“I have here attempted,” said Roderick, unfolding a few sheets of manuscript, as he sat with Rosina and the sculptor1 in the summer-house — “I have attempted to seize hold of a personage who glides2 past me, occasionally, in my walk through life. My former sad experience, as you know, has gifted me with some degree of insight into the gloomy mysteries of the human heart, through which I have wandered like one astray in a dark cavern3, with his torch fast flickering4 to extinction6. But this man, this class of men, is a hopeless puzzle.”
“Well, but propound7 him,” said the sculptor. “Let us have an idea of hint, to begin with.”
“Why, indeed,” replied Roderick, “he is such a being as I could conceive you to carve out of marble, and some yet unrealized perfection of human science to endow with an exquisite8 mockery of intellect; but still there lacks the last inestimable touch of a divine Creator. He looks like a man; and, perchance, like a better specimen9 of man than you ordinarily meet. You might esteem10 him wise; he is capable of cultivation11 and refinement12, and has at least an external conscience; but the demands that spirit makes upon spirit are precisely13 those to which he cannot respond. When at last you come close to him you find him chill and unsubstantial — a mere14 vapor15.”
“I believe,” said Rosina, “I have a glimmering16 idea of what you mean.”
“Then be thankful,” answered her husband, smiling; “but do not anticipate any further illumination from what I am about to read. I have here imagined such a man to be — what, probably, he never is — conscious of the deficiency in his spiritual organization. Methinks the result would be a sense of cold unreality wherewith he would go shivering through the world, longing17 to exchange his load of ice for any burden of real grief that fate could fling upon a human being.”
Contenting himself with this preface, Roderick began to read.
In a certain old gentleman’s last will and testament18 there appeared a bequest19, which, as his final thought and deed, was singularly in keeping with a long life of melancholy20 eccentricity21. He devised a considerable sum for establishing a fund, the interest of which was to be expended22, annually23 forever, in preparing a Christmas Banquet for ten of the most miserable24 persons that could be found. It seemed not to be the testator’s purpose to make these half a score of sad hearts merry, but to provide that the stern or fierce expression of human discontent should not be drowned, even for that one holy and joyful25 day, amid the acclamations of festal gratitude26 which all Christendom sends up. And he desired, likewise, to perpetuate27 his own remonstrance28 against the earthly course of Providence29, and his sad and sour dissent30 from those systems of religion or philosophy which either find sunshine in the world or draw it down from heaven.
The task of inviting31 the guests, or of selecting among such as might advance their claims to partake of this dismal32 hospitality, was confided33 to the two trustees or stewards34 of the fund. These gentlemen, like their deceased friend, were sombre humorists, who made it their principal occupation to number the sable35 threads in the web of human life, and drop all the golden ones out of the reckoning. They performed their present office with integrity and judgment36. The aspect of the assembled company, on the day of the first festival, might not, it is true, have satisfied every beholder37 that these were especially the individuals, chosen forth38 from all the world, whose griefs were worthy39 to stand as indicators40 of the mass of human suffering. Yet, after due consideration, it could not be disputed that here was a variety of hopeless discomfort41, which, if it sometimes arose from causes apparently42 inadequate43, was thereby44 only the shrewder imputation45 against the nature and mechanism46 of life.
The arrangements and decorations of the banquet were probably intended to signify that death in life which had been the testator’s definition of existence. The hall, illuminated48 by torches, was hung round with curtains of deep and dusky purple, and adorned49 with branches of cypress50 and wreaths of artificial flowers, imitative of such as used to be strewn over the dead. A sprig of parsley was laid by every plate. The main reservoir of wine, was a sepulchral51 urn52 of silver, whence the liquor was distributed around the table in small vases, accurately53 copied from those that held the tears of ancient mourners. Neither had the stewards — if it were their taste that arranged these details — forgotten the fantasy of the old Egyptians, who seated a skeleton at every festive54 board, and mocked their own merriment with the imperturbable55 grin of a death’s-head. Such a fearful guest, shrouded56 in a black mantle57, sat now at the head of the table. It was whispered, I know not with what truth, that the testator himself had once walked the visible world with the machinery58 of that sane59 skeleton, and that it was one of the stipulations of his will, that he should thus be permitted to sit, from year to year, at the banquet which he had instituted. If so, it was perhaps covertly60 implied that he had cherished no hopes of bliss61 beyond the grave to compensate62 for the evils which he felt or imagined here. And if, in their bewildered conjectures63 as to the purpose of earthly existence, the banqueters should throw aside the veil, and cast an inquiring glance at this figure of death, as seeking thence the solution otherwise unattainable, the only reply would be a stare of the vacant eye-caverns and a grin of the skeleton jaws64. Such was the response that the dead man had fancied himself to receive when he asked of Death to solve the riddle65 of his life; and it was his desire to repeat it when the guests of his dismal hospitality should find themselves perplexed66 with the same question.
“What means that wreath?” asked several of the company, while viewing the decorations of the table.
They alluded67 to a wreath of cypress, which was held on high by a skeleton arm, protruding68 from within the black mantle.
“It is a crown,” said one of the stewards, “not for the worthiest69, but for the wofulest, when he shall prove his claim to it.”
The guest earliest bidden to the festival was a man of soft and gentle character, who had not energy to struggle against the heavy despondency to which his temperament70 rendered him liable; and therefore with nothing outwardly to excuse him from happiness, he had spent a life of quiet misery71 that made his blood torpid72, and weighed upon his breath, and sat like a ponderous73 night-fiend upon every throb74 of his unresisting heart. His wretchedness seemed as deep as his original nature, if not identical with it. It was the misfortune of a second guest to cherish within his bosom75 a diseased heart, which had become so wretchedly sore that the continual and unavoidable rubs of the world, the blow of an enemy, the careless jostle of a stranger, and even the faithful and loving touch of a friend, alike made ulcers76 in it. As is the habit of people thus afflicted78, he found his chief employment in exhibiting these miserable sores to any who would give themselves the pain of viewing them. A third guest was a hypochondriac, whose imagination wrought79 necromancy80 in his outward and inward world, and caused him to see monstrous81 faces in the household fire, and dragons in the clouds of sunset, and fiends in the guise82 of beautiful women, and something ugly or wicked beneath all the pleasant surfaces of nature. His neighbor at table was one who, in his early youth, had trusted mankind too much, and hoped too highly in their behalf, and, in meeting with many disappointments, had become desperately83 soured. For several years back this misanthrope84 bad employed himself in accumulating motives85 for hating and despising his race — such as murder, lust87, treachery, ingratitude88, faithlessness of trusted friends, instinctive89 vices90 of children, impurity91 of women, hidden guilt92 in men of saint-like aspect — and, in short, all manner of black realities that sought to decorate themselves with outward grace or glory. But at every atrocious fact that was added to his catalogue, at every increase of the sad knowledge which he spent his life to collect, the native impulses of the poor man’s loving and confiding93 heart made him groan94 with anguish95. Next, with his heavy brow bent96 downward, there stole into the hall a man naturally earnest and impassioned, who, from his immemorial infancy97, had felt the consciousness of a high message to the world; but, essaying to deliver it, had found either no voice or form of speech, or else no ears to listen. Therefore his whole life was a bitter questioning of himself: “Why have not men acknowledged my mission? Am I not a self-deluding fool? What business have I on earth? Where is my grave?” Throughout the festival, he quaffed98 frequent draughts99 from the sepulchral urn of wine, hoping thus to quench100 the celestial101 fire that tortured his own breast and could not benefit his race.
