The French and German that had so long served me must now give place to my none too fluent Italian. In the grey old town of Domo d’Ossola I halted at a booth to buy a box of matches.
“Avete allumette?” I demanded of the brown-visaged matron in charge.
I have always had an unconquerable feeling that the French “allumette” ought really to be an Italian word; but my attempt to introduce it into that language failed dismally7.
“Cose sono allumette?” croaked8 the daughter of Italy, with such overdrawn9 sarcasm11 that it was all too evident that she understood the term, but did not propose to admit any knowledge of the despised francese tongue.
“Fiammiferi, voglio dire,” I replied, recalling the correct word.
“Ah! Ecco!” cried the matron, handing me a box with her blandest12 smile.
I quickly discovered, too, that the language of the Divine Comedy was not the one in which to make known my simple wants. But being more familiar with the phraseology of the famous Florentine than with the speech of the masses, I found myself, in those first days in the peninsula, prone15 to converse16 in poetics despite a very prosaic17 temperament18. As when, in the outskirts19 of Domo d’Ossola, I turned to a chestnut20 vendor21 at a fork in the road, and pointing up one of the branches, demanded:
44“Ah!—er—Perme si va nella città dol—Confound it, no, I mean is this the road to Varese?”
To which the native, to whose lips was mounting a “non capisc’” at sound of the Dantesque phrase, answered in a twinkling:
“Di s’guro, s’gnor’, semp’ dritt!”
Across northern Italy, almost in a straight line, are scattered22 several famous cities, all invaded by the broad highway that leads from the Simplon to Venice. Most beautiful among them is Pallanza, a village paradise on the shore of Lago Maggiore, in the lakeside groves23 of which I should have tarried longer but for the recollection of how wide the world is to the impecunious24 wayfarer25. I fished out, therefore, from the bin26 of a second-hand27 book dealer28 a ragged29 Baedeker in French, and, thus armed with a more trustworthy source of information than dull-eyed peasants, boarded the steamer that connected the broken ends of the highway. During the short journey a band of English tourists sauntered about on the deck above me, and my native tongue, unheard since Paris and not to be heard again until—well, until long after, sounded almost foreign to my ears.
Beyond Varese next morning, within sight of five snow-capped peaks of the range I had crossed three days before, I espied30 from afar the white sun-shields of two officers, armed with muskets31, and marching westward32. Anticipating a quizzing, I turned aside from the sun-scorched route and awaited their coming in a shaded spot. Strange to say, in this land burdened with a tax on salt and an unholy visitation of soldiers and priests, vagrants33 enjoy far more liberty than in France. Thus far the indifference34 of the gendarmerie had been so marked that I had come to feel neglected. Yet tramps abounded35. This very freedom makes Italy a favorite land among the Handwerksgesellen of Switzerland, Germany, and Austria, many of whom I had already met, marching southward full of Wanderlust, or crawling homeward with bitter stories of the miseries36 of the peninsula.
The carabinieri, spick and span of uniform, their swords rattling37 egotistically on the roadway, drew near, and, stepping into the shade, opened a conversation that needs no translation.
“Di dove siete?”
“Di America, dei Stati Uniti.”
“Di America! Ma! E dove andate?”
“A Venezia.”
“Ma! Come! A piedi?”
“Di siguro. Come volete che fare?”
45“Ma! Perche andare a Venezia?”
“Sono marinaio.”
“Ah! Marinaio! Bene!” and without even calling for my papers they strutted38 on along the highway.
A wonderful word is this Italian “ma.” Let not the uninitiated suppose that the term designates a maternal39 ancestor. But—and that is its real meaning—it is a useful vocable and like all useful things is greatly overworked. If an Italian of the masses wishes to express disgust, surprise, resignation, depression of spirits, or any one of a score of other impressions, he has merely to say “ma” with the corresponding accentuation and timbre40 and his hearers know his opinion exactly. It takes the place of our “All right!” “Hurry up!” “Quit it!” “Let ’er go!” “The devil he did!” “Rot!” “Dew tell!” “Cuss the luck!” “Nuff said!” “D—n it!” and there its meanings by no means cease.
Poverty stalks abroad in Italy. Even in this richer northern section it required no telescope to make out its gaunt and furrowed41 features. Ragged children quarrelled for the possession of an apple-core thrown by the wayside; the rolling fields were alive with barefooted women toiling42 like demon-driven serfs. A sparrow could not have found sustenance43 behind the gleaners. In wayside orchards44 men armed with grain-sacks stripped even the trees of their leaves; for what purpose was not evident, though the beds to which I was assigned in village inns suggested a possible solution of the problem.
The peasant of these parts possesses three beasts of burden: a team of gaunt white oxen—or cows—an undersized ass13, and his wife. Of the three, the last is most useful. The husbandman does not load his hay on wagons45; a few blades might fall by the wayside. He ties it carefully in small bundles, piles them high above the baskets strapped47 on the backs of his helpmeet, and drives her off to the village, often miles distant. They are loads which the American workman would refuse to carry—so does the Italian for that matter; but the highway is animate48 with what look, at a distance, like wandering haystacks, from beneath which, on nearer approach, peer women, or half-grown girls, whose drawn10 and haggard faces might have served as models to those artists who have depicted49 on canvas the beings of Dante’s hell.
A traveler, ignorant of Italian, wandering into Como at my heels on that sweltering afternoon, would have been justified50 in supposing that the advance agent of a circus had preceded him. Had he taken the 46trouble to engage an interpreter, however, he would have learned that a more serious catastrophe51 had befallen. The very night before a longed-hoped-for heir to the throne of Vittore Emanuele had dropped into his reserved seat on the neck of the Italian tax-payer. On the city gate, on house-walls everywhere, on the very fa?ade of the cathedral, great, paste-sweating placards announced the casuality in flaunting53 head-lines, and a greater aggregation54 of adjectives than would be required in our own over-postered land to call public attention to the merits of Chow Chow Chewing Gum, or the Yum Yum Burlesque55 Company. Worst of all, the manifesto56 ended, not with expressions of condolence to the proletariat, but with a command to swear at once loyalty57 and fealty58 to “Il Principe di Piemonte.” Everywhere jostling groups were engrossed59 in spelling out the proclamation; but it was quite possible to pass through the streets of Como without being trampled60 under foot by its citizens in their mad rush to carry out the royal order.
Nightfall found me in quest of a lodging61 in Pusiano, a lakeside village midway between Como and Lecco. It was no easy task. The alberghi of Italy—but why generalize? They are all tarred with the same stick. The proprietor62, then, of the Pusiano hostelry, relying for his custom on those who know every in and out of the town, had not gone to the expense of erecting63 a sign. I found, after long and diligent64 search, the edifice65 that included the public resort under its roof; but as the inn had no door opening on the street, I was still faced with the problem of finding the entrance. Of two dark passages and a darker stairway before me, it was a question which was most suggestive of pitfalls66 set for unwary travelers, and of dank, underground dungeons67. I plunged68 into one of the tunnels with my hands on the defensive69; which was fortunate, for I brought up against a stone wall. The second passage ended as abruptly70. I approached the stairway stealthily; stumbled up the stone steps, over a stray cat and a tin pan, and into the common room of the Pusiano inn—common because it served as kitchen, dining-room, parlor71, and office.
My wants made known, the proprietor half rose to his feet, sat down again, and motioned me to a seat. I took a place opposite him on one of the two benches inside the fire-place, partly because it had been raining outside, but chiefly on account of an absence of chairs that left me no choice in the matter. Shrouded72 in silence I filled my pipe. The landlord handed me a glowing coal in his fingers and dropped back on his bench without once subduing73 his stare. His wife 47wandered in and placed several pots and kettles around the fire that toasted our heels. Still not a word. I leaned back and, gazing upward, watched as much of the smoke as could find no other vent74 pass up the chimney. Now and then a drop of rain fell with a hiss75 on pan or kettle.
“Not nice weather,” grinned the landlord, and the ice thus broken, we were soon engaged in animated76 conversation. Too animated in fact, for in emphasizing some opinion mine host had the misfortune to kick over a kettle of boiling macaroni and was banished77 from the chimney corner by a raging spouse78. Being less given to pedal gesticulation, I kept my place, and strove to answer the questions which the exile fired at me across the room.
By meal time several natives had dropped in, and our party at table grew garrulous79 and in time so numerous that to serve us became a serious problem to the hostess, who was neither lithe80 nor quick of movement. The supper began with una minestra, a plate of soup containing some species of macaroni and, as usual in these cheap alberghi, several species of scrap-iron. Then a bit of meat was doled81 out, somewhat to my surprise; for the price of this article is so high in Italy that a stew82 of kidneys, liver, sheep’s head, or fat-covered entrails is often the only offering. He who has the temerity83 and a heavy enough purse to order a cutlet or a bistecca in such an inn is looked upon with awe84 and envy as long as he remains85. I seldom had either.
