After putting myself in a dispassionate and judicial1 frame of mind by laying down these fixed2 preconceptions, I went to visit the Casa dei Bambini in the Franciscan Nunnery on the Via Giusti.
I half turn away in anticipatory4 discouragement from the task of attempting, for the benefit of American readers, any description of what I saw there. They will not believe it. I know they will not, because I myself, before I saw it with my own eyes,[8] would have discounted largely the most moderate statements on the subject. But even though stay-at-home people in other centuries may have salted liberally the tall stories of old-time travelers, they certainly had a taste for hearing them; and so possibly my plain account of what I saw that day may be read, even though it be to the accompaniment of incredulous exclamations5.
My first glimpse was of a gathering6 of about twenty-five children, so young that several of them looked like real babies to me. I found afterwards that the youngest was just under three, and the oldest just over six. They were scattered7 about over a large, high-ceilinged, airy room, furnished with tiny, lightly-framed tables and chairs which, however, by no means filled the floor. There were big tracts8 of open space, where some of the children knelt or sat on light rugs. One was lying down on his back, kicking his feet in the air. A low, cheerful hum of conversation filled the air.
As my companion and I came into the room I noticed first that there was not that stiffening9 into self-consciousness which is the inevitable10 concomitant of “visitors” in our own schoolrooms. Most of the children, absorbed in various queer-looking tasks, did not even glance up as we entered. Others, apparently11 resting in the intervals12 between games, looked over across the room at us, smiled welcomingly as I would at a visitor entering my house, and a little group near us ran up with outstretched hands, saying with a pleasant[9] accent of good-breeding, “Good-morning! Good-morning!” They then instantly went off about their own affairs, which were evidently of absorbing interest, for after that, except for an occasional friendly look or smile, or a momentary13 halt by my side to show me something, none of the little scholars paid the least attention to me.
Copyright 1912, by Carl R. Byoir
Now I myself, like all the American matrons of my circle of acquaintances, am laboring15 conscientiously16 to teach my children “good manners,” but I decided17, on the instant, nothing would induce me to collect twenty children of our town and have a Montessori teacher enter the room to be greeted by them. The contrast would be too painful. These were mostly children of very poor, ignorant, and utterly18 untrained parents, and ours are children of people who flatter themselves that they are the opposite of all that; but I shuddered19 to think of the long silent, discourteous20 stare which is the only recognition of the presence of a visitor in our schools. And yet I felt at once that I was attaching too much importance to a detail, the merest trifle, the slightest, most superficial indication of the life beneath. We Anglo-Saxons notice too acutely, I thought, these surface differences of manner.
But, on the other hand, I was forced to consider that I knew from bitter experience that children of that age are still near enough babyhood to be absolutely primeval in their sincerity21, and that it is practically impossible to make them, with any certainty[10] of the result, go through a form of courtesy which they do not feel genuinely. Also I observed that no one had pushed the children towards us, as I push mine, toward a chance visitor, with the command accompanied by an inward prayer for obedience22, “Go and shake hands with Mrs. Blank.”
In fact, I noticed it for the first time, there seemed no one there to push the children or to refrain from doing it. That collection of little tots, most of them too busy over their mysterious occupations even to talk, seemed, as far as a casual glance over the room went, entirely23 without supervision24. Finally, from a corner, where she had been sitting (on the floor apparently) beside a child, there rose up a plainly-dressed woman, the expression of whose quiet face made almost as great an impression on me as the children’s greetings had. I had always joined with heartfelt sympathy in the old cry of “Heaven help the poor teachers!” and in our town, where we all know and like the teachers personally, their exhausted25 condition of almost utter nervous collapse26 by the end of the teaching year is a painful element in our community life. But I felt no impulse to sympathize with this woman with untroubled eyes who, perceiving us for the first time, came over to shake hands with us. Instead, I felt a curious pang27 of envy, such as once or twice in my sentimental28 and stormy girlhood I felt at the sight of the peaceful face of a nun3. I am now quite past the possibility of envying the life of a nun, but I must admit that it suddenly occurred[11] to me, as I looked at that quiet, smiling Italian woman, that somehow my own life, for all its full happiness, must lack some element of orderliness, of discipline, of spiritual economy which alone could have put that look of calm certainty on her face. It was not the passive, changeless peace that one sees in the eyes of some nuns, but a sort of rich, full-blooded confidence in life.