Then there entered, having flung away a ticket for a ball, a gay gallant102 of yesterday, who had found four or five wrinkles in his brow, and more gray hairs than he could well number on his head. Endowed with sense and feeling, he had nevertheless spent his youth in folly103, but had reached at last that dreary104 point in life where Folly quits us of her own accord, leaving us to make friends with Wisdom if we can. Thus, cold and desolate105, he had come to seek Wisdom at the banquet, and wondered if the skeleton were she. To eke106 out the company, the stewards had invited a distressed107 poet from his home in the almshouse, and a melancholy idiot from the street-corner. The latter had just the glimmering of sense that was sufficient to make him conscious of a vacancy108, which the poor fellow, all his life long, had mistily109 sought to fill up with intelligence, wandering up and down the streets, and groaning110 miserably111 because his attempts were ineffectual. The only lady in the hall was one who had fallen short of absolute and perfect beauty, merely by the trifling112 defect of a slight cast in her left eye. But this blemish113, minute as it was, so shocked the pure ideal of her soul, rather than her vanity, that she passed her life in solitude114, and veiled her countenance115 even from her own gaze. So the skeleton sat shrouded at one end of the table, and this poor lady at the other,
One other guest remains116 to be described. He was a young man of smooth brow, fair cheek, and fashionable mien117. So far as his exterior118 developed him, he might much more suitably have found a place at some merry Christmas table, than have been numbered among the blighted119, fate-stricken, fancy-tortured set of ill-starred banqueters. Murmurs120 arose among the guests as they noted121, the glance of general scrutiny122 which the intruder threw over his companions. What had he to do among them? Why did not the skeleton of the dead founder123 of the feast unbend its rattling124 joints125, arise, and motion the unwelcome stranger from the board?
“Shameful!” said the morbid126 man, while a new ulcer77 broke out in his heart. “He comes to mock us! we shall be the jest of his tavern127 friends I— he will make a farce128 of our miseries129, and bring it out upon the stage!”
“O, never mind him!” said the hypochondriac, smiling sourly. “He shall feast from yonder tureen of viper-soup; and if there is a fricassee of scorpions130 on the table, pray let him have his share of it. For the dessert, he shall taste the apples of Sodom, then, if he like our Christmas fare, let him return again next year!”
“Trouble him not,” murmured the melancholy man, with gentleness. “What matters it whether the consciousness of misery come a few years sooner or later? If this youth deem himself happy now, yet let him sit with us for the sake of the wretchedness to come.”
The poor idiot approached the young man with that mournful aspect of vacant inquiry131 which his face continually wore, and which caused people to say that he was always in search of his missing wits. After no little examination he touched the stranger’s hand, but immediately drew back his own, shaking his head and shivering,
“Cold, cold, cold!” muttered the idiot.
The young man shivered too, and smiled.
“Gentlemen, and you, madam,” said one of the stewards of the festival, “do not conceive so ill either of our caution or judgment, as to imagine that we have admitted this young stranger — Gervayse Hastings by name — without a full investigation132 and thoughtful balance of his claims. Trust me, not a guest at the table is better entitled to his seat.”
The steward’s guaranty was perforce satisfactory. The company, therefore, took their places, and addressed themselves to the serious business of the feast, but were soon disturbed by the hypochondriac, who thrust back his chair, complaining that a dish of stewed133 toads134 and vipers135 was set before him, and that there was green ditchwater in his cup of wine. This mistake being amended136, he quietly resumed his seat. The wine, as it flowed freely from the sepulchral urn, seemed to come imbued137 with all gloomy inspirations; so that its influence was not to cheer, but either to sink the revellers into a deeper melancholy, or elevate their spirits to an enthusiasm of wretchedness. The conversation was various. They told sad stories about people who might have been Worthy guests at such a festival as the present. They talked of grisly incidents in human history; of strange crimes, which, if truly considered, were but convulsions of agony; of some lives that had been altogether wretched, and of others, which, wearing a general semblance138 of happiness, had yet been deformed139, sooner or later, by misfortune, as by the intrusion of a grim face at a banquet; of death-bed scenes, and what dark intimations might be gathered from the words of dying men; of suicide, and whether the more eligible140 mode were by halter, knife, poison, drowning, gradual starvation, or the fumes141 of charcoal142. The majority of the guests, as is the custom with people thoroughly143 and profoundly sick at heart, were anxious to make their own woes144 the theme of discussion, and prove themselves most excellent in anguish. The misanthropist went deep into the philosophy of evil, and wandered about in the darkness, with now and then a gleam of discolored light hovering147 on ghastly shapes and horrid148 scenery. Many a miserable thought, such as men have stumbled upon from age to age, did he now rake up again, and gloat over it as an inestimable gem47, a diamond, a treasure far preferable to those bright, spiritual revelations of a better world, which are like precious stones from heaven’s pavement. And then, amid his lore146 of wretchedness he hid his face and wept.
It was a festival at which the woful man of Uz might suitably have been a guest, together with all, in each succeeding age, who have tasted deepest of the bitterness of life. And be it said, too, that every son or daughter of woman, however favored with happy fortune, might, at one sad moment or another, have claimed the privilege of a stricken heart, to sit down at this table. But, throughout the feast, it was remarked that the young stranger, Gervayse Hastings, was unsuccessful in his attempts to catch its pervading150 spirit. At any deep, strong thought that found utterance151, and which was torn out, as it were, from the saddest recesses152 of human consciousness, he looked mystified and bewildered; even more than the poor idiot, who seemed to grasp at such things with his earnest heart, and thus occasionally to comprehend them. The young man’s conversation was of a colder and lighter153 kind, often brilliant, but lacking the powerful characteristics of a nature that had been developed by suffering.
“Sir,” said the misanthropist, bluntly, in reply to some observation by Gervayse Hastings, “pray do not address me again. We have no right to talk together. Our minds have nothing in common. By what claim you appear at this banquet I cannot guess; but methinks, to a man who could say what you have just now said, my companions and myself must seem no more than shadows flickering on the wall. And precisely such a shadow are you to us.”
