The remainder of the afternoon passed with the rapidity common to all phases of enchantment8.
How could one eat seriously, with vulgar, gluttonous9 hunger, of a feast spread on the parapet of a terrace-wall? The white foam10 of napkins, the mosaic11 of the patties, the white breasts of chicken, the salads in their bath of dew—these spoke12 the language of a lost cause. For there was an open-air concert going on in full swing, and the performance was one that made the act of eating seem as gross as the munching13 of apples at an oratorio—the music being, indeed, of a highly refined order of perfection. One's ears needed to be highly attuned14 to hear the pricking15 of the locusts16 in the leaves; even the breeze kept uncommonly17 still, that the brushing of the humming-birds' and bees' wings against the flower-petals might be the more distinctly heard.
I never knew which one of the party it was that decided18 we were to see the day out and the night in; that we were to dine at the Cheval Blanc, on the Honfleur quays19, instead of sedately21 breaking bread at the Mère Mouchard's. Even our steed needed very little urging to see the advantages of such a scheme. Henri alone wore a grim air of disapproval22. His aspect was an epitome23 of rigid24 protest. As he took his seat in the cart, he held the sword between his legs with the air of one burning with a pent-up anguish25 of protest. His eye gloomed on the day; his head was held aloft, reared on a column of bristling27 vertebra, and on his brow was written the sign of mutiny.
"Henri—you think we should go back; you think going on to Honfleur a mistake?"
"Madame has said it"—Henri was a fatalist—in his speech, at least, he lived up to his creed29. "Honfleur is far—Monsieur Renard has not the good digestion30 when he is tired—he suffers. Il passe des nuits d'angoisse. Il souffre des fatigues32 de l'estomac. Il se fatigue31 aujourd'hui!" This, with an air of stern conviction, was accompanied by a glance at his master in which compassion33 was not the most obvious note to be read. He went on, remorselessly:
"And, as madame knows, the work but begins for me when we are at home. There are the costumes to be dusted and put away, the paintbrushes to clean, the dishes and lunch-basket to be attended to. As madame says, monsieur is sometimes lacking in consideration. Mais, que voulez-vous? le génie, c'est fait comme ?a."
Madame had not expressed the feeblest echo of a criticism on the composition of the genius in front; but the short dialogue had helped, perceptibly, to lift the weight of Henri's gloom; he was beginning to accept the fate of the day with a philosopher's phlegm. Already he had readjusted a little difficulty between his feet and the lunch basket, making his religious care of the latter compatible with the open sin of improved personal comfort.
Meanwhile the two on the front seat were a thousand miles away. Neither we, nor the day, nor the beauty of the drive had power to woo their glances from coming back to the focal point of interest they had found in each other. They were beginning to talk, not about each other but of themselves—the danger-signal of all tête-à-tête adventures.
When two young people have got into the personal-pronoun stage of human intercourse34, there is but one thing left for the unfortunate third in the party to do. Yes, now that I think of it, there are two roles to be played. The usual conception of the part is to turn marplot—to spoil and ruin the others' dialogue—to put an end to it, if possible, by legitimate35 or illegitimate means; a very successful way, I have observed, of prolonging, as a rule, such a duet indefinitely. The more enlightened actor in any such little human comedy, if he be gifted with insight, will collapse37 into the wings, and let the two young idiots have the whole stage to themselves. As like as not they'll weary of the play, and of themselves, if left alone. No harm will come of all the sentimental38 strutting39 and the romantic attitudinizing, other than viewing the scene, later, in perspective, as a rather amusing bit of emotional farce40.
Besides being in the very height of the spring fashion, in the matter of the sentiments, these two were also busily treading, at just this particular moment, the most alluring41 of all the paths leading to what may be termed the outlying territorial42 domain43 of the emotions; they were wandering through the land called Mutual44 Discovery. Now, this, I have always held, is among the most delectable45 of all the roads of life; for it may lead one—anywhere or nowhere.
