Soon it passed from his thoughts; his attention was occupied by the view. It was long since he had been able to escape from the town, and so he had keen pleasure in the wind that beat against his face, in the sound of the water against the boat, in the great stretch of water and the changing spectacle presented by the banks—bluffs gray and dull, willow-trees half under water, pale vines, legendary4 rocks, towns crowned with Gothic towers and factory chimneys belching5 black smoke. And as he was in ecstasy6 over it all, his neighbor in a choking voice timidly imparted a few historic facts concerning the ruins that they saw, cleverly restored and covered with ivy7. He seemed to be lecturing to himself. Jean-Christophe, roused to interest, plied8 him with questions. The other replied eagerly, glad to display his knowledge, and with every sentence he addressed himself directly to Jean-Christophe, calling him "Herr Hof Violinist."
"You know me, then?" said Jean-Christophe.
Jean-Christophe's vanity.
They talked. The boy had often seen Jean-Christophe at concerts, and his imagination had been touched by everything that he had heard about him. He did not say so to Jean-Christophe, but Jean-Christophe felt it, and was pleasantly surprised by it. He was not used to being spoken to in this tone of eager respect. He went on questioning his neighbor about the history of the country through which they were passing. The other set out all the knowledge that he had, and Jean-Christophe admired his learning. But that was only the peg12 on which their conversation hung. What interested them was the making of each other's acquaintance. They dared not frankly approach the subject; they returned to it again and again with awkward questions. Finally they plunged13, and Jean-Christophe learned that his new friend was called Otto Diener, and was the son of a rich merchant in the town. It appeared, naturally, that they had friends in common, and little by little their tongues were loosed. They were talking eagerly when the boat arrived at the town at which Jean-Christophe was to get out. Otto got out, too. That surprised them, and Jean-Christophe proposed that they should take a walk together until dinner-time. They struck out across the fields. Jean-Christophe had taken Otto's arm familiarly, and was telling him his plans as if he had known him from his birth. He had been so much deprived of the society of children of his own age that he found an inexpressible joy in being with this boy, so learned and well brought up, who was in sympathy with him.
Time passed, and Jean-Christophe took no count of it. Diener, proud of the confidence which the young musician showed him, dared not point out that the dinner-hour had rung. At last he thought that he must remind him of it, but Jean-Christophe, who had begun the ascent15 of a hill in the woods, declared that they most go to the top, and when they reached it he lay down on the grass as though he meant to spend the day there. After a quarter of an hour Diener, seeing that he seemed to have no intention of moving, hazarded again:
"And your dinner?"
Jean-Christophe, lying at full length, with his hands behind his head, said quietly:
"Tssh!"
Then he looked at Otto, saw his scared look, and began to laugh.
"It is too good here," he explained. "I shan't go. Let them wait for me!"
He half rose.
"Are you in a hurry? No? Do you know what we'll do? We'll dine together. I know of an inn."
Diener would have had many objections to make—not that any one was waiting for him, but because it was hard for him to come to any sudden decision, whatever it might be. He was methodical, and needed to be prepared beforehand. But Jean-Christophe's question was put in such a tone as allowed of no refusal. He let himself be dragged off, and they began to talk again.
At the inn their eagerness died down. Both were occupied with the question as to who should give the dinner, and each within himself made it a point of honor to give it—Diener because he was the richer, Jean-Christophe because he was the poorer. They made no direct reference to the matter, but Diener made great efforts to assert his right by the tone of authority which he tried to take as he asked for the menu. Jean-Christophe understood what he was at and turned the tables on him by ordering other dishes of a rare kind. He wanted to show that he was as much at his ease as anybody, and when Diener tried again by endeavoring to take upon himself the choice of wine, Jean-Christophe crushed him with a look, and ordered a bottle of one of the most expensive vintages they had in the inn.
When they found themselves seated before a considerable repast, they were abashed17 by it. They could find nothing to say, ate mincingly18, and were awkward and constrained19 in their movements. They became conscious suddenly that they were strangers, and they watched each other. They made vain efforts to revive the conversation; it dropped immediately. Their first half-hour was a time of fearful boredom20. Fortunately, the meat and drink soon had an effect on them, and they looked at each other more confidently. Jean-Christophe especially, who was not used to such good things, became extraordinarily21 loquacious22. He told of the difficulties of his life, and Otto, breaking through his reserve, confessed that he also was not happy. He was weak and timid, and his schoolfellows put upon him. They laughed at him, and could not forgive him for despising their vulgar manners. They played all sorts of tricks on him. Jean-Christophe clenched23 his fists, and said they had better not try it in his presence. Otto also was misunderstood by his family. Jean-Christophe knew the unhappiness of that, and they commiserated24 each other on their common misfortunes. Diener's parents wanted him to become a merchant, and to step into his father's place, but he wanted to be a poet. He would be a poet, even though he had to fly the town, like Schiller, and brave poverty! (His father's fortune would all come to him, and it was considerable.) He confessed blushingly that he had already written verses on the sadness of life, but he could not bring himself to recite them, in spite of Jean-Christophe's entreaties25. But in the end he did give two or three of them, dithering with emotion. Jean-Christophe thought them admirable. They exchanged plans. Later on they would work together; they would write dramas and song-cycles. They admired each other. Besides his reputation as a musician, Jean-Christophe's strength and bold ways made an impression on Otto, and Jean-Christophe was sensible of Otto's elegance26 and distinguished27 manners—everything in this world is relative—and of his ease of manner—that ease of manner which he looked and longed for.
Made drowsy28 by their meal, with their elbows on the table, they talked and listened to each other with softness in their eyes. The afternoon drew on; they had to go. Otto made a last attempt to procure29 the bill, but Jean-Christophe nailed him to his seat with an angry look which made it impossible for him to insist. Jean-Christophe was only uneasy on one point—that he might be asked for more than he had. He would have given his watch and everything that he had about him rather than admit it to Otto. But he was not called on to go so far. He had to spend on the dinner almost the whole of his month's money.
They went down the hill again. The shades of evening were beginning to fall over the pine-woods. Their tops were still bathed in rosy30 light; they swung slowly with a surging sound. The carpet of purple pine-needles deadened the sound of their footsteps. They said no word. Jean-Christophe felt a strange sweet sadness welling through his heart. He was happy; he wished to talk, but was weighed down with his sweet sorrow. He stopped for a moment, and so did Otto. All was silence. Flies buzzed high above them in a ray of sunlight; a rotten branch fell. Jean-Christophe took Otto's hand, and in a trembling voice said:
"Will you be my friend?"
Otto murmured:
"Yes."
They shook hands; their hearts beat; they dared hardly look at each other.
After a moment they walked on. They were a few paces away from each other, and they dared say no more until they were out of the woods. They were fearful of each other, and of their strange emotion. They walked very fast, and never stopped until they had issued from the shadow of the trees; then they took courage again, and joined hands. They marveled at the limpid31 evening falling, and they talked disconnectedly.
On the boat, sitting at the bows in the brilliant twilight32, they tried to talk of trivial matters, but they gave no heed33 to what they were saying. They were lost in their own happiness and weariness. They felt no need to talk, or to hold hands, or even to look at each other; they were near each other.