The young man smiled and bowed, but, drawing himself back in his chair, he buttoned his coat over his breast, as if the banqueting-Ball were growing chill. Again the idiot fixed154 his melancholy stare upon the youth, and murmured, “Cold! cold! cold!”
The banquet drew to its conclusion, and the guests departed. Scarcely had they stepped across the threshold of the hall, when the scene that had there passed seemed like the vision of a sick fancy, or an exhalation from a stagnant155 heart. Now and then, however, during the year that ensued, these melancholy people caught glimpses of one another, transient, indeed, but enough to prove that they walked the earth with the ordinary allotment of reality. Sometimes a pair of them came face to face, while stealing through the evening twilight156, enveloped157 in their sable cloaks. Sometimes they casually158 met in churchyards. Once, also, it happened that two of the dismal banqueters mutually started at recognizing each other in the noonday sunshine of a crowded street, stalking there like ghosts astray. Doubtless they wondered why the skeleton did not come abroad at noonday too.
But whenever the necessity of their affairs compelled these Christmas guests into the bustling159 world, they were sure to encounter the young man who had so unaccountably been admitted to the festival. They saw him among the gay and fortunate; they caught the sunny sparkle of his eye; they heard the light and careless tones of his voice, and muttered to themselves with such indignation as only the aristocracy of wretchedness could kindle160, “The traitor161! The vile149 impostor! Providence, in its own good time, may give him a right to feast among us!” But the young man’s unabashed eye dwelt upon their gloomy figures as they passed him, seeming to say, perchance with somewhat of a sneer162, “First, know my secret then, measure your claims with mine!”
The step of Time stole onward163, and soon brought merry Christmas round again, with glad and solemn worship in the churches, and sports, games, festivals, and everywhere the bright face of Joy beside the household fire. Again likewise the hall, with its curtains of dusky purple, was illuminated by the death-torches gleaming on the sepulchral decorations of the banquet. The veiled, skeleton sat in state, lifting the cypress-wreath above its head, as the guerdon of some guest illustrious in the qualifications which there claimed precedence. As the stewards deemed the world inexhaustible in misery, and were desirous of recognizing it in all its forms, they had not seen fit to reassemble the company of the former year. New faces now threw their gloom across the table.
There was a man of nice conscience, who bore a blood-stain in his heart — the death of a fellow-creature — which, for his more exquisite torture, had chanced with such a peculiarity164 of circumstances, that he could not absolutely determine whether his will had entered into the deed or not. Therefore, his whole life was spent in the agony of an inward trial for murder, with a continual sifting166 of the details of his terrible calamity167, until his mind had no longer any thought, nor his soul any emotion, disconnected with it, There was a mother, too — a mother once, but a desolation now — who, many years before, had gone out on a pleasure-party, and, returning, found her infant smothered168 in its little bed. And ever since she has been tortured with the fantasy that her buried baby lay smothering169 in its coffin170. Then there was an aged171 lady, who had lived from time immemorial with a constant tremor172 quivering through her-frame. It was terrible to discern her dark shadow tremulous upon the wall; her lips, likewise, were tremulous; and the expression of her eye seemed to indicate that her soul was trembling too. Owing to the bewilderment and confusion which made almost a chaos173 of her intellect, it was impossible to discover what dire174 misfortune had thus shaken her nature to its depths; so that the stewards had admitted her to the table, not from any acquaintance with her history, but on the safe testimony175 of her miserable aspect. Some surprise was expressed at the presence of a bluff176, red-faced gentleman, a certain Mr. Smith, who had evidently the fat of many a rich feast within him, and the habitual177 twinkle of whose eye betrayed a disposition178 to break forth into uproarious laughter for little cause or none. It turned out, however, that, with the best possible flow of spirits, our poor friend was afflicted with a physical disease of the heart, which threatened instant death on the slightest cachinnatory indulgence, or even that titillation179 of the bodily frame produced by merry thoughts. In this dilemma180 he had sought admittance to the banquet, on the ostensible181 plea of his irksome and miserable state, but, in reality, with the hope of imbibing182 a life-preserving melancholy.
A married couple had been invited from a motive86 of bitter humor, it being well understood that they rendered each other unutterably miserable whenever they chanced to meet, and therefore must necessarily be fit associates at the festival. In contrast with these was another couple still unmarried, who had interchanged their hearts in early life, but had been divided by circumstances as impalpable as morning mist, and kept apart so long that their spirits now found it impossible to meet, Therefore, yearning183 for communion, yet shrinking from one another and choosing none beside, they felt themselves companionless in life, and looked upon eternity184 as a boundless185 desert. Next to the skeleton sat a mere son of earth — a hunter of the Exchange — a gatherer of shining dust — a man whose life’s record was in his ledger186, and whose soul’s prison-house the vaults187 of the bank where he kept his deposits. This person had been greatly perplexed at his invitation, deeming himself one of the most fortunate men in the city; but the stewards persisted in demanding his presence, assuring him that he had no conception how miserable he was.
And now appeared a figure which we must acknowledge as our acquaintance of the former festival. It was Gervayse Hastings, whose presence had then caused so much question and criticism, and who now took his place with the composure of one whose claims were satisfactory to himself and must needs be allowed by others. Yet his easy and unruffled face betrayed no sorrow.
The well-skilled beholders gazed a moment into his eyes and shook their heads, to miss the unuttered sympathy — the countersign188 never to be falsified — of those whose hearts are cavern-mouths through which they descend189 into a region of illimitable woe145 and recognize other wanderers there.
“Who is this youth?” asked the man with a bloodstain on his conscience. “Surely he has never gone down into the depths! I know all the aspects of those who have passed through the dark valley. By what right is he among us?”
“Ah, it is a sinful thing to come hither without a sorrow,” murmured the aged lady, in accents that partook of the eternal tremor which pervaded190 her whole being “Depart, young man! Your soul has never been shaken, and, therefore, I tremble so much the more to look at you.”
“His soul shaken! No; I’ll answer for it,” said bluff Mr. Smith, pressing his hand upon his heart and making himself as melancholy as he could, for fear of a fatal explosion of laughter. “I know the lad well; he has as fair prospects191 as any young man about town, and has no more right among us miserable creatures than the child unborn. He never was miserable and probably never will be!”
“Our honored guests,” interposed the stewards, “pray have patience with us, and believe, at least, that our deep veneration192 for the sacredness of this solemnity would preclude193 any wilful194 violation195 of it. Receive this young man to your table. It may not be too much to say, that no guest here would exchange his own heart for the one that beats within that youthful bosom!”
“I’d call it a bargain, and gladly, too,” muttered Mr. Smith, with a perplexing mixture of sadness and mirthful conceit196. “A plague upon their nonsense! My own heart is the only really miserable one in the company; it will certainly be the death of me at last!”