She lingered beside us some moments, chatting with my companion, who was an old friend of hers, and who introduced her as Signorina Ballerini. I noticed that she happened to stand all the time with her back to the children, feeling apparently none of that lion-tamer’s instinct to keep an hypnotic eye on the little animals which is so marked in our instructors29. I can remember distinctly that there was for us school-children actually a different feel to the air and a strange look on the familiar school-furniture during those infrequent intervals when the teacher was called for an instant from the room and left us, as in a suddenly rarefied atmosphere, giddy with the removal of the pressure of her eye; but when this teacher turned about casually30 to face the room again, these children did not seem to notice either that she had stopped looking at them or that she was now doing it again.
We used to know, as by a sixth sense, exactly where, at any moment, the teacher was, and a sudden movement on her part would have made us all start as violently and as instinctively31 as little chicks at[12] the sudden shadow of a hawk32 ... and this, although we were often very fond indeed of our teachers. Remembering this, I noticed with surprise that often, when one of these little ones lifted his face from his work to ask the teacher a question, he had been so unconscious of her presence during his concentration on his enterprise that he did not know in the least where to look, and sent his eager eyes roving over the big room in a search for her, which ended in such a sudden flash of joy at discovering her that I felt again a pang of envy for this woman who had so many more loving children than I have.
What could be these “games” which so absorbed these children, far too young for any possibility of pretense33 on their part? Moving with the unhampered, unobserved ease which is the rule in a Montessori schoolroom, I began walking about, looking more closely at what the children were holding, and I could have laughed at the simplicity34 of many of the means which accomplished35 the apparent miracle of self-imposed order and discipline before me ... if I had not been ready to cry at my own stupidity for not thinking of them myself. One little boy about three and a half years old had been intent on some operation ever since we had entered the room, and even now as I drew near his little table and chair, he only glanced up for an instant’s smile without stopping the action of his fingers. I leaned over him, hoping that the device which so held his attention was not too complicated[13] for my inexperienced, unpedagogical mind to take in. He was holding a light wooden frame about eighteen inches square, on which were stretched two pieces of cotton cloth, meeting down the middle like the joining of a garment. On one of these edges was a row of buttonholes and on the other a row of large bone buttons. The child was absorbed in buttoning and unbuttoning those two pieces of cloth.
He was new at the game, that was to be seen by the clumsy, misdirected motions of his baby fingers, but the process of his improvement was so apparent as, his eyes shining with interest, he buttoned and unbuttoned steadily36, slowly, without an instant’s interruption, that I watched him, almost as fascinated as he. A child near us, apparently playing with blocks, upset them with a loud noise, but my buttoning boy, wrapped in his magic cloak of concentration, did not so much as raise his eyes. I myself could not look away, and as I gazed I thought of the many times a little child of mine had tried to learn the secret of the innumerable fastenings which hold her clothes together and how I, with the kindest impulse in the world, had stopped her fumbling37 little fingers saying, “No, dear, Mother can do that so much better. Let Mother do it.” It occurred to me now that the situation was very much as if, in the midst of a fascinating game of billiards38, a professional player had snatched the cue from my husband’s hands, saying, “You just stand and watch me do this. I can do it much better than you.”
[14]The child before me stopped his work a moment and looked down at his little cotton waist. There was a row of buttons there, smaller but of the same family as those on the frame. As he gazed down, absorbed, at them, I could see a great idea dawn in his face. I leaned forward. He attacked the middle button, using with startling exactitude of imitation the same motion he had learned on his frame. But this button was not so large or so well placed. He had to bend his head over, his fingers were cramped39, he made several movements backward. But then suddenly the first half of his undertaking40 was accomplished. The button was on one side, the buttonhole on the other. I held my breath. He set to work again. The cloth slipped from his boneless little fingers, the button twisted itself awry41, I fairly ached with the idiotic42 habit of years of interference to snatch it and do it for him. And then I saw that he was slowly forcing it into place. When the bone disk finally shone out, round and whole, on the far side of the buttonhole, the child drew a long breath and looked up at me with so ecstatic a face of triumph that I could have shouted, “Hurrah!” Then, without paying any more attention to me, he rose, sauntered over to a corner of the room where a thick piece of felt covered the floor, and lay down on his back, his hands clasped under his head, gazing with tranquil44, reposeful45 vacuity46 at the ceiling. He was resting himself after accomplishing a great step forward. I did not fail to notice that, except for my[15] entirely fortuitous observation of his performance, nobody had seen his absorption any more than they now saw his apparent idleness.