When they were near their journey's end they agreed to meet again on the following Sunday, Jean-Christophe took Otto to his door. Under the light of the gas they timidly smiled and murmured au revoir. They were glad to part, so wearied were they by the tension at which they had been living for those hours and by the pain it cost them to break the silence with a single word.
Jean-Christophe returned alone in the night. His heart was singing: "I have a friend! I have a friend!" He saw nothing, he heard nothing, he thought of nothing else.
He was very sleepy, and fell asleep as soon as he reached his room; but he was awakened34 twice or thrice during the night, as by some fixed35 idea. He repeated, "I have a friend," and went to sleep again at once.
Next morning it seemed to be all a dream. To test the reality of it, he tried to recall the smallest details of the day. He was absorbed by this occupation while he was giving his lessons, and even during the afternoon he was so absent during the orchestra rehearsal36 that when he left he could hardly remember what he had been playing.
When he returned home he found a letter waiting for him. He had no need to ask himself whence it came. He ran and shut himself up in his room to read it. It was written on pale blue paper in a labored37, long, uncertain hand, with very correct flourishes:
DEAR HERR JEAN-CHRISTOPHE—dare I say HONORED FRIEND?—
I am thinking much of our doings yesterday, and I do thank you tremendously for your kindness to me. I am so grateful for all that you have done, and for your kind words, and the delightful38 walk and the excellent dinner! I am only worried that you should have spent so much money on it. What a lovely day! Do you not think there was something providential in that strange meeting? It seems to me that it was Fate decreed that we should meet. How glad I shall be to see you again on Sunday! I hope you will not have had too much unpleasantness for having missed the Hof Musik Direktor's dinner. I should be so sorry if you had any trouble because of me.
Dear Herr Jean-Christophe, I am always
OTTO DIENER.
P.S.—On Sunday please do not call for me at home. It would be better, if you will, for us to meet at the Schloss Garten.
Jean-Christophe read the letter with tears in his eyes. He kissed it; he laughed aloud; he jumped about on his bed. Then he ran to the table and took pen in hand to reply at once. He could not wait a moment. But he was not used to writing. He could not express what was swelling40 in his heart; he dug into the paper with his pen, and blackened his fingers with ink; he stamped impatiently. At last, by dint41 of putting out his tongue and making five or six drafts, he succeeded in writing in malformed letters, which flew out in all directions, and with terrific mistakes in spelling:
"MY SOUL,—
"How dare you speak of gratitude42, because I love you? Have I not told you how sad I was and lonely before I knew you? Your friendship is the greatest of blessings43. Yesterday I was happy, happy!—for the first time in my life. I weep for joy as I read your letter. Yes, my beloved, there is no doubt that it was Fate brought us together. Fate wishes that we should be friends to do great things. Friends! The lovely word! Can it be that at last I have a friend? Oh! you will never leave me? You will be faithful to me? Always! always!… How beautiful it will be to grow up together, to work together, to bring together—I my musical whimsies45, and all the crazy things that go chasing through my mind; you your intelligence and amazing learning! How much you know! I have never met a man so clever as you. There are moments when I am uneasy. I seem to be unworthy of your friendship. You are so noble and so accomplished46, and I am so grateful to you for loving so coarse a creature as myself!… But no! I have just said, let there be no talk of gratitude. In friendship there is no obligation nor benefaction. I would not accept any benefaction! We are equal, since we love. How impatient I am to see you! I will not call for you at home, since you do not wish it—although, to tell the truth, I do not understand all these precautions—but you are the wiser; you are surely right….
"One word only! No more talk of money. I hate money—the word and the thing itself. If I am not rich, I am yet rich enough to give to my friend, and it is my joy to give all I can for him. Would not you do the same? And if I needed it, would you not be the first to give me all your fortune? But that shall never be! I have sound fists and a sound head, and I shall always be able to earn the bread that I eat. Till Sunday! Dear God, a whole week without seeing you! And for two days I have not seen you! How have I been able to live so long without you?
"The conductor tried to grumble47, but do not bother about it any more than I do. What are others to me? I care nothing what they think or what they may ever think of me. Only you matter. Love me well, my soul; love me as I love you! I cannot tell you how much I love you. I am yours, yours, yours, from the tips of my fingers to the apple of my eye.
"Yours always,
"JEAN-CHRISTOPHE."
Jean-Christophe was devoured49 with impatience50 for the rest of the week. He would go out of his way, and make long turns to pass by Otto's house. Not that he counted on seeing him, but the sight of the house was enough to make him grow pale and red with emotion. On the Thursday he could bear it no longer, and sent a second letter even more high-flown than the first. Otto answered it sentimentally51.
Sunday came at length, and Otto was punctually at the meeting-place. But Jean-Christophe had been there for an hour, waiting impatiently for the walk. He began to imagine dreadfully that Otto would not come. He trembled lest Otto should be ill, for he did not suppose for a moment that Otto might break his word. He whispered over and over again, "Dear God, let him come—let him come!" and he struck at the pebbles52 in the avenue with his stick, saying to himself that if he missed three times Otto would not come, but if he hit them Otto would appear at once. In spite of his care and the easiness of the test, he had just missed three times when he saw Otto coming at his easy, deliberate pace; for Otto was above all things correct, even when he was most moved. Jean-Christophe ran to him, and with his throat dry wished him "Good-day!" Otto replied, "Good-day!" and they found that they had nothing more to say to each other, except that the weather was fine and that it was five or six minutes past ten, or it might be ten past, because the castle clock was always slow.
They went to the station, and went by rail to a neighboring place which was a favorite excursion from the town. On the way they exchanged not more than ten words. They tried to make up for it by eloquent53 looks, but they were no more successful. In vain did they try to tell each other what friends they were; their eyes would say nothing at all. They were just playacting. Jean-Christophe saw that, and was humiliated54. He did not understand how he could not express or even feel all that had filled his heart an hour before. Otto did not, perhaps, so exactly take stock of their failure, because he was less sincere, and examined himself with more circumspection55, but he was just as disappointed. The truth is that the boys had, during their week of separation, blown out their feelings to such a diapason that it was impossible for them to keep them actually at that pitch, and when they met again their first impression must of necessity be false. They had to break away from it, but they could not bring themselves to agree to it.
All day they wandered in the country without ever breaking through the awkwardness and constraint57 that were upon them. It was a holiday. The inns and woods were filled with a rabble58 of excursionists—little bourgeois59 families who made a great noise and ate everywhere. That added to their ill-humor. They attributed to the poor people the impossibility of again finding the carelessness of their first walk. But they talked, they took great pains to find subjects of conversation; they were afraid of finding that they had nothing to say to each other. Otto displayed his school-learning; Jean-Christophe entered into technical explanations of musical compositions and violin-playing. They oppressed each other; they crushed each other by talking; and they never stopped talking, trembling lest they should, for then there opened before them abysses of silence which horrified60 them. Otto came near to weeping, and Jean-Christophe was near leaving him and running away as hard as he could, he was so bored and ashamed.
