For those of us not already members of the famous divisions that were amalgamated1 to form the Army of Occupation, it was almost as difficult to get into Germany after the armistice2 as before. All the A. E. F. seemed to cast longing3 eyes toward the Rhine—all, at least, except the veteran minority who had their fill of war and its appendages6 for all time to come, and the optimistic few who had serious hopes of soon looking the Statue of Liberty in the face. But it was easier to long for than to attain7. In vain we flaunted8 our qualifications, real and self-bestowed, before those empowered to issue travel orders. In vain did we prove that the signing of the armistice had left us duties so slight that they were not even a fair return for the salary Uncle Sam paid us, to say nothing of the service we were eager to render him. G. H. Q. maintained that sphinxlike silence for which it had long been notorious. The lucky Third Army seemed to have taken on the characteristics of a haughty9 and exclusive club boasting an inexhaustible waiting-list.
What qualifications, after all, were those that had as their climax10 the mere11 speaking of German? Did not at least the 2Wisconsin half of the 33d Division boast that ability to a man? As to duties, those of fighting days were soon replaced by appallingly12 unbellicose tasks which carried us still farther afield into the placid14 wilderness15 of the S O S trebly distant from the scene of real activity. But a pebble16 dropped into the sea of army routine does not always fail to bring ripples17, in time, to the shore. Suddenly one day, when the earthquaking roar of barrages19 and the insistent20 screams of air-raid alertes had merged21 with dim memories of the past, the half-forgotten request was unexpectedly answered. The flimsy French telegraph form, languidly torn open, yielded a laconic22, “Report Paris prepared enter occupied territory.”
The change from the placidity23 of Alps-girdled Grenoble to Paris, in those days “capital of the world” indeed, was abrupt24. The city was seething25 with an international life such as even she had never before gazed upon in her history. But with the Rhine attainable26 at last, one was in no mood to tarry among the pampered27 officers dancing attendance on the Peace Conference—least of all those of us who had known Paris in the simpler, saner28 days of old, or in the humanizing times of war strain.
The Gare de l’Est was swirling29 with that incredible tohubohu, that headless confusion which had long reigned30 at all important French railway stations. Even in the sixteen months since I had first seen Paris under war conditions and taken train at Chaumont—then sternly hidden under the pseudonym31 of “G. H. Q.”—that confusion had trebled. Stolid32 Britons in khaki and packs clamped their iron-shod way along the station corridors like draft-horses. Youthful “Yanks,” not so unlike the Tommies in garb33 as in manner, formed human whirlpools about the almost unattainable den18 of the American A. P. M. Through compact throngs34 of horizon blue squirmed insistent poilus, sputtering36 some witty37 bon mot at every lunge. Here and there circled 3eddies of Belgian troopers, their cap-tassels waving with the rhythm of their march. Italian soldiers, misfitted in crumpled38 and patched dirty-gray, struggled toward a far corner where stood two haughty carabinieri directly imported from their own sunny land, stubby rifles, imposing39 three-cornered hats, and all. At every guichet or hole in the wall waited long queues of civilians41, chiefly French, with that uncomplaining patience which a lifetime, or at least a war-time, of standing42 in line has given a race that by temperament43 and individual habit should be least able to display patience. Sprightly44 grisettes tripped through every opening in the throng35, dodging45 collisions, yet finding time to throw a coquettish smile at every grinning “Sammy,” irrespective of rank. Wan46, yet sarcastic47, women of the working-class buffeted48 their multifarious bundles and progeny50 toward the platforms. Flush-faced dowagers, upholstered in their somber51 best garments, waddled52 hither and yon in generally vain attempts to get the scanty53 thirty kilos of baggage, to which military rule had reduced civilian40 passengers, aboard the train they hoped to take. Well-dressed matrons laboriously54 shoved their possessions before them on hand-trucks won after exertions56 that had left their hats awry58 and their tempers far beyond the point that speech has any meaning, some with happy, cynical59 faces at having advanced that far in the struggle, only to form queue again behind the always lengthy60 line of enforced patience which awaited the good pleasure of baggage-weighers, baggage-handlers, baggage-checkers, baggage-payment receiving-clerks. Now and then a begrimed and earth-weary female porter, under the official cap, bovinely61 pushed her laden62 truck into the waiting throngs, with that supreme63 indifference64 to the rights and comfort of others which couples so strangely with the social and individual politeness of the French. Once in a while there appeared a male porter, also in the insignia so familiar before the war, sallow and fleshless now in comparison 4with his female competitors, sometimes one-armed or shuffling65 on a half-useless leg. It would have been hard to find a place where more labor55 was expended66 for less actual accomplishment67.
At the train-gate those in uniform, who had not been called upon to stand in line for hours, if not for days, to get passports, to have them stamped and visaed, to fulfil a score of formalities that must have made the life of a civilian without official backing not unlike that of a stray cur in old-time Constantinople, were again specially68 favored. Once on the platform—but, alas69! there was no escaping the crush and goal-less helter-skelter of the half-anarchy70 that had befallen the railway system of France in the last supreme lunge of the war. The Nancy-Metz express—the name still seemed strange, long after the signing of the armistice—had already been taken by storm. What shall it gain a man to have formed queue and paid his franc days before for a reserved place if the corridors leading to it are so packed and crammed71 with pillar-like poilus, laden with equipment enough to stock a hardware-store, with pack-and-rifle-bearing American doughboys, with the few lucky civilians who reached the gates early enough to worm their way into the interstices left, that nothing short of machine-gun or trench-mortar can clear him an entrance to it?
Wise, however, is the man who uses his head rather than his shoulders, even in so unintellectual a matter as boarding a train. About a parlor-coach, defended by gendarmes72, lounged a half-dozen American officers with that casual, self-satisfied air of those who “know the ropes” and are therefore able to bide74 their time in peace. A constant stream of harried75, disheveled, bundle-laden, would-be passengers swept down upon the parlor-car entrance, only to be politely but forcibly balked76 in their design by the guardsmen with an oily, “Reserved for the French Staff.” Thus 5is disorder77 wont78 to breed intrigue79. The platform clock had raised its hands to strike the hour of departure when the lieutenant80 who had offered to share his previous experience with me sidled cautiously up to a gendarme73 and breathed in his ear something that ended with “American Secret Service.” The words themselves produced little more effect than there was truth in the whispered assertion. But the crisp new five-franc note deftly81 transferred from lieutenant to gendarme brought as quick results as could the whisper of “bakshish” in an Arab ear. We sprang lightly up the guarded steps and along a corridor as clear of humanity as No Man’s Land on a sunny noonday. Give the French another year of war, with a few more millions of money-sowing Allies scattered82 through the length and breadth of their fair land, and the back-handed slip of a coin may become as universal an open sesame as in the most tourist-haunted corner of Naples.