Following the meat dish—it is never served with it—came a bowl of vegetables, then a bit of fruit and a nibble86 of cheese for each of us. Wine, of course, had been much in evidence; the Italian has no conception of a meal without his national drink. The wayfarer may call for nothing to eat but the three-cent minestra, and la signora serves it as cheerily as a dinner at one lira; but let him refuse to order wine, and her sympathy is forever forfeited87. When drowsiness88 fell upon me the hostess led the way to an airy, spacious89 room, its bed boasting a lace canopy90, and its coarse sheets remarkably91 white in view of the fact that the Italian housewife does her work in the village brook92, and never uses hot water. Such labor93 is cheap in the peninsula and for all this luxury I paid less than ten cents.
Early next day I pushed on toward Lecco. A light frost had fallen during the night, and the peasants, alarmed at this first breath of winter, had sent into the vineyards every man, woman, and child capable of labor. The pickers worked feverishly94. All day women plodded95 from the fields to the roadside with great buckets of grapes to be 48dumped into hogsheads on waiting ox-carts. Men, booted or shod with wooden clogs96, jumped now and then into the barrels and stamped the grapes down. Once full, the receptacles were covered with strips of dirty canvas, the contadino mounted his cart, turned his oxen into the highway, and fell promptly97 asleep. Arrived at the village, he drew up before the chute of the communal98 wine-press and shoveled99 his grapes into a slowly-revolving hopper, from which, crushed to an oozy100 pulp101, they were run into huge vats102 and left to settle.
Halting for a morning lunch in the shadow of the statue of Manzoni, I rounded that range of mountains, so strangely resembling a saw, which shelters Lecco from the east wind, and continuing through the theater of action of “I Promessi Sposi,” gained Bergamo by nightfall. Beyond that city a level highway set an unchanging course across a vast, grape-bearing plain, watered by a network of canals. The Alps retired103 slowly to the northward104 until, at Brescia, only a phantom105 range wavered in the haze106 of the distant horizon.
About the time of my arrival in Italy, a strike had been declared in Milan. The Milanese motormen had refused to groom107 their horses or something of the sort. Once started, the movement was rapidly growing general and widespread. The newspapers bubbled over with it, the air about me was surcharged with raging arraignments of capitalistic iniquities108. Strikes and lock-outs, however, were no affairs to trouble the peace of a foot-traveler. When trains ceased to run, I marched serenely109 on through clamoring groups of stranded110 voyagers; when the barbers closed their shops, I decided111 to raise a beard. The butchers joined the movement and I smiled with the indifference of one who had subsisted112 for weeks chiefly on bread.
The bakers113 of northern Italy concoct114 this important comestible in loaves of about the size and durability115 of baseballs. Serving in that capacity there is good reason to believe that one of them would remain unscathed at the end of a league game, though the score-book recorded many a three-bagger and home-run. Still, hard loaves soaked in wine, or crushed between two wayside rocks were edible116, in a way; and, as long as they were plentiful117, I could not suffer for lack of food.
A few miles beyond Brescia, however, the strike became a matter of personal importance. At each of the bakeries of a grumbling118 village I was turned away with the cry of:—
“Pane119 non ch’è! The strike! The bakers have joined the strike and no more bread is made!”
49To satisfy that day’s appetite I was reduced to “paste,” a mushy mess of macaroni; and at a Verona inn I was robbed of half my sleep by the discussion of this new phase of the situation, that roared in the kitchen until long after midnight.
I was returning across the piazza120 next morning, from an early view of the picturesque121 bridges and the ancient Colosseum of Verona, when I fell upon a howling mob at the gateway122 of the city hall. Joining the throng123, I soon gained an inner courtyard, to find what seemed to be half the population of Verona quarreling, pushing, and scratching in a struggle to reach the gate of a large wicket that shut off one end of the square. Behind it, just visible above the intervening sea of heads, appeared the top of some massive instrument, and the caps of a squad124 of policemen. I inquired of an excited neighbor the cause of the squabble. He glowered125 at me and howled something in reply, the only intelligible126 word of which was “pane” (bread). I turned to a man behind me. He took advantage of my movement to shove me aside and crowd into my place, at the same time vociferating “pane!” I tried to oust127 the usurper128. He jabbed me twice in the ribs129 with his elbows, and again roared “pane.” In fact, everywhere above the howl and blare of the multitude, one word rang out clear and sharp—“pane! pane! pane!” Sad experiences of the day before, and the anticipation130 of the long miles of highway before me, had aroused my interest in that commodity. I dived into the human whirlpool and set out to battle my way towards the vortex.
With all its noise and bluster131, an Italian crowd does not know the rudiments132 of football. Even the wretch133 who had dispossessed me of my first vantage-ground was far behind when I reached the front rank and paused to survey the scene of conflict. Inside the wicket a dozen perspiring134 policemen were guarding several huge baskets of that baseball bread already mentioned. Beyond them stood the instrument that had attracted my attention—a pair of wooden scales that looked fully46 capable of giving the avoirdupois of an ox. Still further on, an officer, whose expression suggested that he was recording135 nominations136 of candidates to fill the King’s seat, presided over a ponderous137 book, a pen the size of a stiletto behind each ear, and one resembling a young bayonet in his hand.
One by one the citizens of Verona shot through a small gate into the enclosure from the surging multitude outside as from a catapult; to be brought up with a round turn by the shouted question, “Pound or two pounds?” Once weighed out, the desired number of loaves 50traveled rapidly from hand to hand on one side of the official line; while the applicant138, struggling to keep pace with them on the other, paused before the registering clerk to answer several pertinent139 personal questions, corralled his purchase at the table of the receiving teller140, and made his escape as best he could.
Almost before I had time to study the workings of this system, the press of humanity behind sent me spinning through the gate. “Two pounds!” I shouted, as I swept by the scales en route for the book. Just in front of me a gaunt creature paused and gave his residence as Florence. “No bread for you!” roared every officer within hearing; policemen, sergeants141, and clerks, in a rousing chorus, “Only bread for Veronese! Get out of here!” and, impelled142 by two official boots, the stranger stood not on the order of his going.
That Florentine was a god-send to me. In my innocence143 I had already opened my mouth to shout “Americano” to his Self-Complacency behind the volume, and, had that fateful word escaped me, I should have gone “paneless” through the long hours of a long day.
“Residenza?” shouted the registrar144, as I entered his field of vision.
“Verona, signore.”
“Professione?”
“Calzolaio, signore.”
“Street and number.”
I remembered the name of one street and tacked145 on a number haphazard146.
“Bene! Va!” An official hand pushed me unceremoniously towards the teller. I dropped ten soldi, gathered up my bread, and departed by the further wicket-gate down a flagstone alley6.
Let him who has not tried it take my word that to carry two pounds of edible baseballs in his arms is no simple task. A loaf rolled in the gutter147 before I had advanced a dozen paces. The others squirmed waywardly in my grasp. With both hands amply occupied, I was reduced to the indignity148 of squatting149 on the pavement to fill my pockets, and even then a witless observer would have taken me for an itinerant150 juggler151. Never since leaving Detroit had I posed as a philanthropist, but the burden of bread called for drastic measures; I must either be charitable or wasteful152.
He who longs to give alms in Italy has not far to look for a recipient153 of his benefaction. I glanced down the passageway, and my 51eyes fell on a beggar of forlornly mournful aspect crouched154 in a gloomy doorway155. With a benignant smile I bestowed156 upon him enough of my load with which to play the American national game among his confrères until the season closed. The outcast wore a sign marked, “Deaf and dumb.” Either he had picked up the wrong placard in sallying forth157, or had been startled out of his r?le by the munificence158 of the gift. For as long as a screeching159 voice could reach me I was deluged160 with more blessings162, to be delivered by the Virgin163 Mary; Her Son; every pope, past, present, or to come; or any saint, dead, living, or unborn, who had a few stray ones about him; than I could possibly have found use for.
I plodded on towards Vincenza. All that day the hard-earned loaves, which I dissolved in a glass of wine at village inns, aroused the envy of pessimistic groups gathered to curse the strike in general and that of the bakers in particular.
When morning broke again I summoned courage to test the third-class accommodations of Italy, and took train from Vincenza to Padua. At least, the ticket I purchased bore those two names, though the company hardly lived up to the printed contract thereon. We started from somewhere off in the woods to the west of Vincenza and, at the end of several hours of jolting164 and bumping, not excused, certainly, by the speed of the train, were set down in the center of a wheat field, which the guards informed us, in blatant165 voices, was Padua. I had a faint recollection of having heard somewhere that Padua boasted buildings and streets, like other cities. It was possible, of course, that the source of my information had been untrustworthy; I am nothing if not gullible166. But fixed167 impressions are not easily effaced168, and I wandered out through the sequestered169 station to whisper my absurd delusion170 to the first passerby171.
“Padova!” he snorted, “Ma! Di siguro! Certainly this is Padua! Follow this road for a kilometer. Just before you come in sight of a whitewashed172 pig-sty turn to the left, walk sempre dritt’, and the city cannot escape you.”