I tucked all these observations away in a corner of my mind for future reflection, and moved on to the nearest child, a little girl, perhaps a year older than the boy, who was absorbed as eagerly as he over a similar light wooden frame, covered with two pieces of cloth. But these were fastened together with pieces of ribbon which the child was tying and untying47. There was no fumbling here. As rapidly, as deftly48, with as careless a light-hearted ease as a pianist running over his scales, she was making a series of the flattest, most regular bow-knots, much better, I knew in my heart, than I could accomplish at anything like that speed. Although she had advanced beyond the stage of intent struggle with her material, her interest and pleasure in her own skill was manifest. She looked up at me, and then smiled proudly down at her flying fingers.
Beyond her another little boy, with a leather-covered frame, was laboriously49 inserting shoe-buttons into their buttonholes with the aid of an ordinary button-hook. As I looked at him, he left off, and stooping over his shoes, tried to apply the same system to their buttons. That was too much for him. After a prolonged struggle he gave it up for the time, returning, however, to the buttons on his frame with entirely undiminished ardor50.
Next to him sat a little girl, with a pile of small[16] pieces of money before her on her tiny table. She was engaged in sorting these into different piles according to their size, and, though I stood by her some time, laughing at the passion of accuracy which fired her, she was so absorbed that she did not even notice my presence. As I turned away I almost stumbled over a couple of children sitting on the floor, engaged in some game with a variety of blocks which looked new to me. They were ten squared rods of equal thickness, of which the shortest looked to be a tenth the length of the longest, and the others of regularly diminishing lengths between these two extremes. These were painted in alternate stripes of red and blue, these stripes being the same width as the shortest rod. The children were putting these together in consecutive51 order so as to make a sort of series, and although they were evidently much too young to count, they were aiding themselves by touching52 with their fingers each of the painted stripes, and verifying in this way the length of the rod. I could not follow this process, although it was plainly something arithmetical, and turned to ask the teacher about it.
I saw her across the room engaged in tying a bandage about a child’s eyes. Wondering if this were some new, scientific form of punishment, I stepped to that part of the room and watched the subsequent proceedings53. The child, his lips curved in an expectant smile, even laughing a little in pleasant excitement, turned his blindfolded54 face to a pile of small pieces of cloth[17] before him. Several children, walking past, stopped and hung over the edge of his desk with lively interest. The boy drew out from the pile a piece of velvet55. He felt of this intently, running the sensitive tips of his fingers lightly over the nap, and cocking his head on one side in deep thought. The child-spectators gazed at him with sympathetic attention. When he gave the right name, they all smiled and nodded their heads in satisfaction. He drew out another piece from the big pile, coarse cotton cloth this time, which he instantly recognized; then a square of satin over which his little finger-tips wandered with evident sensuous56 pleasure. His successful naming of this was too much for his envious57 little spectators. They turned and fled toward the teacher and when I reached her, she was the center of a little group of children, all clamoring to be blindfolded.
“How they do love that exercise!” she said, looking after them with shining eyes ... I could have sworn, with mother’s eyes!
“Are you too busy and hurried,” I asked, “to explain to me the game those children are playing with the red and blue rods?”
She answered with some surprise, “Oh, no, I’m not busy and hurried at all!” (quite as though we were not all living in the twentieth century) and went on, “The children can come and find me if they need me.”
So I had my first lesson in the theory of self-education and self-dependence underlying58 the Montessori[18] apparatus59, to the accompaniment of occasional requests for aid, or demands for sympathy over an achievement, made in clear, baby treble. That theory will be taken up later in this book, as this chapter is intended only to be a plain narration60 of a few of the sights encountered by an ordinary observer in a morning in a Montessori school.