Therefore it was from a purely46 generous impulse that I continued to look at the view. The surroundings were, in truth, in conspiracy47 with the sentimentalists on the front seat; the extreme beauty of the road would have made any but sentimental egotists oblivious48 to all else. The road was a continuation of the one we had followed in the morning's drive. Again, all the greenness of field and grass was braided, inextricably, into the blue of river and ocean. Above, as before, in that earlier morning drive, towered the giant aisles49 of the beaches and elms. Through those aisles the radiant Normandy landscape flowed again, as music from rich organ-piped throats flows through cathedral arches. Out yonder, on the Seine's wide mouth, the boats were balancing themselves, as if they also were half divided between a doubt and a longing36; a freshening spurt50 of breeze filled their flapping sails, and away they sped, skipping through the waters with all the gayety which comes with the vigor51 of fresh resolutions. The light that fell over the land and waters was dazzling, and yet of an astonishing limpidity52; only a sun about to drop and end his reign53 could be at once so brilliant and so tender—the diffused54 light had the sparkle of gold made soft by usage. Wherever the eye roved, it was fed as on a banquet of light and color. Nothing could be more exquisite55, for depth of green swimming in a bath of shadow, than the meadows curled beneath the cliffs; nothing more tempting56, to the painter's brush, than the arabesque57 of blossoms netted across the sky; and would you have the living eye of nature, bristling with animation58, alive with winged sails, and steeped in the very soul of yellow sunshine, look out over the great sheet of the waters, and steep the senses in such a breadth of aqueous splendor59 as one sees only in one or two of the rare shows of earth.
Then, all at once, all too soon, the great picture seemed to shrink; the quivering pulsation60 of light and color gave way to staid, commonplace gardens. Instead of hawthorn61 hedges there was the stench of river smells—we were driving over cobble-paved streets and beneath rows of crooked62, crumbling63 houses. A group of noisy street urchins64 greeted us in derision. And then we had no doubt whatsoever65 that we were already in Honfleur town.
"Honfleur is an evil-smelling place," I remarked.
"Oh, well, after all, the smells of antiquity66 are a part of the show; we should refuse to believe in ancientness, all of us, I fancy, if mustiness wasn't served along with it."
"How can any town have such a stench with all this river and water and verdure to sweeten it?" I asked, with a woman's belief in the morality of environment—a belief much cherished by wives and mothers, I have noticed.
"Wait till you see the inhabitants—they'll enlighten you—the hags and the nautical67 gentlemen along the basins and quays. They've discovered the secret that if cleanliness is next to godliness, dirt and the devil are likewise near neighbors. Awful set—those Honfleur sailors The Havre and Seine people call them Chinamen, they are so unlike the rest of France and Frenchmen."
"Why are they so unlike?" asked Charm.
"They're so low down, so hideously68 wicked; they're like the old houses, a rotten, worm-eaten set—you'll see."
Charm stopped him then, with a gesture. She stopped the horse also; she brought the whole establishment to a standstill; and then she nodded her head briskly forward. We were in the midst of the Honfleur streets—streets that were running away from a wide open space, in all possible directions. In the centre of the square rose a curious, an altogether astonishing structure. It was a tower, a belfry doubtless, a house, a shop, and a warehouse69, all in one; such a picturesque70 medley71, in fact, as only modern irreverence72, in its lawless disregard of original purpose and design, can produce. The low-timbered sub-base of the structure was pierced by a lovely doorway74 with sculptured lintel, and also with two impertinent modern windows, flaunting75 muslin curtains, and coquettishly attired76 with rows of flowering carnations77. Beneath these windows was a shop. Above the whole rose, in beautiful symmetrical lines, a wooden belfry, tapering78 from a square tower into a delicately modelled spire79. To complete and accentuate80 the note of the picturesque, the superstructure was held in its place by rude modern beams, propping81 the tower with a naive82 disregard of decorative83 embellishment. We knew it at once as the quaint84 and famous Belfry of St. Catherine.
As we were about to turn away to descend85 the high street, a Norman maiden86, with close-capped face, leaned over the carnations to look down upon us.
"That's the daughter of the bell-ringer, doubtless. Economical idea that," Renard remarked, taking his cap off to the smiling eyes.
"Economical?"
"Yes, can't you see? Bell-ringer sends pretty daughter to window, just before vespers or service, and she rings in the worshippers; no need to make the bells ring."
"What nonsense!"—but we laughed as flatteringly as if his speech had been a genuine coin of wit.