Another banknote, as judiciously83 applied84, unlocked the door of a compartment85 that showed quite visible evidence of having escaped the public wear and tear of war, due, no doubt, to the protection afforded it by those magic words, “French Staff.” But when it had quickly filled to its quota86 of six, one might have gazed in vain at the half-dozen American uniforms, girdled by the exclusive “Sam Browne,” for any connection with the French, staff or otherwise, than that which binds87 all good allies together. The train glided88 imperceptibly into motion, yet not without carrying to our ears the suppressed grunt89 of a hundred stomachs compressed by as many hard and unwieldy packs in the coach ahead, and ground away into the night amid the shouts of anger, despair, and pretended derision of the throng of would-be travelers left behind on the platform.
“Troubles over,” said my companion, as we settled down to such comfort as a night in a European train compartment affords. “Of course we’ll be hours late, and there will be 6a howling mob at every station as long as we are in France. But once we get to Metz the trains will have plenty of room; they’ll be right on time, and all this mob-fighting will be over.”
“Propaganda,” I mused90, noting that in spite of his manner, as American as his uniform, the lieutenant spoke91 with a hint of Teutonic accent. We had long been warned to see propaganda by the insidious92 Hun in any suggestion of criticism, particularly in the unfavorable comparison of anything French with anything German. Did food cost more in Paris than on the Rhine? Propaganda! Did some one suggest that the American soldiers, their fighting task finished, felt the surge of desire to see their native shores again? Propaganda! Did a French waiter growl93 at the inadequacy94 of a 10-per-cent. tip? The sale Boche had surely been propaganding among the dish-handlers.
The same subsidized hand that had admitted us had locked the parlor-car again as soon as the last staff pass—issued by the Banque de France—had been collected. Though hordes95 might beat with enraged96 fists, heels, and sticks on the doors and windows, not even a corridor lounger could get aboard to disturb our possible slumbers97. To the old and infirm—which in military jargon98 stands for all those beyond the age of thirty—even the comfortably filled compartment of a French wagon99 de luxe is not an ideal place in which to pass a long night. But as often as we awoke to uncramp our legs and cramp100 them again in another position, the solace101 in the thought of what that ride might have been, standing rigid102 in a car corridor, swallowing and reswallowing the heated breath of a half-dozen nationalities, jolted103 and compressed by sharp-cornered packs and poilu hardware, unable to disengage a hand long enough to raise handkerchief to nose, lulled104 us quickly to sleep again.
The train was hours late. All trains are hours late in overcrowded, overburdened France, with her long unrepaired 7lines of communication, her depleted105 railway personnel, her insufficient106, war-worn rolling-stock, struggling to carry a traffic that her days of peace never attempted. It was mid-morning when we reached Nancy, though the time-table had promised—to the inexperienced few who still put faith in French horaires—to bring us there while it was yet night. Here the key that had protected us for more than twelve hours was found, or its counterpart produced, by the station-master. Upon our return from squandering107 the equivalent of a half-dollar in the station buffet49 for three inches of stale and gravelly war-bread smeared108 with something that might have been axle-grease mixed with the sweepings109 of a shoe-shop, and the privilege of washing it down with a black liquid that was called coffee for want of a specific name, the storm had broken. It was only by extraordinary luck, combined with strenuous110 physical exertion57, that we manhandled our way through the horizon-blue maelstrom111 that had surged into every available corner, in brazen112 indifference to “staff” privileges, back to the places which a companion, volunteering for that service, had kept for us by dint113 of something little short of actual warfare114.
From the moment of crossing, not long after, the frontier between that was France in 1914 and German Lorraine things seemed to take on a new freedom of movement, an orderliness that had become almost a memory. The train was still the same, yet it lost no more time. With a subtle change in faces, garb, and architecture, plainly evident, though it is hard to say exactly in what it consisted, came a smoothness that had long been divorced from travel by train. There was a calmness in the air as we pulled into Metz soon after noon which recalled pre-war stations. The platforms were ample, at least until our train began to disgorge the incredible multitude that had somehow found existing-place upon it. The station gates gave exit 8quickly, though every traveler was compelled to show his permission for entering the city. The aspect of the place was still German. Along the platform were ranged those awe-inspiring beings whom the uninitiated among us took to be German generals or field-officers instead of mere railway employees; wherever the eye roamed some species of Verboten gazed sternly upon us. But the iron hand had lost its grip. Partly for convenience sake, partly in retaliation115 for a closely circumscribed116 journey, years before, through the land of the Kaiser, I had descended117 from the train by a window. What horror such undisciplined barbarism would have evoked118 in those other years! Now the heavy faces under the pseudo-generals’ caps not only gave no grimace119 of protest, presaging120 sterner measures; not even a shadow of surprise flickered121 across them. The grim Verboten signs remained placidly122 unmoved, like dictators shorn of power by some force too high above to make any show of feelings worth while.
The French had already come to Metz. One recognized that at once in the endless queues that formed at every window. One was doubly sure of it at sight of a temperament-harassed official in horizon blue floundering in a tempest of paperasses, a whirlwind of papers, ink, and unfulfilled intentions, behind the wicket, earnestly bent123 on quickly doing his best, yet somehow making nine motions where one would have sufficed. But most of the queues melted away more rapidly than was the Parisian custom; and as we moved nearer, to consign124 our baggage or to buy our tickets, we noted125 that the quickened progress was due to a slow but methodically moving German male, still in his field gray. He had come to the meeting-place of temperament and Ordnung, or system. Both have their value, but there are times and places for both.
Among the bright hopes that had gleamed before me since turning my face toward the fallen enemy was a hot 9bath. To attain so unwonted a luxury in France was, in the words of its inhabitants, “toute une histoire”—in fact, an all but endless story. In the first place, the extraordinary desire must await a Saturday. In the second, the heater must not have fallen out of practice during its week of disuse. Thirdly, one must make sure that no other guest on the same floor had laid the same soapy plans within an hour of one’s own chosen time. Fourthly, one must have put up at a hotel that boasted a bathtub, in itself no simple feat126 for those forced to live on their own honest earnings127. Fifthly—but life is too short and paper too expensive to enumerate128 all the incidental details that must be brought together in harmonious129 concordance before one actually and physically130 got a real hot bath in France, after her four years and more of struggle to ward4 off the Hun.
But in Germany—or was it only subtle propaganda again, the persistent131 rumor132 that hot baths were of daily occurrence and within reach of the popular purse? At any rate, I took stock enough in it to let anticipation133 play on the treat in store, once I were settled in Germany. Then all at once my eyes were caught by two magic words above an arrow pointing down the station corridor. Incredible! Some one had had the bright idea of providing a means, right here in the station, of removing the grime of travel at once.
A clean bathroom, its “hot” water actually hot, was all ready in a twinkling—all, that is, except the soap. There was nothing in the decalogue, rumor had it, that the Germans would not violate for a bar of soap. Luckily, the hint had reached me before our commissary in Paris was out of reach. Yet, soap or no soap, the population managed to keep itself as presentable as the rank and file of civilians in the land behind us. The muscular young barber who kept shop a door or two beyond was as spick 10and span as any to whom I remembered intrusting my personal appearance in all France. He had, too, that indefinable something which in army slang is called “snappy,” and I settled down in his chair with the genuine relaxation134 that comes with the ministrations of one who knows his trade. He answered readily enough a question put in French, but he answered it in German, which brought up another query135, this time in his mother-tongue.
“Nein,” he replied, “I am French through and through, ’way back for generations. My people have always been born in Lorraine, but none of us younger ones speak much French.”
Yes, he had been a German soldier. He had worn the feldgrau more than two years, in some of the bloodiest136 battles on the western front, the last against Americans. It seemed uncanny to have him flourishing a razor about the throat of a man whom, a few weeks before, he had been in duty bound to slay137.
“And do you think the people of Metz really like the change?” I asked, striving to imply by the tone that I preferred a genuine answer to a diplomatic evasion138.
“Ja, sehen Sie,” he began, slowly, rewhetting his razor, “I am French. My family has always looked forward to the day when France should come back to us. A-aber”—in the slow guttural there was a hint of disillusionment—“they are a wise people, the French, but they have no Organizationsinn—so little idea of order, of discipline. They make so much work of simple matters. And they have such curious rules. In the house next to me lived a man whose parents were Parisians. His ancestors were all French. He speaks perfect French and very poor German. But his grandfather was born, by chance, in Germany, and they have driven him out of Lorraine, while I, who barely understand French and have always spoken German, may remain because my ancestors were born here!”
11“Yet, on the whole, Metz would rather belong to France than to Germany?”
Like all perfect barber-conversationalists he spaced his words in rhythm with his work, never losing a stroke:
“We have much feeling for France. There was much flag-waving, much singing of the ‘Marseillaise.’ But as to what we would rather do—what have we to say about it, after all?
“Atrocities? Yes, I have seen some things that should not have been. It is war. There are brutes139 in all countries. I have at least seen a German colonel shoot one of his own men for killing140 a wounded French soldier on the ground.”
The recent history of Metz was plainly visible in her architecture—ambitious, extravagant141, often tasteless buildings shouldering aside the humble142 remnants of a French town of the Middle Ages. In spite of the floods of horizon blue in her streets the atmosphere of the city was still Teutonic—heavy, a trifle sour, in no way chic143. The skaters down on a lake before the promenade144 not only spoke German; they had not even the Latin grace of movement. Yet there were signs to remind one that the capital of Lorraine had changed hands. It came first in petty little alterations145, hastily and crudely made—a paper “Entrée” pasted over an “Eingang” cut in stone; a signboard pointing “A Trèves” above an older one reading “Nach Trier.” A strip of white cloth along the front of a great brownstone building that had always been the “Kaiserliches Postamt” announced “République Fran?aise; Postes, Télégraphes, Téléphones.” Street names had not been changed; they had merely been translated—“Rheinstrasse” had become also “Rue du Rhin.” The French were making no secret of their conviction that Metz had returned to them for all time. They had already begun to make permanent changes. Yet many mementoes of the paternal146 government that had 12so hastily fled to the eastward147 were still doing duty as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. The dark-blue post-boxes still announced themselves as “Briefkasten,” and bore the fatherly reminder148, “Briefmarken und Adresse nicht vergessen” (“Do not forget stamps and address”). At least the simple public could be trusted to write the letter without its attention being called to that necessity. Where crowds were wont to collect, detailed149 directions stared them in the face, instead of leaving them to guess and scramble150, as is too often the case among our lovable but temperamental allies.
A large number of shops were “Consigné à la Troupe,” which would have meant “Out of Bounds” to the British or “Off Limits” to our own soldiers. Others were merely branded “Maison Allemande,” leaving Allied151 men in uniform permission to trade there, if they chose. It might have paid, too, for nearly all of them had voluntarily added the confession152 “Liquidation Totale.” One such proprietor153 announced his “Maison Principale à Strasbourg.” He certainly was “S. O. L.”—which is armyese for something like “Sadly out of luck.” In fact, the German residents were being politely but firmly crowded eastward. As their clearance154 sales left an empty shop a French merchant quickly moved in, and the Boche went home to set his alarm-clock. The departing Hun was forbidden to carry with him more than two thousand marks as an adult, or five hundred for each child—and der Deutsche Gott knows a mark is not much money nowadays!—and he was obliged to take a train leaving at 5 A.M.
On the esplanade of Metz there once stood a bronze equestrian155 statue of Friedrich III, gazing haughtily156 down upon his serfs. Now he lay broken-headed in the soil beneath, under the horse that thrust stiff legs aloft, as on a battle-field. So rude and sudden had been his downfall that he had carried with him one side of the massive stone-and-chain 13balustrade that had long protected his pedestal from plebeian157 contact. Farther on there was a still more impressive sign of the times. On the brow of a knoll158 above the lake an immense bronze of the late Kaiser—as he fain would have looked—had been replaced by the statue of a poilu, hastily daubed, yet artistic159 for all that, with the careless yet sure lines of a Rodin. The Kaiser’s gaze—strangely enough—had been turned toward Germany, and the bombastic160 phrase of dedication161 had, with French sense of the fitness of things, been left untouched—“Errichtet von seinem dankbaren Volke.” Even “his grateful people,” strolling past now and then in pairs or groups, could not suppress the suggestion of a smile at the respective positions of dedication and poilu. For the latter gazed toward his beloved France, with those far-seeing eyes of all his tribe, and beneath him was his war slogan, purged162 at last of the final three letters he had bled so freely to efface—“On les A.”
A German ex-soldier, under the command of an American private, rechecked my trunk in less than a minute. The train was full, but it was not overcrowded. Travelers boarded it in an orderly manner; there was no erratic163 scrambling164, no impassable corridor. We left on time and maintained that advantage to the end of the journey. It seemed an anachronism to behold165 a train-load of American soldiers racing166 on and on into Germany, perfectly167 at ease behind a German crew that did its best to make the trip as comfortable and swift as possible—and succeeded far beyond the expectations of the triumphant168 invaders169. In the first-class coach, “Réservé pour Militaires,” which had been turned over to us under the terms of the armistice, all was in perfect working order. Half voiceless with a cold caught on the unheated French trains on which I had shivered my way northward170 from Grenoble, I found this one too hot. The opening of a window called attention 14to the fact that Germany had been obliged to husband her every scrap171 of leather; the window-tackle was now of woven hemp172. One detail suggested bad faith in fulfilling the armistice terms—the heavy red-velvet stuff covering the seats had been hastily slashed173 off, leaving us to sit on the burlap undercoverings. Probably some undisciplined railway employee had decided174 to levy175 on the enemy while there was yet time for the material of a gown for his daughter or his M?dchen. Later journeys showed many a seat similarly plundered176.
A heavy, wet snow was falling when we reached Trèves—or Trier, as you choose. It was late, and I planned to dodge177 into the nearest hotel. I had all but forgotten that I was no longer among allies, but in the land of the enemy. The American M. P. who demanded my papers at the station gate, as his fellows did, even less courteously178, of all civilians, ignored the word “hotel” and directed me to the billeting-office. Salutes179 were snapped at me wherever the street-lamps made my right to them visible. The town was brown with American khaki, as well as white with the sodden180 snow. At the baize-covered desk of what had evidently once been a German court-room a commissioned Yank glanced at my orders, ran his finger down a long ledger181 page, scrawled182 a line on a billeting form, and tossed it toward me.
Beyond the Porta Nigra, the ancient Roman gate that the would-be Romans of to-day—or yesterday—have so carefully preserved, I lost my way in the blinding whiteness. A German civilian was approaching. I caught myself wondering if he would refuse to answer, and whether I should stand on my dignity as one of his conquerors183 if he did. He seemed flattered that he should have been appealed to for information. He waded185 some distance out of his way to leave me at the door I sought, and on the way he bubbled over with the excellence186 of the American soldier, 15with now and then a hint at the good fortune of Trier in not being occupied by the French or British. When he had left me I rang the door-bell several times without result. I decided to adopt a sterner attitude, and pounded lustily on the massive outer door. At length a window above opened and a querulous female voice demanded, “Wer ist da?” To be sure, it was near midnight; but was I not for once demanding, rather than requesting, admittance? I strove to give my voice the peremptoriness187 with which a German officer would have answered, “American lieutenant, billeted here.”
“Ich komm’ gleich hinunter,” came the quick reply, in almost honeyed tones.
The household had not yet gone to bed. It consisted of three women, of as many generations, the youngest of whom had come down to let me in. Before we reached the top of the stairs she began to show solicitude188 for my comfort. The mother hastened to arrange the easiest chair for me before the fire; the grandmother doddered toothlessly at me from her corner behind the stove; the family cat was already caressing189 my boot-tops.
“You must have something to eat!” cried the mother.
“Don’t trouble,” I protested. “I had dinner at Metz.”
“Yes, but that was four hours ago. Some milk and eggs, at least?”
“Eggs,” I queried190, “and milk? I thought there were none in Germany.”
“Doch,” she replied, with a sage191 glance, “if you know where to look for them, and can get there. I have just been out in the country. I came on the same train you did. But it is hard to get much. Every one goes out scouring192 the country now. And one must have money. An egg, one mark! Before the war they were never so much a dozen.”
The eggs were fresh enough, but the milk was decidedly 16watery, and in place of potatoes there was some sort of jellied turnip193, wholly tasteless. While I ate, the daughter talked incessantly194, the mother now and then adding a word, the grandmother nodding approval at intervals195, with a wrinkled smile. All male members of the family had been lost in the war, unless one counts the second fiancée of the daughter, now an officer “over in Germany,” as she put it. When I started at the expression she smiled:
“Yes, here we are in America, you see. Lucky for us, too. There will never be any robbery and anarchy here, and over there it will get worse. Anyhow, we don’t feel that the Americans are real enemies.”
“No?” I broke in. “Why not?”
“Ach!” she said, evasively, throwing her head on one side, “they ... they.... Now if it had been the French, or the British, who had occupied Trier.... At first the Americans were very easy on us—too easy” (one felt the German religion of discipline in the phrase). “They arrived on December first, at noon, and by evening every soldier had a sweetheart. The newspapers raged. It was shameful196 for a girl to give herself for a box of biscuits, or a cake of chocolate, or even a bar of soap! But they had been hungry for years, and not even decency197, to say nothing of patriotism198, can stand out against continual hunger. Besides, the war—ach! I don’t know what has come over the German woman since the war!
“But the Americans are stricter now,” she continued, “and there are new laws that forbid us to talk to the soldiers—on the street....”
“German laws?” I interrupted, thoughtlessly, for, to tell the truth, my mind was wandering a bit, thanks either to the heat of the porcelain199 stove or to her garrulousness200, equal to that of any méridionale from southern France.
“Nein, it was ordered by General Pershing.” (She pronounced it “Pear Shang.”)
17Stupid of me, but my change from the land of an ally to that of an enemy had been so abrupt, and the evidence of enmity so slight, that I had scarcely realized it was our own commander-in-chief who was now reigning201 in Trier. I covered my retreat by abruptly202 putting a question about the Kaiser. Demigod that I had always found him in the popular mind in Germany, I felt sure that here, at least, I should strike a vibrant203 chord. To my surprise, she screwed up her face into an expression of disgust and drew a finger across her throat.
“That for the Kaiser!” she snapped. “Of course, he wasn’t entirely204 to blame; and he wanted to quit in nineteen-sixteen. But the rich people, the Krupps and the like, hadn’t made enough yet. He didn’t, at least, need to run away. If he had stayed in Germany, as he should have, no one would have hurt him; no living man would have touched a hair of his head. Our Crown Prince? Ach! The Crown Prince is leichtsinnig (light-minded).”
“Of course, it is natural that the British and French should treat us worse than the Americans,” she went on, unexpectedly harking back to an earlier theme. “They used to bomb us here in Trier, the last months. I have often had to help Grossmutter down into the cellar”—Grossmutter smirked205 confirmation—“but that was nothing compared to what our brave airmen did to London and Paris. Why, in Paris they killed hundreds night after night, and the people were so wild with fright they trampled206 one another to death in trying to find refuge....”
“I was in Paris myself during all the big raids, as well as the shelling by ‘Grosse Bertha,’” I protested, “and I assure you it was hardly as bad as that.”
“Ah, but they cover up those things so cleverly,” she replied, quickly, not in the slightest put out by the contradiction.
“There is one thing the Americans do not do well,” she 18rattled on. “They do not make the rich and the influential208 contribute their fair share. They make all the people (das Volk) billet as many as their houses will hold, but the rich and the officials arrange to take in very few, in their big houses. And it is the same as before the war ended, with the food. The wealthy still have plenty of food that they get through Schleichhandel, tricky209 methods, and the Americans do not search them. Children and the sick are supposed to get milk, and a bit of good bread, or zwiebach. Yet Grossmutter here is so ill she cannot digest the war-bread, and still she must eat it, for the rich grab all the better bread, and, as we have no influence, we cannot get her what the rules allow.”
I did not then know enough of the American administration of occupied territory to remind her that food-rationing was still entirely in the hands of the native officials. I did know, however, how prone210 conquering armies are to keep up the old inequalities; how apt the conqueror184 is to call upon the “influential citizens” to take high places in the local administration; and that “influential citizens” are not infrequently so because they have been the most grasping, the most selfish, even if not actually dishonest.
Midnight had long since struck when I was shown into the guest-room, with a triple “Gute Nacht. Schlafen Sie wohl.” The deep wooden bedstead was, of course, a bit too short, and the triangular211 bolster212 and two large pillows, taking the place of the French round traversin, had to be reduced to American tastes. But the room was speckless213; several minor5 details of comfort had been arranged with motherly care, and as I slid down under the feather tick that does duty as quilt throughout Germany my feet encountered—a hot flat-iron. I had not felt so old since the day I first put on long trousers!
My last conscious reflection was a wonder whether the good citizens of Trier were not, perhaps, “stringing” us a 19bit with their aggressive show of friendliness214, of contentment at our presence. Some of it had been a bit too thick. Yet, as I thought back over the evening, I could not recall a word, a tone, a look, that gave the slightest basis to suppose that my three hostesses were not the simple, frank, docile215 Volk they gave every outward evidence of being.
The breakfast next morning consisted of coffee and bread, with more of the tasteless turnip jelly. All three of the articles, however, were only in the name what they purported216 to be, each being Ersatz, or substitute, for the real thing. The coffee was really roasted corn, and gave full proof of that fact by its insipidity217. But Frau Franck served me real sugar with it. The bread—what shall one say of German war-bread that will make the picture dark and heavy and indigestible enough? It was cut from just such a loaf as I had seen gaunt soldiers of the Kaiser hugging under one arm as they came blinking up out of their dugouts at the point of a doughboy bayonet, and to say that such a loaf seemed to be half sawdust and half mud, that it was heavier and blacker than any adobe218 brick, and that its musty scent219 was all but overpowering, would be far too mild a statement and the comparison an insult to the mud brick. The mother claimed it was made of potatoes and bad meal. I am sure she was over-charitable. Yet on this atrocious substance, which I, by no means unaccustomed to strange food, tasted once with a shudder220 of disgust, the German masses had been chiefly subsisting221 since 1915. No wonder they quit! The night before the bread had been tolerable, having been brought from the country; but the three women had stayed up munching222 that until the last morsel223 had disappeared.
The snow had left the trees of Trier beautiful in their winding224-sheets, but the streets had already been swept. It seemed queer, yet, after sixteen months of similar experience in France, a matter of course to be able to ask one’s 20way of an American policeman on every corner of this ancient German town. In the past eight years I had been less than two in my native land, yet I had a feeling of knowing the American better than ever before; for to take him out of his environment is to see him in close-up perspective, as it were. Even here he seemed to feel perfectly at home. Now and then a group of school-girls playfully bombarded an M. P. with snowballs, and if he could not shout back some jest in genuine German, he at least said something that “got across.” The populace gave us our fair half of the sidewalk, some making a little involuntary motion as if expecting an officer to shove them off it entirely, in the orthodox Prussian manner. Street-cars were free to wearers of the “Sam Browne”; enlisted225 men paid the infinitesimal fare amid much good-natured “joshing” of the solemn conductor, with his colonel’s uniform and his sackful of pewter coins.
On railway trains tickets were a thing of the past to wearers of khaki. To the border of Lorraine we paid the French military fare; once in Germany proper, one had only to satisfy the M. P. at the gate to journey anywhere within the occupied area. At the imposing building out of which the Germans had been chased to give place to our “Advanced G. H. Q.,” I found orders to proceed at once to Coblenz, but there was time to transgress226 military rules to the extent of bringing Grossmutter a loaf of white bread and a can of condensed milk from our commissary, to repair my damage to the family larder227, before hurrying to the station. Yank guardsmen now sustained the contentions228 of the Verboten signs, instead of letting them waste away in impotence, as at Metz. A boy marched up and down the platform, pushing a convenient little news-stand on wheels, and offering for sale all the important Paris papers, as well as German ones. The car I entered was reserved for Allied officers, yet several Boche civilians rode in it unmolested. 21I could not but wonder what would have happened had conditions been reversed. They were cheerful enough in spite of what ought to have been a humiliating state of affairs, possibly because of an impression I heard one hoarsely229 whisper to another, “Oh, they’ll go home in another six months; an American officer told me so.” Evidently some one had been “fraternizing,” as well as receiving information which the heads of the Peace Conference had not yet gained.
The Schnellzug was a real express; the ride like that from Albany to New York. Now and then we crossed the winding Moselle, the steep, plump hills of which were planted to their precipitous crests230 with orderly vineyards, each vine carefully tied to its stalk. For mile after mile the hills were terraced, eight-foot walls of cut stone holding up four-foot patches of earth, paths for the workers snaking upward between them. The system was almost exactly that of the Peruvians under the Incas, far apart as they were, in time and place, from the German peasant. The two civilizations could scarcely have compared notes, yet this was not the only similarity between them. But then, hunger and over-population breed stern necessity the world over, and with like necessity as with similar experience, it is no plagiarism231 to have worked out the problem in the same way. Between the vineyards, in stony232 clefts233 in the hills useless for cultivation234, orderly towns were tucked away, clean little towns, still flecked with the snow of the night before. Even the French officers beside us marveled at the cleanliness of the towns en Bochie, and at the extraordinary physical comforts of Mainz—I mean Mayence—the headquarters of their area of occupation.
Heavy American motor-trucks pounded by along the already dusty road beside us, alternating now and then with a captured German one, the Kaiser’s eagles still on its flanks, but driven by a nonchalant American doughboy, 22its steel tires making an uproar235 that could be plainly heard aboard the racing express. Long freight-trains rattled207 past in the opposite direction. With open-work wheels, stubby little cars stenciled236 “Posen,” “Essen,” “Breslau,” “Brüssel,” and the like, a half-dozen employees perched in the cubbyholes on the car ends at regular intervals, they were German from engine to lack of caboose—except that here and there a huge box-car lettered “U. S. A.” towered above its puny237 Boche fellows like a mounted guard beside a string of prisoners. There will still be a market for officers’ uniforms in Germany, though their military urge be completely emasculated. Even the brakemen of these freight-trains looked like lieutenants238 or captains; a major in appearance proved to be a station guard, a colonel sold tickets, and the station-master might easily have been mistaken for a Feldmarschall. Some were, in fact. For when the Yanks first occupied the region many of their commanders complained that German officers were not saluting239 them, as required by orders of the Army of Occupation. Investigation240 disclosed the harmless identity of the imposing “officers” in question. But the rule was amended241 to include any one in uniform; we could not be wasting our time to find out whether the wearer of a general’s shoulder-straps was the recent commander of the 4th Army Corps242 or the town-crier. So that now Allied officers were saluted243 by the police, the firemen, the mailmen—including the half-grown ones who carry special-delivery letters—and even by the “white wings.”
Those haughty Eisenbahnbeamten took their orders now from plain American “bucks,” took them unquestioningly, with signs of friendliness, with a docile, uncomplaining—shall I say fatalism? The far-famed German discipline had not broken down even under occupation; it carried on as persistently244, as doggedly245 as ever. A conductor passing through our car recalled a “hobo” experience out in 23our West back in the early days of the century. Armed trainmen had driven the summer-time harvest of free riders off their trains for more than a week, until so great a multitude of “boes” had collected in a water-tank town of Dakota that we took a freight one day completely by storm, from cow-catcher to caboose. And the bloodthirsty, fire-eating brakeman who picked his way along that train, gently requesting the uninvited railroad guests to “Give us a place for a foot there, pal13, won’t you, please?” had the selfsame expression on his face as did this apologetic, smirking246, square-headed Boche who sidled so gently past us. My fellow-officers found them cringing247, detestably servile. “Put a gun in their hands,” said one, “and you’d see how quick their character would change. It’s a whole damned nation crying ‘Kamerad!’—playing ’possum until the danger is over.”
Probably it was. But there were times when one could not help wondering if, after all, there was not sincerity248 in the assertion of my guide of the night before:
“We are done; we have had enough at last.”
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1
amalgamated
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| v.（使）（金属）汞齐化( amalgamate的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）合并；联合；结合 | |
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2
armistice
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| n.休战，停战协定 | |
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3
longing
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| n.（for）渴望 | |
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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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minor
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| adj.较小(少)的，较次要的；n.辅修学科；vi.辅修 | |
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6
appendages
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| n.附属物( appendage的名词复数 )；依附的人；附属器官；附属肢体（如臂、腿、尾等） | |
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7
attain
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| vt.达到，获得，完成 | |
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flaunted
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| v.炫耀，夸耀( flaunt的过去式和过去分词 )；有什么能耐就施展出来 | |
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haughty
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| adj.傲慢的，高傲的 | |
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10
climax
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| n.顶点；高潮；v.(使)达到顶点 | |
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11
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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appallingly
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| 毛骨悚然地 | |
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13
pal
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| n.朋友，伙伴，同志；vi.结为友 | |
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14
placid
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| adj.安静的，平和的 | |
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15
wilderness
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| n.杳无人烟的一片陆地、水等，荒漠 | |
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16
pebble
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| n.卵石，小圆石 | |
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17
ripples
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| 逐渐扩散的感觉( ripple的名词复数 ) | |
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18
den
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| n.兽穴；秘密地方；安静的小房间，私室 | |
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19
barrages
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| n.弹幕射击( barrage的名词复数 )；火力网；猛烈炮火；河上的堰坝v.火力攻击（或阻击）( barrage的第三人称单数 )；以密集火力攻击（或阻击） | |
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20
insistent
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| adj.迫切的，坚持的 | |
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21
merged
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| （使）混合( merge的过去式和过去分词 )； 相融； 融入； 渐渐消失在某物中 | |
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22
laconic
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| adj.简洁的；精练的 | |
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23
placidity
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| n.平静，安静，温和 | |
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24
abrupt
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| adj.突然的，意外的；唐突的，鲁莽的 | |
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25
seething
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| 沸腾的，火热的 | |
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26
attainable
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| a.可达到的，可获得的 | |
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27
pampered
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| adj.饮食过量的，饮食奢侈的v.纵容，宠，娇养( pamper的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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28
saner
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| adj.心智健全的( sane的比较级 )；神志正常的；明智的；稳健的 | |
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29
swirling
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| v.旋转，打旋( swirl的现在分词 ) | |
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30
reigned
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| vi.当政，统治（reign的过去式形式） | |
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31
pseudonym
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| n.假名，笔名 | |
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32
stolid
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| adj.无动于衷的，感情麻木的 | |
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33
garb
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| n.服装，装束 | |
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34
throngs
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| n.人群( throng的名词复数 )v.成群，挤满( throng的第三人称单数 ) | |
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35
throng
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| n.人群，群众；v.拥挤，群集 | |
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36
sputtering
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| n.反应溅射法；飞溅；阴极真空喷镀；喷射v.唾沫飞溅( sputter的现在分词 )；发劈啪声；喷出；飞溅出 | |
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37
witty
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| adj.机智的，风趣的 | |
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38
crumpled
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| adj. 弯扭的, 变皱的 动词crumple的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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39
imposing
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| adj.使人难忘的，壮丽的，堂皇的，雄伟的 | |
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40
civilian
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| adj.平民的，民用的，民众的 | |
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41
civilians
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| 平民，百姓( civilian的名词复数 )； 老百姓 | |
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42
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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43
temperament
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| n.气质，性格，性情 | |
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44
sprightly
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| adj.愉快的，活泼的 | |
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45
dodging
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| n.避开，闪过，音调改变v.闪躲( dodge的现在分词 )；回避 | |
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46
wan
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| (wide area network)广域网 | |
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47
sarcastic
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| adj.讥讽的，讽刺的，嘲弄的 | |
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48
buffeted
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| 反复敲打( buffet的过去式和过去分词 )； 连续猛击； 打来打去； 推来搡去 | |
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49
buffet
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| n.自助餐；饮食柜台；餐台 | |
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50
progeny
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| n.后代，子孙；结果 | |
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51
somber
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| adj.昏暗的，阴天的，阴森的，忧郁的 | |
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52
waddled
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| v.（像鸭子一样）摇摇摆摆地走( waddle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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53
scanty
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| adj.缺乏的，仅有的，节省的，狭小的，不够的 | |
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54
laboriously
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| adv.艰苦地；费力地；辛勤地；（文体等）佶屈聱牙地 | |
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55
labor
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| n.劳动，努力，工作，劳工；分娩；vi.劳动，努力，苦干；vt.详细分析；麻烦 | |
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56
exertions
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| n.努力( exertion的名词复数 )；费力；（能力、权力等的）运用；行使 | |
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57
exertion
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| n.尽力，努力 | |
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58
awry
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| adj.扭曲的，错的 | |
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59
cynical
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| adj.(对人性或动机)怀疑的，不信世道向善的 | |
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60
lengthy
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| adj.漫长的，冗长的 | |
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61
bovinely
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| adj.牛的；关于牛的；迟钝的；笨拙的n.牛，牛科动物 | |
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62
laden
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| adj.装满了的；充满了的；负了重担的；苦恼的 | |
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63
supreme
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| adj.极度的，最重要的；至高的，最高的 | |
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64
indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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65
shuffling
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| adj. 慢慢移动的, 滑移的 动词shuffle的现在分词形式 | |
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66
expended
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| v.花费( expend的过去式和过去分词 )；使用（钱等）做某事；用光；耗尽 | |
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67
accomplishment
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| n.完成，成就，（pl.）造诣，技能 | |
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68
specially
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| adv.特定地；特殊地；明确地 | |
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69
alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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70
anarchy
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| n.无政府状态；社会秩序混乱，无秩序 | |
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71
crammed
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| adj.塞满的，挤满的；大口地吃；快速贪婪地吃v.把…塞满；填入；临时抱佛脚( cram的过去式) | |
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72
gendarmes
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| n.宪兵，警官( gendarme的名词复数 ) | |
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73
gendarme
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| n.宪兵 | |
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74
bide
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| v.忍耐；等候；住 | |
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75
harried
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| v.使苦恼( harry的过去式和过去分词 )；不断烦扰；一再袭击；侵扰 | |
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76
balked