After a time I noticed that four little girls were sitting at a neatly61-ordered small table, spread with a white cloth, apparently eating their luncheons63. The teacher, in answer to my inquiring glance at them, explained that it was their turn to be the waitresses that day, for the children’s lunch, and so they ate their own meal first.
She was called away just then, and I sat looking at the roomful of busy children, listening to the pleasant murmur64 of their chats together, watching them move freely about as they liked, noting their absorbed, happy concentration on their tasks. Already some of the sense of the miraculous65 which had been so vivid in my mind during my first survey of the school was dulled, or rather, explained away. Now that I had seen some of the details composing the picture, the whole seemed more natural. It was not surprising, for instance, that the little girl sorting the pieces of money should not instead be pulling another child’s hair, or wandering in aimless and potentially naughty idleness about the room. It was not necessary either to force or exhort66 her to be a quiet and untroublesome citizen of that little republic. She[19] would no more leave her fascinating occupation to go and “be naughty” than a professor of chemistry would leave an absorbing experiment in his laboratory to go and rob a candy-store. In both cases it would be leaving the best sort of a “good time” for a much less enjoyable undertaking.
In the midst of these reflections (my first glimmer67 of understanding of what it was all about), a lively march on the piano was struck up. Not a word was spoken by the teacher, indeed I had not yet heard her voice raised a single time to make a collective remark to the whole body of children, but at once, acting68 on the impulse which moves us all to run down the street towards the sound of a brass69 band, most of the children stopped their work and ran towards the open floor-space near the piano. Some of the older ones, of five, formed a single-file line, which was rapidly recruited by the monkey-like imitativeness of the little ones, into a long file. The music was martial70, the older children held their heads high and stamped loudly as they marched about, keeping time very accurately71 to the strongly marked rhythm of the tune72. The little tots did their baby best to copy their big brothers and sisters, some of them merely laughing and stamping up and down without any reference to the time, others evidently noticing a difference between their actions and those of the older ones, and trying to move their feet more regularly.
No one had suggested that they leave their work-tables to play in this way (indeed a few too absorbed[20] to heed73 the call of the music still hung intently over their former occupations), no one suggested that they step in time to the music, no one corrected them when they did not. The music suddenly changed from a swinging marching air to a low, rhythmical74 croon. The older children instantly stopped stamping and began trotting75 noiselessly about on their tiptoes, imitated again as slavishly as possible by the admiring smaller ones. The uncertain control of their equilibrium76 by these littler ones, made them stagger about, as they practised this new exercise, like the little bacchantes, intoxicated77 with rhythm, which their glowing faces of delight seemed to proclaim them.
I was penetrated78 with that poignant79, almost tearful sympathy in their intense enjoyment80 which children’s pleasure awakens81 in every adult who has to do with them. “Ah, what a good time they are having!” I cried to myself, and then reflected that they had been having some sort of very good time ever since I had come into the room. And yet even my unpractised eye could see a difference between this good time and the kindergarten, charming as that is to watch. No prettily-dressed, energetic, thoroughgoing young lady had beckoned82 the children away from their self-chosen occupations. There was no set circle here with the lovely teacher in the middle, and every child’s eyes fastened constantly on her nearly always delightful83 but also overpoweringly developed adult personality. There was no set “game” being played, the discontinuation of which depended on the[21] teacher’s more or less accurate guess at when the children were becoming tired. Indeed, as I reflected on this, I noticed that, although the bigger ones were continuing their musical march with undiminished pleasure, the younger ones had already exhausted the small amount of consecutive interest their infant organisms are capable of, and, without spoiling the fun for the others, indeed without being observed, had suddenly stopped dancing and prancing84 as suddenly as they began and, with the kitten-like fitfulness of their age, were wandering away in groups of two and three out to the great, open courtyard.