I set out with the inner sense of having been “done” by the railway company, but the good man’s directions proved accurate and brought me in due time to the city gate.
The Italian stammers173 two excuses for this enchanting174 custom of banishing175 his stations to the surrounding meadows. If the city admitted railways within her walls—and every town larger than a community of goat-herds is walled—how could the officials of the 52octroi collect the duty on a cabbage hidden in the fireman’s tool-box? Or in case of foreign invasion! A regiment176 of Austrians ensconced under the benches of the third-class coach might, if they survived the journey, butcher the entire population before their presence was suspected. Besides, who could live in peace and contentment knowing that the sacred intermural precincts might at any moment be deluged with a train-load of cackling, beBaedekered tour—But no, now I think of it, my informant offered only two apologies.
Those who are victims of insomnia177 should journey to Padua. There may be in the length and breadth of Europe another community as conducive178 to sleep, but it has thus far escaped discovery. The sun is undoubtedly179 hot in Italy during the summer months. There runs a proverb in the peninsula to the effect that only fools and the English—which of course, includes Americans—venture forth near noonday without at least the protection of a parasol. But having suffered no evil effects during weeks of tramping in the country with only a cap on my head, I, for one, should hesitate to charge entirely180 to climatic conditions the torpor181 of the Padovans.
At any rate the city was lost in slumber182. The few horses dragged their vehicles at a snail’s pace; the drivers nodded on their seats; those few shopkeepers who had not put up their shutters183 and retired to the bosom184 of their families could with difficulty be aroused from their siestas185 to minister to the wants of yawning customers. The very dogs slept in the gutters186 or under the chairs of their torpescent masters, and, to judge from many a building that was crumbling187 away and falling asleep like the inhabitants, this Morpheusatic tendency was no temporary characteristic.
However, the general somnolence188 permitted me to view in peace the statues and architecture for which the drowsy189 city is justly renowned190, and leaving it to slumber on, I set off at noonday on the last stage of my journey across northern Italy. The phantom range of the Alps had disappeared. Away to the eastward191 stretched a land as flat and unbroken as the sea which, tossing its drifting sands on a lee shore through the ages, has drawn this coast further and further towards the rising sun. Walking had been easier on the long mountain ascents193 behind, for a powerful wind from off the Adriatic pressed me back like an unseen hand at my breast. Certain as I had been of reaching Fusiano on the coast before the day was done, twilight194 found me still plodding on across a barren lowland. 53With the first twinkling star a faint glow appeared to the left and afar off, giving center to the surrounding darkness. Steadily195 it grew until it illuminated196 a distant corner of the firmament197, while the wind howled with ever-increasing force across the unpeopled waste.
Night had long since settled down when the lapping of waves announced that I had overtaken the retreating coast-line. A few ramshackle hovels rose up out of the darkness, but still far out over the sea hovered198 the glow in the sky—no distant conflagration199, as I had supposed, but the reflected lights of Venice. Long cherished visions of a cheering meal and a soft couch, before my entrance into the city of the sea, vanished; for there was no inn among the hovels of Fusiano. I took shelter in a shanty200 down on the beach and awaited patiently the ten-o’clock boat.
By the appointed hour there had gathered enough of a swarthy crowd to fill the tiny steamer that made fast with great difficulty to the crazy wharf202. On the open sea the wind was riotous203, and our passage took on the aspect of a transatlantic trip in miniature. Now and then a wave spat204 in the faces of the passengers huddled205 aft. A ship’s officer jammed his way among us to collect the six-cent tickets. Behind him the officials of the Venice octroi were busily engaged in levying206 dues on produce from the country. Two poor devils, gaunt as death’s heads, crouched in the waist, guarding between them a bundle of vegetables that could be bought a few centesimi cheaper on the mainland than in the city. The stuff could not have satisfied the normal appetite of one man; yet in spite of their pleadings, the pair were compelled to drop their share of soldi into the official bag.
By and by the toss of the steamer abated207 somewhat. I pushed to the rail to peer out into the night. Off the port bow appeared a stretch of smooth water in which were reflected the myriad208 lights of smaller craft and the illuminated windows of a block of houses rising sheer out of the sea. We swung to port. A gondola209, weirdly210 lighted up by torches on bow and poop, glided211 across our bow. The houses born of the sea took on individuality, a wide canal opened on our left and curved away between other buildings, the splendor212 of their fa?ades faintly suggested in the light of mooring-post lamp and lantern. It was the Grand Canal. The steamer nosed its way through a fleet of empty gondolas213, tied up at a landing stage before 54a marble column bearing the lion of St. Mark, and the passengers hurried away across the cathedral square to be swallowed up in the night.
In a city of streets and avenues there are certain signs which point the way to the ragged section, but among the winding214 waterways and arcade215 bridges of this strange metropolis216 such indications were lacking. A full two hours I tramped at utter random217, on the blisters218 of the highway from Padua, only to turn up at last in an albergo within a stone’s throw of my landing-place and the Palace of the Doges.
The squares and alleys219 of Venice are strewn with human wreckage220. In the rest of Italy the most penurious221 wretch may move from place to place in an attempt to ameliorate his condition; but on this marshy222 island the man unable to scrape together a few soldi for boat or car fare is a prisoner. The captives are little accustomed to sleep within doors. Lodging, obviously, must be high in a city where space is absolutely limited; but there are “joints223” where food sells more cheaply than anywhere else on the continent.
On the evening following my arrival, I came upon one of these establishments which rubbed shoulders with the cathedral of St. Mark. Appetite alone certainly could not have enticed224 me inside, but eager to scrape acquaintance with the submerged tenth—the fraction seems small—of Venice, I crowded my way into the kennel225. A lean and hungry multitude surged about the counter. At one end of it was piled a stack of plates; near them stood a box which, to all appearances, had long done service as a coal scuttle226, filled to overflowing227 with twisted and rust-eaten forks and spoons. The room was foggy with the steam that rose from a score of giant kettles containing as many species of stew, soup, and vegetable rago?t.
Each client, conducting himself as if he had been fasting for a week past, snatched a plate from the stack; thrust a paw into the box for a weapon of attack, and dropping a few coppers228 of most unsanitary aspect into the dish, shoved it with a savage230 bellow231 at that one of the kettles the contents of which had taken his fancy. A fogbound server scraped the soldi into the till, poured a ladleful of steaming slop into the outstretched trencher, and the customer fought his way into a dingy232 back-room.
A Venetian pauper233 on the Rialto bridge
My gondolier on the Grand Canal
Amid the uproar234 I had no time to inquire prices. I proffered235 six cents to a wrinkled hag presiding over a caldron of what purported236 to be a tripe237 and liver rago?t. She cried out in amazement238, 55handed back four cents, and filled my plate to the rim239. I reached the back-room with half the mess—the rest being scooped240 up in the coat sleeves of the famished241 throng—and took my place at an already crowded table. Neither bread nor wine was to be had in the house. On a board propped242 up across a corner of the room were several cylinders243 of corn mush, three feet in diameter and half as thick. A hairless creature, stripped to the waist, cut off slabs244 of the cake for those who would have something to take the place of bread. The yellow dough245 sold at two cents a pound, yet each order was carefully weighed, and purchaser and server watched the scales jealously during the operation. As a substitute for wine there was a jar of water, that abominable246, germ-infested water of Venice, from which each drank in turn.
Every type of wretch which the city shelters was represented in the emaciated247 gathering248. Rag-pickers snarled249 at cathedral beggars. Street urchins250 jostled bearded bootblacks. Female outcasts rubbed elbows with those gruesome beings who pick up a few cents a day at the landing stages. My boisterous251 appetite dwindled252 away at sight of the messes around me and in the exploration of the mysteries of my own portion. All at once there burst upon me the recollection that I had seen neither a dog nor a cat during all that day in Venice, and I turned and fought my way to the door. Behind me rose a quarrel over my unfinished portion. Outside, on the square beside the fallen campanile, kind-hearted tourists were feeding wholesome253 grain to a flock of pigeons, above which magnificent statues looked down upon a crowd of homeless waifs huddled under the portico254 of the Palace of the Doges.
I turned down to the landing stage one morning resolved on the extravagance of a gondola excursion. The water cabmen of Venice are not wont255 to solicit256 men in corduroys and flannel257 shirt. A score of them, just recovering from a stampede on a tow-head in regulation tourist garb258, greeted my arrival with the fishy259 eye of indifference. When I boldly announced my plan, they crowded around me to laugh in derision at the laborer260 seeking to play the lord. For some time they refused to take my words seriously, and even then the first skeptic261 to be convinced insisted on proof of my financial solvency262 before he proffered his services.
Along the Grand Canal passing gondoliers, without passengers to keep them decorous, flung cutting jests at my propeller263.
“Eh! Amico! What’s that you’ve got?”
56“Ch’è un rico, colui quà, eh?”