A turn down the street, and the famous Honfleur of the wharves88 and floating docks lay before us. About us, all at once, was the roar and hubbub89 of an extraordinary bustle90 and excitement; all the life of the town, apparently91, was centred upon the quays. The latter were swarming92 with a tattered93, ragged94, bare-footed, bare-legged assemblage of old women, of gamins, and sailors. The collection, as a collection, was one gifted with the talent of making itself heard. Everyone appeared to be shrieking95, or yelling, or crying aloud, if only to keep the others in voice. Sailors lying on the flat parapets shouted hoarsely97 to their fellows in the rigging of the ships that lay tossing in the docks; fishermen's families tossed their farewells above the hubbub to the captain-fathers launching their fishing-smacks; one shrieking infant was being passed, gayly, from the poop of a distant deck, across the closely lying shipping98, to the quay20's steps, to be hushed by the generous opening of a peasant mother's bodice. One could hear the straining of cordage, the creak of masts, the flap of the sails, all the noises peculiar99 to shipping riding at anchor. The shriek96 of steam-whistles broke out, ever and anon, above all the din2 and uproar100. Along the quay steps and the wharves there were constantly forming and re-forming groups of wretched, tattered human beings; of men with bloated faces and a dull, sodden101 look, strikingly in contrast with the vivacity102 common among French people. Even the children and women had a depraved, shameless appearance, as if vice87 had robbed them of the last vestige103 of hope and ambition. Along the parapet a half-dozen drunkards sprawled104, asleep or dozing105. At the legs of one a child was pulling, crying:
"Viens—mère t'battra, elle est so?le aussi."
The sailors out yonder, busy in the rigging, and the men on the decks of the smart brigs and steamships106, whistled and shouted and sang, as indifferent to this picture of human misery107 and degradation108 as if they had no kinship with it.
As a frame to the picture, Honfleur town lay beneath the crown of its hills; on the tops and sides of the latter, villa109 after villa shot through the trees, a curve of roof-line, with rows of daintily draped windows. At the right, close to the wharves, below the wooded heights, there loomed26 out a quaint and curious gateway110 flanked by two watchtowers, grim reminders111 of the Honfleur of the great days. And above and about the whole, encompassing113 villa-crowded hills and closely packed streets, and the forest of masts trembling against the sky, there lay a heaven of spring and summer.
Renard had driven briskly up to a low, rambling114 facade115 parallel with the quays. It was the "Cheval Blanc." A crowd assembled on the instant, as if appearing according to command.
"Allons—n'encombrez pas ces dames116!" cried a very smart individual, in striking contrast to the down at-heel air of the hotel—a personage who took high-handed possession of us and our traps. "Will ces dames desire a salon117—there is un vrai petit bijou empty just now," murmured a voice in a purring soprano, through the iron opening of the cashier's desk.
Another voice was crying out to us, as we wound our way upward in pursuit of the jewel of a salon. "And the widow, La Veuve, shall she be dry or sweet?"
When we entered the low dining-room, a little later, we found that the artist as well as the epicure118 has been in active conspiracy to make the dinner complete; the choice of the table proclaimed one accomplished119 in massing effects. The table was parallel with the low window, and through the latter was such a picture as one travels hundreds of miles to look upon, only to miss seeing it, as a rule. There was a great breadth of sky through the windows; against the sky rose the mastheads; and some red and brown sails curtained the space, bringing into relief the gray line of the sad-faced old houses fringing the shoreline.
"Couldn't have chosen better if we'd tried, could we? It's just the right hour, and just the right kind of light. Those basins are unendurable—sinks of iniquitous120 ugliness, unless the tide's in and there's a sunset going on. Just look now! Who cares whether Honfleur has been done to death by the tourist horde121 or not? and been painted until one's art-stomach turns? I presume I ought to beg your pardon, but I can't stand the abomination of modern repetitions; the hand-organ business in art, I call it. But at this hour, at this time of the year, before this rattle-trap of an inn is as packed with Baedeker attachments122 as a Siberian prison is with Nihilists—to run out here and look at these quays and basins, and old Honfleur lying here, beneath her green cliffs—well, short of Cairo, I don't know any better bit of color. Look out there, now! See those sails, dripping with color, and that fellow up there, letting the sail down—there, splash it goes into the water, I knew it would; now tell me where will you get better blues123 or yellows or browns, with just the right purples in the shore line, than you'll get here?"
Renard was fairly started; he had the bit of the born monologist124 between his teeth; he stopped barely long enough to hear even an echoing assent125. We were quite content; we continued to sip126 our champagne127 and to feast our eyes. Meanwhile Renard talked on.
"Guide-books—what's the use of guide-books? What do they teach you, anyway? Open any one of the cursed clap-trap things. Yes, yes, I know I oughtn't to use vigorous language."
"Do," bleated128 Charm, smiling sweetly up at him. "Do, it makes you seem manly129."