Only an hour before they had to take the train again did they thaw61. In the depths of the woods a dog was barking; he was hunting on his own account. Jean-Christophe proposed that they should hide by his path to try and see his quarry62. They ran into the midst of the thicket63. The dog came near them, and then went away again. They went to right and left, went forward and doubled. The barking grew louder: the dog was choking with impatience in his lust64 for slaughter65. He came near once more. Jean-Christophe and Otto, lying on the dead leaves in the rut of a path, waited and held their breath. The barking stopped; the dog had lost the scent16. They heard his yap once again in the distance; then silence came upon the woods. Not a sound, only the mysterious hum of millions of creatures, insects, and creeping things, moving unceasingly, destroying the forest—the measured breathing of death, which never stops. The boys listened, they did not stir. Just when they got up, disappointed, and said, "It is all over; he will not come!" a little hare plunged out of the thicket. He came straight upon them. They saw him at the same moment, and gave a cry of joy. The hare turned in his tracks and jumped aside. They saw him dash into the brushwood head over heels. The stirring of the rumpled66 leaves vanished away like a ripple67 on the face of waters. Although they were sorry for having cried out, the adventure filled them with joy. They rocked with laughter as they thought of the hare's terrified leap, and Jean-Christophe imitated it grotesquely68. Otto did the same. Then they chased each other. Otto was the hare, Jean-Christophe the dog. They plunged through woods and meadows, dashing through hedges and leaping ditches. A peasant shouted at them, because they had rushed over a field of rye. They did not stop to hear him. Jean-Christophe imitated the hoarse69 barking of the dog to such perfection that Otto laughed until he cried. At last they rolled down a slope, shouting like mad things. When they could not utter another sound they sat up and looked at each other, with tears of laughter in their eyes. They were quite happy and pleased with themselves. They were no longer trying to play the heroic friend; they were frankly what they were—two boys.
They came back arm-in-arm, singing senseless songs, and yet, when they were on the point of returning to the town, they thought they had better resume their pose, and under the last tree of the woods they carved their initials intertwined. But then good temper had the better of their sentimentality, and in the train they shouted with laughter whenever they looked at each other. They parted assuring each other that they had had a "hugely delightful" (kolossal entzückend) day, and that conviction gained with them when they were alone once more.
They resumed their work of construction more patient and ingenious even than that of the bees, for of a few mediocre70 scraps71 of memory they fashioned a marvelous image of themselves and their friendship. After having idealized each other during the week, they met again on the Sunday, and in spite of the discrepancy72 between the truth and their illusion, they got used to not noticing it and to twisting things to fit in with their desires.
They were proud of being friends. The very contrast of their natures brought them together. Jean-Christophe knew nothing so beautiful as Otto. His fine hands, his lovely hair, his fresh complexion73, his shy speech, the politeness of his manners, and his scrupulous74 care of his appearance delighted him. Otto was subjugated75 by Jean-Christophe's brimming strength and independence. Accustomed by age-old inheritance to religious respect for all authority, he took a fearful joy in the company of a comrade in whose nature was so little reverence76 for the established order of things. He had a little voluptuous77 thrill of terror whenever he heard him decry78 every reputation in the town, and even mimic79 the Grand Duke himself. Jean-Christophe knew the fascination80 that he exercised over his friend, and used to exaggerate his aggressive temper. Like some old revolutionary, he hewed81 away at social conventions and the laws of the State. Otto would listen, scandalized and delighted. He used timidly to try and join in, but he was always careful to look round to see if any one could hear.
Jean-Christophe never failed, when they walked together, to leap the fences of a field whenever he saw a board forbidding it, or he would pick fruit over the walls of private grounds. Otto was in terror lest they should be discovered. But such feelings had for him an exquisite82 savor83, and in the evening, when he had returned, he would think himself a hero. He admired Jean-Christophe fearfully. His instinct of obedience84 found a satisfying quality in a friendship in which he had only to acquiesce85 in the will of his friend. Jean-Christophe never put him to the trouble of coming to a decision. He decided86 everything, decreed the doings of the day, decreed even the ordering of life, making plans, which admitted of no discussion, for Otto's future, just as he did for his own family. Otto fell in with them, though he was a little put aback by hearing Jean-Christophe dispose of his fortune for the building later on of a theater of his own contriving87. But, intimidated88 by his friend's imperious tones, he did not protest, being convinced also by his friend's conviction that the money amassed90 by Commerzienrath Oscar Diener could be put to no nobler use. Jean-Christophe never for a moment had any idea that he might be violating Otto's will. He was instinctively91 a despot, and never imagined that his friend's wishes might be different from his own. Had Otto expressed a desire different from his own, he would not have hesitated to sacrifice his own personal preference. He would have sacrificed even more for him. He was consumed by the desire to run some risk for him. He wished passionately93 that there might appear some opportunity of putting his friendship to the test. When they were out walking he used to hope that they might meet some danger, so that he might fling himself forward to face it. He would have loved to die for Otto. Meanwhile, he watched over him with a restless solicitude94, gave him his hand in awkward places, as though he were a girl. He was afraid that he might be tired, afraid that he might be hot, afraid that he might be cold. When they sat down under a tree he took off his coat to put it about his friend's shoulders; when they walked he carried his cloak. He would have carried Otto himself. He used to devour48 him with his eyes like a lover, and, to tell the truth, he was in love.
He did not know it, not knowing yet what love was. But sometimes, when they were together, he was overtaken by a strange unease—the same that had choked him on that first day of their friendship in the pine-woods—and the blood would rush to his face and set his cheeks aflame. He was afraid. By an instinctive92 unanimity95 the two boys used furtively96 to separate and run away from each other, and one would lag behind on the road. They would pretend to be busy looking for blackberries in the hedges, and they did not know what it was that so perturbed97 them.
But it was in their letters especially that their feelings flew high. They were not then in any danger of being contradicted by facts, and nothing could check their illusions or intimidate89 them. They wrote to each other two or three times a week in a passionately lyric98 style. They hardly ever spoke11 of real happenings or common things; they raised great problems in an apocalyptic99 manner, which passed imperceptibly from enthusiasm to despair. They called each other, "My blessing44, my hope, my beloved, my Self." They made a fearful hash of the word "Soul." They painted in tragic100 colors the sadness of their lot, and were desolate101 at having brought into the existence of their friend the sorrows of their existence.
"I am sorry, my love," wrote Jean-Christophe, "for the pain which I bring you. I cannot bear that you should suffer. It must not be. I will not have it." (He underlined the words with a stroke of the pen that dug into the paper.) "If you suffer, where shall I find strength to live? I have no happiness but in you. Oh, be happy! I will gladly take all the burden of sorrow upon myself! Think of me! Love me! I have such great need of being loved. From your love there comes to me a warmth which gives me life. If you knew how I shiver! There is winter and a biting wind in my heart. I embrace your soul."
"My thought kisses yours," replied Otto.
"I take your face in my hands," was Jean-Christophe's answer, "and what I have not done and will not do with my lips I do with all my being. I kiss you as I love you, Prudence102!",
Otto pretended to doubt him.
