A week has passed very quietly, during which I have written nothing.
By degrees I am becoming accustomed to my Japanese household, to the strangeness of the language, costumes, and faces. For the last three weeks no letters have arrived from Europe; they have no doubt miscarried, and their absence contributes, as is usually the case, to throw a veil of oblivion over the past.
Every day, therefore, I climb up to my villa1, sometimes by beautiful starlit nights, sometimes through downpours of rain. Every morning as the sound of Madame Prune2’s chanted prayer rises through the reverberating3 air, I awake and go down toward the sea, by grassy4 pathways full of dew.
The chief occupation in Japan seems to be a perpetual hunt after curios. We sit down on the mattings, in the antique-sellers’ little booths, taking a cup of tea with the salesmen, and rummage5 with our own hands in the cupboards and chests, where many a fantastic piece of old rubbish is huddled6 away. The bargaining, much discussed, is laughingly carried on for several days, as if we were trying to play off some excellent little practical joke upon each other.
I really make a sad abuse of the adjective little; I am quite aware of it, but how can I do otherwise? In describing this country, the temptation is great to use it ten times in every written line. Little, finical; affected7 — all Japan is contained, both physically8 and morally, in these three words.
My purchases are accumulating in my little wood and paper house; but how much more Japanese it really was, in its bare emptiness, such as M. Sucre and Madame Prune had conceived it. There are now many lamps of sacred symbolism hanging from the ceiling; many stools and many vases, as many gods and goddesses as in a pagoda9.
There is even a little Shintoist altar, before which Madame Prune has not been able to restrain her feelings, and before which she has fallen down and chanted her prayers in her bleating10, goat-like voice:
“Wash me clean from all my impurity11, O Ama-Terace-Omi-Kami! as one washes away uncleanness in the river of Kamo.”
Alas12 for poor Ama-Terace-Omi-Kami to have to wash away the impurities13 of Madame Prune! What a tedious and ungrateful task!!
Chrysanthème, who is a Buddhist14, prays sometimes in the evening before lying down; although overcome with sleep, she prays clapping her hands before the largest of our gilded15 idols16. But she smiles with a childish disrespect for her Buddha17, as soon as her prayer is ended. I know that she has also a certain veneration18 for her Ottokes (the spirits of her ancestors), whose rather sumptuous19 altar is set up at the house of her mother, Madame Renoncule. She asks for their blessings20, for fortune and wisdom.
Who can fathom21 her ideas about the gods, or about death? Does she possess a soul? Does she think she has one? Her religion is an obscure chaos22 of theogonies as old as the world, treasured up out of respect for ancient customs; and of more recent ideas about the blessed final annihilation, imported from India by saintly Chinese missionaries23 at the epoch24 of our Middle Ages. The bonzes themselves are puzzled; what a muddle25, therefore, must not all this become, when jumbled26 together in the childish brain of a sleepy mousme!
Two very insignificant27 episodes have somewhat attached me to her —(bonds of this kind seldom fail to draw closer in the end). The first occasion was as follows:
Madame Prune one day brought forth28 a relic29 of her gay youth, a tortoise-shell comb of rare transparency, one of those combs that it is good style to place on the summit of the head, lightly poised30, hardly stuck at all in the hair, with all the teeth showing. Taking it out of a pretty little lacquered box, she held it up in the air and blinked her eyes, looking through it at the sky — a bright summer sky — as one does to examine the quality of a precious stone.
“Here is,” she said, “an object of great value that you should offer to your little wife.”
My mousme, very much taken by it, admired the clearness of the comb and its graceful31 shape.
The lacquered box, however, pleased me more. On the cover was a wonderful painting in gold on gold, representing a field of rice, seen very close, on a windy day; a tangle32 of ears and grass beaten down and twisted by a terrible squall; here and there, between the distorted stalks, the muddy earth of the rice-swamp was visible; there were even little pools of water, produced by bits of the transparent33 lacquer on which tiny particles of gold seemed to float about like chaff34 in a thick liquid; two or three insects, which required a microscope to be well seen, were clinging in a terrified manner to the rushes, and the whole picture was no larger than a woman’s hand.
As for Madame Prune’s comb, I confess it left me indifferent, and I turned a deaf ear, thinking it very insignificant and expensive. Then Chrysanthème answered, mournfully:
“No, thank you, I don’t want it; take it away, dear Madame Prune.”
And at the same time she heaved a deep sigh, full of meaning, which plainly said:
“He is not so fond of me as all that. — Useless to bother him.”