I suppose they went on playing quieter games there, but I did not follow them, so absorbed was I in watching the four little girls who had now at last finished their very leisurely85 meal and were preparing the tables for the other children. They were about four and a half and five years old, an age at which I would have thought children as capable of solving a problem in calculus86 as of undertaking, without supervision, to set tables for twenty other babies. They went at their undertaking with no haste, indeed with a slowness which my racial impatience87 found absolutely excruciating. They paused constantly for prolonged consultations88, and to verify and correct themselves as they laid the knife, fork, spoon, plate, and napkin at each place. Interested as I was, and beginning, as I did, to understand a little of the ideas of the school, I still was so under the domination of my lifetime of over-emphasis on the importance of the[22] immediate89 result of an action, that I felt the same impulse I had restrained with difficulty beside the buttoning boy—to snatch the things from their incompetent90 little hands and whisk them into place on the tables.
But then I noticed that the clock showed only a little after eleven, and that evidently the routine of the school was planned expressly so that there would be no need for haste.
The phrase struck my mental ear curiously91, and arrested my attention. I reflected on that condition with the astonished awe92 of a modern, meeting it almost for the first time. “No need for haste”—it was like being transported into the timeless ease of eternity93.
And then I fell to asking myself why there was always so much need for haste in my own life and in that of my children? Was it, after all, so necessary? What were we hurrying so to accomplish? I remembered my scorn of the parties of Cook’s tourists, clattering94 into the Sistine Chapel95 for a momentary glance at the achievement of a lifetime of genius, painted on the ceiling, and then galloping96 out again for a hop-skip-and-jump race down through the Stanze of Raphael. It occurred to me, disquietingly, that possibly, instead of really training my children, I might be dragging them headlong on a Cook’s tour through life. It also occurred to me that if the Montessori ideas were taken up in my family, the children would not be the only ones to profit by them.
The Meal Hour.
Copyright 1912, by Carl R. Byoir
[23]When I emerged from this brown study, the little girls had finished their task and there stood before me tables set for twenty little people, set neatly and regularly, without an item missing. The children, called in from their play in the courtyard, came marching along (they do take collective action when collective interests genuinely demand it) and sat down without suggestions, each, I suppose, at the place he had occupied while working at those same tiny tables. I held my breath to see the four little waitresses enter the room, each carrying a big tureen full of hot soup. I would not have trusted a child of that age to carry a glass of water across a room. The little girls advanced slowly, their eyes fixed on the contents of their tureens, their attention so concentrated on their all-important enterprise that they seemed entirely oblivious97 of the outer world. A fly lighted on the nose of one of these solemnly absorbed babies. She twisted the tip of that feature, making the most grotesque99 grimaces100 in her effort to dislodge the tickling101 intruder, but not until she had reached a table and set down her sacred tureen in safety, did she raise her hand to her face. I revised on the instant all my fixed convictions about the innate102 heedlessness and lack of self-control of early childhood; especially as she turned at once to her task of ladling out the soup into the plates of the children at her table, a feat98 which she accomplished as deftly as any adult could have done.
The napkins were unfolded, the older children[24] tucked them under their chins and began to eat their soup. The younger ones imitated them more or less handily, though with some the process meant quite a struggle with the napkin. One little boy, only one in all that company, could not manage his. After wrestling with it, he brought it to the teacher, who had dropped down on a chair near mine. So sure was I of what her action inevitably103 would be, that I fairly felt my own hands automatically follow hers in the familiar motions of tucking a napkin under a child’s round chin.
I cannot devise any way to set down on paper with sufficient emphasis the fact that she did not tuck that napkin in. She held it up in her hands, showed the child how to take hold of a larger part of the corner than he had been grasping, and, illustrating104 on herself, gave him an object-lesson. Then she gave it back to him. He had caught the idea evidently, but his undisciplined little fingers, out of sight there, under his chin, would not follow the direction of his brain, though that was evidently, from the grave intentness of his baby face, working at top speed. With a sigh, that irresistible105 sigh of the little child, he took out the crumpled106 bit of linen107 and looked at it sadly. I clasped my hands together tightly to keep them from flying at him and accomplishing the operation in a twinkling. Why, the poor child’s soup was getting cold!
