the air and putting it down in the sea out there, where it’s ever since been known as Fasnet Rock. They say the measurements are precisely32 the same. I forget now if ’t was the Archangel Gabriel did that, too, or the divil.”
“The result comes to about the same thing,” commented the engineer. “Whoever did it,” he went on, scanning the regularly rounded sides of the pool, “made a good workmanlike job of it.”
“No one’s ever been able to touch the bottom of it,” said Kate, with pride.
“Oh, come, now—I’ve heard that of every second lake in Ireland.”
“Well—certainly I’ve not tested it,” she replied, frostily, “but ’t is well known that if you sink a bottle in this lake ’t will be found out there in Dun-manus Bay fourteen hundred feet below us.”
“Why, the very first principle of hydrostatics,” began Bernard, with controversial eagerness. Then he stopped short, stroked his smooth chin, and changed the subject abruptly33. “Speaking of bottles,” he said, “I see your man there is eying that lunch basket with the expression of a meat-axe. Wouldn’t it be a clever idea to let him unpack34 it?” The while John Pat stripped the basket of its contents, and spread them upon a cloth in the mossy shadow of an overhanging boulder35, the two by a common impulse strolled over to the eastern edge of the summit.
“Beyond Roaring Water Bay the O’Driscoll Castles begin,” said Kate. “They tell me they’re poor trifles compared wid ours.”
“I like to hear you say ‘ours,’” the young man broke in. “I want you to keep right on remembering all the while that I belong to the family. And—and I wish to heaven there was something I could do to show how tickled36 to death I am that I do belong to it!”
“I have never been here before,” Kate said, in a musing37 tone, which carried in it a gentle apology for abstraction. “I did not know there was anything so big and splendid in the world.”
The spell of this mighty38 spectacle at once enchanted39 and oppressed her. She stood gazing down upon it for some minutes, holding up her hand as a plea for silence when her companion would have spoken. Then, with a lingering sigh, she turned away and led the slow walk back toward the lake.
“’Twas like dreaming,” she said with gravity; “and a strange thought came to me: ’Twas that this lovely Ireland I looked down upon was beautiful with the beauty of death; that ’twas the corpse41 of me country I was taking a last view of. Don’t laugh at me! I had just that feeling. Ah, poor, poor Ireland!”
Bernard saw tears glistening42 upon her long, black lashes43, and scarcely knew his own voice when he heard it, in such depths of melancholy44 was it pitched.
“Better times are coming now,” he said. “If we open up the mines we are counting on it ought to give work to at least two hundred men.”
She turned sharply upon him.
“Don’t talk like that!” she said, in half command, half entreaty45. “’T is not trade or work or mines that keeps a nation alive when ’tis fit to die. One can have them all, and riches untold46, and still sink wid a broken heart. ’T is nearly three hundred years since the first of the exiled O’Mahonys sailed away yonder—from Skull47 and Crookhaven they wint—to fight and die in Spain. Thin others wint—Conagher and Domnal and the rest—to fight and die in France; and so for centuries the stream of life has flowed away from Ireland wid every other family the same as wid ours. What nation under the sun could stand the drain? ’T is twelve years now since the best and finest of them all sailed away to fight in France, and to—to die—oh, wirra!—who knows where? So”—her great eyes flashed proudly through their tears—“don’t talk of mines to me! ’T is too much like the English!”
Bernard somehow felt himself grown much taller and older as he listened to this outburst of passionate48 lamentation49, with its whiplash end of defiance50, and realized that this beautiful girl was confiding51 it all to him. He threw back his shoulders, and laid a hand gently on her arm.
“Come, come,” he pleaded, with a soothing52 drawl, “don’t give away like that! We’ll take a bite of something to eat, and get down again where the grass grows. Why, you’ve no idea—the bottom of a coal-mine is sociable53 and lively compared with this. I’d get the blues54 myself up here, in another half-hour!”
A few steps were taken in silence, and then the young man spoke40 again, with settled determination in his voice.
“You can say what you like,” he ground out between his teeth, “or, rather, you needn’t say any more than you like; but I’ve got my own idea about this convent business, and I don’t like it, and I don’t for a minute believe that you like it. Mind, I’m not asking you to tell me whether you do or not—only I want you to say just this: Count on me as your friend—call it cousin, too, if you like; keep me in mind as a fellow who’ll go to the whole length of the rope to help you, and break the rope like a piece of paper twine55 if it’s necessary to go further. That’s all.”
