During this whole day we — Yves, Chrysanthème, Oyouki and myself — have spent the time wandering through dark and dusty nooks, dragged hither and thither1 by four quick-footed djins, in search of antiquities2 in the bric-a-brac shops.
Toward sunset, Chrysanthème, who has wearied me more than ever since morning, and who doubtless has perceived it, pulls a very long face, declares herself ill, and begs leave to spend the night with her mother, Madame Renoncule.
I agree to this with the best grace in the world; let her go, tiresome3 little mousme! Oyouki will carry a message to her parents, who will shut up our rooms; we shall spend the evening, Yves and I, in roaming about as fancy takes us, without any mousme dragging at our heels, and shall afterward4 regain5 our own quarters on board the ‘Triomphante’, without having the trouble of climbing up that hill.
First of all, we make an attempt to dine together in some fashionable tea-house. Impossible! not a place is to be had; all the absurd paper rooms, all the compartments6 contrived7 by so many ingenious tricks of slipping and sliding panels, all the nooks and corners in the little gardens are filled with Japanese men and women eating impossible and incredible little dishes. Numberless young dandies are dining tete-a-tete with the ladies of their choice, and sounds of dancing-girls and music issue from the private rooms.
The fact is, to-day is the third and last day of the great pilgrimage to the temple of the jumping Tortoise, of which we saw the beginning yesterday; and all Nagasaki is at this time given over to amusement.
At the tea-house of the Indescribable Butterflies, which is also full to overflowing8, but where we are well known, they have had the bright idea of throwing a temporary flooring over the little lake — the pond where the goldfish live — and our meal is served here, in the pleasant freshness of the fountain which continues its murmur9 under our feet.
After dinner, we follow the faithful and ascend10 again to the temple.
Up there we find the same elfin revelry, the same masks, the same music. We seat ourselves, as before, under a gauze tent and sip11 odd little drinks tasting of flowers. But this evening we are alone, and the absence of the band of mousmes, whose familiar little faces formed a bond of union between this holiday-making people and ourselves, separates and isolates12 us more than usual from the profusion13 of oddities in the midst of which we seem to be lost. Beneath us lies always the immense blue background: Nagasaki illumined by moonlight, and the expanse of silvered, glittering water, which seems like a vaporous vision suspended in mid-air. Behind us is the great open temple, where the bonzes officiate, to the accompaniment of sacred bells and wooden clappers-looking, from where we sit, more like puppets than anything else, some squatting14 in rows like peaceful mummies, others executing rhythmical15 marches before the golden background where stand the gods. We do not laugh to-night, and speak but little, more forcibly struck by the scene than we were on the first night; we only look on, trying to understand. Suddenly, Yves, turning round, says:
“Hullo! brother, there is your mousme!”
Actually, there she is, behind him; Chrysanthème, almost on all fours, hidden between the paws of a great granite16 beast, half tiger, half dog, against which our fragile tent is leaning.
“She pulled my trousers with her nails, for all the world like a little cat,” said Yves, still full of surprise, “positively like a cat!”
She remains17 bent18 double in the most humble19 form of salutation; she smiles timidly, afraid of being ill received, and the head of my little brother-in-law, Bambou, appears smiling too, just above her own. She has brought this little mousko —[Mousko is the masculine of mousme, and signifies little boy. Excessive politeness makes it mousko-san (Mr. little boy).]— with her, perched astride her back; he looks as absurd as ever, with his shaven head, his long frock and the great bows of his silken sash. There they stand gazing at us, anxious to know how their joke will be taken.
For my part, I have not the least idea of giving them a cold reception; on the contrary, the meeting amuses me. It even strikes me that it is rather pretty of Chrysanthème to come around in this way, and to bring Bambou-San to the festival; though it savors20 somewhat of her low breeding, to tell the truth, to carry him on her back, as the poorer Japanese women carry their little ones.
However, let her sit down between Yves and myself and let them bring her those iced beans she loves so much; and we will take the jolly little mousko on our knees and cram21 him with sugar and sweetmeats to his heart’s content.
When the evening is over, and we begin to think of leaving, and of going down again, Chrysanthème replaces her little Bambou astride upon her back, and sets forth22, bending forward under his weight and painfully dragging her Cinderella slippers23 over the granite steps and flagstones. Yes, decidedly low, this conduct! but low in the best sense of the word: nothing in it displeases24 me; I even consider Chrysanthème’s affection for Bambou-San engaging and attractive in its simplicity25.
One can not deny this merit to the Japanese — a great love for little children, and a talent for amusing them, for making them laugh, inventing comical toys for them, making the morning of their life happy; for a specialty26 in dressing27 them, arranging their heads, and giving to the whole personage the most fascinating appearance possible. It is the only thing I really like about this country: the babies and the manner in which they are understood.
On our way we meet our married friends of the Triomphante, who, much surprised at seeing me with this mousko, jokingly exclaim:
“What! a son already?”
Down in the town, we make a point of bidding goodby to Chrysanthème at the turning of the street where her mother lives. She smiles, undecided, declares herself well again, and begs to return to our house on the heights. This did not precisely28 enter into my plans, I confess. However, it would look very ungracious to refuse.
So be it! But we must carry the mousko home to his mamma, and then begin, by the flickering29 light of a new lantern bought from Madame Tres-Propre, our weary homeward ascent30.