Even Renard had to take time to laugh.
"Thank you! I'm not above making use of any aids to create that illusion. Well, as I was saying, what guide-book ever really helped anyone to see?—that's what one travels for, I take it. Here, for instance, Murray or Baedeker would give you this sort of thing: 'Honfleur, an ancient town, with pier73, beaches, three floating docks, and a good deal of trade in timber, cod130, etc.; exports large quantities of eggs to England.' Good heavens! it makes one boil! Do sane131, reasonable mortals travel three thousand miles to read ancient history done up in modern binding132, served up a la Murray, a la Baedeker?"
"Oh, you do them injustice133, I think—the guides do go in for a little more of the picturesque than that—"
"And how—how do they do it? This is the sort of thing they'll give you: 'Church of St. Catherine is large and remarkable134, entirely135 of timber and plaster, the largest of its kind in France.' Ah! ha! that's the picturesque with a vengeance136. No, no, my friends, throw the guide-books into the river, pitch them overboard through the port holes, along with the flowers, and letters to be read three days out, and the nasty novels people send you to make the crossing pleasant. And when you travel, really travel, mind, never make a plan—just go—go anywhere, whenever the impulse seizes you—and you may hope to get there, in the right way, possibly."
Here Renard stopped to finish his glass, draining-the last drop of the yellow liquid. Then he went on: "To travel! To start when an impulse seizes one! To go—anywhere! Why not! It was for this, after all, that all of us have come our three thousand miles." Perhaps it was the restless tossing of the shipping out yonder in the basins that awoke an answering impatience137 within, in response to Renard's outburst. Where did they go, those ships, and, up beyond this mouth of the Seine, how looked the shores, and what life lived itself out beneath the rustling138 poplars? Is it the mission of all flowing water to create an unrest in men's minds?
Meanwhile, though the talk was not done, the dinner was long since eaten. We rose to take a glimpse of Honfleur and its famous old basin. The quays and the floating docks, in front of which we had been dining, are a part of the nineteenth century; the great ships ride in to them from the sea. But here, in this inner quadrangular dock, beside which we were soon standing139, traced by Duquesne when Louis the Great discovered the maritime140 importance of Honfleur, we found still reminders of the old life. Here were the same old houses that, in the seventeenth century, upright and brave in their brand new carvings141, saw the high-decked, picturesquely142 painted Spanish and Portuguese143 ships ride in to dip their flag to the French fleur-de-lis. There are but few of the old streets left to crowd about the shipping life that still floats here, as in those bygone days of Honfleur pride;—when Havre was but a yellow strip of sand; when the Honfleur merchants would have laughed to scorn any prophet's cry of warning that one day that sand-bar opposite, despised, disregarded, boasting only a chapel144 and a tavern145, would grow and grow, and would steal year by year and inch by inch bustling146 Honfleur's traffic, till none was left.
In the old adventurous147 days, along with the Spanish ships came others, French trading and fishing vessels148, with the salty crustations of long voyages on their hulls149 and masts. The wharves were alive then with fish-wives, whom Evelyn will tell you wore "useful habits made of goats' skin." The captains' daughters were in quaint Normandy costumes; and the high-peaked coifs and the stiff woollen skirts, as well as the goat-skin coats, trembled as the women darted150 hither and thither151 among the sailors—whose high cries filled the air as they picked out mother and wife. Then were bronzed beards buried in the deeply-wrinkled old mères' faces, and young, strong arms clasped about maidens152' waists. The whole town rang with gayety and with the mad joy of reunion. On the morrow, coiling its way up the steep hillsides, wound the long lines of the grateful company, one composed chiefly of the crews of these vessels happily come to port. The procession would mount up to the little church of Notre Dame28 de Grace perched on the hill overlooking the harbor. Some even—so deep was their joy at deliverance from shipwreck153 and so fervent154 their piety—crawled up, bare-footed, with bared head, wives and children following, weeping for joy, as the rude ex-votos were laid by the sailors' trembling hands at the feet of the Virgin155 Lady.