It is the property of these weird56 mountain-tops to make realities out of the most unlikely things. On a lower terrestrial level Kate’s mind might have seen nothing but fantastic absurdity57 in this proffer58 of confidential59 friendship and succor60, from a youth whom she met twice. Here in the finer and more eager air, lifted up to be the companion of clouds, the girl looked with grave frankness into his eyes and gave him her hand in token of the bond.
Without further words, they rejoined John Fat, and sat down to lunch.
Indeed, there were few further words during the afternoon which John Pat was not privileged to hear. He sat with them during the meal, in the true democratic spirit of the sept relation, and he kept close behind them on their rambling61, leisurely62 descent of the mountain-side. From the tenor63 of their talk he gathered vaguely64 that the strange young man was some sort of relation from America, and as relations from America present, perhaps, the one idea most universally familiar to the Irish peasant’s mind, his curiosity was not aroused. Their conversation, for the most part, was about that remarkable65 O’Mahony who had gone away years ago and whom John Pat only dimly remembered.
A couple of miles from Muirisc, the homeward-bound trio—for Bernard had tacitly made himself a party to the entire expedition and felt as if he, too, were going home—encountered, in the late afternoon, two men sitting by the roadside ditch.
“Oh, there’s Jerry,” said Kate to her companion—“Mr. Higgins, I mane—wan of my trustees. I’ll inthroduce you to him.”
Jerry’s demeanor66, as the group approached him, bore momentary67 traces of embarrassment68. He looked at the man beside him, and then cast a backward glance at the ditch, as if wishing that they were both safely hidden behind its mask of stone wall and furze. But this was clearly impossible; and the two stood up at an obvious suggestion from Jerry and put as good a face upon their presence as possible.
“This is a relation of moine from Ameriky, too,” said Jerry, after some words had passed, indicating the tall, thin, shambling, spectacled figure beside him, “Mr. Joseph Higgins, of—of—of—”
“Of Boston,” said the other, after an awkward pause.
He seemed ill at ease in his badly fitting clothes, and looked furtively69 from one to another of the faces before him.
“An’ what d’ ye think, Miss Katie?” hurriedly continued Jerry. “Egor! Be all the miracles of Moses, he’s possessed70 of more learnin’ about the O’Mahonys than anny other man alive, Cormac O’Daly ’d be a fool to him. An’, egor, he used to know our O’Mahony whin he was in Ameriky, before ever he came over to us!”
“Ye’re wrong, Jerry,” said Mr. Joseph Higgins, with cautious hesitation71, “I didn’t say I knew him. I said I knew of him. I was employed to search for him, whin he was heir to the estate, unbeknownst to himself, an’ I wint to the town where he’d kept a cobbler’s shop—Tecumsy was the name of it—an’ I made inquiries72 for Hugh O’Mahony, but—”
“What’s that you say! Hugh O’Mahony—a shoemaker in Tecumseh, New York?” broke in young Bernard, with sharp, almost excited emphasis.
“’T is what I said,” responded the other, his pale face flushing nervously73, “only—only he’d gone to the war.”
“An’ that was our O’Mahony,” explained Jerry.
“Glory be to God, he learned of the search made for him, an’ he came to us afther the war.”
Bernard was not sure that he had got the twitching74 muscles of his face under control, but at least he could manage his tongue.
“Oh, he came over here, did he?” he said, with a fair affectation of polite interest.
“You spoke as if you knew him,” put in Kate, eagerly.
“My father knew him as well—as well as he knew himself,” answered Bernard, with evasion75, and then bit his lip in fear that he had said too much.