Nevertheless, as on the former occasion, the judgment of the stewards being without appeal, the company sat down. The obnoxious197 guest made no more attempt to obtrude198 his conversation on those about him, but appeared to listen to the table-talk with peculiar165 assiduity, as if some inestimable secret, otherwise beyond his reach, might be conveyed in a casual word. And in truth, to those who could understand and value it, there was rich matter in the upgushings and outpourings of these initiated199 souls to whom sorrow had been a talisman200, admitting them into spiritual depths which no other spell can open. Sometimes out of the midst of densest201 gloom there flashed a momentary202 radiance, pure as crystal, bright as the flame of stars, and shedding such a glow upon the mysteries of life, that the guests were ready to exclaim, “Surely the riddle is on the point of being solved!” At such illuminated intervals203 the saddest mourners felt it to be revealed that mortal griefs are but shadowy and external; no more than the sable robes voluminously shrouding204 a certain divine reality, and thus indicating what might otherwise be altogether invisible to mortal eye.
“Just now,” remarked the trembling old woman, “I seemed to see beyond the outside. And then my everlasting205 tremor passed away!”
“Would that I could dwell always in these momentary gleams of light!” said the man of stricken conscience. “Then the blood-stain in my heart would be washed clean away.”
This strain of conversation appeared so unintelligibly206 absurd to good Mr. Smith, that he burst into precisely the fit of laughter which his physicians had warned him against, as likely to prove instantaneously fatal. In effect, he fell back in his chair a corpse207, with a broad grin upon his face, while his ghost, perchance, remained beside it bewildered at its unpremeditated exit. This catastrophe208 of course broke up the festival.
“How is this? You do not tremble!” observed the tremulous old woman to Gervayse Hastings, who was gazing at the dead man with singular intentness. “Is it not awful to see him so suddenly vanish out of the midst of life — this man of flesh and blood, whose earthly nature was so warm and strong? There is a never-ending tremor in my soul, but it trembles afresh at, this! And you are calm!”
“Would that he could teach me somewhat!” said Gervayse Hastings, drawing a long breath. “Men pass before me like shadows on the wall; their actions, passions, feelings, are flickerings of the light, and then they vanish! Neither the corpse, nor yonder skeleton, nor this old woman’s everlasting tremor, can give me what I seek.”
And then the company departed.
We cannot linger to narrate209, in such detail, more circumstances of these singular festivals, which, in accordance with the founder’s will, continued to be kept with the regularity210 of an established institution. In process of time the stewards adopted the custom of inviting, from far and near, those individuals whose misfortunes were prominent above other men’s, and whose mental and moral development might, therefore, be supposed to possess a corresponding interest. The exiled noble of the French Revolution, and the broken soldier of the Empire, were alike represented at the table. Fallen monarchs211, wandering about the earth, have found places at that forlorn and miserable feast. The statesman, when his party flung him off, might, if he chose it, be once more a great man for the space of a single banquet. Aaron Burr’s name appears on the record at a period when his ruin — the profoundest and most striking, with more of moral circumstance in it than that of almost any other man — was complete in his lonely age. Stephen Guard, when his wealth weighed upon him like a mountain, once sought admittance of his own accord. It is not probable, however, that these men had any lesson to teach in the lore of discontent and misery which might not equally well have been studied in the common walks of life. Illustrious unfortunates attract a wider sympathy, not because their griefs are more intense, but because, being set on lofty pedestals, they the better serve mankind as instances and bywords of calamity.
It concerns our present purpose to say that, at each successive festival, Gervayse Hastings showed his face, gradually changing from the smooth beauty of his youth to the thoughtful comeliness213 of manhood, and thence to the bald, impressive dignity of age. He was the only individual invariably present. Yet on every occasion there were murmurs, both from those who knew his character and position, and from them whose hearts shrank back as denying his companionship in their mystic fraternity.
“Who is this impassive man?” had been asked a hundred times. “Has he suffered? Has he sinned? There are no traces of either. Then wherefore is he here?”
“You must inquire of the stewards or of himself,” was the constant reply. “We seem to know him well here in our city, and know nothing of him but what is creditable and fortunate. Yet hither he comes, year after year, to this gloomy banquet, and sits among the guests like a marble statue. Ask yonder skeleton, perhaps that may solve the riddle!”
It was in truth a wonder. The life of Gervayse Hastings was not merely a prosperous, but a brilliant one. Everything had gone well with him. He was wealthy, far beyond the expenditure214 that was required by habits of magnificence, a taste of rare purity and cultivation, a love of travel, a scholar’s instinct to collect a splendid library, and, moreover, what seemed a magnificent liberality to the distressed. He had sought happiness, and not vainly, if a lovely and tender wife, and children of fair promise, could insure it. He had, besides, ascended215 above the limit which separates the obscure from the distinguished216, and had won a stainless217 reputation in affairs of the widest public importance. Not that he was a popular character, or had within him the mysterious attributes which are essential to that species of success. To the public he was a cold abstraction, wholly destitute218 of those rich lines of personality, that living warmth, and the peculiar faculty219 of stamping his own heart’s impression on a multitude of hearts, by which the people recognize their favorites. And it must be owned that, after his most intimate associates had done their best to know him thoroughly, and love him warmly, they were startled to find how little hold he had upon their affections. They approved, they admired, but still in those moments when the human spirit most craves220 reality, they shrank back from Gervayse Hastings, as powerless to give them what they sought. It was the feeling of distrustful regret with which we should draw back the hand after extending it, in an illusive221 twilight, to grasp the hand of a shadow upon the wall.
As the superficial fervency222 of youth decayed, this peculiar effect of Gervayse Hastings’s character grew more perceptible. His children, when he extended his arms, came coldly to his knees, but never climbed them of their own accord. His wife wept secretly, and almost adjudged herself a criminal because she shivered in the chill of his bosom. He, too, occasionally appeared not unconscious of the chillness of his moral atmosphere, and willing, if it might be so, to warm himself at a kindly223 fire. But age stole onward and benumbed him snore and more. As the hoar-frost began to gather on him his wife went to her grave, and was doubtless warmer there; his children either died or were scattered224 to different homes of their own; and old Gervayse Hastings, unscathed by grief — alone, but needing no companionship — continued his steady walk through life, and still one very Christmas day attended at the dismal banquet. His privilege as a guest had become prescriptive now. Had he claimed the head of the table, even the skeleton would have been ejected from its seat.
Finally, at the merry Christmas-tide, when he had numbered fourscore years complete, this pale, highbrowed, marble-featured old man once more entered the long-frequented hall, with the same impassive aspect that had called forth so much dissatisfied remark at his first attendance. Time, except in matters merely external, had done nothing for him, either of good or evil. As he took his place he threw a calm, inquiring glance around the table, as if to ascertain225 whether any guest had yet appeared, after so many unsuccessful banquets, who might impart to him the mystery — the deep, warm secret — the life within the life — which, whether manifested in joy or sorrow, is what gives substance to a world of shadows.