As reminders of this old life, what is left? Within the stone quadrangle we found clustered a motley fleet of wrecks156 and fishing-vessels; the nets, flung out to dry in the night air, hung like shrouds157 from the mastheads; here and there a figure bestrode a deck, a rough shape, that seemed endowed with a double gift of life, so still and noiseless was the town. Around the silent dock, grouped in mysterious medley and confusion, were tottering158 roof lines, projecting eaves, narrow windows, all crazily tortured and out of shape. Here and there, beneath the broad beams of support, a little interior, dimly lighted, showed a knot of sailors gathered, drinking or lounging. Up high beneath a chimney perilously159 overlooking a rude facade, a quaint shape emerged, one as decrepit160 and forlorn of life and hope as the decaying houses it overlooked. Silence, poverty, wretchedness, the dregs of life, to this has Honfleur fallen. These old houses, in their slow decay, hiding in their dark bosom161 the gaunt secrets of this poverty and human misery, seemed to be dancing a dance of drunken indifference162. Some day the dance will end in a fall, and then the Honfleur of the past will not even boast of a ghost, as reminder112 of its days of splendor.
An artist quicker than anyone else, I think, can be trusted to take one out of history and into the picturesque. Renard refused to see anything but beauty in the decay about us; for him the houses were at just the right drooping163 angle; the roof lines were delightful164 in their irregularity; and the fluttering tremor165 of the nets, along the rigging, was the very poetry of motion.
"We'll finish the evening on the pier," he exclaimed, suddenly; "the moon will soon be up—we can sit it out there and see it begin to color things."
The pier was more popular than the quaint old dock. It was crowded with promenaders, who, doubtless, were taking a bite of the sea-air. Through the dusk the tripping figures of gentlemen in white flannels166 and jaunty167 caps brushed the provincial168 Honfleur swells169. Some gentle English voices told us some of the villa residents had come down to the pier, moved by the beauty of the night. Groups of sailors, with tanned faces and punctured170 ears hooped171 with gold rings, sat on the broad stone parapets, talking unintelligible172 Breton patois173. The pier ran far out, almost to the Havre cliffs, it seemed to us, as we walked along in the dusk of the young night. The sky was slowly losing its soft flame. A tender, mellow174 half light was stealing over the waters, making the town a rich mass of shade. Over the top of the low hills the moon shot out, a large, globular mass of beaten gold. At first it was only a part and portion of the universal lighting175, of the still flushed sky, of the red and crimson176 harbor lights, of the dim twinkling of lamps and candles in the rude interiors along the shore. But slowly, triumphantly177, the great lamp swung up; it rose higher and higher into the soft summer sky, and as it mounted, sky and earth began to pale and fade. Soon there was only a silver world to look out upon—a wealth of quivering silver over the breast of the waters, and a deeper, richer gray on cliffs and roof tops. Out of this silver world came the sound of waters, lapping in soft cadence178 against the pier; the rise and fall of sails, stirring in the night wind; the tread of human footsteps moving in slow, measured beat, in unison179 with the rhythm of the waters. Just when the stars were scattering180 their gold on the bosom of the sea-river, a voice rang out, a rich, full baritone. Quite near, two sailors were seated, with their arms about each other's shoulders. They also were looking at the moonlight, and one of them was singing to it:
"Te souviens-tu, Marie, De notre enfance aux champs?
"Te souviens-tu? Le temps que je regrette C'est le temps qui n'est plus."
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1
blessing
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| n.祈神赐福；祷告；祝福，祝愿 | |
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din
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| n.喧闹声，嘈杂声 | |
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deluge
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| n./vt.洪水，暴雨，使泛滥 | |
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effulgence
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| n.光辉 | |
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luncheon
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| n.午宴，午餐，便宴 | |
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6
varied
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| adj.多样的，多变化的 | |
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7
deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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8
enchantment
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| n.迷惑，妖术，魅力 | |
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9
gluttonous
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| adj.贪吃的，贪婪的 | |
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10
foam
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| v./n.泡沫，起泡沫 | |
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11
mosaic
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| n./adj.镶嵌细工的，镶嵌工艺品的，嵌花式的 | |
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12
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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13
munching
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| v.用力咀嚼（某物），大嚼( munch的现在分词 ) | |
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14
attuned
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| v.使协调( attune的过去式和过去分词 )；调音 | |
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15
pricking
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| 刺，刺痕，刺痛感 | |
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locusts
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| n.蝗虫( locust的名词复数 )；贪吃的人；破坏者；槐树 | |
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17
uncommonly
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| adv. 稀罕(极，非常) | |
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18
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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quays
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| 码头( quay的名词复数 ) | |
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quay
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| n.码头，靠岸处 | |
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sedately
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| adv.镇静地，安详地 | |
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disapproval
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| n.反对，不赞成 | |
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epitome
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| n.典型，梗概 | |
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rigid
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| adj.严格的，死板的；刚硬的，僵硬的 | |
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anguish