Again I wish to reiterate108 the statement that the teacher did not tuck that napkin in. She took it[25] once more and went through very slowly all the necessary movements. The child’s big, black eyes fastened on her in a passion of attention, and I noticed that his little empty hands followed automatically the slow, distinctly separated, analyzed109 movements of the teacher’s hands. When she gave the napkin back to him, he seized it with an air of resolution which would have done honor to Napoleon, grasping it firmly and holding his wandering baby-wits together with the aid of a determined110 frown. He pulled his collar away from his neck with one hand and, still frowning determinedly111, thrust a large segment of the napkin down with the other, spreading out the remainder on his chest, with a long sigh of utter satisfaction, which went to my heart. As he trotted112 back to his place, I noticed that the incident had been observed by several of the children near us, on whose smiling faces, as they looked at their triumphant113 little comrade, I could see the reflection of my own gratified sympathy. One of them reached out and patted the napkin as its proud wearer passed.
But I had not been all the morning in that children’s home, perfect, though not made with a mother’s hands, without having my mother’s jealousy114 sharply aroused. A number of things had been stirring up protests in my mind. I was alarmed at the sight of all these babies, happy, wisely occupied, perfectly115 good, and learning unconsciously the best sort of lessons, and yet in an atmosphere differing so entirely from all my preconceived ideas of a home. All[26] this might be all very well for Italian mothers so poor that they were obliged to leave their children in order to go out and help earn the family living; or for English mothers, who expect as a matter of course that their little children shall spend most of their time with nurse-maids and governesses. But I could not spare my children, I told myself. I asked nothing better than to have them with me every moment they were awake. What was to be done about this ominously116 excellent institution which seemed to treat the children more wisely than I, for all my efforts? I felt an uneasy, apprehensive117 hostility118 towards these methods, contrasting so entirely with mine, for mine were, I assured myself hotly, based on the most absolute, supreme119 mother’s love for the child.
I now turned to the teacher and said protestingly, “That would have been a very little thing to do for a child.”
She laughed. “I’m not his nurse-maid. I’m his teacher,” she replied.
She did not deny this, but she did not seem as struck as I was by the importance of the fact. She answered whimsically, “Ah, one must remember not to obtrude120 one’s adult materialism121 into the idealistic world of children. He is so happy over his victory over himself that he wouldn’t notice if his soup were iced.”
The Morning Clean-up.
Waiter Carrying Soup.
Copyright 1912, by Carl R. Byoir
“But warm soup is a good thing, a very good[27] thing,” I insisted, “and you have literally122 robbed him of his. More than that, I seem to see that all this insistence123 on self-dependence for children must interfere43 with a great many desirable regularities124 of family life.”
She looked at me indulgently. “Yes, warm soup is a good thing, but is it such a very important thing? According to our adult standards it is more palatable125, but it’s really about as good food if eaten cold, isn’t it? And, anyhow, he eats it cold only this once. You’d snatch him away from his plate of warm soup without scruple126 if you thought he was sitting in a draught127 and would take cold. Isn’t his moral health as important as his physical?”
“But it might be very inconvenient128 for someone else, in an ordinary home, to wait so interminably for him to learn to wait on himself.”
Her answer was a home-thrust. “If it’s too much trouble to give him the best conditions at home, wouldn’t he be better sent to a Casa dei Bambini, which has no other aim than to have things just right for his development?”
This silenced me for a time. I turned away, but was recalled by her remarking, “Besides, I’ve put him more in the way of getting his soup hot from now on, than you would, by tucking in his napkin and sending him back at once. To-day’s plateful would have been warm; but how about to-morrow and the day after, and so on, unless you, or some other grown-up happened to be at hand to wait on him. And[28] on my part, what could I do, if all twenty-five of the children were helpless?”
I seized on this opportunity to voice some of the mother’s jealousy which underlay129 all my extreme admiration130 and astonishment131 at the sights of the morning, “If you didn’t keep such an octopus132 clutch on the children, separating them all day in this way from their own families, if they were sent home to eat their luncheons, why, there would be mothers enough to go around. They would be only too glad to tuck the little napkins in!”
The teacher looked at me, level-browed, and said, with a dry, enigmatic accent which made me reflect uneasily, long afterwards, on her words, “They certainly would. Do you really think that would be an improvement?”