“My friends,” said Gervayse Hastings, assuming a position which his long conversance226 with the festival caused to appear natural, “you are welcome! I drink to you all in this cup of sepulchral wine.”
The guests replied courteously227, but still in a manner that proved them unable to receive the old man as a member of their sad fraternity. It may be well to give the reader an idea of the present company at the banquet.
One was formerly228 a clergyman, enthusiastic in his profession, and apparently of the genuine dynasty of those old Puritan divines whose faith in their calling, and stern exercise of it, had placed them among the mighty229 of the earth. But yielding to the speculative230 tendency of the age, he had gone astray from the firm foundation of an ancient faith, and wandered into a cloud-region, where everything was misty231 and deceptive232, ever mocking him with a semblance of reality, but still dissolving when he flung himself upon it for support and rest. His instinct and early training demanded something steadfast233; but, looking forward, he beheld234 vapors235 piled on vapors, and behind him an impassable gulf236 between the man of yesterday and today, on the borders of which he paced to and fro, sometimes wringing237 his hands in agony, and often making his own woe a theme of scornful merriment. This surely was a miserable man. Next, there was a theorist — one of a numerous tribe, although he deemed himself unique since the creation — a theorist, who had conceived a plan by which all the wretchedness of earth, moral and physical, might be done away, and the bliss of the millennium238 at once accomplished239. But, the incredulity of mankind debarring him from action, he was smitten240 with as much grief as if the whole mass of woe which he was denied the opportunity to remedy were crowded into his own bosom. A plain old man in black attracted much of the company’s notice, on the supposition that he was no other than Father Miller241, who, it seemed, had given himself up to despair at the tedious delay of the final conflagration242. Then there was a man distinguished for native pride and obstinacy243, who, a little while before, had possessed244 immense wealth, and held the control of a vast moneyed interest which he had wielded245 in the same spirit as a despotic monarch212 would wield246 the power of his empire, carrying on a tremendous moral warfare247, the roar and tremor of which was felt at every fireside in the land. At length came a crushing ruin — a total overthrow248 of fortune, power, and character — the effect of which on his imperious and, in many respects, noble and lofty nature might have entitled him to a place, not merely at our festival, but among the peers of Pandemonium249.
There was a modern philanthropist, who had become so deeply sensible of the calamities250 of thousands and millions of his fellow-creatures, and of the impracticableness of any general measures for their relief, that he had no heart to do what little good lay immediately within his power, but contented251 himself with being miserable for sympathy. Near him sat a gentleman in a predicament hitherto unprecedented252, but of which the present epoch253 probably affords numerous examples. Ever since he was of capacity to read a newspaper, this person had prided himself on his consistent adherence254 to one political party, but, in the confusion of these latter days, had got bewildered and knew not whereabouts his party was. This wretched condition, so morally desolate and disheartening to a man who has long accustomed himself to merge255 his individuality in the mass of a great body, can only be conceived by such as have experienced it. His next companion was a popular orator256 who had lost his voice, and — as it was pretty much all that he had to lose — had fallen into a state of hopeless melancholy. The table was likewise graced by two of the gentler sex — one, a half-starved, consumptive seamstress, the representative of thousands just as wretched; the other, a woman of unemployed257 energy, who found herself in the world with nothing to achieve, nothing to enjoy, and nothing even to suffer. She had, therefore, driven herself to the verge258 of madness by dark breedings over the wrongs of her sex, and its exclusion259 from a proper field of action. The roll of guests being thus complete, a side-table had been set for three or four disappointed office-seekers, with hearts as sick as death, whom the stewards had admitted partly because their calamities really entitled them to entrance here, and partly that they were in especial need of a good dinner. There was likewise a homeless dog, with his tail between his legs, licking up the crumbs260 and gnawing261 the fragments of the feast — such a melancholy cur as one sometimes sees about the streets without a master, and willing to follow the first that will accept his service.
In their own way, these were as wretched a set of people as ever had assembled at the festival. There they sat, with the veiled skeleton of the founder holding aloft the cypress-wreath, at one end of the table, and at the other, wrapped in furs, the withered262 figure of Gervayse Hastings, stately, calm, and cold, impressing the company with awe263, yet so little interesting their sympathy that he might have vanished into thin air without their once exclaiming, “Whither is he gone?”
“Sir,” said the philanthropist, addressing the old man, “you have been so long a guest at this annual festival, and have thus been conversant264 with so many varieties of human affliction, that, not improbably, you have thence derived265 some great and important lessons. How blessed were your lot could you reveal a secret by which all this mass of woe might be removed!”
“I know of but one misfortune,” answered Gervayse Hastings, quietly, “and that is my own.”
“Your own!” rejoined the philanthropist. “And looking back on your serene266 and prosperous life, how can you claim to be the sole unfortunate of the human race?”
“You will not understand it,” replied Gervayse Hastings, feebly, and with a singular inefficiency267 of pronunciation, and sometimes putting one word for another. “None have understood it, not even those who experience the like. It is a chillness, a want of earnestness, a feeling as if what should be my heart were a thing of vapor, a haunting perception of unreality! Thus seeming to possess all that other men have, all that men aim at, I have really possessed nothing, neither joy nor griefs. All things, all persons — as was truly said to me at this table long and long ago — have been like shadows flickering on the wall. It was so with my wife and children, with those who seemed my friends: it is so with yourselves, whom I see now before one. Neither have I myself any real existence, but am a shadow like the rest.”
“And how is it with your views of a future life?” inquired the speculative clergyman.
“Worse than with you,” said the old man, in a hollow and feeble tone; “for I cannot conceive it earnestly enough to feel either hope or fear. Mine — mine is the wretchedness! This cold heart — this unreal life! Ah! it grows colder still.”
It so chanced that at this juncture268 the decayed ligaments of the skeleton gave way, and the dry hones fell together in a heap, thus causing the dusty wreath of cypress to drop upon the table. The attention of the company being thus diverted for a single instant from Gervayse Hastings, they perceived, on turning again towards him, that the old man had undergone a change. His shadow had ceased to flicker5 on the wall.
“Well, Rosina, what is your criticism?” asked Roderick, as he rolled up the manuscript.
“Frankly, your success is by no means complete,” replied she. “It is true, I have an idea of the character you endeavor to describe; but it is rather by dint269 of my own thought than your expression.”