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| n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦，烦恼 | |
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loomed
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| v.隐约出现，阴森地逼近( loom的过去式和过去分词 )；隐约出现，阴森地逼近 | |
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bristling
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| a.竖立的 | |
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dame
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| n.女士 | |
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creed
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| n.信条；信念，纲领 | |
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30
digestion
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| n.消化，吸收 | |
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fatigue
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| n.疲劳，劳累 | |
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32
fatigues
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| n.疲劳( fatigue的名词复数 )；杂役；厌倦；（士兵穿的）工作服 | |
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33
compassion
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| n.同情，怜悯 | |
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34
intercourse
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| n.性交；交流，交往，交际 | |
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35
legitimate
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| adj.合法的，合理的，合乎逻辑的；v.使合法 | |
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36
longing
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| n.（for）渴望 | |
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collapse
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| vi.累倒；昏倒；倒塌；塌陷 | |
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38
sentimental
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| adj.多愁善感的，感伤的 | |
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39
strutting
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| 加固，支撑物 | |
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40
farce
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| n.闹剧，笑剧，滑稽戏；胡闹 | |
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41
alluring
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| adj.吸引人的，迷人的 | |
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42
territorial
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| adj.领土的，领地的 | |
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43
domain
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| n.(活动等)领域，范围；领地，势力范围 | |
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44
mutual
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| adj.相互的，彼此的；共同的，共有的 | |
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45
delectable
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| adj.使人愉快的；美味的 | |
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46
purely
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| adv.纯粹地，完全地 | |
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47
conspiracy
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|
| n.阴谋，密谋，共谋 | |
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48
oblivious
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|
| adj.易忘的，遗忘的，忘却的，健忘的 | |
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49
aisles
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|
| n. (席位间的)通道, 侧廊 | |
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50
spurt
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| v.喷出；突然进发；突然兴隆 | |
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51
vigor
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|
| n.活力，精力，元气 | |
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52
limpidity
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|
| n.清澈，透明 | |
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53
reign
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|
| n.统治时期，统治，支配，盛行；v.占优势 | |
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54
diffused
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| 散布的，普及的，扩散的 | |
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55
exquisite
|
|
| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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56
tempting
|
|
| a.诱人的, 吸引人的 | |
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57
arabesque
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|
| n.阿拉伯式花饰；adj.阿拉伯式图案的 | |
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58
animation
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|
| n.活泼，兴奋，卡通片／动画片的制作 | |
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59
splendor
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|
| n.光彩；壮丽，华丽；显赫，辉煌 | |
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60
pulsation
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|
| n.脉搏，悸动，脉动；搏动性 | |
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61
hawthorn
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| 山楂 | |
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62
crooked
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|
| adj.弯曲的；不诚实的，狡猾的，不正当的 | |
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63
crumbling
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|
| adj.摇摇欲坠的 | |
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64
urchins
|
|
| n.顽童( urchin的名词复数 )；淘气鬼；猬；海胆 | |
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65
whatsoever
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| adv.（用于否定句中以加强语气）任何；pron.无论什么 | |
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66
antiquity
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|
| n.古老；高龄；古物，古迹 | |
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67
nautical
|
|
| adj.海上的，航海的，船员的 | |
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68
hideously
|
|
| adv.可怕地，非常讨厌地 | |
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69
warehouse
|
|
| n.仓库；vt.存入仓库 | |
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70
picturesque
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|
| adj.美丽如画的，（语言）生动的，绘声绘色的 | |
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71
medley
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|
| n.混合 | |
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72
irreverence
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|
| n.不尊敬 | |
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73
pier
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|
| n.码头；桥墩，桥柱；[建]窗间壁，支柱 | |
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74
doorway
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|
| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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75
flaunting
|
|
| adj.招摇的，扬扬得意的，夸耀的v.炫耀，夸耀( flaunt的现在分词 )；有什么能耐就施展出来 | |
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76
attired
|
|
| adj.穿着整齐的v.使穿上衣服，使穿上盛装( attire的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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77
carnations
|
|
| n.麝香石竹，康乃馨( carnation的名词复数 ) | |
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78