“Sangue della Vergine, caro mio, dove hai accozzato quello?”
But once assured of his fare, the fellow lost his smirk264 and became all servility, pointing out the objects of interest with a mien265 of owl-like solemnity, and rebuking266 his fellow-craftsmen with an admonishing267 shake of the head.
Fear drove me forth from Venice before I had rested the miles from Paris out of my legs—fear that in a few days more the mosquitoes would finish their nefarious268 work and devour269 me quite. On the Sunday evening following the opening of the carnival270, I fought my confetti-strewn way to the station and “booked” for Bologna. I had not yet, however, learned all the secrets of Italian railway travel. The official who snatched my ticket at the exit to the platform and the midnight express handed it back and pushed me away with a withering271 glare:
“No third-class on this train,” he growled272, “wait for the slow train at five in the morning.”
How any particular one of the trains of Italy could be discriminated273 against by being called slow was hard to comprehend. Perhaps I misunderstood the gateman. He may have said “the more slower train.” At any rate, I was left to stretch out on a truck and await the laggard274 dawn.
Under a declining sun our funereal275 caravan276 crawled into Bologna, and I struck out along the ancient highway to Florence. Between the two cities stretches an almost unbroken series of mountain ranges, a poverty-stricken territory given over to grazing and wine-production, and little known to tourists, for the railway sweeps in a great half-circle around the northern end of the barrier. A few miles from the university town the highway began a winding ascent192 in Simplon-like solitude277, save where a vineyard clung to a wrinkled hillside. At such spots tall, cone-shaped buckets of some two bushels’ capacity stood at the roadside, some filled with grapes, others with the floating pulp left by the crushers.
What species of crusher was used I did not learn until nearly nightfall. Then, suddenly rounding a jutting278 boulder279, I stepped into a group of four women, their skirts tied tightly around their loins, slowly treading up and down in as many buckets of grapes. One of them, a young woman by no means unattractive, sprang out of the bucket with a startled gasp280, let fall her skirts over legs purple with grape-juice far above the knees, and fled to the vineyard. Her companions, 57too young or too old to find immodesty in the situation, gazed in astonishment281 at the fleeing girl and continued to stamp slowly up and down.
Darkness overtook me in the solitude of an upper range, far from either hut or hamlet. A half hour later, a mountain storm burst upon me.
An interminable period I had plunged on when my eyes were gradually drawn to a faint light flickering282 through the downpour. I splashed forward and banged on a door beside an illuminated window. The portal was quickly opened from within, and I fell into a tiny wine-shop occupied by three tipplers. They stared stupidly for some time, while the water ran away from me in rivulets283 along the floor. Then the landlord remarked with a silly grin:—
“Lei è tutto bagnato?” (You are all wet.)
“Likewise hungry,” I answered. “What’s to eat?”
“Da mangiare! Ma! Not a thing in the house.”
“The nearest inn?”
“Six miles on.”
“Suppose I must go to bed supperless, then,” I sighed, drawing my water-soaked bundle from beneath my coat.
“Bed!” cried the landlord, “you cannot sleep here. I keep no lodging house.”
“What!” I protested, “do you think I am going on in this deluge161?”
“I keep no lodging house,” repeated the host, doggedly284.
I sat down on a bench, convinced that no three Italians should evict285 me without a struggle. One by one they came forward to try the efficacy of wheedling286, growling287, and loud-voiced bluster. I clung stolidly288 to my place. The landlord was on the verge289 of tears when one of the countrymen drew me to the window and offered me lodging in his barn across the way. I made out through the storm the dim outline of a building, and catching290 up my bundle, dashed with the native across the road and into a stone building, with no other floor, as I could feel under my feet, than Mother Earth. An American cow would balk291 at the door of the house of a mountain peasant of Italy; she would have fled bellowing292 at a glimpse of the interior of the barn that loomed293 up as my host lighted a lantern, and pointed201 out to me a heap of corn-husks in a corner behind the oxen and asses14. Fearful of losing a moment with his cronies over the wine, he gave the lantern a shake that extinguished it and, leaving me in utter darkness, hurried away.
58I groped my way towards the heap, narrowly escaped knocking down the last ass in the row, and was about to throw myself down on the husks when a man’s voice at my very feet shouted a word that I did not catch. Being in Italy I answered in Italian:
“Che avete? Voglio dormire qui.”
“Ach!” groaned294 the voice. “Nur ein verdammter Italiener!”
“Here friend!” I protested, in German, prodding295 the prostrate296 form with a foot, “who are you calling verdammter?”
Before the last word had passed my lips the man in the husks sprang to his feet with a wild shout.
“Lieber Gott!” he shrieked297, clutching at my coat and dancing around me. “Lieber Gott! Du verstehst Deutsch! You are no cursed Italian! Gott sei dank! In three weeks I have heard no German.”
Even the asses were protesting before he ceased his shouting and settled down to tell his troubles. He was but another of those familiar figures, a German on his Wanderjahr, who, straying far south in the peninsula, and losing his last copper229, was struggling northward again as rapidly as strength gained by a crust of bread or a few wayside berries each day permitted. One needed only to touch him to know that he was thin as a side-show skeleton. I offered him the half of a cheese I carried in a pocket, and he snatched it with the ravenous298 cry of a wolf and devoured299 it as we burrowed300 deep into the husks.
All night long the water dripped from my elbows and oozed301 out of my shoes, and a bitter mountain wind swept through the unmortared building. Morning came after little sleep, and I rose with joints so stiff that a half hour of kneading barely put them in working order. Outside a cold drizzle302 was falling, but the peasant grew surly, and, bidding farewell to my companion of the night, I set out along the mountain highway.
Two hours beyond the barn I came upon a miserable303 hamlet, paused at an even more miserable inn for a bowl of greasy304 water, alias305 soup, in which had been drowned a lump of black bread, and plodded on in the drizzle. A night and day of corn-husks had given me a rococo306 appearance that I only half suspected before my arrival at a mountain village late in the afternoon. It was a typical Apennine town; surrounded on all sides by splendid scenery, but itself a crowded collection of hovels where steep, narrow streets reeked307 with all the refuse of a common habitation of man and beast. The chief enigma308 of Italy is to know why ostensibly sane309 humans choose to house themselves in an agglomeration310 of stys, as near each other as they can be stacked, the outside huts jostling and crowding their neighbors, as if enviously311 waiting to catch them off their guard, that they may push nearer to the center of the unsavory jumble312; while round about them spread great valleys and hillsides uninhabited.
Going for the water. A village north of Rome
Italy is one of the most cruelly priest-ridden countries on the globe
59Wallowing through the filth313 of such a hamlet, I came upon a tumble-down hostelry of oppressive squalor. About the fire-place were huddled several slatternly, downcast mortals. I paused in the doorway, wondering to which to address myself. The rural innkeeper of Italy will never speak to a new arrival until he has been accosted314 by the latter. I once put the matter to the test by entering an inn at five in the afternoon and taking a seat at one of the tables. Many a side glance was cast upon me, many a low-toned discussion raged at the back of the room, but at nine in the evening I was still waiting for the first greeting.
Here, then, I stood for several moments on the threshold. At length, a misshapen female, unkempt and unsoaped to all appearances since infancy315, fumbled316 in her apron317, rose, and stumped318 slowly towards me holding out—a cent! I stepped back, and the charitable lady, misunderstanding my gesture of protest, returned to her seat, snarling319 in a cracked falsetto that beggars nowadays expected francs instead of soldi.
Disgusted at this invidious reception, I pigeon-holed my appetite and marched on. But I seemed permanently320 to have taken on the aspect of an eleemosynary appeal. Two miles beyond the village I passed a ragged road-repairer and a boy, breaking stone at the wayside. Hard by them was a hedge, weighed down with blackberries, to which I hastened and fell to picking my delayed dinner. The cantoniere stared a moment, open-mouthed; laid aside his sledge321, and mumbled322 something to the boy. The latter left his place, wandered down the road a short distance beyond me and idled about as if awaiting someone. With a half-filled cap I set off again. The boy edged nearer as I approached and, brushing against me, thrust something under my arm and ran back to the stone-pile. In my astonishment I dropped the gift on the highway. It was a quarter-loaf of black bread left over from the ragged workman’s dinner.
Late that night I reached a hamlet with a more energetic, if less charitable innkeeper; and the next afternoon found me looking down upon 60the vast Florentine valley, the winding Arno a bluish silver under the declining sun. By evening I was housed in the city of Dante and Michael Angelo.