点击
收听单词发音
收听单词发音 |
1
desolate
|
|
| adj.荒凉的，荒芜的；孤独的，凄凉的；v.使荒芜，使孤寂 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
jumble
|
|
| vt.使混乱，混杂；n.混乱；杂乱的一堆 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
whatsoever
|
|
| adv.（用于否定句中以加强语气）任何；pron.无论什么 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
gathering
|
|
| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
sordid
|
|
| adj.肮脏的，不干净的，卑鄙的，暗淡的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
uncouth
|
|
| adj.无教养的，粗鲁的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
savage
|
|
| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
warfare
|
|
| n.战争(状态)；斗争；冲突 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
laboriously
|
|
| adv.艰苦地；费力地；辛勤地；（文体等）佶屈聱牙地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
reptiles
|
|
| n.爬行动物，爬虫( reptile的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
massacres
|
|
| 大屠杀( massacre的名词复数 )； 惨败 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
creeds
|
|
| （尤指宗教）信条，教条( creed的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
relatively
|
|
| adv.比较...地，相对地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
standing
|
|
| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
countless
|
|
| adj.无数的，多得不计其数的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
nomad
|
|
| n.游牧部落的人，流浪者，游牧民 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
troglodyte
|
|
| n.古代穴居者；井底之蛙 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
mammoth
|
|
| n.长毛象；adj.长毛象似的，巨大的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
homely
|
|
| adj.家常的，简朴的；不漂亮的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
lurk
|
|
| n.潜伏，潜行；v.潜藏，潜伏，埋伏 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
clefts
|
|
| n.裂缝( cleft的名词复数 )；裂口；cleave的过去式和过去分词；进退维谷 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
aloof
|
|
| adj.远离的；冷淡的，漠不关心的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
eminence
|
|
| n.卓越，显赫；高地，高处；名家 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
iniquities
|
|
| n.邪恶( iniquity的名词复数 )；极不公正 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
descend
|
|
| vt./vi.传下来，下来，下降 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
gem
|
|
| n.宝石，珠宝；受爱戴的人 [同]jewel | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
celestial
|
|
| adj.天体的；天上的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
bestowed
|
|
| 赠给，授予( bestow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
scrutiny
|
|
| n.详细检查，仔细观察 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
fable
|
|
| n.寓言；童话；神话 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
cylinder
|
|
| n.圆筒，柱(面)，汽缸 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
precisely
|
|
| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
abruptly
|
|
| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
unpack
|
|
| vt.打开包裹（或行李），卸货 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
boulder
|
|
| n.巨砾；卵石，圆石 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
tickled
|
|
| （使）发痒( tickle的过去式和过去分词 )； （使）愉快，逗乐 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
musing
|
|
| n. 沉思，冥想 adj. 沉思的, 冥想的 动词muse的现在分词形式 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
mighty
|
|
| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
enchanted
|
|
| adj. 被施魔法的，陶醉的，入迷的 动词enchant的过去式和过去分词 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
spoke
|
|
| 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 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
corpse
|
|
| n.尸体，死尸 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
glistening
|
|
| adj.闪耀的，反光的v.湿物闪耀，闪亮( glisten的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
lashes
|
|
| n.鞭挞( lash的名词复数 )；鞭子；突然猛烈的一击；急速挥动v.鞭打( lash的第三人称单数 )；煽动；紧系；怒斥 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
melancholy
|
|
| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
entreaty
|
|
| n.恳求，哀求 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
untold
|
|
| adj.数不清的，无数的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
skull
|
|
| n.头骨；颅骨 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
passionate
|
|
| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
lamentation
|
|
| n.悲叹，哀悼 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
defiance
|
|
| n.挑战，挑衅，蔑视，违抗 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
51
confiding
|
|
| adj.相信人的，易于相信的v.吐露（秘密，心事等）( confide的现在分词 )；（向某人）吐露（隐私、秘密等） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
52
soothing
|
|
| adj.慰藉的；使人宽心的；镇静的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
53
sociable
|
|
| adj.好交际的，友好的，合群的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
54
blues
|
|
| n.抑郁，沮丧；布鲁斯音乐 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
55
twine
|
|
| v.搓，织，编饰；（使）缠绕 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
56
weird
|
|
| adj.古怪的，离奇的；怪诞的，神秘而可怕的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
57
absurdity
|
|
| n.荒谬，愚蠢；谬论 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
58
proffer
|
|
| v.献出，赠送；n.提议，建议 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
59
confidential
|
|
| adj.秘（机）密的，表示信任的，担任机密工作的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
60
succor
|
|
| n.援助，帮助；v.给予帮助 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
61
rambling
|
|
| adj.[建]凌乱的，杂乱的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
62
leisurely
|
|
| adj.悠闲的；从容的，慢慢的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
63
tenor
|
|
| n.男高音（歌手），次中音（乐器），要旨，大意 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
64
vaguely
|
|
| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
65
remarkable
|
|
| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
66
demeanor
|
|
| n.行为；风度 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
67
momentary
|
|
| adj.片刻的，瞬息的；短暂的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
68
embarrassment
|
|
| n.尴尬；使人为难的人(事物)；障碍；窘迫 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
69
furtively
|
|
| adv. 偷偷地, 暗中地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
70
possessed
|
|
| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
71
hesitation
|
|
| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
72
inquiries
|
|
| n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 )；疑问；探究；打听 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
73
nervously
|
|
| adv.神情激动地，不安地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
74
twitching
|
|
| n.颤搐 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
75
evasion
|
|
| n.逃避，偷漏(税) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |