The race of Monte Beni, beyond a doubt, was one of the oldest in Italy, where families appear to survive at least, if not to flourish, on their half-decayed roots, oftener than in England or France. It came down in a broad track from the Middle Ages; but, at epochs anterior14 to those, it was distinctly visible in the gloom of the period before chivalry15 put forth16 its flower; and further still, we are almost afraid to say, it was seen, though with a fainter and wavering course, in the early morn of Christendom, when the Roman Empire had hardly begun to show symptoms of decline. At that venerable distance, the heralds17 gave up the lineage in despair.
But where written record left the genealogy18 of Monte Beni, tradition took it up, and carried it without dread19 or shame beyond the Imperial ages into the times of the Roman republic; beyond those, again, into the epoch13 of kingly rule. Nor even so remotely among the mossy centuries did it pause, but strayed onward20 into that gray antiquity21 of which there is no token left, save its cavernous tombs, and a few bronzes, and some quaintly22 wrought23 ornaments24 of gold, and gems25 with mystic figures and inscriptions26. There, or thereabouts, the line was supposed to have had its origin in the sylvan27 life of Etruria, while Italy was yet guiltless of Rome.
Of course, as we regret to say, the earlier and very much the larger portion of this respectable descent—and the same is true of many briefer pedigrees—must be looked upon as altogether mythical28. Still, it threw a romantic interest around the unquestionable antiquity of the Monte Beni family, and over that tract29 of their own vines and fig-trees beneath the shade of which they had unquestionably dwelt for immemorial ages. And there they had laid the foundations of their tower, so long ago that one half of its height was said to be sunken under the surface and to hide subterranean30 chambers31 which once were cheerful with the olden sunshine.
One story, or myth, that had mixed itself up with their mouldy genealogy, interested the sculptor32 by its wild, and perhaps grotesque33, yet not unfascinating peculiarity34. He caught at it the more eagerly, as it afforded a shadowy and whimsical semblance35 of explanation for the likeness36 which he, with Miriam and Hilda, had seen or fancied between Donatello and the Faun of Praxiteles.
The Monte Beni family, as this legend averred37, drew their origin from the Pelasgic race, who peopled Italy in times that may be called prehistoric38. It was the same noble breed of men, of Asiatic birth, that settled in Greece; the same happy and poetic39 kindred who dwelt in Arcadia, and—whether they ever lived such life or not—enriched the world with dreams, at least, and fables40, lovely, if unsubstantial, of a Golden Age. In those delicious times, when deities41 and demigods appeared familiarly on earth, mingling42 with its inhabitants as friend with friend,—when nymphs, satyrs, and the whole train of classic faith or fable1 hardly took pains to hide themselves in the primeval woods,—at that auspicious43 period the lineage of Monte Beni had its rise. Its progenitor44 was a being not altogether human, yet partaking so largely of the gentlest human qualities, as to be neither awful nor shocking to the imagination. A sylvan creature, native among the woods, had loved a mortal maiden45, and—perhaps by kindness, and the subtile courtesies which love might teach to his simplicity46, or possibly by a ruder wooing—had won her to his haunts. In due time he gained her womanly affection; and, making their bridal bower47, for aught we know, in the hollow of a great tree, the pair spent a happy wedded48 life in that ancient neighborhood where now stood Donatello’s tower.
From this union sprang a vigorous progeny50 that took its place unquestioned among human families. In that age, however, and long afterwards, it showed the ineffaceable lineaments of its wild paternity: it was a pleasant and kindly51 race of men, but capable of savage52 fierceness, and never quite restrainable within the trammels of social law. They were strong, active, genial53, cheerful as the sunshine, passionate54 as the tornado55. Their lives were rendered blissful by art unsought harmony with nature.
But, as centuries passed away, the Faun’s wild blood had necessarily been attempered with constant intermixtures from the more ordinary streams of human life. It lost many of its original qualities, and served for the most part only to bestow56 an unconquerable vigor49, which kept the family from extinction57, and enabled them to make their own part good throughout the perils58 and rude emergencies of their interminable descent. In the constant wars with which Italy was plagued, by the dissensions of her petty states and republics, there was a demand for native hardihood.
The successive members of the Monte Beni family showed valor59 and policy enough’ at all events, to keep their hereditary possessions out of the clutch of grasping neighbors, and probably differed very little from the other feudal60 barons61 with whom they fought and feasted. Such a degree of conformity62 with the manners of the generations through which it survived, must have been essential to the prolonged continuance of the race.
It is well known, however, that any hereditary peculiarity—as a supernumerary finger, or an anomalous63 shape of feature, like the Austrian lip—is wont64 to show itself in a family after a very wayward fashion. It skips at its own pleasure along the line, and, latent for half a century or so, crops out again in a great-grandson. And thus, it was said, from a period beyond memory or record, there had ever and anon been a descendant of the Monte Benis bearing nearly all the characteristics that were attributed to the original founder65 of the race. Some traditions even went so far as to enumerate66 the ears, covered with a delicate fur, and shaped like a pointed67 leaf, among the proofs of authentic6 descent which were seen in these favored individuals. We appreciate the beauty of such tokens of a nearer kindred to the great family of nature than other mortals bear; but it would be idle to ask credit for a statement which might be deemed to partake so largely of the grotesque.
But it was indisputable that, once in a century or oftener, a son of Monte Beni gathered into himself the scattered68 qualities of his race, and reproduced the character that had been assigned to it from immemorial times. Beautiful, strong, brave, kindly, sincere, of honest impulses, and endowed with simple tastes and the love of homely69 pleasures, he was believed to possess gifts by which he could associate himself with the wild things of the forests, and with the fowls70 of the air, and could feel a sympathy even with the trees; among which it was his joy to dwell. On the other hand, there were deficiencies both of intellect and heart, and especially, as it seemed, in the development of the higher portion of man’s nature. These defects were less perceptible in early youth, but showed themselves more strongly with advancing age, when, as the animal spirits settled down upon a lower level, the representative of the Monte Benis was apt to become sensual, addicted72 to gross pleasures, heavy, unsympathizing, and insulated within the narrow limits of a surly selfishness.
A similar change, indeed, is no more than what we constantly observe to take place in persons who are not careful to substitute other graces for those which they inevitably73 lose along with the quick sensibility and joyous74 vivacity75 of youth. At worst, the reigning76 Count of Monte Beni, as his hair grew white, was still a jolly old fellow over his flask77 of wine, the wine that Bacchus himself was fabled78 to have taught his sylvan ancestor how to express, and from what choicest grapes, which would ripen79 only in a certain divinely favored portion of the Monte Beni vineyard.
The family, be it observed, were both proud and ashamed of these legends; but whatever part of them they might consent to incorporate into their ancestral history, they steadily80 repudiated81 all that referred to their one distinctive82 feature, the pointed and furry83 ears. In a great many years past, no sober credence84 had been yielded to the mythical portion of the pedigree. It might, however, be considered as typifying some such assemblage of qualities—in this case, chiefly remarkable85 for their simplicity and naturalness—as, when they reappear in successive generations, constitute what we call family character. The sculptor found, moreover, on the evidence of some old portraits, that the physical features of the race had long been similar to what he now saw them in Donatello. With accumulating years, it is true, the Monte Beni face had a tendency to look grim and savage; and, in two or three instances, the family pictures glared at the spectator in the eyes like some surly animal, that had lost its good humor when it outlived its playfulness.
The young Count accorded his guest full liberty to investigate the personal annals of these pictured worthies86, as well as all the rest of his progenitors87; and ample materials were at hand in many chests of worm-eaten papers and yellow parchments, that had been gathering88 into larger and dustier piles ever since the dark ages. But, to confess the truth, the information afforded by these musty documents was so much more prosaic89 than what Kenyon acquired from Tomaso’s legends, that even the superior authenticity90 of the former could not reconcile him to its dullness. What especially delighted the sculptor was the analogy between Donatello’s character, as he himself knew it, and those peculiar3 traits which the old butler’s narrative91 assumed to have been long hereditary in the race. He was amused at finding, too, that not only Tomaso but the peasantry of the estate and neighboring village recognized his friend as a genuine Monte Beni, of the original type. They seemed to cherish a great affection for the young Count, and were full of stories about his sportive childhood; how he had played among the little rustics93, and been at once the wildest and the sweetest of them all; and how, in his very infancy95, he had plunged96 into the deep pools of the streamlets and never been drowned, and had clambered to the topmost branches of tall trees without ever breaking his neck. No such mischance could happen to the sylvan child because, handling all the elements of nature so fearlessly and freely, nothing had either the power or the will to do him harm.
He grew up, said these humble97 friends, the playmate not only of all mortal kind, but of creatures of the woods; although, when Kenyon pressed them for some particulars of this latter mode of companionship, they could remember little more than a few anecdotes98 of a pet fox, which used to growl99 and snap at everybody save Donatello himself.
But they enlarged—and never were weary of the theme—upon the blithesome100 effects of Donatello’s presence in his rosy101 childhood and budding youth. Their hovels had always glowed like sunshine when he entered them; so that, as the peasants expressed it, their young master had never darkened a doorway102 in his life. He was the soul of vintage festivals. While he was a mere103 infant, scarcely able to run alone, it had been the custom to make him tread the winepress with his tender little feet, if it were only to crush one cluster of the grapes. And the grape-juice that gushed104 beneath his childish tread, be it ever so small in quantity, sufficed to impart a pleasant flavor to a whole cask of wine. The race of Monte Beni—so these rustic94 chroniclers assured the sculptor—had possessed105 the gift from the oldest of old times of expressing good wine from ordinary grapes, and a ravishing liquor from the choice growth of their vineyard.
In a word, as he listened to such tales as these, Kenyon could have imagined that the valleys and hillsides about him were a veritable Arcadia; and that Donatello was not merely a sylvan faun, but the genial wine god in his very person. Making many allowances for the poetic fancies of Italian peasants, he set it down for fact that his friend, in a simple way and among rustic folks, had been an exceedingly delightful106 fellow in his younger days.
But the contadini sometimes added, shaking their heads and sighing, that the young Count was sadly changed since he went to Rome. The village girls now missed the merry smile with which he used to greet them.
The sculptor inquired of his good friend Tomaso, whether he, too, had noticed the shadow which was said to have recently fallen over Donatello’s life.
“Ah, yes, Signore!” answered the old butler, “it is even so, since he came back from that wicked and miserable107 city. The world has grown either too evil, or else too wise and sad, for such men as the old Counts of Monte Beni used to be. His very first taste of it, as you see, has changed and spoilt my poor young lord. There had not been a single count in the family these hundred years or more, who was so true a Monte Beni, of the antique stamp, as this poor signorino; and now it brings the tears into my eyes to hear him sighing over a cup of Sunshine! Ah, it is a sad world now!”
“Then you think there was a merrier world once?” asked Kenyon.
“Surely, Signore,” said Tomaso; “a merrier world, and merrier Counts of Monte Beni to live in it! Such tales of them as I have heard, when I was a child on my grandfather’s knee! The good old man remembered a lord of Monte Beni—at least, he had heard of such a one, though I will not make oath upon the holy crucifix that my grandsire lived in his time who used to go into the woods and call pretty damsels out of the fountains, and out of the trunks of the old trees. That merry lord was known to dance with them a whole long summer afternoon! When shall we see such frolics in our days?”
“Not soon, I am afraid,” acquiesced108 the sculptor. “You are right, excellent Tomaso; the world is sadder now!”
And, in truth, while our friend smiled at these wild fables, he sighed in the same breath to think how the once genial earth produces, in every successive generation, fewer flowers than used to gladden the preceding ones. Not that the modes and seeming possibilities of human enjoyment109 are rarer in our refined and softened110 era,—on the contrary, they never before were nearly so abundant,—but that mankind are getting so far beyond the childhood of their race that they scorn to be happy any longer. A simple and joyous character can find no place for itself among the sage111 and sombre figures that would put his unsophisticated cheerfulness to shame. The entire system of man’s affairs, as at present established, is built up purposely to exclude the careless and happy soul. The very children would upbraid112 the wretched individual who should endeavor to take life and the world as w what we might naturally suppose them meant for—a place and opportunity for enjoyment.
It is the iron rule in our day to require an object and a purpose in life. It makes us all parts of a complicated scheme of progress, which can only result in our arrival at a colder and drearier113 region than we were born in. It insists upon everybody’s adding somewhat—a mite114, perhaps, but earned by incessant115 effort—to an accumulated pile of usefulness, of which the only use will be, to burden our posterity116 with even heavier thoughts and more inordinate117 labor118 than our own. No life now wanders like an unfettered stream; there is a mill-wheel for the tiniest rivulet119 to turn. We go all wrong, by too strenuous120 a resolution to go all right.
Therefore it was—so, at least, the sculptor thought, although partly suspicious of Donatello’s darker misfortune—that the young Count found it impossible nowadays to be what his forefathers121 had been. He could not live their healthy life of animal spirits, in their sympathy with nature, and brotherhood122 with all that breathed around them. Nature, in beast, fowl71, and tree, and earth, flood, and sky, is what it was of old; but sin, care, and self-consciousness have set the human portion of the world askew123; and thus the simplest character is ever the soonest to go astray.
“At any rate, Tomaso,” said Kenyon, doing his best to comfort the old man, “let us hope that your young lord will still enjoy himself at vintage time. By the aspect of the vineyard, I judge that this will be a famous year for the golden wine of Monte Beni. As long as your grapes produce that admirable liquor, sad as you think the world, neither the Count nor his guests will quite forget to smile.”
“Ah, Signore,” rejoined the butler with a sigh, “but he scarcely wets his lips with the sunny juice.”
“There is yet another hope,” observed Kenyon; “the young Count may fall in love, and bring home a fair and laughing wife to chase the gloom out of yonder old frescoed124 saloon. Do you think he could do a better thing, my good Tomaso?”
“Maybe not, Signore,” said the sage butler, looking earnestly at him; “and, maybe, not a worse!”
The sculptor fancied that the good old man had it partly in his mind to make some remark, or communicate some fact, which, on second thoughts, he resolved to keep concealed125 in his own breast. He now took his departure cellarward, shaking his white head and muttering to himself, and did not reappear till dinner-time, when he favored Kenyon, whom he had taken far into his good graces, with a choicer flask of Sunshine than had yet blessed his palate.
To say the truth, this golden wine was no unnecessary ingredient towards making the life of Monte Beni palatable126. It seemed a pity that Donatello did not drink a little more of it, and go jollily to bed at least, even if he should awake with an accession of darker melancholy127 the next morning.
Nevertheless, there was no lack of outward means for leading an agreeable life in the old villa92. Wandering musicians haunted the precincts of Monte Beni, where they seemed to claim a prescriptive right; they made the lawn and shrubbery tuneful with the sound of fiddle128, harp129, and flute130, and now and then with the tangled squeaking131 of a bagpipe132. Improvisatori likewise came and told tales or recited verses to the contadini—among whom Kenyon was often an auditor—after their day’s work in the vineyard. Jugglers, too, obtained permission to do feats133 of magic in the hall, where they set even the sage Tomaso, and Stella, Girolamo, and the peasant girls from the farmhouse134, all of a broad grin, between merriment and wonder. These good people got food and lodging135 for their pleasant pains, and some of the small wine of Tuscany, and a reasonable handful of the Grand Duke’s copper136 coin, to keep up the hospitable137 renown138 of Monte Beni. But very seldom had they the young Count as a listener or a spectator.
There were sometimes dances by moonlight on the lawn, but never since he came from Rome did Donatello’s presence deepen the blushes of the pretty contadinas, or his footstep weary out the most agile139 partner or competitor, as once it was sure to do.
Paupers—for this kind of vermin infested140 the house of Monte Beni worse than any other spot in beggar-haunted Italy—stood beneath all the windows, making loud supplication141, or even establishing themselves on the marble steps of the grand entrance. They ate and drank, and filled their bags, and pocketed the little money that was given them, and went forth on their devious142 ways, showering blessings143 innumerable on the mansion144 and its lord, and on the souls of his deceased forefathers, who had always been just such simpletons as to be compassionate145 to beggary. But, in spite of their favorable prayers, by which Italian philanthropists set great store, a cloud seemed to hang over these once Arcadian precincts, and to be darkest around the summit of the tower where Donatello was wont to sit and brood.
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1
fable
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| n.寓言；童话；神话 | |
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hereditary
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| adj.遗传的，遗传性的，可继承的，世袭的 | |
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peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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peculiarities
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| n. 特质, 特性, 怪癖, 古怪 | |
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genealogist
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| 系谱学者 | |
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authentic
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| a.真的，真正的；可靠的，可信的，有根据的 | |
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authenticating
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| v.证明是真实的、可靠的或有效的( authenticate的现在分词 )；鉴定，使生效 | |
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ancestry
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| n.祖先，家世 | |
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lapsed
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| adj.流失的，堕落的v.退步( lapse的过去式和过去分词 )；陷入；倒退；丧失 | |
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wilderness
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| n.杳无人烟的一片陆地、水等，荒漠 | |
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tangled
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| adj. 纠缠的，紊乱的 动词tangle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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riotous
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| adj.骚乱的；狂欢的 | |
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epoch
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| n.(新)时代；历元 | |
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anterior
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| adj.较早的；在前的 | |
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chivalry
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| n.骑士气概，侠义；（男人）对女人彬彬有礼，献殷勤 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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heralds
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| n.使者( herald的名词复数 )；预报者；预兆；传令官v.预示( herald的第三人称单数 )；宣布（好或重要） | |
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genealogy
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| n.家系，宗谱 | |
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dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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onward
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| adj.向前的，前进的；adv.向前，前进，在先 | |
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antiquity
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| n.古老；高龄；古物，古迹 | |
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quaintly
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| adv.古怪离奇地 | |
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wrought
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| v.引起；以…原料制作；运转；adj.制造的 | |
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ornaments
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| n.装饰( ornament的名词复数 )；点缀；装饰品；首饰v.装饰，点缀，美化( ornament的第三人称单数 ) | |
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gems
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| growth； economy； management； and customer satisfaction 增长 | |
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inscriptions
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| （作者）题词( inscription的名词复数 )； 献词； 碑文； 证劵持有人的登记 | |
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sylvan
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mythical
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| adj.神话的；虚构的；想像的 | |
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tract
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| n.传单，小册子，大片(土地或森林) | |
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subterranean
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| adj.地下的，地表下的 | |
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chambers
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| n.房间( chamber的名词复数 )；（议会的）议院；卧室；会议厅 | |
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sculptor
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grotesque
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| adj.怪诞的，丑陋的；n.怪诞的图案，怪人（物） | |
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peculiarity
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| n.独特性，特色；特殊的东西；怪癖 | |
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semblance
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likeness
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| n.相像，相似（之处） | |
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averred
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| v.断言( aver的过去式和过去分词 )；证实；证明…属实；作为事实提出 | |
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prehistoric
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| adj.（有记载的）历史以前的，史前的，古老的 | |
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poetic
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| adj.富有诗意的，有诗人气质的，善于抒情的 | |
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fables
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| n.寓言( fable的名词复数 )；神话，传说 | |
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deities
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| n.神，女神( deity的名词复数 )；神祗；神灵；神明 | |
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mingling
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| adj.混合的 | |
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auspicious
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| adj.吉利的；幸运的，吉兆的 | |
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progenitor
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| n.祖先，先驱 | |
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maiden
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| n.少女，处女；adj.未婚的，纯洁的，无经验的 | |
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simplicity
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| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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bower
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| n.凉亭，树荫下凉快之处；闺房；v.荫蔽 | |
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wedded
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| adj.正式结婚的；渴望…的，执著于…的v.嫁，娶，（与…）结婚( wed的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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vigor
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| n.活力，精力，元气 | |
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progeny
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| n.后代，子孙；结果 | |
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kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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genial
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| adj.亲切的，和蔼的，愉快的，脾气好的 | |
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passionate
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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55
tornado
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| n.飓风，龙卷风 | |
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56
bestow
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| v.把…赠与，把…授予；花费 | |
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57
extinction
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| n.熄灭，消亡，消灭，灭绝，绝种 | |
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58
perils
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| 极大危险( peril的名词复数 )； 危险的事（或环境） | |
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59
valor
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| n.勇气，英勇 | |
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60
feudal
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| adj.封建的，封地的，领地的 | |
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61
barons
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| 男爵( baron的名词复数 )； 巨头； 大王； 大亨 | |
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62
conformity
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| n.一致，遵从，顺从 | |
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63
anomalous
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| adj.反常的；不规则的 | |
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64
wont
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| adj.习惯于；v.习惯；n.习惯 | |
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65
Founder
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| n.创始者，缔造者 | |
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66
enumerate
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| v.列举，计算，枚举，数 | |
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67
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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68
scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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69
homely
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| adj.家常的，简朴的；不漂亮的 | |
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70
fowls
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| 鸟( fowl的名词复数 )； 禽肉； 既不是这； 非驴非马 | |
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71
fowl
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| n.家禽，鸡，禽肉 | |
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72
addicted
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| adj.沉溺于....的，对...上瘾的 | |
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73
inevitably
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| adv.不可避免地；必然发生地 | |
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74
joyous