"Do you love me as much as I love you?"
"O God," wrote Jean-Christophe, "not as much, but ten a hundred, a thousand times more! What! Do you not feel it? What would you have me do to stir your heart?"
"What a lovely friendship is ours!" sighed Otto. "Was, there ever its like in history? It is sweet and fresh as a dream. If only it does not pass away! If you were to cease to love me!"
"How stupid you are, my beloved!" replied Jean-Christophe. "Forgive me, but your weakling fear enrages103 me. How can you ask whether I shall cease to love you! For me to live is to love you. Death is powerless against my love. You yourself could do nothing if you wished to destroy it. Even if you betrayed me, even if you rent my heart, I should die with a blessing upon you for the love with which you fill me. Once for all, then, do not be uneasy, and vex104 me no more with these cowardly doubts!"
But a week later it was he who wrote:
"It is three days now since I heard a word fall from your lips. I tremble.
Would you forget me? My blood freezes at the thought…. Yes, doubtless….
The other day only I saw your coldness towards me. You love me no longer!
You are thinking of leaving me!… Listen! If you forget me, if you ever
betray me, I will kill you like a dog!"
"You do me wrong, my dear heart," groaned105 Otto. "You draw tears from me. I do not deserve this. But you can do as you will. You have such rights over me that, if you were to break my soul, there would always be a spark left to live and love you always!"
"Heavenly powers!" cried Jean-Christophe. "I have made my friend weep!… Heap insults on me, beat me, trample106 me underfoot! I am a wretch107! I do not deserve your love!"
They had special ways of writing the address on their letters, of placing the stamp—upside down, askew108, at bottom in a corner of the envelope—to distinguish their letters from those which they wrote to persons who did not matter. These childish secrets had the charm of the sweet mysteries of love.
One day, as he was returning from a lesson, Jean-Christophe saw Otto in the street with a boy of his own age. They were laughing and talking familiarly. Jean-Christophe went pale, and followed them with his eyes until they had disappeared round the corner of the street. They had not seen him. He went home. It was as though a cloud had passed over the sun; all was dark.
When they met on the following Sunday, Jean-Christophe said nothing at first; but after they had been walking for half an hour he said in a choking voice:
"I saw you on Wednesday in the Königgasse."
"Ah!" said Otto.
And he blushed.
Jean-Christophe went on:
"You were not alone."
"No," said Otto; "I was with some one."
Jean-Christophe swallowed down his spittle and asked in a voice which he strove to make careless:
"Who was it?"
"My cousin Franz."
"Ah!" said Jean-Christophe; and after a moment: "You have never said anything about him to me."
"He lives at Rheinbach."
"Do you see him often?"
"He comes here sometimes."
"And you, do you go and stay with him?"
"Sometimes."
"Ah!" said Jean-Christophe again.
Otto, who was not sorry to turn the conversation, pointed56 out a bird who was pecking at a tree. They talked of other things. Ten minutes later Jean-Christophe broke out again:
"Are you friends with him?"
"With whom?" asked Otto.
"With your cousin."
"Yes. Why?"
"Oh, nothing!"
Otto did not like his cousin much, for he used to bother him with bad jokes; but a strange malign110 instinct made him add a few moments later:
"He is very nice."
"Who?" asked Jean-Christophe.
(He knew quite well who was meant.)
"Franz."
Otto waited for Jean-Christophe to say something, but he seemed not to have heard. He was cutting a switch from a hazel-tree. Otto went on:
"He is amusing. He has all sorts of stories."
Jean-Christophe whistled carelessly.
Otto renewed the attack:
"And he is so clever … and distinguished!…"
"What interest can this person have for me?"
And as Otto, piqued112, began to go on, he brutally113 cut him short, and pointed out a spot to which to run.
They did not touch on the subject again the whole afternoon, but they were frigid114, affecting an exaggerated politeness which was unusual for them, especially for Jean-Christophe. The words stuck in his throat. At last he could contain himself no longer, and in the middle of the road he turned to Otto, who was lagging five yards behind. He took him fiercely by the hands, and let loose upon him:
"Listen, Otto! I will not—I will not let you be so friendly with Franz, because … because you are my friend, and I will not let you love any one more than me! I will not! You see, you are everything to me! You cannot … you must not!… If I lost you, there would be nothing left but death. I do not know what I should do. I should kill myself; I should kill you! No, forgive me!…"
Tears fell from his eyes.
Otto, moved and frightened by the sincerity115 of such grief, growling116 out threats, made haste to swear that he did not and never would love anybody so much as Jean-Christophe, that Franz was nothing to him, and that he would not see him again if Jean-Christophe wished it. Jean-Christophe drank in his words, and his heart took new life. He laughed and breathed heavily; he thanked Otto effusively117. He was ashamed of having made such a scene, but he was relieved of a great weight. They stood face to face and looked at each other, not moving, and holding hands. They were very happy and very much embarrassed. They became silent; then they began to talk again, and found their old gaiety. They felt more at one than ever.
But it was not the last scene of the kind. Now that Otto felt his power over Jean-Christophe, he was tempted118 to abuse it. He knew his sore spot, and was irresistibly119 tempted to place his finger on it. Not that he had any pleasure in Jean-Christophe's anger; on the contrary, it made him unhappy—but he felt his power by making Jean-Christophe suffer. He was not bad; he had the soul of a girl.
In spite of his promises, he continued to appear arm in arm with Franz or some other comrade. They made a great noise between them, and he used to laugh in an affected120 way. When Jean-Christophe reproached him with it, he used to titter and pretend not to take him seriously, until, seeing Jean-Christophe's eyes change and his lips tremble with anger, he would change his tone, and fearfully promise not to do it again, and the next day he would do it. Jean-Christophe would write him furious letters, in which he called him:
"Scoundrel! Let me never hear of you again! I do not know you! May the devil take you and all dogs of your kidney!"
But a tearful word from Otto, or, as he ever did, the sending of a flower as a token of his eternal constancy, was enough for Jean-Christophe to be plunged in remorse121, and to write:
"My angel, I am mad! Forget my idiocy122. You are the best of men. Your little finger alone is worth more than all stupid Jean-Christophe. You have the treasures of an ingenuous123 and delicate tenderness. I kiss your flower with tears in my eyes. It is there on my heart. I thrust it into my skin with blows of my fist. I would that it could make me bleed, so that I might the more feel your exquisite goodness and my own infamous124 folly125!…"
But they began to weary of each other. It is false to pretend that little quarrels feed friendship. Jean-Christophe was sore against Otto for the injustice126 that Otto made him be guilty of. He tried to argue with himself; he laid the blame upon his own despotic temper. His loyal and eager nature, brought for the first time to the test of love, gave itself utterly127, and demanded a gift as utter without the reservation of one particle of the heart. He admitted no sharing in friendship. Being ready to sacrifice all for his friend, he thought it right and even necessary that his friend should wholly sacrifice himself and everything for him. But he was beginning to feel that the world was not built on the model of his own inflexible128 character, and that he was asking things which others could not give. Then he tried to submit. He blamed himself, he regarded himself as an egoist, who had no right to encroach upon the liberty of his friend, and to monopolize129 his affection. He did sincerely endeavor to leave him free, whatever it might cost himself. In a spirit of humiliation130 he did set himself to pledge Otto not to neglect Franz; he tried to persuade himself that he was glad to see him finding pleasure in society other than his own. But when Otto, who was not deceived, maliciously131 obeyed him, he could not help lowering at him, and then he broke out again.