“That is unavoidable,” observed the sculptor, “because the characteristics are all negative. If Gervayse Hastings could have imbibed270 one human grief at the gloomy banquet, the task of describing him would have been infinitely271 easier. Of such persons — and we do meet with these moral monsters now and then — it is difficult to conceive how they came to exist here, or what there is in them capable of existence hereafter. They seem to be on the outside of everything; and nothing wearies the soul more than an attempt to comprehend them within its grasp.”
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1
sculptor
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| n.雕刻家，雕刻家 | |
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glides
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| n.滑行( glide的名词复数 )；滑音；音渡；过渡音v.滑动( glide的第三人称单数 )；掠过；（鸟或飞机 ） 滑翔 | |
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cavern
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| n.洞穴，大山洞 | |
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flickering
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| adj.闪烁的，摇曳的，一闪一闪的 | |
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flicker
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| vi./n.闪烁，摇曳，闪现 | |
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extinction
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| n.熄灭，消亡，消灭，灭绝，绝种 | |
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propound
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| v.提出 | |
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exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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specimen
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| n.样本，标本 | |
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esteem
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| n.尊敬，尊重；vt.尊重，敬重；把…看作 | |
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cultivation
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| n.耕作，培养，栽培（法），养成 | |
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refinement
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| n.文雅；高尚；精美；精制；精炼 | |
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precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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vapor
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| n.蒸汽，雾气 | |
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glimmering
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| n.微光，隐约的一瞥adj.薄弱地发光的v.发闪光，发微光( glimmer的现在分词 ) | |
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longing
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| n.（for）渴望 | |
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testament
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| n.遗嘱；证明 | |
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bequest
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| n.遗赠；遗产，遗物 | |
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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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eccentricity
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| n.古怪，反常，怪癖 | |
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22
expended
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| v.花费( expend的过去式和过去分词 )；使用（钱等）做某事；用光；耗尽 | |
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annually
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| adv.一年一次，每年 | |
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miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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joyful
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| adj.欢乐的，令人欢欣的 | |
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gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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perpetuate
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| v.使永存，使永记不忘 | |
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remonstrance
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| n抗议，抱怨 | |
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providence
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| n.深谋远虑，天道，天意；远见；节约；上帝 | |
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dissent
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| n./v.不同意，持异议 | |
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inviting
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| adj.诱人的，引人注目的 | |
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dismal
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| adj.阴沉的，凄凉的，令人忧郁的，差劲的 | |
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confided
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| v.吐露（秘密，心事等）( confide的过去式和过去分词 )；（向某人）吐露（隐私、秘密等） | |
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34
stewards
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| （轮船、飞机等的）乘务员( steward的名词复数 )； （俱乐部、旅馆、工会等的）管理员； （大型活动的）组织者； （私人家中的）管家 | |
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35
sable
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| n.黑貂；adj.黑色的 | |
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judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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beholder
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| n.观看者，旁观者 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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indicators
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| （仪器上显示温度、压力、耗油量等的）指针( indicator的名词复数 )； 指示物； （车辆上的）转弯指示灯； 指示信号 | |
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41
discomfort
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| n.不舒服，不安，难过，困难，不方便 | |
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42
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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43
inadequate
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| adj.(for,to)不充足的，不适当的 | |
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44
thereby
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| adv.因此，从而 | |
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45
imputation
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| n.归罪，责难 | |
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46
mechanism
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| n.机械装置；机构，结构 | |
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gem
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| n.宝石，珠宝；受爱戴的人 [同]jewel | |
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illuminated
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| adj.被照明的；受启迪的 | |
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49
adorned
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| [计]被修饰的 | |
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50
cypress
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| n.柏树 | |
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sepulchral
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| adj.坟墓的，阴深的 | |
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52
urn
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| n.（有座脚的）瓮；坟墓；骨灰瓮 | |
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53
accurately
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| adv.准确地，精确地 | |
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54
festive
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| adj.欢宴的，节日的 | |
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55
imperturbable
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| adj.镇静的 | |
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56
shrouded
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| v.隐瞒( shroud的过去式和过去分词 )；保密 | |
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57
mantle
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| n.斗篷，覆罩之物，罩子；v.罩住，覆盖，脸红 | |
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58
machinery
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| n.(总称)机械，机器；机构 | |
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sane
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| adj.心智健全的，神志清醒的，明智的，稳健的 | |
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covertly
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| adv.偷偷摸摸地 | |
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61
bliss
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| n.狂喜，福佑，天赐的福 | |
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62
compensate
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| vt.补偿，赔偿；酬报 vi.弥补；补偿；抵消 | |
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63
conjectures
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| 推测，猜想( conjecture的名词复数 ) | |
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64
jaws
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| n.口部；嘴 | |
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riddle
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| n.谜，谜语，粗筛；vt.解谜，给…出谜，筛，检查，鉴定，非难，充满于；vi.出谜 | |
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perplexed
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| adj.不知所措的 | |
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alluded
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| 提及，暗指( allude的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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protruding
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| v.（使某物）伸出，（使某物）突出( protrude的现在分词 )；凸 | |
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worthiest
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| 应得某事物( worthy的最高级 )； 值得做某事； 可尊敬的； 有（某人或事物）的典型特征 | |
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70
temperament
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| n.气质，性格，性情 | |
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71
misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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72
torpid
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| adj.麻痹的，麻木的，迟钝的 | |
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ponderous
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| adj.沉重的，笨重的，(文章)冗长的 | |
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74
throb
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| v.震颤，颤动；(急速强烈地)跳动，搏动 | |
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bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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ulcers
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| n.溃疡( ulcer的名词复数 )；腐烂物；道德败坏；腐败 | |
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ulcer
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| n.溃疡，腐坏物 | |
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afflicted
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| 使受痛苦，折磨( afflict的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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79
wrought
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| v.引起；以…原料制作；运转；adj.制造的 | |
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necromancy
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| n.巫术；通灵术 | |
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81
monstrous
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| adj.巨大的；恐怖的；可耻的，丢脸的 | |
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82
guise
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| n.外表，伪装的姿态 | |
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desperately
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| adv.极度渴望地，绝望地，孤注一掷地 | |
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84
misanthrope
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| n.恨人类的人；厌世者 | |
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85
motives
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| n.动机，目的( motive的名词复数 ) | |
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motive
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| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
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lust
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| n.性(淫)欲；渴(欲)望；vi.对…有强烈的欲望 | |
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ingratitude
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| n.忘恩负义 | |
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instinctive
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| adj.(出于)本能的；直觉的；(出于)天性的 | |
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vices
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| 缺陷( vice的名词复数 )； 恶习； 不道德行为； 台钳 | |
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impurity
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| n.不洁，不纯，杂质 | |
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guilt
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| n.犯罪；内疚；过失，罪责 | |