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| v.畏缩不前，犹豫( balk的过去式和过去分词 )；（指马）不肯跑 | |
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77
disorder
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| n.紊乱，混乱；骚动，骚乱；疾病，失调 | |
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78
wont
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| adj.习惯于；v.习惯；n.习惯 | |
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79
intrigue
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| vt.激起兴趣，迷住；vi.耍阴谋；n.阴谋，密谋 | |
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80
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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81
deftly
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| adv.灵巧地，熟练地，敏捷地 | |
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82
scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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83
judiciously
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| adv.明断地，明智而审慎地 | |
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84
applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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85
compartment
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| n.卧车包房，隔间；分隔的空间 | |
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86
quota
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| n.（生产、进出口等的）配额，（移民的）限额 | |
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87
binds
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| v.约束( bind的第三人称单数 )；装订；捆绑；（用长布条）缠绕 | |
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88
glided
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| v.滑动( glide的过去式和过去分词 )；掠过；（鸟或飞机 ） 滑翔 | |
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89
grunt
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| v.嘟哝；作呼噜声；n.呼噜声，嘟哝 | |
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90
mused
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| v.沉思，冥想( muse的过去式和过去分词 )；沉思自语说（某事） | |
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91
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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92
insidious
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| adj.阴险的，隐匿的，暗中为害的，（疾病）不知不觉之间加剧 | |
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93
growl
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| v.（狗等）嗥叫，（炮等）轰鸣；n.嗥叫，轰鸣 | |
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94
inadequacy
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| n.无法胜任，信心不足 | |
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95
hordes
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| n.移动着的一大群( horde的名词复数 )；部落 | |
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96
enraged
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| 使暴怒( enrage的过去式和过去分词 )； 歜； 激愤 | |
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97
slumbers
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| 睡眠，安眠( slumber的名词复数 ) | |
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98
jargon
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| n.术语，行话 | |
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99
wagon
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| n.四轮马车，手推车，面包车；无盖运货列车 | |
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100
cramp
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| n.痉挛；[pl.](腹)绞痛；vt.限制，束缚 | |
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101
solace
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| n.安慰；v.使快乐；vt.安慰(物)，缓和 | |
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102
rigid
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| adj.严格的，死板的；刚硬的，僵硬的 | |
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103
jolted
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| （使）摇动， （使）震惊( jolt的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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104
lulled
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| vt.使镇静，使安静（lull的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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105
depleted
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| adj. 枯竭的, 废弃的 动词deplete的过去式和过去分词 | |
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106
insufficient
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| adj.(for，of)不足的，不够的 | |
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107
squandering
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| v.（指钱，财产等）浪费，乱花( squander的现在分词 ) | |
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108
smeared
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| 弄脏； 玷污； 涂抹； 擦上 | |
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109
sweepings
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| n.笼统的( sweeping的名词复数 )；（在投票等中的）大胜；影响广泛的；包罗万象的 | |
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110
strenuous
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| adj.奋发的，使劲的；紧张的；热烈的，狂热的 | |
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111
maelstrom
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| n.大乱动；大漩涡 | |
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112
brazen
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| adj.厚脸皮的，无耻的，坚硬的 | |
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113
dint
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| n.由于，靠；凹坑 | |
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114
warfare
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| n.战争(状态)；斗争；冲突 | |
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115
retaliation
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| n.报复，反击 | |
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116
circumscribed
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| adj.[医]局限的：受限制或限于有限空间的v.在…周围划线( circumscribe的过去式和过去分词 )；划定…范围；限制；限定 | |
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117
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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118
evoked
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| [医]诱发的 | |
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119
grimace
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| v.做鬼脸，面部歪扭 | |
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120
presaging
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| v.预示，预兆( presage的现在分词 ) | |
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121
flickered
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| （通常指灯光）闪烁，摇曳( flicker的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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122
placidly
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| adv.平稳地，平静地 | |
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123
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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124
consign
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| vt.寄售（货品），托运，交托，委托 | |
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125
noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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126
feat
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| n.功绩；武艺，技艺；adj.灵巧的，漂亮的，合适的 | |
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127
earnings
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| n.工资收人；利润，利益，所得 | |
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128
enumerate
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| v.列举，计算，枚举，数 | |
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129
harmonious
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| adj.和睦的，调和的，和谐的，协调的 | |
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130
physically
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| adj.物质上，体格上，身体上，按自然规律 | |
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131
persistent
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| adj.坚持不懈的，执意的；持续的 | |
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132
rumor
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| n.谣言，谣传，传说 | |
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133
anticipation
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| n.预期，预料，期望 | |
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134
relaxation
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| n.松弛，放松；休息；消遣；娱乐 | |
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135
query
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| n.疑问，问号，质问；vt.询问，表示怀疑 | |
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136
bloodiest
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| adj.血污的( bloody的最高级 )；流血的；屠杀的；残忍的 | |
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137
slay
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| v.杀死，宰杀，杀戮 | |
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138
evasion
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| n.逃避，偷漏(税) | |
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139
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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140
killing
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| n.巨额利润；突然赚大钱，发大财 | |
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141
extravagant
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| adj.奢侈的；过分的；(言行等)放肆的 | |
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142
humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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143
chic
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| n./adj.别致(的)，时髦(的)，讲究的 | |
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144
promenade
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| n./v.散步 | |
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145
alterations
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| n.改动( alteration的名词复数 )；更改；变化；改变 | |
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146
paternal
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| adj.父亲的，像父亲的，父系的，父方的 | |
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147
eastward
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| adv.向东；adj.向东的；n.东方，东部 | |
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148
reminder
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| n.提醒物，纪念品；暗示，提示 | |
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149
detailed
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| adj.详细的，详尽的，极注意细节的，完全的 | |
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150
scramble
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| v.爬行，攀爬，杂乱蔓延，碎片，片段，废料 | |
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151
allied
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| adj.协约国的；同盟国的 | |
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152
confession
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| n.自白，供认，承认 | |
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153
proprietor
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| n.所有人；业主；经营者 | |
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154
clearance
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| n.净空；许可(证)；清算；清除，清理 | |
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155
equestrian
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| adj.骑马的；n.马术 | |
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156
haughtily
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| adv. 傲慢地, 高傲地 | |
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157
plebeian
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| adj.粗俗的；平民的；n.平民；庶民 | |
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158
knoll
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| n.小山，小丘 | |
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159
artistic
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| adj.艺术(家)的，美术(家)的；善于艺术创作的 | |
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160
bombastic
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| adj.夸夸其谈的，言过其实的 | |
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161
dedication
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| n.奉献，献身，致力，题献，献辞 | |
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162
purged
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| 清除（政敌等）( purge的过去式和过去分词 )； 涤除（罪恶等）； 净化（心灵、风气等）； 消除（错事等）的不良影响 | |
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163
erratic