If necessary, he would have forgiven Otto for preferring other friends to himself; but what he could not stomach was the lie. Otto was neither liar14 nor hypocrite, but it was as difficult for him to tell the truth as for a stutterer to pronounce words. What he said was never altogether true nor altogether false. Either from timidity or from uncertainty132 of his own feelings he rarely spoke definitely. His answers were equivocal, and, above all, upon every occasion he made mystery and was secret in a way that set Jean-Christophe beside himself. When he was caught tripping, or was caught in what, according to the conventions of their friendship, was a fault, instead of admitting it he would go on denying it and telling absurd stories. One day Jean-Christophe, exasperated133, struck him. He thought it must be the end of their friendship and that Otto would never forgive him; but after sulking for a few hours Otto came back as though nothing had happened. He had no resentment134 for Jean-Christophe's violence—perhaps even it was not unpleasing to him, and had a certain charm for him—and yet he resented Jean-Christophe letting himself be tricked, gulping135 down all his mendacities. He despised him a little, and thought himself superior. Jean-Christophe, for his part, resented Otto's receiving blows without revolting.
They no longer saw each other with the eyes of those first days. Their failings showed up in full light. Otto found Jean-Christophe's independence less charming. Jean-Christophe was a tiresome136 companion when they went walking. He had no sort of concern for correctness. He used to dress as he liked, take off his coat, open his waistcoat, walk with open collar, roll up his shirt-sleeves, put his hat on the end of his stick, and fling out his chest in the air. He used to swing his arms as he walked, whistle, and sing at the top of his voice. He used to be red in the face, sweaty, and dusty. He looked like a peasant returning from a fair. The aristocratic Otto used to be mortified137 at being seen in his company. When he saw a carriage coming he used to contrive138 to lag some ten paces behind, and to look as though he were walking alone.
Jean-Christophe was no less embarrassing company when he began to talk at an inn or in a railway-carriage when they were returning home. He used to talk loudly, and say anything that came into his head, and treat Otto with a disgusting familiarity. He used to express opinions quite recklessly concerning people known to everybody, or even about the appearance of people sitting only a few yards away from him, or he would enter into intimate details concerning his health and domestic affairs. It was useless for Otto to roll his eyes and to make signals of alarm. Jean-Christophe seemed not to notice them, and no more controlled himself than if he had been alone. Otto would see smiles on the faces of his neighbors, and would gladly have sunk into the ground. He thought Jean-Christophe coarse, and could not understand how he could ever have found delight in him.
What was most serious was that Jean-Christophe was just as reckless and indifferent concerning all the hedges, fences, inclosures, walls, prohibitions139 of entry, threats of fines, Verbot of all sorts, and everything that sought to confine his liberty and protect the sacred rights of property against it. Otto lived in fear from moment to moment, and all his protests were useless. Jean-Christophe grew worse out of bravado140.
One day, when Jean-Christophe, with Otto at his heels, was walking perfectly at home across a private wood, in spite of, or because of, the walls fortified141 with broken bottles which they had had to clear, they found themselves suddenly face to face with a gamekeeper, who let fire a volley of oaths at them, and after keeping them for some time under a threat of legal proceedings142, packed them off in the most ignominious143 fashion. Otto did not shine under this ordeal144. He thought that he was already in jail, and wept, stupidly protesting that he had gone in by accident, and that he had followed Jean-Christophe without knowing whither he was going. When he saw that he was safe, instead of being glad, he bitterly reproached Jean-Christophe. He complained that Jean-Christophe had brought him into trouble. Jean-Christophe quelled145 him with a look, and called him "Lily-liver!" There was a quick passage of words. Otto would have left Jean-Christophe if he had known how to find the way home. He was forced to follow him, but they affected to pretend that they were not together.
A storm was brewing146. In their anger they had not seen it coming. The baking countryside resounded147 with the cries of insects. Suddenly all was still. They only grew aware of the silence after a few minutes. Their ears buzzed. They raised their eyes; the sky was black; huge, heavy, livid clouds overcast148 it. They came up from every side like a cavalry-charge. They seemed all to be hastening towards an invisible point, drawn149 by a gap in the sky. Otto, in terror, dare not tell his fears, and Jean-Christophe took a malignant150 pleasure in pretending not to notice anything. But without saying a word they drew nearer together. They were alone in the wide country. Silence. Not a wind stirred,—hardly a fevered tremor151 that made the little leaves of the trees shiver now and then. Suddenly a whirling wind raised the dust, twisted the trees and lashed152 them furiously. And the silence came again, more terrible than before. Otto, in a trembling voice, spoke at last.
"It is a storm. We must go home."
Jean-Christophe said:
"Let us go home."
But it was too late. A blinding, savage153 light flashed, the heavens roared, the vault154 of clouds rumbled155. In a moment they were wrapped about by the hurricane, maddened by the lightning, deafened156 by the thunder, drenched157 from head to foot. They were in deserted158 country, half an hour from the nearest house. In the lashing159 rain, in the dim light, came the great red flashes of the storm. They tried to run but, their wet clothes clinging, they could hardly walk. Their shoes slipped on their feet, the water trickled160 down their bodies. It was difficult to breathe. Otto's teeth were chattering161, and he was mad with rage. He said biting things to Jean-Christophe. He wanted to stop; he declared that it was dangerous to walk; he threatened to sit down on the road, to sleep on the soil in the middle of the plowed162 fields. Jean-Christophe made no reply. He went on walking, blinded by the wind, the rain, and the lightning; deafened by the noise; a little uneasy, but unwilling163 to admit it.
And suddenly it was all over. The storm had passed, as it had come. But they were both in a pitiful condition. In truth, Jean-Christophe was, as usual, so disheveled that a little more disorder164 made hardly any difference to him. But Otto, so neat, so careful of his appearance, cut a sorry figure. It was as though he had just taken a bath in his clothes, and Jean-Christophe, turning and seeing him, could not help roaring with laughter. Otto was so exhausted165 that he could not even be angry. Jean-Christophe took pity and talked gaily166 to him. Otto replied with a look of fury. Jean-Christophe made him stop at a farm. They dried themselves before a great fire, and drank hot wine. Jean-Christophe thought the adventure funny, and tried to laugh at it; but that was not at all to Otto's taste, and he was morose167 and silent for the rest of their walk. They came back sulking and did not shake hands when they parted.
As a result of this prank168 they did not see each other for more than a week. They were severe in their judgment169 of each other. But after inflicting170 punishment on themselves by depriving themselves of one of their Sunday walks, they got so bored that their rancor171 died away. Jean-Christophe made the first advances as usual. Otto condescended172 to meet them, and they made peace.