During four days in Florence I played a sort of Jekyll and Hyde r?le, living with the poorest self-supporting class, but spending hours each day in cathedral and galleries. Paupers323 were everywhere in evidence, fewer than in Venice, perhaps, for here they could escape. Lodgings324 all but the utterly325 penniless could afford. I paid a half-franc daily for an uncramped chamber326 within a hop52, skip, and jump of the roasting-place of Savonarola. But those ultracheap eating houses of the canal city were lacking. Florentines on the ragged edge patronized instead a species of traveling restaurant. As night fell, there appeared at various corners, in the unwashed section of the city, men with push-carts laden327 with boiled tripe. Around them gathered jostling throngs328 whose surging ceased not for a moment until the last morsel329 had been sold. Each customer seemed to possess but a single soldo, which he had carefully guarded through the day in anticipation of the coming of the tripe-man. Never did the huckster make a sale without a quarrel arising over the size of the morsel; and never did the vendee retire until a second strip, about the size of a match, had been added to the original portion to make up what he claimed to be the just weight.
I spent an undue330 proportion of my fourth day in Florence viewing her works of art; for Sunday is the poor man’s day in the museums and galleries of Europe, there being no admission charged. When the throng was driven forth from the Pitti palace in the late afternoon, I decided not to return to my lodging and wandered off along the highway to Rome. The mountain country continued, but the ranges were less lofty and more thickly populated than to the north, and when night settled down, I was within sight of a hilltop village.
It is doubtful if there is another nation on the globe whose people are such general favorites as our own citizens. The American is a popular fellow in almost every land, certainly not the least so in Italy. Through all the peninsula there hovers331 about one, from that—to the Italian—magic world of America, a glamor332 which is sure to arouse interest to the highest pitch. More than that; there is, among the lower classes, an attitude almost of deference333 towards the man in any way connected with the El Dorado across the sea, as if every breast harbored the vague hope that this favored of the gods might be moved to carry home on his return a pocketful of his admirers.
Longing334 for America, however, does not imply any great amount 61of knowledge thereof. In this northern section especially, where one rarely meets a man whose remotest friend has emigrated, ignorance of the western hemisphere is astonishing.
An average village crowd, showing some evidence of education, was gathered in the hostelry of this first town beyond Florence. My arrival at first aroused small interest in the groups before fire-place and table. In ordering supper, however, I betrayed a foreign accent. Immediately there passed between the cronies of the band sundry335 nods and occult signs which they fondly believed were entirely incomprehensible to a newcomer, but which, in reality, said as plainly as words:—
“Now where the deuce do you suppose he comes from?”
I volunteered no information. The cronies squirmed with curiosity. Several more mysterious symbols flitted across the room, and one of the tipplers, clearing his throat, suggested in the mildest of tones:—
“Hem—ah—you are German, perhaps?”
A tedesco being no unusual sight in Italy, the listeners showed only a moderate interest.
“No.”
The speaker rubbed his neck with a horny hand and turned an apologetic eye on his fellows.
“Hah! You are an Austrian!” charged another, with a scowl336.
“No.”
“Swiss?” suggested a third.
“No.”
Interest picked up at once. A voyager from any but these three countries is something to attract unusual attention in wayside inns.
“Ah!” ventured a fourth member of the group, with a glance of scorn at his more obtuse337 companions, “You are a Frenchman?”
“No.”
The geographical338 knowledge of the party was exhausted339. There ensued a long, wrinkle-browed silence. The landlady340 wandered in with a pot, looked me over out of a corner of her eye, and retreated slowly. The suspense341 grew unendurable. A native opened his mouth twice or thrice, swallowed his breath with a gulp342, and purred, meekly343:
“Er—well—what country does the signore come from?”
“Sono americano.”
A chorus of exclamations344 aroused the cat dozing345 under the fire-place. The hostess ran in, open-mouthed, from the back room. The landlord dropped his pipe on the floor and emitted the Italian variation of 62“dew tell!” The most phlegmatic346 of the party abandoned their games and stories and crowded closely around me.
My advent347 seemed to two of the habitués to be providential. Some time before, a wager348 had been laid between them which, till now, there had seemed small chance of deciding. One man had wagered349 that the railway trains of America run high up in the air above the houses, a tenet which he sought to defend against all comers by an unprecedented350 amount of lusty bellowing, and one which his opponent pooh-poohed with equal vehemence351. For a time I was at a loss to account for his claim that he had read the information in a newspaper. In the course of his vociferations, however, he mentioned “Nuova York,” and inquired if it were not also true that its buildings were higher than the steeple of the village church, and whether the railways were not thus built to enable the people to get into such high houses; implying, evidently, his conviction that Americans never come down to earth. Only then was the source of his mental picture of an a?rial railway system clear. He had read somewhere of the New York Elevated and had applied352 the article to the whole country.
Moreover “Nuova York” was synonymous with America to the entire party. Not a man of them knew that there were two Americas, not one had ever heard the term “United States.” America represents to the Italian of the masses a country somewhere far away, how far or in what direction he has no idea, where wages are higher than in Italy. Countless353 times I have heard questions such as these from Italians who were not without education:—
“Is America further away than Switzerland?”
“Did you walk all the way from America?”
“Who is king of America?”
“Why! Are you a native American? I thought Americans were black!”
Once a woman added insult to injury by inquiring in all sincerity:—
“In America you worship the sun, non è vero?”
On some rare occasions a wiser native appeared, to display his erudition to the assembly. One evening I mildly suggested that the United States as a whole is as large, if not larger, than Italy. My hearers were deafening354 me with shouts of derision, when one of the party came to my rescue.
“Certainly, that’s right!” he cried, “it is larger. I have a brother in Buenos Ayres and I know. America, or the Stati Uniti, as this 63signore prefers to call it, has provinces just like Italy. The provinces are Brazil, Uruguay, República Argentina, and Nuova York.”
Squelched355 by which crushing display of geographical erudition, the gathering maintained a profound silence for the rest of the evening; and the authority on America began a lecture on that topic, in the course of which I learned many a fact concerning my native land which I had never suspected.
One can be little surprised that the Italian fears to embark356 for a country so little known. I met often with people who had set out for America, gone as far as Genoa, and there abandoned the journey, perché aveva paura. Many, indeed, journey to the seaport357, never suspecting that to reach this land of fabulous358 wealth they must travel on the ocean; more than one has only the vaguest notion of what an ocean is. When the endless expanse of water stretches out before them, all the combined miseries of their native land and the wheedling of the most silver-tongued steamship359 agent cannot induce them to trust themselves on its billows; and in dread360 and fear they hurry home again.
It may be said with little danger of error, too, that the average American knows very little of the Italian of this northern section. He is, quite contrary to popular notions, a very kind and obliging, even unselfish fellow, decidedly a different person from the usual immigrant to our shores. The riffraff and off-casts of their native land, that are spreading far and wide in our country, living in clans361 and bands wherein the moving spirit seems to be he whose record at home is most besmirched362, the “dagoes” of common parlance363, are no product of this northern portion of the peninsula. We have, possibly, been too quick to attribute to all Italians the characteristics of those undesirables364 with whom we have come in contact, more than seven-eighths of whom hail from the southern section. The Neapolitan, the Sicilian, the Sardinian, from lands where congested districts breed characters held in as much contempt by the Italian of the north as by our own citizens, have little in common with the Venetian, the Florentine, and the Sienese.