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| adj.充满快乐的；令人高兴的 | |
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75
vivacity
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| n.快活，活泼，精神充沛 | |
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76
reigning
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| adj.统治的，起支配作用的 | |
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77
flask
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| n.瓶，火药筒，砂箱 | |
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78
fabled
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| adj.寓言中的，虚构的 | |
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79
ripen
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| vt.使成熟；vi.成熟 | |
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80
steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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81
repudiated
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| v.（正式地）否认( repudiate的过去式和过去分词 )；拒绝接受；拒绝与…往来；拒不履行（法律义务） | |
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82
distinctive
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| adj.特别的，有特色的，与众不同的 | |
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83
furry
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| adj.毛皮的；似毛皮的；毛皮制的 | |
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84
credence
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| n.信用，祭器台，供桌，凭证 | |
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85
remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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86
worthies
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| 应得某事物( worthy的名词复数 )； 值得做某事； 可尊敬的； 有（某人或事物）的典型特征 | |
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87
progenitors
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| n.祖先( progenitor的名词复数 )；先驱；前辈；原本 | |
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88
gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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89
prosaic
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| adj.单调的，无趣的 | |
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90
authenticity
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| n.真实性 | |
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91
narrative
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| n.叙述，故事；adj.叙事的，故事体的 | |
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92
villa
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| n.别墅，城郊小屋 | |
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93
rustics
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| n.有农村或村民特色的( rustic的名词复数 )；粗野的；不雅的；用粗糙的木材或树枝制作的 | |
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94
rustic
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| adj.乡村的，有乡村特色的；n.乡下人，乡巴佬 | |
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95
infancy
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| n.婴儿期；幼年期；初期 | |
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96
plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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97
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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anecdotes
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| n.掌故，趣闻，轶事( anecdote的名词复数 ) | |
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99
growl
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| v.（狗等）嗥叫，（炮等）轰鸣；n.嗥叫，轰鸣 | |
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100
blithesome
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| adj.欢乐的，愉快的 | |
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101
rosy
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| adj.美好的，乐观的，玫瑰色的 | |
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102
doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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103
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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104
gushed
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| v.喷，涌( gush的过去式和过去分词 )；滔滔不绝地说话 | |
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105
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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106
delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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107
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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108
acquiesced
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| v.默认，默许( acquiesce的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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109
enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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110
softened
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| （使）变软( soften的过去式和过去分词 )； 缓解打击； 缓和； 安慰 | |
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111
sage
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| n.圣人，哲人；adj.贤明的，明智的 | |
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112
upbraid
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| v.斥责，责骂，责备 | |
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113
drearier
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| 使人闷闷不乐或沮丧的( dreary的比较级 )； 阴沉的； 令人厌烦的； 单调的 | |
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114
mite
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| n.极小的东西；小铜币 | |
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115
incessant
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| adj.不停的，连续的 | |
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116
posterity
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| n.后裔，子孙，后代 | |
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117
inordinate
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| adj.无节制的；过度的 | |
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118
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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119
rivulet
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| n.小溪，小河 | |
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120
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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121
forefathers
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| n.祖先，先人；祖先，祖宗( forefather的名词复数 )；列祖列宗；前人 | |
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122
brotherhood
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| n.兄弟般的关系，手中情谊 | |
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123
askew
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| adv.斜地；adj.歪斜的 | |
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124
frescoed
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| 壁画( fresco的名词复数 )； 温壁画技法，湿壁画 | |
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125
concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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126
palatable
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| adj.可口的，美味的；惬意的 | |
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127
melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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128
fiddle
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| n.小提琴；vi.拉提琴；不停拨弄，乱动 | |
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129
harp
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| n.竖琴；天琴座 | |
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130
flute
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| n.长笛；v.吹笛 | |
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131
squeaking
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| v.短促地尖叫( squeak的现在分词 )；吱吱叫；告密；充当告密者 | |
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132
bagpipe
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| n.风笛 | |
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133
feats
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| 功绩，伟业，技艺( feat的名词复数 ) | |
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134
farmhouse
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| n.农场住宅（尤指主要住房） | |
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135
lodging
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| n.寄宿，住所；(大学生的)校外宿舍 | |
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136
copper
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| n.铜；铜币；铜器；adj.铜(制)的；(紫)铜色的 | |
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137
hospitable
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| adj.好客的；宽容的；有利的，适宜的 | |
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138
renown
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| n.声誉，名望 | |
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139
agile
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| adj.敏捷的，灵活的 | |
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140
infested
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| adj.为患的，大批滋生的（常与with搭配）v.害虫、野兽大批出没于( infest的过去式和过去分词 )；遍布于 | |
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141
supplication
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| n.恳求，祈愿，哀求 | |
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142
devious
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| adj.不坦率的，狡猾的；迂回的，曲折的 | |
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143
blessings
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| n.（上帝的）祝福( blessing的名词复数 )；好事；福分；因祸得福 | |
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144
mansion
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| n.大厦，大楼；宅第 | |
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145
compassionate
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| adj.有同情心的，表示同情的 | |
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