In spite of their disagreement it was impossible for them to do without each other. They had many faults; they were both egoists. But their egoism was naïve; it knew not the self-seeking of maturity173 which makes it so repulsive174; it knew not itself even; it was almost lovable, and did not prevent them from sincerely loving each other! Young Otto used to weep on his pillow as he told himself stories of romantic devotion of which he was the hero; lie used to invent pathetic adventures, in which he was strong, valiant175, intrepid176, and protected Jean-Christophe, whom he used to imagine that he adored. Jean-Christophe never saw or heard anything beautiful or strange without thinking: "If only Otto were here!" He carried the image of his friend into his whole life, and that image used to be transfigured, and become so gentle that, in spite of all that he knew about Otto, it used to intoxicate177 him. Certain words of Otto's which he used to remember long after they were spoken, and to embellish178 by the way, used to make him tremble with emotion. They imitated each other. Otto aped Jean-Christophe's manners, gestures, and writing. Jean-Christophe was sometimes irritated by the shadow which repeated every word that he said and dished up his thoughts as though they were its own. But he did not see that he himself was imitating Otto, and copying his way of dressing179, walking, and pronouncing certain words. They were under a fascination. They were infused one in the other; their hearts were overflowing180 with tenderness. They trickled over with it on every side like a fountain. Each imagined that his friend was the cause of it. They did not know that it was the waking of their adolescence181.
Jean-Christophe, who never distrusted any one, used to leave his papers lying about. But an instinctive modesty182 made him keep together the drafts of the letters which he scrawled183 to Otto, and the replies. But he did not lock them up; he just placed them between the leaves of one of his music-books, where he felt certain that no one would look for them. He reckoned without his brothers' malice184.
He had seen them for some time laughing and whispering and looking at him; they were declaiming to each other fragments of speech which threw them into wild laughter. Jean-Christophe could not catch the words, and, following his usual tactics with them, he feigned185 utter indifference186 to everything they might do or say. A few words roused his attention; he thought he recognized them. Soon he was left without doubt that they had read his letters. But when he challenged Ernest and Rodolphe, who were calling each other "My dear soul," with pretended earnestness, he could get nothing from them. The little wretches187 pretended not to understand, and said that they had the right to call each other whatever they liked. Jean-Christophe, who had found all the letters in their places, did not insist farther.
Shortly afterwards he caught Ernest in the act of thieving; the little beast was rummaging188 in the drawer of the chest in which Louisa kept her money. Jean-Christophe shook him, and took advantage of the opportunity to tell him everything that he had stored up against him. He enumerated189, in terms of scant190 courtesy, the misdeeds of Ernest, and it was not a short catalogue. Ernest took the lecture in bad part; he replied impudently191 that Jean-Christophe had nothing to reproach him with, and he hinted at unmentionable things in his brother's friendship with Otto. Jean-Christophe did not understand; but when he grasped that Otto was being dragged into the quarrel he demanded an explanation of Ernest. The boy tittered; then, when he saw Jean-Christophe white with anger, he refused to say any more. Jean-Christophe saw that he would obtain nothing in that way; he sat down, shrugged his shoulders, and affected a profound contempt for Ernest. Ernest, piqued by this, was impudent192 again; he set himself to hurt his brother, and set forth193 a litany of things each more cruel and more vile194 than the last. Jean-Christophe kept a tight hand on himself. When at last he did understand, he saw red; he leaped from his chair. Ernest had no time to cry out. Jean-Christophe had hurled196 himself on him, and rolled with him into the middle of the room, and beat his head against the tiles. On the frightful197 cries of the victim, Louisa, Melchior, everybody, came running. They rescued Ernest in a parlous198 state. Jean-Christophe would not loose his prey199; they had to beat and beat him. They called him a savage beast, and he looked it. His eyes were bursting from his head, he was grinding his teeth, and his only thought was to hurl195 himself again on Ernest. When they asked him what had happened, his fury increased, and he cried out that he would kill him. Ernest also refused to tell.
Jean-Christophe could not eat nor sleep. He was shaking with fever, and wept in his bed. It was not only for Otto that he was suffering. A revolution was taking place in him. Ernest had no idea of the hurt that he had been able to do his brother. Jean-Christophe was at heart of a puritanical200 intolerance, which could not admit the dark ways of life, and was discovering them one by one with horror. At fifteen, with his free life and strong instincts, he remained strangely simple. His natural purity and ceaseless toil201 had protected him. His brother's words had opened up abyss on abyss before him. Never would he have conceived such infamies202, and now that the idea of it had come to him, all his joy in loving and being loved was spoiled. Not only his friendship with Otto, but friendship itself was poisoned.
It was much worse when certain sarcastic203 allusions204 made him think, perhaps wrongly, that he was the object of the unwholesome curiosity of the town, and especially, when, some time afterwards, Melchior made a remark about his walks with Otto. Probably there was no malice in Melchior, but Jean-Christophe, on the watch, read hidden meanings into every word, and almost he thought himself guilty. At the same time Otto was passing through a similar crisis.
They tried still to see each other in secret. But it was impossible for them to regain205 the carelessness of their old relation. Their frankness was spoiled. The two boys who loved each other with a tenderness so fearful that they had never dared exchange a fraternal kiss, and had imagined that there could be no greater happiness than in seeing each other, and in being friends, and sharing each other's dreams, now felt that they were stained and spotted206 by the suspicion of evil minds. They came to see evil even in the most innocent acts: a look, a hand-clasp—they blushed, they had evil thoughts. Their relation became intolerable.
Without saying anything they saw each other less often. They tried writing to each other, but they set a watch upon their expressions. Their letters became cold and insipid207. They grew disheartened. Jean-Christophe excused himself on the ground of his work, Otto on the ground of being too busy, and their correspondence ceased. Soon afterwards Otto left for the University, and the friendship which had lightened a few months of their lives died down and out.
And also, a new love, of which this had been only the forerunner208, took possession of Jean-Christophe's heart, and made every other light seem pale by its side.