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1
dismal
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| adj.阴沉的，凄凉的，令人忧郁的，差劲的 | |
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lizards
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| n.蜥蜴( lizard的名词复数 ) | |
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basking
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| v.晒太阳，取暖( bask的现在分词 )；对…感到乐趣；因他人的功绩而出名；仰仗…的余泽 | |
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ledge
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| n.壁架，架状突出物；岩架，岩礁 | |
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plodding
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| a.proceeding in a slow or dull way | |
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alley
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| n.小巷，胡同；小径，小路 | |
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dismally
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| adv.阴暗地，沉闷地 | |
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8
croaked
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| v.呱呱地叫( croak的过去式和过去分词 )；用粗的声音说 | |
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overdrawn
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| 透支( overdraw的过去分词 )； (overdraw的过去分词) | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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sarcasm
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| n.讥讽，讽刺，嘲弄，反话 （adj.sarcastic） | |
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12
blandest
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| adj.（食物）淡而无味的( bland的最高级 )；平和的；温和的；无动于衷的 | |
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13
ass
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| n.驴；傻瓜，蠢笨的人 | |
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asses
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| n. 驴，愚蠢的人，臀部 adv. (常用作后置)用于贬损或骂人 | |
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prone
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| adj.(to)易于…的，很可能…的；俯卧的 | |
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converse
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| vi.谈话，谈天，闲聊；adv.相反的，相反 | |
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prosaic
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| adj.单调的，无趣的 | |
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temperament
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| n.气质，性格，性情 | |
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outskirts
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| n.郊外，郊区 | |
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chestnut
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| n.栗树，栗子 | |
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vendor
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| n.卖主；小贩 | |
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scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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groves
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| 树丛，小树林( grove的名词复数 ) | |
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impecunious
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| adj.不名一文的，贫穷的 | |
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wayfarer
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| n.旅人 | |
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bin
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| n.箱柜；vt.放入箱内；[计算机] DOS文件名:二进制目标文件 | |
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second-hand
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| adj.用过的，旧的，二手的 | |
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28
dealer
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| n.商人，贩子 | |
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ragged
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| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
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espied
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| v.看到( espy的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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31
muskets
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| n.火枪，（尤指）滑膛枪( musket的名词复数 ) | |
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32
westward
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| n.西方，西部；adj.西方的，向西的；adv.向西 | |
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33
vagrants
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| 流浪者( vagrant的名词复数 )； 无业游民； 乞丐； 无赖 | |
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34
indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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abounded
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| v.大量存在，充满，富于( abound的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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36
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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37
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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38
strutted
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| 趾高气扬地走，高视阔步( strut的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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39
maternal
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| adj.母亲的，母亲般的，母系的，母方的 | |
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40
timbre
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| n.音色，音质 | |
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41
furrowed
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| v.犁田，开沟( furrow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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42
toiling
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| 长时间或辛苦地工作( toil的现在分词 )； 艰难缓慢地移动，跋涉 | |
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43
sustenance
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| n.食物，粮食；生活资料；生计 | |
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44
orchards
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| （通常指围起来的）果园( orchard的名词复数 ) | |
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45
wagons
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| n.四轮的运货马车( wagon的名词复数 )；铁路货车；小手推车 | |
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46
fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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47
strapped
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| adj.用皮带捆住的，用皮带装饰的；身无分文的；缺钱；手头紧v.用皮带捆扎(strap的过去式和过去分词)；用皮带抽打；包扎；给…打绷带 | |
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48
animate
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| v.赋于生命，鼓励；adj.有生命的，有生气的 | |
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49
depicted
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| 描绘，描画( depict的过去式和过去分词 )； 描述 | |
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50
justified
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| a.正当的，有理的 | |
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51
catastrophe
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| n.大灾难，大祸 | |
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52
hop
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| n.单脚跳，跳跃；vi.单脚跳，跳跃；着手做某事；vt.跳跃，跃过 | |
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53
flaunting
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| adj.招摇的，扬扬得意的，夸耀的v.炫耀，夸耀( flaunt的现在分词 )；有什么能耐就施展出来 | |
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54
aggregation
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| n.聚合，组合；凝聚 | |
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55
burlesque
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| v.嘲弄，戏仿；n.嘲弄，取笑，滑稽模仿 | |
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56
manifesto
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| n.宣言，声明 | |
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57
loyalty
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| n.忠诚，忠心 | |
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58
fealty
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| n.忠贞，忠节 | |
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59
engrossed
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| adj.全神贯注的 | |
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60
trampled
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| 踩( trample的过去式和过去分词 )； 践踏； 无视； 侵犯 | |
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61
lodging
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| n.寄宿，住所；(大学生的)校外宿舍 | |
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62
proprietor
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| n.所有人；业主；经营者 | |
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63
erecting
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| v.使直立，竖起( erect的现在分词 )；建立 | |
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64
diligent
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| adj.勤勉的，勤奋的 | |
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65
edifice
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| n.宏伟的建筑物(如宫殿，教室) | |
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66
pitfalls
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| （捕猎野兽用的）陷阱( pitfall的名词复数 )； 意想不到的困难，易犯的错误 | |
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67
dungeons
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| n.地牢( dungeon的名词复数 ) | |
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68
plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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69
defensive
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| adj.防御的；防卫的；防守的 | |
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70
abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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71
parlor
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| n.店铺，营业室；会客室，客厅 | |
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72
shrouded
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| v.隐瞒( shroud的过去式和过去分词 )；保密 | |
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73
subduing
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| 征服( subdue的现在分词 )； 克制； 制服； 色变暗 | |
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74
vent
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| n.通风口，排放口；开衩；vt.表达，发泄 | |
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75
hiss
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| v.发出嘶嘶声；发嘘声表示不满 | |
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76
animated
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| adj.生气勃勃的，活跃的，愉快的 | |
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77
banished
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| v.放逐，驱逐( banish的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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78
spouse
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| n.配偶(指夫或妻) | |
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79
garrulous
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|
| adj.唠叨的，多话的 | |
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80
lithe
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|
| adj.(指人、身体)柔软的，易弯的 | |
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81
doled
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| 救济物( dole的过去式和过去分词 )； 失业救济金 | |
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82
stew
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| n.炖汤，焖，烦恼；v.炖汤，焖，忧虑 | |
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83
temerity
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| n.鲁莽，冒失 | |
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84
awe
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| n.敬畏，惊惧；vt.使敬畏，使惊惧 | |
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85
remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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86
nibble
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| n.轻咬，啃；v.一点点地咬，慢慢啃，吹毛求疵 | |
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87
forfeited
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| （因违反协议、犯规、受罚等）丧失，失去( forfeit的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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88
drowsiness
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| n.睡意；嗜睡 | |
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89
spacious
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| adj.广阔的，宽敞的 | |
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90
canopy
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| n.天篷，遮篷 | |
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91
remarkably
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| ad.不同寻常地，相当地 | |
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92
brook
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| n.小河，溪；v.忍受，容让 | |
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93
labor
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| n.劳动，努力，工作，劳工；分娩；vi.劳动，努力，苦干；vt.详细分析；麻烦 | |
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94
feverishly
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| adv. 兴奋地 | |
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95
plodded
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| v.沉重缓慢地走（路）( plod的过去式和过去分词 )；努力从事；沉闷地苦干；缓慢进行（尤指艰难枯燥的工作） | |
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96
clogs
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| 木屐； 木底鞋，木屐( clog的名词复数 ) | |
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97
promptly
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| adv.及时地，敏捷地 | |
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98
communal
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| adj.公有的，公共的，公社的，公社制的 | |
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99
shoveled
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| vt.铲，铲出（shovel的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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100
oozy
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| adj.软泥的 | |
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101
pulp
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| n.果肉，纸浆；v.化成纸浆，除去...果肉，制成纸浆 | |
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102
vats
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| varieties 变化，多样性，种类 | |
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103
retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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104
northward
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| adv.向北；n.北方的地区 | |
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105
phantom
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| n.幻影，虚位，幽灵；adj.错觉的，幻影的，幽灵的 | |
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106
haze
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| n.霾，烟雾；懵懂，迷糊；vi.(over)变模糊 | |
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107
groom
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| vt.给（马、狗等）梳毛，照料，使...整洁 | |
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108
iniquities
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| n.邪恶( iniquity的名词复数 )；极不公正 | |
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109
serenely
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| adv.安详地，宁静地，平静地 | |
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110
stranded
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| a.搁浅的，进退两难的 | |
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111
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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112
subsisted
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| v.（靠很少的钱或食物）维持生活，生存下去( subsist的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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113
bakers
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| n.面包师( baker的名词复数 )；面包店；面包店店主；十三 | |
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114
concoct
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| v.调合，制造 | |
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115
durability
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| n.经久性，耐用性 | |
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116
edible
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| n.食品，食物；adj.可食用的 | |
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117
plentiful
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| adj.富裕的，丰富的 | |
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118
grumbling
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| adj. 喃喃鸣不平的, 出怨言的 | |
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119
pane
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| n.窗格玻璃，长方块 | |
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120
piazza
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| n.广场；走廊 | |
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121
picturesque
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| adj.美丽如画的，（语言）生动的，绘声绘色的 | |
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122
gateway
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| n.大门口，出入口，途径，方法 | |
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123
throng
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| n.人群，群众；v.拥挤，群集 | |