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| adj.司法的，法庭的，审判的，明断的，公正的 | |
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fixed
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nun
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anticipatory
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exclamations
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| n.呼喊( exclamation的名词复数 )；感叹；感叹语；感叹词 | |
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gathering
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scattered
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tracts
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| 大片土地( tract的名词复数 )； 地带； （体内的）道； （尤指宣扬宗教、伦理或政治的）短文 | |
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stiffening
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inevitable
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apparently
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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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momentary
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| adj.片刻的，瞬息的；短暂的 | |
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nuns
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| n.（通常指基督教的）修女， （佛教的）尼姑( nun的名词复数 ) | |
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laboring
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| n.劳动，操劳v.努力争取(for)( labor的现在分词 )；苦干；详细分析；（指引擎）缓慢而困难地运转 | |
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conscientiously
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| adv.凭良心地；认真地，负责尽职地；老老实实 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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18
utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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19
shuddered
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| v.战栗( shudder的过去式和过去分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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20
discourteous
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| adj.不恭的，不敬的 | |
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21
sincerity
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| n.真诚，诚意；真实 | |
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22
obedience
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| n.服从，顺从 | |
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23
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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24
supervision
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| n.监督，管理 | |
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25
exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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26
collapse
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| vi.累倒；昏倒；倒塌；塌陷 | |
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27
pang
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| n.剧痛，悲痛，苦闷 | |
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28
sentimental
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| adj.多愁善感的，感伤的 | |
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29
instructors
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| 指导者，教师( instructor的名词复数 ) | |
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30
casually
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| adv.漠不关心地，无动于衷地，不负责任地 | |
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31
instinctively
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| adv.本能地 | |
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32
hawk
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| n.鹰，骗子；鹰派成员 | |
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33
pretense
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| n.矫饰，做作，借口 | |
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34
simplicity
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| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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35
accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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36
steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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37
fumbling
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| n. 摸索,漏接 v. 摸索,摸弄,笨拙的处理 | |
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38
billiards
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| n.台球 | |
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39
cramped
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| a.狭窄的 | |
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40
undertaking
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| n.保证，许诺，事业 | |
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41
awry
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| adj.扭曲的，错的 | |
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42
idiotic
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| adj.白痴的 | |
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43
interfere
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| v.(in)干涉，干预；(with)妨碍，打扰 | |
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44
tranquil
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| adj. 安静的, 宁静的, 稳定的, 不变的 | |
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45
reposeful
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| adj.平稳的，沉着的 | |
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46
vacuity
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| n.(想象力等)贫乏，无聊，空白 | |
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47
untying
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| untie的现在分词 | |
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48
deftly
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| adv.灵巧地，熟练地，敏捷地 | |
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49
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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50
ardor
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| n.热情，狂热 | |
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51
consecutive
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| adj.连续的，联贯的，始终一贯的 | |
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52
touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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53
proceedings
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| n.进程，过程，议程；诉讼(程序)；公报 | |
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54
blindfolded
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| v.（尤指用布）挡住（某人）的视线( blindfold的过去式 )；蒙住（某人）的眼睛；使不理解；蒙骗 | |
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55
velvet
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| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
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56
sensuous
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| adj.激发美感的；感官的，感觉上的 | |
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57
envious
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| adj.嫉妒的，羡慕的 | |
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58
underlying
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| adj.在下面的，含蓄的，潜在的 | |
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59
apparatus
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| n.装置，器械；器具，设备 | |
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60
narration
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| n.讲述，叙述；故事；记叙体 | |
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61
neatly
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| adv.整洁地，干净地，灵巧地，熟练地 | |
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62
luncheon
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| n.午宴，午餐，便宴 | |
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63
luncheons
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| n.午餐，午宴( luncheon的名词复数 ) | |
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64
murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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65
miraculous
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| adj.像奇迹一样的，不可思议的 | |
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66
exhort
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| v.规劝，告诫 | |
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67
glimmer
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| v.发出闪烁的微光；n.微光，微弱的闪光 | |
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68
acting
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| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
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69
brass
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| n.黄铜；黄铜器，铜管乐器 | |
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70
martial