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1
frankly
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| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
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curtly
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| adv.简短地 | |
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obsequious
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| adj.谄媚的，奉承的，顺从的 | |
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legendary
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| adj.传奇（中）的，闻名遐迩的；n.传奇（文学） | |
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5
belching
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| n. 喷出，打嗝 动词belch的现在分词形式 | |
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ecstasy
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| n.狂喜，心醉神怡，入迷 | |
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ivy
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| n.常青藤，常春藤 | |
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8
plied
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| v.使用（工具）( ply的过去式和过去分词 )；经常供应（食物、饮料）；固定往来；经营生意 | |
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admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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10
tickled
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| （使）发痒( tickle的过去式和过去分词 )； （使）愉快，逗乐 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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12
peg
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| n.木栓，木钉；vt.用木钉钉，用短桩固定 | |
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13
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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14
liar
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| n.说谎的人 | |
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ascent
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| n.(声望或地位)提高；上升，升高；登高 | |
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scent
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| n.气味，香味，香水，线索，嗅觉；v.嗅，发觉 | |
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17
abashed
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| adj.窘迫的，尴尬的v.使羞愧，使局促，使窘迫( abash的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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18
mincingly
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constrained
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| adj.束缚的,节制的 | |
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boredom
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| n.厌烦，厌倦，乏味，无聊 | |
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21
extraordinarily
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| adv.格外地；极端地 | |
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loquacious
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| adj.多嘴的，饶舌的 | |
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23
clenched
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| v.紧握，抓紧，咬紧( clench的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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24
commiserated
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| v.怜悯，同情( commiserate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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entreaties
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| n.恳求，乞求( entreaty的名词复数 ) | |
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elegance
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| n.优雅；优美，雅致；精致，巧妙 | |
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27
distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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drowsy
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| adj.昏昏欲睡的，令人发困的 | |
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29
procure
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| vt.获得，取得，促成；vi.拉皮条 | |
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rosy
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| adj.美好的，乐观的，玫瑰色的 | |
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limpid
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| adj.清澈的，透明的 | |
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32
twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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33
heed
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| v.注意，留意；n.注意，留心 | |
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34
awakened
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| v.（使）醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
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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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rehearsal
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| n.排练，排演；练习 | |
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37
labored
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| adj.吃力的，谨慎的v.努力争取(for)( labor的过去式和过去分词 )；苦干；详细分析；（指引擎）缓慢而困难地运转 | |
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38
delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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39
devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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40
swelling
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| n.肿胀 | |
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41
dint
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| n.由于，靠；凹坑 | |
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42
gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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43
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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44
blessing
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| n.祈神赐福；祷告；祝福，祝愿 | |
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45
whimsies
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| n.怪念头( whimsy的名词复数 )；异想天开；怪脾气；与众不同的幽默感 | |
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accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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grumble
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| vi.抱怨；咕哝；n.抱怨，牢骚；咕哝，隆隆声 | |
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48
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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49
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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50
impatience
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| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
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51
sentimentally
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| adv.富情感地 | |
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52
pebbles
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| [复数]鹅卵石； 沙砾； 卵石，小圆石( pebble的名词复数 ) | |
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53
eloquent
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| adj.雄辩的，口才流利的；明白显示出的 | |
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54
humiliated
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| 感到羞愧的 | |
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55
circumspection
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| n.细心，慎重 | |
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56
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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57
constraint
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| n.(on)约束，限制；限制(或约束)性的事物 | |
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58
rabble
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| n.乌合之众，暴民；下等人 | |
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59
bourgeois
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| adj./n.追求物质享受的(人)；中产阶级分子 | |
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60
horrified
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| a.(表现出)恐惧的 | |
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61
thaw
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| v.（使）融化，（使）变得友善；n.融化，缓和 | |
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62
quarry
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| n.采石场；v.采石；费力地找 | |
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63
thicket
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| n.灌木丛，树林 | |
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64
lust
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| n.性(淫)欲；渴(欲)望；vi.对…有强烈的欲望 | |
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65
slaughter
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| n.屠杀，屠宰；vt.屠杀，宰杀 | |
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66
rumpled
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| v.弄皱，使凌乱( rumple的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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67
ripple
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| n.涟波，涟漪，波纹，粗钢梳；vt.使...起涟漪，使起波纹； vi.呈波浪状，起伏前进 | |
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68
grotesquely
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| adv. 奇异地,荒诞地 | |
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69
hoarse
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| adj.嘶哑的，沙哑的 | |
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70
mediocre
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| adj.平常的，普通的 | |
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71
scraps
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| 油渣 | |
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72
discrepancy
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| n.不同；不符；差异；矛盾 | |
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73
complexion
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| n.肤色；情况，局面；气质，性格 | |
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74
scrupulous
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| adj.审慎的，小心翼翼的，完全的，纯粹的 | |
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75
subjugated
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| v.征服，降伏( subjugate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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76
reverence
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| n.敬畏，尊敬，尊严；Reverence:对某些基督教神职人员的尊称；v.尊敬，敬畏，崇敬 | |
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77
voluptuous
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| adj.肉欲的，骄奢淫逸的 | |
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78
decry
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| v.危难，谴责 | |
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79
mimic
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| v.模仿，戏弄；n.模仿他人言行的人 | |
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80
fascination
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| n.令人着迷的事物，魅力，迷恋 | |
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81
hewed
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| v.（用斧、刀等）砍、劈( hew的过去式和过去分词 )；砍成；劈出；开辟 | |
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82
exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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83
savor
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| vt.品尝，欣赏；n.味道，风味；情趣，趣味 | |
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84
obedience
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| n.服从，顺从 | |
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85
acquiesce
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| vi.默许，顺从，同意 | |
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86
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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87
contriving
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| （不顾困难地）促成某事( contrive的现在分词 )； 巧妙地策划，精巧地制造（如机器）； 设法做到 | |
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88
intimidated
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| v.恐吓；威胁adj.害怕的；受到威胁的 | |
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89
intimidate
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| vt.恐吓，威胁 | |
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90
amassed
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| v.积累，积聚( amass的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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91
instinctively
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| adv.本能地 | |
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92
instinctive
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| adj.(出于)本能的；直觉的；(出于)天性的 | |
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93
passionately
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| ad.热烈地，激烈地 | |
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94
solicitude
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| n.焦虑 | |
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95
unanimity
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| n.全体一致，一致同意 | |
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96
furtively
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| adv. 偷偷地, 暗中地 | |
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97
perturbed
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| adj.烦燥不安的v.使（某人）烦恼，不安( perturb的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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98
lyric
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| n.抒情诗，歌词；adj.抒情的 | |
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99
apocalyptic
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| adj.预示灾祸的，启示的 | |
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100
tragic
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| adj.悲剧的，悲剧性的，悲惨的 | |
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101
desolate
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| adj.荒凉的，荒芜的；孤独的，凄凉的；v.使荒芜，使孤寂 | |
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102
prudence
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| n.谨慎，精明，节俭 | |
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103
enrages
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| 使暴怒( enrage的第三人称单数 ) | |
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104
vex
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| vt.使烦恼，使苦恼 | |
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105
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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106