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124
squad
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| n.班，小队，小团体；vt.把…编成班或小组 | |
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125
glowered
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| v.怒视( glower的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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126
intelligible
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| adj.可理解的，明白易懂的，清楚的 | |
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127
oust
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| vt.剥夺，取代，驱逐 | |
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128
usurper
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| n. 篡夺者, 僭取者 | |
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129
ribs
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| n.肋骨( rib的名词复数 )；（船或屋顶等的）肋拱；肋骨状的东西；（织物的）凸条花纹 | |
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130
anticipation
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| n.预期，预料，期望 | |
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131
bluster
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| v.猛刮；怒冲冲的说；n.吓唬，怒号；狂风声 | |
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132
rudiments
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| n.基础知识，入门 | |
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133
wretch
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| n.可怜的人，不幸的人；卑鄙的人 | |
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134
perspiring
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| v.出汗，流汗( perspire的现在分词 ) | |
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135
recording
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| n.录音，记录 | |
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136
nominations
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| n.提名，任命( nomination的名词复数 ) | |
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137
ponderous
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|
| adj.沉重的，笨重的，(文章)冗长的 | |
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138
applicant
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| n.申请人，求职者，请求者 | |
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139
pertinent
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| adj.恰当的；贴切的；中肯的；有关的；相干的 | |
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140
teller
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| n.银行出纳员；(选举)计票员 | |
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141
sergeants
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| 警官( sergeant的名词复数 )； （美国警察）警佐； （英国警察）巡佐； 陆军（或空军）中士 | |
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142
impelled
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| v.推动、推进或敦促某人做某事( impel的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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143
innocence
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| n.无罪；天真；无害 | |
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144
registrar
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| n.记录员，登记员；(大学的)注册主任 | |
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145
tacked
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| 用平头钉钉( tack的过去式和过去分词 )； 附加，增补； 帆船抢风行驶，用粗线脚缝 | |
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146
haphazard
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| adj.无计划的，随意的，杂乱无章的 | |
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147
gutter
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| n.沟，街沟，水槽，檐槽，贫民窟 | |
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148
indignity
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| n.侮辱，伤害尊严，轻蔑 | |
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149
squatting
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| v.像动物一样蹲下( squat的现在分词 )；非法擅自占用（土地或房屋）；为获得其所有权；而占用某片公共用地。 | |
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150
itinerant
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| adj.巡回的；流动的 | |
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151
juggler
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| n. 变戏法者, 行骗者 | |
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152
wasteful
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| adj.（造成）浪费的，挥霍的 | |
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153
recipient
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| a.接受的,感受性强的 n.接受者,感受者,容器 | |
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154
crouched
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| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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155
doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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156
bestowed
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| 赠给，授予( bestow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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157
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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158
munificence
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| n.宽宏大量，慷慨给与 | |
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159
screeching
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| v.发出尖叫声( screech的现在分词 )；发出粗而刺耳的声音；高叫 | |
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160
deluged
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| v.使淹没( deluge的过去式和过去分词 )；淹没；被洪水般涌来的事物所淹没；穷于应付 | |
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161
deluge
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| n./vt.洪水，暴雨，使泛滥 | |
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162
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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163
virgin
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| n.处女，未婚女子；adj.未经使用的；未经开发的 | |
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164
jolting
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| adj.令人震惊的 | |
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165
blatant
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| adj.厚颜无耻的；显眼的；炫耀的 | |
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166
gullible
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| adj.易受骗的；轻信的 | |
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167
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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168
effaced
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| v.擦掉( efface的过去式和过去分词 )；抹去；超越；使黯然失色 | |
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169
sequestered
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|
| adj.扣押的；隐退的；幽静的；偏僻的v.使隔绝，使隔离( sequester的过去式和过去分词 )；扣押 | |
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170
delusion
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| n.谬见，欺骗，幻觉，迷惑 | |
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171
passerby
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| n.过路人，行人 | |
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172
whitewashed
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| 粉饰，美化，掩饰( whitewash的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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173
stammers
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| n.口吃，结巴( stammer的名词复数 )v.结巴地说出( stammer的第三人称单数 ) | |
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174
enchanting
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| a.讨人喜欢的 | |
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175
banishing
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| v.放逐，驱逐( banish的现在分词 ) | |
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176
regiment
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| n.团，多数，管理；v.组织，编成团，统制 | |
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177
insomnia
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| n.失眠，失眠症 | |
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178
conducive
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| adj.有益的，有助的 | |
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179
undoubtedly
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| adv.确实地，无疑地 | |
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180
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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181
torpor
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| n.迟钝；麻木；（动物的）冬眠 | |
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182
slumber
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| n.睡眠，沉睡状态 | |
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183
shutters
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| 百叶窗( shutter的名词复数 )； （照相机的）快门 | |
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184
bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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185
siestas
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| n.（气候炎热国家的）午睡，午休( siesta的名词复数 ) | |
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186
gutters
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| （路边）排水沟( gutter的名词复数 )； 阴沟； （屋顶的）天沟； 贫贱的境地 | |
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187
crumbling
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| adj.摇摇欲坠的 | |
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188
somnolence
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| n.想睡，梦幻；欲寐；嗜睡；嗜眠 | |
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189
drowsy
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| adj.昏昏欲睡的，令人发困的 | |
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190
renowned
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| adj.著名的，有名望的，声誉鹊起的 | |
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191
eastward
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| adv.向东；adj.向东的；n.东方，东部 | |
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192
ascent
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| n.(声望或地位)提高；上升，升高；登高 | |
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193
ascents
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| n.上升( ascent的名词复数 )；（身份、地位等的）提高；上坡路；攀登 | |
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194
twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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195
steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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196
illuminated
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| adj.被照明的；受启迪的 | |
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197
firmament
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| n.苍穹；最高层 | |
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198
hovered
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| 鸟( hover的过去式和过去分词 )； 靠近（某事物）； （人）徘徊； 犹豫 | |
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199
conflagration
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| n.建筑物或森林大火 | |
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200
shanty
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| n.小屋，棚屋；船工号子 | |
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201
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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202
wharf
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| n.码头，停泊处 | |
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203
riotous
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| adj.骚乱的；狂欢的 | |
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204
spat
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| n.口角，掌击；v.发出呼噜呼噜声 | |
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205
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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206
levying
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| 征（兵）( levy的现在分词 )； 索取； 发动（战争）； 征税 | |
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207
abated
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| 减少( abate的过去式和过去分词 )； 减去； 降价； 撤消（诉讼） | |
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208
myriad
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| adj.无数的；n.无数，极大数量 | |
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209
gondola
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| n.威尼斯的平底轻舟；飞船的吊船 | |
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210
weirdly
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| 古怪地 | |
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211
glided
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| v.滑动( glide的过去式和过去分词 )；掠过；（鸟或飞机 ） 滑翔 | |
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212
splendor
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| n.光彩；壮丽，华丽；显赫，辉煌 | |
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213
gondolas
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| n.狭长小船( gondola的名词复数 )；货架（一般指商店，例如化妆品店）；吊船工作台 | |
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214
winding
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| n.绕，缠，绕组，线圈 | |
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215
arcade
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| n.拱廊；(一侧或两侧有商店的)通道 | |
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216
metropolis
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| n.首府；大城市 | |
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217
random
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| adj.随机的；任意的；n.偶然的(或随便的)行动 | |
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218
blisters
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| n.水疱( blister的名词复数 )；水肿；气泡 | |
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219
alleys
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| 胡同，小巷( alley的名词复数 )； 小径 | |
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220
wreckage
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| n.（失事飞机等的）残骸，破坏，毁坏 | |
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221
penurious
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| adj.贫困的 | |
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222
marshy
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| adj.沼泽的 | |
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223
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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224
enticed
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| 诱惑，怂恿( entice的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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225
kennel
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| n.狗舍，狗窝 | |
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226
scuttle
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| v.急赶，疾走，逃避；n.天窗；舷窗 | |
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227
overflowing
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| n. 溢出物,溢流 adj. 充沛的，充满的 动词overflow的现在分词形式 | |
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228
coppers
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| 铜( copper的名词复数 )； 铜币 | |
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229
copper
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| n.铜；铜币；铜器；adj.铜(制)的；(紫)铜色的 | |
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230
savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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231
bellow
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| v.吼叫，怒吼；大声发出，大声喝道 | |
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232
dingy
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| adj.昏暗的，肮脏的 | |
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233
pauper
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| n.贫民，被救济者，穷人 | |
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234
uproar
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| n.骚动，喧嚣，鼎沸 | |
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235
proffered
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| v.提供，贡献，提出( proffer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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236
purported
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|
| adj.传说的，谣传的v.声称是…，（装得）像是…的样子( purport的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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237
tripe
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| n.废话，肚子, 内脏 | |
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238
amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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239
rim
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| n.(圆物的)边，轮缘；边界 | |
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240
scooped
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|
| v.抢先报道( scoop的过去式和过去分词 )；（敏捷地）抱起；抢先获得；用铲[勺]等挖（洞等） | |
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241
famished
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|
| adj.饥饿的 | |
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242
propped
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| 支撑，支持，维持( prop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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243
cylinders
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|
| n.圆筒( cylinder的名词复数 )；圆柱；汽缸；（尤指用作容器的）圆筒状物 | |
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244
slabs
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| n.厚板，平板，厚片( slab的名词复数 )；厚胶片 | |
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245