I immediately made the wished-for purchase.
Later when Chrysanthème will have become an old monkey like Madame Prune, with her black teeth and long orisons, she, in her turn, will retail35 that comb to some fine lady of a fresh generation.
On another occasion the sun had given me a headache; I lay on the floor resting my head on my snake-skin pillow. My eyes were dim; and everything appeared to turn around: the open veranda36, the big expanse of luminous37 evening sky, and a variety of kites hovering38 against its background. I felt myself vibrating painfully to the rhythmical39 sound of the cicalas which filled the atmosphere.
She, crouching40 by my side, strove to relieve me by a Japanese process, pressing with all her might on my temples with her little thumbs and turning them rapidly around, as if she were boring a hole with a gimlet. She had become quite hot and red over this hard work, which procured41 me real comfort, something similar to the dreamy intoxication42 of opium43.
Then, anxious and fearful lest I should have an attack of fever, she rolled into a pellet and thrust into my mouth a very efficacious prayer written on rice-paper, which she had kept carefully in the lining44 of one of her sleeves.
Well, I swallowed that prayer without a smile, not wishing to hurt her feelings or shake her funny little faith.

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收听单词发音

1
villa
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n.别墅,城郊小屋 | |
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2
prune
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n.酶干;vt.修剪,砍掉,削减;vi.删除 | |
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3
reverberating
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回响,回荡( reverberate的现在分词 ); 使反响,使回荡,使反射 | |
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4
grassy
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adj.盖满草的;长满草的 | |
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rummage
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v./n.翻寻,仔细检查 | |
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6
huddled
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挤在一起(huddle的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
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7
affected
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adj.不自然的,假装的 | |
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8
physically
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adj.物质上,体格上,身体上,按自然规律 | |
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9
pagoda
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n.宝塔(尤指印度和远东的多层宝塔),(印度教或佛教的)塔式庙宇 | |
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10
bleating
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v.(羊,小牛)叫( bleat的现在分词 );哭诉;发出羊叫似的声音;轻声诉说 | |
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11
impurity
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n.不洁,不纯,杂质 | |
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12
alas
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int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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13
impurities
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不纯( impurity的名词复数 ); 不洁; 淫秽; 杂质 | |
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14
Buddhist
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adj./n.佛教的,佛教徒 | |
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15
gilded
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a.镀金的,富有的 | |
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16
idols
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偶像( idol的名词复数 ); 受崇拜的人或物; 受到热爱和崇拜的人或物; 神像 | |
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17
Buddha
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n.佛;佛像;佛陀 | |
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18
veneration
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n.尊敬,崇拜 | |
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19
sumptuous
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adj.豪华的,奢侈的,华丽的 | |
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20
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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21
fathom
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v.领悟,彻底了解 | |
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22
chaos
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n.混乱,无秩序 | |
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23
missionaries
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n.传教士( missionary的名词复数 ) | |
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24
epoch
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n.(新)时代;历元 | |
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25
muddle
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n.困惑,混浊状态;vt.使混乱,使糊涂,使惊呆;vi.胡乱应付,混乱 | |
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26
jumbled
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adj.混乱的;杂乱的 | |
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27
insignificant
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adj.无关紧要的,可忽略的,无意义的 | |
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28
forth
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adv.向前;向外,往外 | |
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29
relic
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n.神圣的遗物,遗迹,纪念物 | |
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30
poised
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a.摆好姿势不动的 | |
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31
graceful
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adj.优美的,优雅的;得体的 | |
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32
tangle
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n.纠缠;缠结;混乱;v.(使)缠绕;变乱 | |
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33
transparent
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adj.明显的,无疑的;透明的 | |
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34
chaff
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v.取笑,嘲笑;n.谷壳 | |
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35
retail
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v./n.零售;adv.以零售价格 | |
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36
veranda
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n.走廊;阳台 | |
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37
luminous
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adj.发光的,发亮的;光明的;明白易懂的;有启发的 | |
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hovering
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鸟( hover的现在分词 ); 靠近(某事物); (人)徘徊; 犹豫 | |
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39
rhythmical
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adj.有节奏的,有韵律的 | |
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40
crouching
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v.屈膝,蹲伏( crouch的现在分词 ) | |
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41
procured
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v.(努力)取得, (设法)获得( procure的过去式和过去分词 );拉皮条 | |
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42
intoxication
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n.wild excitement;drunkenness;poisoning | |
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43
opium
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n.鸦片;adj.鸦片的 | |
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44
lining
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n.衬里,衬料 | |
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