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| adj.战争的，军事的，尚武的，威武的 | |
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71
accurately
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| adv.准确地，精确地 | |
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72
tune
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| n.调子；和谐，协调；v.调音，调节，调整 | |
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73
heed
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| v.注意，留意；n.注意，留心 | |
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74
rhythmical
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| adj.有节奏的，有韵律的 | |
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75
trotting
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| 小跑，急走( trot的现在分词 )； 匆匆忙忙地走 | |
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76
equilibrium
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| n.平衡，均衡，相称，均势，平静 | |
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77
intoxicated
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| 喝醉的，极其兴奋的 | |
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78
penetrated
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| adj. 击穿的，鞭辟入里的 动词penetrate的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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79
poignant
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| adj.令人痛苦的，辛酸的，惨痛的 | |
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80
enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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81
awakens
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| v.（使）醒( awaken的第三人称单数 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
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82
beckoned
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| v.（用头或手的动作）示意，召唤( beckon的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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83
delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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84
prancing
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| v.（马）腾跃( prance的现在分词 ) | |
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85
leisurely
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| adj.悠闲的；从容的，慢慢的 | |
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86
calculus
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| n.微积分；结石 | |
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87
impatience
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| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
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88
consultations
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| n.磋商（会议）( consultation的名词复数 )；商讨会；协商会；查找 | |
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89
immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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90
incompetent
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| adj.无能力的，不能胜任的 | |
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91
curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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92
awe
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| n.敬畏，惊惧；vt.使敬畏，使惊惧 | |
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93
eternity
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| n.不朽，来世；永恒，无穷 | |
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94
clattering
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| 发出咔哒声（clatter的现在分词形式） | |
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95
chapel
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| n.小教堂，殡仪馆 | |
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96
galloping
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| adj. 飞驰的, 急性的 动词gallop的现在分词形式 | |
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97
oblivious
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| adj.易忘的，遗忘的，忘却的，健忘的 | |
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98
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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99
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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100
grimaces
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| n.（表蔑视、厌恶等）面部扭曲，鬼脸( grimace的名词复数 )v.扮鬼相，做鬼脸( grimace的第三人称单数 ) | |
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101
tickling
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| 反馈，回授，自旋挠痒法 | |
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102
innate
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| adj.天生的，固有的，天赋的 | |
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103
inevitably
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| adv.不可避免地；必然发生地 | |
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104
illustrating
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| 给…加插图( illustrate的现在分词 )； 说明； 表明； （用示例、图画等）说明 | |
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105
irresistible
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| adj.非常诱人的，无法拒绝的，无法抗拒的 | |
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106
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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107
linen
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| n.亚麻布，亚麻线，亚麻制品；adj.亚麻布制的，亚麻的 | |
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108
reiterate
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| v.重申，反复地说 | |
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109
analyzed
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| v.分析( analyze的过去式和过去分词 )；分解；解释；对…进行心理分析 | |
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110
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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111
determinedly
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| adv.决意地；坚决地，坚定地 | |
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112
trotted
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| 小跑，急走( trot的过去分词 )； 匆匆忙忙地走 | |
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113
triumphant
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| adj.胜利的，成功的；狂欢的，喜悦的 | |
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114
jealousy
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| n.妒忌，嫉妒，猜忌 | |
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115
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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116
ominously
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| adv.恶兆地，不吉利地；预示地 | |
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117
apprehensive
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| adj.担心的，恐惧的，善于领会的 | |
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118
hostility
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| n.敌对，敌意；抵制［pl.］交战，战争 | |
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119
supreme
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| adj.极度的，最重要的；至高的，最高的 | |
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120
obtrude
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| v.闯入；侵入；打扰 | |
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121
materialism
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| n.［哲］唯物主义，唯物论；物质至上 | |
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122
literally
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| adv.照字面意义，逐字地；确实 | |
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123
insistence
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| n.坚持；强调；坚决主张 | |
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124
regularities
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| 规则性( regularity的名词复数 )； 正规； 有规律的事物； 端正 | |
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125
palatable
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| adj.可口的，美味的；惬意的 | |
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126
scruple
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| n./v.顾忌，迟疑 | |
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127
draught
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| n.拉，牵引，拖；一网（饮，吸，阵)；顿服药量，通风；v.起草，设计 | |
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128
inconvenient
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| adj.不方便的，令人感到麻烦的 | |
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129
underlay
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| v.位于或存在于（某物）之下( underlie的过去式 )；构成…的基础（或起因），引起n.衬垫物 | |
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130
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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131
astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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132
octopus
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| n.章鱼 | |
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