dough
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|
| n.生面团；钱，现款 | |
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246
abominable
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|
| adj.可厌的，令人憎恶的 | |
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247
emaciated
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|
| adj.衰弱的，消瘦的 | |
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248
gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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249
snarled
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|
| v.（指狗）吠，嗥叫， （人）咆哮( snarl的过去式和过去分词 )；咆哮着说，厉声地说 | |
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250
urchins
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|
| n.顽童( urchin的名词复数 )；淘气鬼；猬；海胆 | |
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251
boisterous
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|
| adj.喧闹的，欢闹的 | |
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252
dwindled
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|
| v.逐渐变少或变小( dwindle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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253
wholesome
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|
| adj.适合；卫生的；有益健康的；显示身心健康的 | |
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254
portico
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| n.柱廊，门廊 | |
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255
wont
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|
| adj.习惯于；v.习惯；n.习惯 | |
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256
solicit
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| vi.勾引；乞求；vt.请求，乞求；招揽(生意) | |
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257
flannel
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| n.法兰绒；法兰绒衣服 | |
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258
garb
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| n.服装，装束 | |
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259
fishy
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|
| adj. 值得怀疑的 | |
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260
laborer
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|
| n.劳动者，劳工 | |
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261
skeptic
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|
| n.怀疑者，怀疑论者，无神论者 | |
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262
solvency
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| n.偿付能力，溶解力 | |
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263
propeller
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| n.螺旋桨，推进器 | |
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264
smirk
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|
| n.得意地笑；v.傻笑；假笑着说 | |
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265
mien
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| n.风采；态度 | |
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266
rebuking
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|
| 责难或指责( rebuke的现在分词 ) | |
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267
admonishing
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|
| v.劝告( admonish的现在分词 )；训诫；（温和地）责备；轻责 | |
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268
nefarious
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|
| adj.恶毒的，极坏的 | |
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269
devour
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| v.吞没；贪婪地注视或谛听，贪读；使着迷 | |
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270
carnival
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| n.嘉年华会，狂欢，狂欢节，巡回表演 | |
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271
withering
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| 使人畏缩的，使人害羞的，使人难堪的 | |
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272
growled
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|
| v.（动物）发狺狺声， （雷）作隆隆声( growl的过去式和过去分词 )；低声咆哮着说 | |
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273
discriminated
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|
| 分别，辨别，区分( discriminate的过去式和过去分词 )； 歧视，有差别地对待 | |
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274
laggard
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|
| n.落后者；adj.缓慢的，落后的 | |
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275
funereal
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|
| adj.悲哀的；送葬的 | |
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276
caravan
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| n.大蓬车；活动房屋 | |
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277
solitude
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| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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278
jutting
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|
| v.（使）突出( jut的现在分词 )；伸出；（从…）突出；高出 | |
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279
boulder
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| n.巨砾；卵石，圆石 | |
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280
gasp
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| n.喘息，气喘；v.喘息；气吁吁他说 | |
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281
astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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282
flickering
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|
| adj.闪烁的，摇曳的，一闪一闪的 | |
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283
rivulets
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| n.小河，小溪( rivulet的名词复数 ) | |
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284
doggedly
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| adv.顽强地，固执地 | |
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285
evict
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| vt.驱逐，赶出，撵走 | |
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286
wheedling
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| v.骗取（某物），哄骗（某人干某事）( wheedle的现在分词 ) | |
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287
growling
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| n.吠声, 咆哮声 v.怒吠, 咆哮, 吼 | |
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288
stolidly
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| adv.迟钝地，神经麻木地 | |
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289
verge
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| n.边，边缘；v.接近，濒临 | |
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290
catching
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| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
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291
balk
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| n.大方木料；v.妨碍；不愿前进或从事某事 | |
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292
bellowing
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|
| v.发出吼叫声，咆哮（尤指因痛苦）( bellow的现在分词 )；（愤怒地）说出（某事），大叫 | |
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293
loomed
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|
| v.隐约出现，阴森地逼近( loom的过去式和过去分词 )；隐约出现，阴森地逼近 | |
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294
groaned
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| v.呻吟( groan的过去式和过去分词 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
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295
prodding
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|
| v.刺，戳( prod的现在分词 )；刺激；促使；（用手指或尖物）戳 | |
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296
prostrate
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|
| v.拜倒，平卧，衰竭；adj.拜倒的，平卧的，衰竭的 | |
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297
shrieked
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| v.尖叫( shriek的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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298
ravenous
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| adj.极饿的，贪婪的 | |
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299
devoured
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|
| 吞没( devour的过去式和过去分词 )； 耗尽； 津津有味地看； 狼吞虎咽地吃光 | |
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300
burrowed
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|
| v.挖掘（洞穴），挖洞( burrow的过去式和过去分词 )；翻寻 | |
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301
oozed
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| v.（浓液等）慢慢地冒出，渗出( ooze的过去式和过去分词 )；使（液体）缓缓流出；（浓液）渗出，慢慢流出 | |
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302
drizzle
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|
| v.下毛毛雨；n.毛毛雨，蒙蒙细雨 | |
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303
miserable
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|
| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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304
greasy
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| adj. 多脂的，油脂的 | |
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305
alias
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| n.化名；别名；adv.又名 | |
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306
rococo
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| n.洛可可；adj.过分修饰的 | |
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307
reeked
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| v.发出浓烈的臭气( reek的过去式和过去分词 )；散发臭气；发出难闻的气味 (of sth)；明显带有（令人不快或生疑的跡象） | |
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308
enigma
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| n.谜，谜一样的人或事 | |
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309
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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310
agglomeration
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| n.结聚，一堆 | |
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311
enviously
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| adv.满怀嫉妒地 | |
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312
jumble
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| vt.使混乱，混杂；n.混乱；杂乱的一堆 | |
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313
filth
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| n.肮脏，污物，污秽；淫猥 | |
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314
accosted
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| v.走过去跟…讲话( accost的过去式和过去分词 )；跟…搭讪；（乞丐等）上前向…乞讨；（妓女等）勾搭 | |
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315
infancy
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| n.婴儿期；幼年期；初期 | |
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316
fumbled
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| （笨拙地）摸索或处理（某事物）( fumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 乱摸，笨拙地弄； 使落下 | |
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317
apron
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| n.围裙；工作裙 | |
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318
stumped
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| 僵直地行走，跺步行走( stump的过去式和过去分词 )； 把（某人）难住； 使为难； （选举前）在某一地区作政治性巡回演说 | |
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319
snarling
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| v.（指狗）吠，嗥叫， （人）咆哮( snarl的现在分词 )；咆哮着说，厉声地说 | |
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320
permanently
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| adv.永恒地，永久地，固定不变地 | |
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321
sledge
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| n.雪橇，大锤；v.用雪橇搬运，坐雪橇往 | |
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322
mumbled
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| 含糊地说某事，叽咕，咕哝( mumble的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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323
paupers
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| n.穷人( pauper的名词复数 )；贫民；贫穷 | |
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324
lodgings
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| n. 出租的房舍, 寄宿舍 | |
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325
utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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326
chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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327
laden
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| adj.装满了的；充满了的；负了重担的；苦恼的 | |
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328
throngs
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| n.人群( throng的名词复数 )v.成群，挤满( throng的第三人称单数 ) | |
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329
morsel
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| n.一口，一点点 | |
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330
undue
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| adj.过分的；不适当的；未到期的 | |
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331
hovers
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| 鸟( hover的第三人称单数 )； 靠近（某事物）； （人）徘徊； 犹豫 | |
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332
glamor
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| n.魅力，吸引力 | |
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333
deference
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| n.尊重，顺从；敬意 | |
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334
longing
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| n.（for）渴望 | |
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335
sundry
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| adj.各式各样的，种种的 | |
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336
scowl
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| vi.(at)生气地皱眉，沉下脸，怒视；n.怒容 | |
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337
obtuse
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| adj.钝的；愚钝的 | |
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338
geographical
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| adj.地理的；地区(性)的 | |
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339
exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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340
landlady
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| n.女房东，女地主 | |
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341
suspense
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| n.（对可能发生的事）紧张感，担心，挂虑 | |
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342
gulp
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| vt.吞咽，大口地吸（气）；vi.哽住；n.吞咽 | |
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343
meekly
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| adv.温顺地，逆来顺受地 | |
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344
exclamations
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| n.呼喊( exclamation的名词复数 )；感叹；感叹语；感叹词 | |
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345
dozing
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| v.打瞌睡,假寐 n.瞌睡 | |
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346
phlegmatic
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| adj.冷静的，冷淡的，冷漠的，无活力的 | |
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347
advent
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| n.(重要事件等的)到来，来临 | |
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348
wager
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| n.赌注；vt.押注，打赌 | |
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349
wagered
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| v.在（某物）上赌钱，打赌( wager的过去式和过去分词 )；保证，担保 | |
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350
unprecedented
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| adj.无前例的，新奇的 | |
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351
vehemence
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| n.热切；激烈；愤怒 | |
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352
applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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353
countless
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| adj.无数的，多得不计其数的 | |
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354
deafening
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| adj. 振耳欲聋的, 极喧闹的 动词deafen的现在分词形式 | |
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355
squelched
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| v.发吧唧声，发扑哧声( squelch的过去式和过去分词 )；制止；压制；遏制 | |
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356
embark
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| vi.乘船，着手，从事，上飞机 | |
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357
seaport
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| n.海港，港口，港市 | |
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358
fabulous
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| adj.极好的；极为巨大的；寓言中的，传说中的 | |
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359
steamship
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| n.汽船，轮船 | |
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360
dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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361
clans
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| 宗族( clan的名词复数 )； 氏族； 庞大的家族； 宗派 | |
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362
besmirched
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| v.弄脏( besmirch的过去式和过去分词 )；玷污；丑化；糟蹋（名誉等） | |
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363
parlance
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| n.说法；语调 | |
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364
undesirables
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| 不受欢迎的人，不良分子( undesirable的名词复数 ) | |
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