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93
confiding
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| adj.相信人的，易于相信的v.吐露（秘密，心事等）( confide的现在分词 )；（向某人）吐露（隐私、秘密等） | |
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groan
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| vi./n.呻吟，抱怨；(发出)呻吟般的声音 | |
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95
anguish
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| n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦，烦恼 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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infancy
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| n.婴儿期；幼年期；初期 | |
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98
quaffed
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| v.痛饮( quaff的过去式和过去分词 )；畅饮；大口大口将…喝干；一饮而尽 | |
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draughts
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| n. <英>国际跳棋 | |
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100
quench
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| vt.熄灭，扑灭；压制 | |
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101
celestial
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| adj.天体的；天上的 | |
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102
gallant
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| adj.英勇的，豪侠的；(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
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103
folly
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| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
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104
dreary
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| adj.令人沮丧的，沉闷的，单调乏味的 | |
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105
desolate
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| adj.荒凉的，荒芜的；孤独的，凄凉的；v.使荒芜，使孤寂 | |
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106
eke
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| v.勉强度日，节约使用 | |
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107
distressed
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| 痛苦的 | |
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108
vacancy
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| n.（旅馆的）空位，空房，（职务的）空缺 | |
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109
mistily
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| adv.有雾地，朦胧地，不清楚地 | |
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110
groaning
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| adj. 呜咽的, 呻吟的 动词groan的现在分词形式 | |
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111
miserably
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| adv.痛苦地；悲惨地；糟糕地；极度地 | |
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112
trifling
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| adj.微不足道的；没什么价值的 | |
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113
blemish
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| v.损害；玷污；瑕疵，缺点 | |
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114
solitude
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| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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115
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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116
remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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117
mien
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| n.风采；态度 | |
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118
exterior
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| adj.外部的，外在的；表面的 | |
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119
blighted
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| adj.枯萎的，摧毁的 | |
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120
murmurs
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| n.低沉、连续而不清的声音( murmur的名词复数 )；低语声；怨言；嘀咕 | |
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121
noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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122
scrutiny
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| n.详细检查，仔细观察 | |
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123
Founder
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| n.创始者，缔造者 | |
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124
rattling
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| adj. 格格作响的, 活泼的, 很好的 adv. 极其, 很, 非常 动词rattle的现在分词 | |
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125
joints
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|
| 接头( joint的名词复数 )； 关节； 公共场所（尤指价格低廉的饮食和娱乐场所） （非正式）； 一块烤肉 （英式英语） | |
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126
morbid
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|
| adj.病的；致病的；病态的；可怕的 | |
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127
tavern
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| n.小旅馆，客栈；小酒店 | |
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128
farce
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| n.闹剧，笑剧，滑稽戏；胡闹 | |
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129
miseries
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| n.痛苦( misery的名词复数 )；痛苦的事；穷困；常发牢骚的人 | |
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130
scorpions
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| n.蝎子( scorpion的名词复数 ) | |
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131
inquiry
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| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
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132
investigation
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| n.调查，调查研究 | |
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133
stewed
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| adj.焦虑不安的，烂醉的v.炖( stew的过去式和过去分词 )；煨；思考；担忧 | |
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134
toads
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| n.蟾蜍，癞蛤蟆( toad的名词复数 ) | |
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135
vipers
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| n.蝰蛇( viper的名词复数 )；毒蛇；阴险恶毒的人；奸诈者 | |
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136
Amended
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|
| adj. 修正的 动词amend的过去式和过去分词 | |
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137
imbued
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| v.使（某人/某事）充满或激起（感情等）( imbue的过去式和过去分词 )；使充满；灌输；激发（强烈感情或品质等） | |
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138
semblance
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| n.外貌，外表 | |
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139
deformed
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| adj.畸形的；变形的；丑的，破相了的 | |
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140
eligible
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| adj.有条件被选中的；(尤指婚姻等)合适(意)的 | |
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141
fumes
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| n.(强烈而刺激的)气味，气体 | |
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142
charcoal
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| n.炭，木炭，生物炭 | |
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143
thoroughly
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|
| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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144
woes
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| 困境( woe的名词复数 )； 悲伤； 我好苦哇； 某人就要倒霉 | |
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145
woe
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| n.悲哀，苦痛，不幸，困难；int.用来表达悲伤或惊慌 | |
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146
lore
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| n.传说；学问，经验，知识 | |
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147
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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148
horrid
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| adj.可怕的；令人惊恐的；恐怖的；极讨厌的 | |
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149
vile
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| adj.卑鄙的，可耻的，邪恶的；坏透的 | |
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150
pervading
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| v.遍及，弥漫( pervade的现在分词 ) | |
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151
utterance
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| n.用言语表达，话语，言语 | |
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152
recesses
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| n.壁凹( recess的名词复数 )；（工作或业务活动的）中止或暂停期间；学校的课间休息；某物内部的凹形空间v.把某物放在墙壁的凹处( recess的第三人称单数 )；将（墙）做成凹形，在（墙）上做壁龛；休息，休会，休庭 | |
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153
lighter
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| n.打火机，点火器；驳船；v.用驳船运送；light的比较级 | |
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154
fixed
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|
| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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155
stagnant
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|
| adj.不流动的，停滞的，不景气的 | |
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156
twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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157
enveloped
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| v.包围，笼罩，包住( envelop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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158
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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159
bustling
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| adj.喧闹的 | |
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160
kindle
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| v.点燃，着火 | |
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161
traitor
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| n.叛徒，卖国贼 | |
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162
sneer
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| v.轻蔑；嘲笑；n.嘲笑，讥讽的言语 | |
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163
onward
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|
| adj.向前的，前进的；adv.向前，前进，在先 | |
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164
peculiarity
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| n.独特性，特色；特殊的东西；怪癖 | |
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165
peculiar
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|
| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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166
sifting
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| n.筛，过滤v.筛( sift的现在分词 )；筛滤；细查；详审 | |
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167
calamity
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| n.灾害，祸患，不幸事件 | |
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168
smothered
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| （使）窒息， （使）透不过气( smother的过去式和过去分词 )； 覆盖； 忍住； 抑制 | |
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169
smothering
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| （使）窒息， （使）透不过气( smother的现在分词 )； 覆盖； 忍住； 抑制 | |
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170
coffin
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| n.棺材，灵柩 | |
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171
aged
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| adj.年老的，陈年的 | |
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172
tremor
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| n.震动，颤动，战栗，兴奋，地震 | |
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173
chaos
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| n.混乱，无秩序 | |
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174
dire
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|
| adj.可怕的，悲惨的，阴惨的，极端的 | |
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175
testimony
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| n.证词；见证，证明 | |
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176
bluff
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|
| v.虚张声势，用假象骗人；n.虚张声势，欺骗 | |
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177
habitual
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|
| adj.习惯性的；通常的，惯常的 | |
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178
disposition
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| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
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179
titillation
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| n.搔痒，愉快；搔痒感 | |
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180
dilemma
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|
| n.困境，进退两难的局面 | |
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181