Here, however, we find ourselves in another predicament: this ridiculous little Bambou insists upon coming with us! No, he will take no denial, we must take him with us. This is out of all reason, quite impossible!
However, it will not do to make him cry, on the night of a great festival too, poor little mousko! So we must send a message to Madame Renoncule, that she may not be uneasy about him, and as there will soon not be a living creature on the footpaths31 of Diou-djen-dji to laugh at us, we will take it in turn, Yves and I, to carry him on our backs, all the way up that climb in the darkness.
And here am I, who did not wish to return this way tonight, dragging a mousme by the hand, and actually carrying an extra burden in the shape of a mousko on my back. What an irony32 of fate!
As I had expected, all our shutters33 and doors are closed, bolted, and barred; no one expects us, and we have to make a prodigious34 noise at the door. Chrysanthème sets to work and calls with all her might:
“Hou Oume-San-an-an-an!” (In English: “Hi! Madame Pru-u-uu-une!")
These intonations35 in her little voice are unknown to me; her long-drawn call in the echoing darkness of midnight has so strange an accent, something so unexpected and wild, that it impresses me with a dismal36 feeling of far-off exile.
At last Madame Prune37 appears to open the door to us, only half awake and much astonished; by way of a nightcap she wears a monstrous38 cotton turban, on the blue ground of which a few white storks39 are playfully disporting40 themselves. Holding in the tips of her fingers, with an affectation of graceful41 fright, the long stalk of her beflowered lantern, she gazes intently into our faces, one after another, to reassure42 herself of our identity; but the poor old lady can not get over her surprise at the sight of the mousko I am carrying.

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收听单词发音

1
thither
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adv.向那里;adj.在那边的,对岸的 | |
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2
antiquities
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n.古老( antiquity的名词复数 );古迹;古人们;古代的风俗习惯 | |
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3
tiresome
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adj.令人疲劳的,令人厌倦的 | |
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4
afterward
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adv.后来;以后 | |
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5
regain
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vt.重新获得,收复,恢复 | |
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6
compartments
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n.间隔( compartment的名词复数 );(列车车厢的)隔间;(家具或设备等的)分隔间;隔层 | |
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7
contrived
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adj.不自然的,做作的;虚构的 | |
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8
overflowing
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n. 溢出物,溢流 adj. 充沛的,充满的 动词overflow的现在分词形式 | |
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9
murmur
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n.低语,低声的怨言;v.低语,低声而言 | |
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10
ascend
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vi.渐渐上升,升高;vt.攀登,登上 | |
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11
sip
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v.小口地喝,抿,呷;n.一小口的量 | |
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12
isolates
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v.使隔离( isolate的第三人称单数 );将…剔出(以便看清和单独处理);使(某物质、细胞等)分离;使离析 | |
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13
profusion
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n.挥霍;丰富 | |
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14
squatting
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v.像动物一样蹲下( squat的现在分词 );非法擅自占用(土地或房屋);为获得其所有权;而占用某片公共用地。 | |
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15
rhythmical
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adj.有节奏的,有韵律的 | |
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16
granite
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adj.花岗岩,花岗石 | |
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17
remains
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n.剩余物,残留物;遗体,遗迹 | |
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18
bent
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n.爱好,癖好;adj.弯的;决心的,一心的 | |
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19
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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20
savors
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v.意味,带有…的性质( savor的第三人称单数 );给…加调味品;使有风味;品尝 | |
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21
cram
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v.填塞,塞满,临时抱佛脚,为考试而学习 | |
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22
forth
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adv.向前;向外,往外 | |
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23
slippers
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n. 拖鞋 | |
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24
displeases
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冒犯,使生气,使不愉快( displease的第三人称单数 ) | |
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25
simplicity
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n.简单,简易;朴素;直率,单纯 | |
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26
specialty
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n.(speciality)特性,特质;专业,专长 | |
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27
dressing
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n.(食物)调料;包扎伤口的用品,敷料 | |
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28
precisely
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adv.恰好,正好,精确地,细致地 | |
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29
flickering
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adj.闪烁的,摇曳的,一闪一闪的 | |
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30
ascent
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n.(声望或地位)提高;上升,升高;登高 | |
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31
footpaths
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人行小径,人行道( footpath的名词复数 ) | |
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32
irony
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n.反语,冷嘲;具有讽刺意味的事,嘲弄 | |
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33
shutters
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百叶窗( shutter的名词复数 ); (照相机的)快门 | |
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34
prodigious
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adj.惊人的,奇妙的;异常的;巨大的;庞大的 | |
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35
intonations
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n.语调,说话的抑扬顿挫( intonation的名词复数 );(演奏或唱歌中的)音准 | |
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36
dismal
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adj.阴沉的,凄凉的,令人忧郁的,差劲的 | |
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37
prune
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n.酶干;vt.修剪,砍掉,削减;vi.删除 | |
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38
monstrous
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adj.巨大的;恐怖的;可耻的,丢脸的 | |
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39
storks
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n.鹳( stork的名词复数 ) | |
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40
disporting
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v.嬉戏,玩乐,自娱( disport的现在分词 ) | |
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41
graceful
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adj.优美的,优雅的;得体的 | |
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42
reassure
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v.使放心,使消除疑虑 | |
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