tapering
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|
| adj.尖端细的 | |
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79
spire
|
|
| n.(教堂)尖顶，尖塔，高点 | |
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80
accentuate
|
|
| v.着重，强调 | |
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81
propping
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| 支撑 | |
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82
naive
|
|
| adj.幼稚的，轻信的；天真的 | |
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83
decorative
|
|
| adj.装饰的，可作装饰的 | |
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84
quaint
|
|
| adj.古雅的，离奇有趣的，奇怪的 | |
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85
descend
|
|
| vt./vi.传下来，下来，下降 | |
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86
maiden
|
|
| n.少女，处女；adj.未婚的，纯洁的，无经验的 | |
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87
vice
|
|
| n.坏事；恶习；[pl.]台钳，老虎钳；adj.副的 | |
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88
wharves
|
|
| n.码头，停泊处( wharf的名词复数 ) | |
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89
hubbub
|
|
| n.嘈杂；骚乱 | |
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90
bustle
|
|
| v.喧扰地忙乱，匆忙，奔忙；n.忙碌；喧闹 | |
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91
apparently
|
|
| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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92
swarming
|
|
| 密集( swarm的现在分词 )； 云集； 成群地移动； 蜜蜂或其他飞行昆虫成群地飞来飞去 | |
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93
tattered
|
|
| adj.破旧的，衣衫破的 | |
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94
ragged
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|
| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
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95
shrieking
|
|
| v.尖叫( shriek的现在分词 ) | |
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96
shriek
|
|
| v./n.尖叫，叫喊 | |
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97
hoarsely
|
|
| adv.嘶哑地 | |
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98
shipping
|
|
| n.船运（发货，运输，乘船） | |
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99
peculiar
|
|
| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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100
uproar
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|
| n.骚动，喧嚣，鼎沸 | |
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101
sodden
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|
| adj.浑身湿透的；v.使浸透；使呆头呆脑 | |
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102
vivacity
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|
| n.快活，活泼，精神充沛 | |
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103
vestige
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|
| n.痕迹，遗迹，残余 | |
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104
sprawled
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|
| v.伸开四肢坐[躺]( sprawl的过去式和过去分词)；蔓延；杂乱无序地拓展；四肢伸展坐着（或躺着） | |
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105
dozing
|
|
| v.打瞌睡,假寐 n.瞌睡 | |
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106
steamships
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|
| n.汽船，大轮船( steamship的名词复数 ) | |
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107
misery
|
|
| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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108
degradation
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|
| n.降级；低落；退化；陵削；降解；衰变 | |
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109
villa
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|
| n.别墅，城郊小屋 | |
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110
gateway
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|
| n.大门口，出入口，途径，方法 | |
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111
reminders
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|
| n.令人回忆起…的东西( reminder的名词复数 )；提醒…的东西；（告知该做某事的）通知单；提示信 | |
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112
reminder
|
|
| n.提醒物，纪念品；暗示，提示 | |
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113
encompassing
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|
| v.围绕( encompass的现在分词 )；包围；包含；包括 | |
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114
rambling
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|
| adj.[建]凌乱的，杂乱的 | |
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115
facade
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| n.(建筑物的)正面，临街正面；外表 | |
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116
dames
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|
| n.（在英国）夫人（一种封号），夫人（爵士妻子的称号）( dame的名词复数 )；女人 | |
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117
salon
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|
| n.[法]沙龙；客厅；营业性的高级服务室 | |
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118
epicure
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|
| n.行家，美食家 | |
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119
accomplished
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|
| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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120
iniquitous
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|
| adj.不公正的；邪恶的；高得出奇的 | |
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121
horde
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|
| n.群众，一大群 | |
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122
attachments
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|
| n.（用电子邮件发送的）附件( attachment的名词复数 )；附着；连接；附属物 | |
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123
blues
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|
| n.抑郁，沮丧；布鲁斯音乐 | |
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124
monologist
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|
| n.独白者，自言自语者 | |
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125
assent
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|
| v.批准，认可；n.批准，认可 | |
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126
sip
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|
| v.小口地喝，抿，呷；n.一小口的量 | |
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127
champagne
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|
| n.香槟酒；微黄色 | |
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128
bleated
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|
| v.（羊，小牛）叫( bleat的过去式和过去分词 )；哭诉；发出羊叫似的声音；轻声诉说 | |
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129
manly
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|
| adj.有男子气概的；adv.男子般地，果断地 | |
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130
cod
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|
| n.鳕鱼；v.愚弄；哄骗 | |
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131
sane
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|
| adj.心智健全的，神志清醒的，明智的，稳健的 | |
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132
binding
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| 有约束力的，有效的，应遵守的 | |
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133
injustice
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|
| n.非正义，不公正，不公平，侵犯（别人的）权利 | |
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134