trample
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| vt.踩，践踏；无视，伤害，侵犯 | |
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107
wretch
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| n.可怜的人，不幸的人；卑鄙的人 | |
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108
askew
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| adv.斜地；adj.歪斜的 | |
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109
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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110
malign
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| adj.有害的；恶性的；恶意的；v.诽谤，诬蔑 | |
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111
shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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112
piqued
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| v.伤害…的自尊心( pique的过去式和过去分词 )；激起（好奇心） | |
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113
brutally
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| adv.残忍地，野蛮地，冷酷无情地 | |
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114
frigid
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| adj.寒冷的，凛冽的；冷淡的；拘禁的 | |
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115
sincerity
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| n.真诚，诚意；真实 | |
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116
growling
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| n.吠声, 咆哮声 v.怒吠, 咆哮, 吼 | |
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117
effusively
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| adv.变溢地，热情洋溢地 | |
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118
tempted
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| v.怂恿（某人）干不正当的事；冒…的险（tempt的过去分词） | |
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119
irresistibly
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| adv.无法抵抗地，不能自持地；极为诱惑人地 | |
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120
affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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121
remorse
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| n.痛恨，悔恨，自责 | |
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122
idiocy
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| n.愚蠢 | |
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123
ingenuous
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| adj.纯朴的，单纯的；天真的；坦率的 | |
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124
infamous
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| adj.声名狼藉的，臭名昭著的，邪恶的 | |
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125
folly
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| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
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126
injustice
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| n.非正义，不公正，不公平，侵犯（别人的）权利 | |
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127
utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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128
inflexible
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| adj.不可改变的，不受影响的，不屈服的 | |
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129
monopolize
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| v.垄断，独占，专营 | |
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130
humiliation
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| n.羞辱 | |
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131
maliciously
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| adv.有敌意地 | |
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132
uncertainty
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| n.易变，靠不住，不确知，不确定的事物 | |
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133
exasperated
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| adj.恼怒的 | |
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134
resentment
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| n.怨愤，忿恨 | |
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135
gulping
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| v.狼吞虎咽地吃，吞咽( gulp的现在分词 )；大口地吸（气）；哽住 | |
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136
tiresome
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| adj.令人疲劳的，令人厌倦的 | |
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137
mortified
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| v.使受辱( mortify的过去式和过去分词 )；伤害（人的感情）；克制；抑制（肉体、情感等） | |
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138
contrive
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| vt.谋划，策划；设法做到；设计，想出 | |
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139
prohibitions
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| 禁令，禁律( prohibition的名词复数 )； 禁酒； 禁例 | |
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140
bravado
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| n.虚张声势，故作勇敢，逞能 | |
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141
fortified
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| adj. 加强的 | |
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142
proceedings
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| n.进程，过程，议程；诉讼(程序)；公报 | |
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143
ignominious
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| adj.可鄙的，不光彩的，耻辱的 | |
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144
ordeal
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| n.苦难经历，（尤指对品格、耐力的）严峻考验 | |
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145
quelled
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| v.（用武力）制止，结束，镇压( quell的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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146
brewing
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| n. 酿造, 一次酿造的量 动词brew的现在分词形式 | |
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147
resounded
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| v.（指声音等）回荡于某处( resound的过去式和过去分词 )；产生回响；（指某处）回荡着声音 | |
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148
overcast
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|
| adj.阴天的，阴暗的，愁闷的；v.遮盖，（使）变暗，包边缝；n.覆盖，阴天 | |
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149
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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150
malignant
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| adj.恶性的，致命的；恶意的，恶毒的 | |
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151
tremor
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| n.震动，颤动，战栗，兴奋，地震 | |
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152
lashed
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| adj.具睫毛的v.鞭打( lash的过去式和过去分词 )；煽动；紧系；怒斥 | |
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153
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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154
vault
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| n.拱形圆顶，地窖，地下室 | |
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155
rumbled
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| 发出隆隆声，发出辘辘声( rumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 轰鸣着缓慢行进； 发现…的真相； 看穿（阴谋） | |
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156
deafened
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| 使聋( deafen的过去式和过去分词 )； 使隔音 | |
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157
drenched
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| adj.湿透的；充满的v.使湿透( drench的过去式和过去分词 )；在某人（某物）上大量使用（某液体） | |
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158
deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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159
lashing
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| n.鞭打；痛斥；大量；许多v.鞭打( lash的现在分词 )；煽动；紧系；怒斥 | |
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160
trickled
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| v.滴( trickle的过去式和过去分词 )；淌；使)慢慢走；缓慢移动 | |
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161
chattering
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| n. （机器振动发出的）咔嗒声，(鸟等)鸣，啁啾 adj. 喋喋不休的，啾啾声的 动词chatter的现在分词形式 | |
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162
plowed
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| v.耕( plow的过去式和过去分词 )；犁耕；费力穿过 | |
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163
unwilling
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| adj.不情愿的 | |
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164
disorder
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| n.紊乱，混乱；骚动，骚乱；疾病，失调 | |
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165
exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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166
gaily
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| adv.欢乐地，高兴地 | |
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167
morose
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| adj.脾气坏的，不高兴的 | |
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168
prank
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| n.开玩笑，恶作剧；v.装饰；打扮；炫耀自己 | |
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169
judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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170
inflicting
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| 把…强加给，使承受，遭受( inflict的现在分词 ) | |
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171
rancor
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| n.深仇，积怨 | |
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172
condescended
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| 屈尊，俯就( condescend的过去式和过去分词 )； 故意表示和蔼可亲 | |
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173
maturity
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| n.成熟；完成；(支票、债券等)到期 | |
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174
repulsive
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| adj.排斥的，使人反感的 | |
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175
valiant
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| adj.勇敢的，英勇的；n.勇士，勇敢的人 | |
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176
intrepid
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| adj.无畏的，刚毅的 | |
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177
intoxicate
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| vt.使喝醉，使陶醉，使欣喜若狂 | |
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178
embellish
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| v.装饰，布置；给…添加细节，润饰 | |
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179
dressing
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| n.(食物)调料；包扎伤口的用品，敷料 | |
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180
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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181
adolescence
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| n.青春期，青少年 | |
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182
modesty
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| n.谦逊，虚心，端庄，稳重，羞怯，朴素 | |
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183
scrawled
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| 乱涂，潦草地写( scrawl的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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184
malice
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| n.恶意，怨恨，蓄意；[律]预谋 | |
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185
feigned
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| a.假装的，不真诚的 | |
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186
indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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187
wretches
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| n.不幸的人( wretch的名词复数 )；可怜的人；恶棍；坏蛋 | |
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188
rummaging
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| 翻找，搜寻( rummage的现在分词 )； 海关检查 | |
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189
enumerated
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| v.列举，枚举，数( enumerate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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190
scant
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| adj.不充分的，不足的；v.减缩，限制，忽略 | |
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191
impudently
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impudent
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| adj.鲁莽的，卑鄙的，厚颜无耻的 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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vile
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| adj.卑鄙的，可耻的，邪恶的；坏透的 | |
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hurl
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| vt.猛投，力掷，声叫骂 | |
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hurled
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| v.猛投，用力掷( hurl的过去式和过去分词 )；大声叫骂 | |
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frightful
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| adj.可怕的；讨厌的 | |
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parlous
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| adj.危险的，不确定的，难对付的 | |
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prey
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| n.被掠食者，牺牲者，掠食；v.捕食，掠夺，折磨 | |
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puritanical
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| adj.极端拘谨的；道德严格的 | |
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toil
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| vi.辛劳工作，艰难地行动；n.苦工，难事 | |
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infamies
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| n.声名狼藉( infamy的名词复数 )；臭名；丑恶；恶行 | |
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sarcastic
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| adj.讥讽的，讽刺的，嘲弄的 | |
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204
allusions
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| 暗指，间接提到( allusion的名词复数 ) | |
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regain
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| vt.重新获得，收复，恢复 | |
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spotted
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| adj.有斑点的，斑纹的，弄污了的 | |
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insipid
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| adj.无味的，枯燥乏味的，单调的 | |
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forerunner
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| n.前身，先驱（者），预兆，祖先 | |
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