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| adj.古怪的，反复无常的，不稳定的 | |
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164
scrambling
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| v.快速爬行( scramble的现在分词 )；攀登；争夺；（军事飞机）紧急起飞 | |
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165
behold
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| v.看，注视，看到 | |
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166
racing
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| n.竞赛，赛马；adj.竞赛用的，赛马用的 | |
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167
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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168
triumphant
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| adj.胜利的，成功的；狂欢的，喜悦的 | |
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169
invaders
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| 入侵者，侵略者，侵入物( invader的名词复数 ) | |
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170
northward
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| adv.向北；n.北方的地区 | |
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171
scrap
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| n.碎片；废料；v.废弃，报废 | |
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172
hemp
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| n.大麻；纤维 | |
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173
slashed
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| v.挥砍( slash的过去式和过去分词 )；鞭打；割破；削减 | |
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174
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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175
levy
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| n.征收税或其他款项，征收额 | |
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176
plundered
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| 掠夺，抢劫( plunder的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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177
dodge
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| v.闪开，躲开，避开；n.妙计，诡计 | |
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178
courteously
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| adv.有礼貌地，亲切地 | |
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179
salutes
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| n.致敬，欢迎，敬礼( salute的名词复数 )v.欢迎，致敬( salute的第三人称单数 )；赞扬，赞颂 | |
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180
sodden
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| adj.浑身湿透的；v.使浸透；使呆头呆脑 | |
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181
ledger
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| n.总帐，分类帐；帐簿 | |
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182
scrawled
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| 乱涂，潦草地写( scrawl的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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183
conquerors
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| 征服者，占领者( conqueror的名词复数 ) | |
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184
conqueror
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| n.征服者，胜利者 | |
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185
waded
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| （从水、泥等）蹚，走过，跋( wade的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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186
excellence
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| n.优秀，杰出，(pl.)优点，美德 | |
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187
peremptoriness
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| n.专横，强制，武断 | |
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188
solicitude
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| n.焦虑 | |
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189
caressing
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| 爱抚的，表现爱情的，亲切的 | |
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190
queried
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| v.质疑，对…表示疑问( query的过去式和过去分词 )；询问 | |
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191
sage
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| n.圣人，哲人；adj.贤明的，明智的 | |
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192
scouring
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| 擦[洗]净，冲刷，洗涤 | |
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193
turnip
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| n.萝卜，芜菁 | |
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194
incessantly
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| ad.不停地 | |
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195
intervals
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| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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196
shameful
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| adj.可耻的，不道德的 | |
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197
decency
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| n.体面，得体，合宜，正派，庄重 | |
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198
patriotism
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| n.爱国精神，爱国心，爱国主义 | |
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199
porcelain
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| n.瓷；adj.瓷的，瓷制的 | |
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200
garrulousness
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201
reigning
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| adj.统治的，起支配作用的 | |
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202
abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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203
vibrant
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| adj.震颤的，响亮的，充满活力的，精力充沛的，(色彩)鲜明的 | |
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204
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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205
smirked
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| v.傻笑( smirk的过去分词 ) | |
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206
trampled
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| 踩( trample的过去式和过去分词 )； 践踏； 无视； 侵犯 | |
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207
rattled
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| 慌乱的，恼火的 | |
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208
influential
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| adj.有影响的，有权势的 | |
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209
tricky
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| adj.狡猾的，奸诈的；(工作等)棘手的，微妙的 | |
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210
prone
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| adj.(to)易于…的，很可能…的；俯卧的 | |
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211
triangular
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| adj.三角（形）的，三者间的 | |
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212
bolster
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| n.枕垫；v.支持，鼓励 | |
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213
speckless
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| adj.无斑点的，无瑕疵的 | |
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214
friendliness
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| n.友谊，亲切，亲密 | |
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215
docile
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| adj.驯服的，易控制的，容易教的 | |
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216
purported
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| adj.传说的，谣传的v.声称是…，（装得）像是…的样子( purport的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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217
insipidity
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| n.枯燥无味，清淡，无精神；无生气状 | |
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218
adobe
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| n.泥砖，土坯，美国Adobe公司 | |
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219
scent
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| n.气味，香味，香水，线索，嗅觉；v.嗅，发觉 | |
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220
shudder
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| v.战粟，震动，剧烈地摇晃；n.战粟，抖动 | |
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221
subsisting
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| v.（靠很少的钱或食物）维持生活，生存下去( subsist的现在分词 ) | |
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222
munching
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| v.用力咀嚼（某物），大嚼( munch的现在分词 ) | |
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223
morsel
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| n.一口，一点点 | |
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224
winding
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| n.绕，缠，绕组，线圈 | |
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225
enlisted
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| adj.应募入伍的v.（使）入伍， （使）参军( enlist的过去式和过去分词 )；获得（帮助或支持） | |
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226
transgress
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| vt.违反，逾越 | |
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227
larder
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| n.食物贮藏室，食品橱 | |
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228
contentions
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| n.竞争( contention的名词复数 )；争夺；争论；论点 | |
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229
hoarsely
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| adv.嘶哑地 | |
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230
crests
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| v.到达山顶（或浪峰）( crest的第三人称单数 )；到达洪峰，达到顶点 | |
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231
plagiarism
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| n.剽窃，抄袭 | |
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232
stony
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| adj.石头的，多石头的，冷酷的，无情的 | |
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233
clefts
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| 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 | |
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234
cultivation
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| n.耕作，培养，栽培（法），养成 | |
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235
uproar
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| n.骚动，喧嚣，鼎沸 | |
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236
stenciled
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| v.用模板印（文字或图案）( stencil的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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237
puny
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| adj.微不足道的，弱小的 | |
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238
lieutenants
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| n.陆军中尉( lieutenant的名词复数 )；副职官员；空军；仅低于…官阶的官员 | |
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239
saluting
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| v.欢迎，致敬( salute的现在分词 )；赞扬，赞颂 | |
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240
investigation
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| n.调查，调查研究 | |
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241
Amended
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| adj. 修正的 动词amend的过去式和过去分词 | |
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242
corps
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| n.(通信等兵种的)部队；(同类作的)一组 | |
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243
saluted
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| v.欢迎，致敬( salute的过去式和过去分词 )；赞扬，赞颂 | |
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244
persistently
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| ad.坚持地；固执地 | |
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245
doggedly
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| adv.顽强地，固执地 | |
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246
smirking
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| v.傻笑( smirk的现在分词 ) | |
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247
cringing
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| adj.谄媚，奉承 | |
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248
sincerity
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| n.真诚，诚意；真实 | |
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