remarkable
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|
| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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135
entirely
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|
| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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136
vengeance
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|
| n.报复，报仇，复仇 | |
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137
impatience
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|
| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
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138
rustling
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|
| n. 瑟瑟声，沙沙声 adj. 发沙沙声的 | |
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139
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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140
maritime
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|
| adj.海的，海事的，航海的，近海的，沿海的 | |
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141
carvings
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|
| n.雕刻( carving的名词复数 )；雕刻术；雕刻品；雕刻物 | |
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142
picturesquely
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143
Portuguese
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|
| n.葡萄牙人；葡萄牙语 | |
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144
chapel
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|
| n.小教堂，殡仪馆 | |
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145
tavern
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|
| n.小旅馆，客栈；小酒店 | |
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146
bustling
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| adj.喧闹的 | |
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147
adventurous
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|
| adj.爱冒险的；惊心动魄的，惊险的，刺激的 | |
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148
vessels
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|
| n.血管( vessel的名词复数 )；船；容器；（具有特殊品质或接受特殊品质的）人 | |
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149
hulls
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|
| 船体( hull的名词复数 )； 船身； 外壳； 豆荚 | |
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150
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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151
thither
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|
| adv.向那里；adj.在那边的，对岸的 | |
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152
maidens
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|
| 处女( maiden的名词复数 )； 少女； 未婚女子； （板球运动）未得分的一轮投球 | |
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153
shipwreck
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|
| n.船舶失事，海难 | |
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154
fervent
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|
| adj.热的，热烈的，热情的 | |
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155
virgin
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|
| n.处女，未婚女子；adj.未经使用的；未经开发的 | |
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156
wrecks
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|
| n.沉船( wreck的名词复数 )；（事故中）遭严重毁坏的汽车（或飞机等）；（身体或精神上）受到严重损伤的人；状况非常糟糕的车辆（或建筑物等）v.毁坏[毁灭]某物( wreck的第三人称单数 )；使（船舶）失事，使遇难，使下沉 | |
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157
shrouds
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|
| n.裹尸布( shroud的名词复数 )；寿衣；遮蔽物；覆盖物v.隐瞒( shroud的第三人称单数 )；保密 | |
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158
tottering
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|
| adj.蹒跚的，动摇的v.走得或动得不稳( totter的现在分词 )；踉跄；蹒跚；摇摇欲坠 | |
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159
perilously
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|
| adv.充满危险地，危机四伏地 | |
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160
decrepit
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|
| adj.衰老的，破旧的 | |
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161
bosom
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|
| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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162
indifference
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|
| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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163
drooping
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|
| adj. 下垂的，无力的 动词droop的现在分词 | |
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164
delightful
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|
| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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165
tremor
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|
| n.震动，颤动，战栗，兴奋，地震 | |
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166
flannels
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| 法兰绒男裤； 法兰绒( flannel的名词复数 ) | |
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167
jaunty
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| adj．愉快的，满足的；adv.心满意足地，洋洋得意地；n.心满意足；洋洋得意 | |
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168
provincial
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| adj.省的，地方的；n．外省人，乡下人 | |
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169
swells
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| 增强( swell的第三人称单数 )； 肿胀； （使）凸出； 充满（激情） | |
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170
punctured
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| v.在（某物）上穿孔( puncture的过去式和过去分词 )；刺穿（某物）；削弱（某人的傲气、信心等）；泄某人的气 | |
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171
hooped
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| adj.以环作装饰的；带横纹的；带有环的 | |
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172
unintelligible
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| adj.无法了解的，难解的，莫明其妙的 | |
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173
patois
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| n.方言；混合语 | |
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174
mellow
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| adj.柔和的；熟透的；v.变柔和；(使)成熟 | |
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175
lighting
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| n.照明，光线的明暗，舞台灯光 | |
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176
crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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177
triumphantly
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| ad.得意洋洋地；得胜地；成功地 | |
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178
cadence
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| n.（说话声调的）抑扬顿挫 | |
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179
unison
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| n.步调一致，行动一致 | |
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180
scattering
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| n.[物]散射；散乱，分散；在媒介质中的散播adj.散乱的；分散在不同范围的；广泛扩散的；（选票）数量分散的v.散射(scatter的ing形式)；散布；驱散 | |
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