ostensible
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| adj.(指理由)表面的，假装的 | |
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182
imbibing
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| v.吸收( imbibe的现在分词 )；喝；吸取；吸气 | |
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183
yearning
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| a.渴望的；向往的；怀念的 | |
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184
eternity
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| n.不朽，来世；永恒，无穷 | |
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185
boundless
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| adj.无限的；无边无际的；巨大的 | |
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186
ledger
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| n.总帐，分类帐；帐簿 | |
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187
vaults
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| n.拱顶( vault的名词复数 )；地下室；撑物跳高；墓穴 | |
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188
countersign
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| v.副署，会签 | |
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189
descend
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| vt./vi.传下来，下来，下降 | |
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190
pervaded
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| v.遍及，弥漫( pervade的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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191
prospects
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| n.希望，前途(恒为复数) | |
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192
veneration
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| n.尊敬，崇拜 | |
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193
preclude
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| vt.阻止，排除，防止；妨碍 | |
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194
wilful
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| adj.任性的，故意的 | |
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195
violation
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| n.违反(行为)，违背(行为)，侵犯 | |
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196
conceit
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| n.自负，自高自大 | |
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197
obnoxious
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| adj.极恼人的，讨人厌的，可憎的 | |
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198
obtrude
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| v.闯入；侵入；打扰 | |
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199
initiated
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| n. 创始人 adj. 新加入的 vt. 开始，创始，启蒙，介绍加入 | |
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200
talisman
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| n.避邪物，护身符 | |
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201
densest
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| 密集的( dense的最高级 )； 密度大的； 愚笨的； （信息量大得）难理解的 | |
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202
momentary
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| adj.片刻的，瞬息的；短暂的 | |
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203
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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204
shrouding
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| n.覆盖v.隐瞒( shroud的现在分词 )；保密 | |
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205
everlasting
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| adj.永恒的，持久的，无止境的 | |
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206
unintelligibly
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| 难以理解地 | |
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207
corpse
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| n.尸体，死尸 | |
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208
catastrophe
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| n.大灾难，大祸 | |
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209
narrate
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| v.讲，叙述 | |
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210
regularity
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| n.规律性，规则性；匀称，整齐 | |
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211
monarchs
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| 君主，帝王( monarch的名词复数 ) | |
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212
monarch
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| n.帝王，君主，最高统治者 | |
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213
comeliness
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| n. 清秀, 美丽, 合宜 | |
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214
expenditure
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| n.(时间、劳力、金钱等)支出；使用，消耗 | |
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215
ascended
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| v.上升，攀登( ascend的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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216
distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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217
stainless
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| adj.无瑕疵的，不锈的 | |
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218
destitute
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| adj.缺乏的；穷困的 | |
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219
faculty
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| n.才能；学院，系；(学院或系的)全体教学人员 | |
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220
craves
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| 渴望，热望( crave的第三人称单数 )； 恳求，请求 | |
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221
illusive
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| adj.迷惑人的，错觉的 | |
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222
fervency
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| n.热情的；强烈的；热烈 | |
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223
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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224
scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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225
ascertain
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| vt.发现，确定，查明，弄清 | |
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226
conversance
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| n.熟悉，精通 | |
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227
courteously
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| adv.有礼貌地，亲切地 | |
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formerly
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| adv.从前，以前 | |
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mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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speculative
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| adj.思索性的，暝想性的，推理的 | |
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231
misty
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| adj.雾蒙蒙的，有雾的 | |
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deceptive
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| adj.骗人的，造成假象的，靠不住的 | |
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steadfast
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| adj.固定的，不变的，不动摇的；忠实的；坚贞不移的 | |
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234
beheld
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| v.看，注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
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vapors
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| n.水汽，水蒸气，无实质之物( vapor的名词复数 )；自夸者；幻想 [药]吸入剂 [古]忧郁（症）v.自夸，（使）蒸发( vapor的第三人称单数 ) | |
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gulf
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| n.海湾；深渊，鸿沟；分歧，隔阂 | |
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wringing
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| 淋湿的，湿透的 | |
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238
millennium
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| n.一千年，千禧年；太平盛世 | |
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239
accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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240
smitten
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| 猛打，重击，打击( smite的过去分词 ) | |
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241
miller
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| n.磨坊主 | |
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242
conflagration
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| n.建筑物或森林大火 | |
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243
obstinacy
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| n.顽固；（病痛等）难治 | |
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possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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wielded
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| 手持着使用（武器、工具等）( wield的过去式和过去分词 )； 具有； 运用（权力）； 施加（影响） | |
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246
wield
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| vt.行使，运用，支配；挥，使用(武器等) | |
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247
warfare
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| n.战争(状态)；斗争；冲突 | |
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248
overthrow
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| v.推翻，打倒，颠覆；n.推翻，瓦解，颠覆 | |
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249
pandemonium
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| n.喧嚣，大混乱 | |
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250
calamities
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| n.灾祸，灾难( calamity的名词复数 )；不幸之事 | |
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contented
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| adj.满意的，安心的，知足的 | |
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252
unprecedented
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| adj.无前例的，新奇的 | |
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253
epoch
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| n.(新)时代；历元 | |
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254
adherence
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| n.信奉，依附，坚持，固着 | |
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255
merge
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| v.(使)结合，(使)合并，(使)合为一体 | |
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orator
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| n.演说者，演讲者，雄辩家 | |
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257
unemployed
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| adj.失业的，没有工作的；未动用的，闲置的 | |
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258
verge
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| n.边，边缘；v.接近，濒临 | |
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259
exclusion
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| n.拒绝，排除，排斥，远足，远途旅行 | |
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crumbs
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| int. (表示惊讶)哎呀 n. 碎屑 名词crumb的复数形式 | |
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261
gnawing
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| a.痛苦的，折磨人的 | |
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262
withered
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| adj. 枯萎的，干瘪的，（人身体的部分器官）因病萎缩的或未发育良好的 动词wither的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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263
awe
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| n.敬畏，惊惧；vt.使敬畏，使惊惧 | |
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conversant
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| adj.亲近的，有交情的，熟悉的 | |
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265
derived
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| vi.起源；由来；衍生；导出v.得到( derive的过去式和过去分词 )；（从…中）得到获得；源于；（从…中）提取 | |
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266
serene
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| adj. 安详的，宁静的，平静的 | |
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267
inefficiency
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| n.无效率，无能；无效率事例 | |
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268
juncture
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| n.时刻，关键时刻，紧要关头 | |
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dint
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| n.由于，靠；凹坑 | |
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270
imbibed
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| v.吸收( imbibe的过去式和过去分词 )；喝；吸取；吸气 | |
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271
infinitely
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| adv.无限地，无穷地 | |
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