To all this Sancho listened with no little sorrow at heart to see how his hopes of dignity were fading away and vanishing in smoke, and how the fair Princess Micomicona had turned into Dorothea, and the giant into Don Fernando, while his master was sleeping tranquilly1, totally unconscious of all that had come to pass. Dorothea was unable to persuade herself that her present happiness was not all a dream; Cardenio was in a similar state of mind, and Luscinda’s thoughts ran in the same direction. Don Fernando gave thanks to Heaven for the favour shown to him and for having been rescued from the intricate labyrinth3 in which he had been brought so near the destruction of his good name and of his soul; and in short everybody in the inn was full of contentment and satisfaction at the happy issue of such a complicated and hopeless business. The curate as a sensible man made sound reflections upon the whole affair, and congratulated each upon his good fortune; but the one that was in the highest spirits and good humour was the landlady4, because of the promise Cardenio and the curate had given her to pay for all the losses and damage she had sustained through Don Quixote’s means. Sancho, as has been already said, was the only one who was distressed5, unhappy, and dejected; and so with a long face he went in to his master, who had just awoke, and said to him:
“Sir Rueful Countenance6, your worship may as well sleep on as much as you like, without troubling yourself about killing7 any giant or restoring her kingdom to the princess; for that is all over and settled now.”
“I should think it was,” replied Don Quixote, “for I have had the most prodigious8 and stupendous battle with the giant that I ever remember having had all the days of my life; and with one back-stroke — swish! — I brought his head tumbling to the ground, and so much blood gushed9 forth10 from him that it ran in rivulets11 over the earth like water.”
“Like red wine, your worship had better say,” replied Sancho; “for I would have you know, if you don’t know it, that the dead giant is a hacked12 wine-skin, and the blood four-and-twenty gallons of red wine that it had in its belly13, and the cut-off head is the bitch that bore me; and the devil take it all.”
“What art thou talking about, fool?” said Don Quixote; “art thou in thy senses?”
“Let your worship get up,” said Sancho, “and you will see the nice business you have made of it, and what we have to pay; and you will see the queen turned into a private lady called Dorothea, and other things that will astonish you, if you understand them.”
“I shall not be surprised at anything of the kind,” returned Don Quixote; “for if thou dost remember the last time we were here I told thee that everything that happened here was a matter of enchantment14, and it would be no wonder if it were the same now.”
“I could believe all that,” replied Sancho, “if my blanketing was the same sort of thing also; only it wasn’t, but real and genuine; for I saw the landlord, Who is here to-day, holding one end of the blanket and jerking me up to the skies very neatly15 and smartly, and with as much laughter as strength; and when it comes to be a case of knowing people, I hold for my part, simple and sinner as I am, that there is no enchantment about it at all, but a great deal of bruising16 and bad luck.”
“Well, well, God will give a remedy,” said Don Quixote; “hand me my clothes and let me go out, for I want to see these transformations17 and things thou speakest of.”
Sancho fetched him his clothes; and while he was dressing19, the curate gave Don Fernando and the others present an account of Don Quixote’s madness and of the stratagem20 they had made use of to withdraw him from that Pena Pobre where he fancied himself stationed because of his lady’s scorn. He described to them also nearly all the adventures that Sancho had mentioned, at which they marvelled21 and laughed not a little, thinking it, as all did, the strangest form of madness a crazy intellect could be capable of. But now, the curate said, that the lady Dorothea’s good fortune prevented her from proceeding22 with their purpose, it would be necessary to devise or discover some other way of getting him home.
Cardenio proposed to carry out the scheme they had begun, and suggested that Luscinda would act and support Dorothea’s part sufficiently23 well.
“No,” said Don Fernando, “that must not be, for I want Dorothea to follow out this idea of hers; and if the worthy24 gentleman’s village is not very far off, I shall be happy if I can do anything for his relief.”
“It is not more than two days’ journey from this,” said the curate.
“Even if it were more,” said Don Fernando, “I would gladly travel so far for the sake of doing so good a work.
“At this moment Don Quixote came out in full panoply25, with Mambrino’s helmet, all dinted as it was, on his head, his buckler on his arm, and leaning on his staff or pike. The strange figure he presented filled Don Fernando and the rest with amazement26 as they contemplated27 his lean yellow face half a league long, his armour28 of all sorts, and the solemnity of his deportment. They stood silent waiting to see what he would say, and he, fixing his eyes on the air Dorothea, addressed her with great gravity and composure:
“I am informed, fair lady, by my squire29 here that your greatness has been annihilated30 and your being abolished, since, from a queen and lady of high degree as you used to be, you have been turned into a private maiden31. If this has been done by the command of the magician king your father, through fear that I should not afford you the aid you need and are entitled to, I may tell you he did not know and does not know half the mass, and was little versed32 in the annals of chivalry33; for, if he had read and gone through them as attentively34 and deliberately35 as I have, he would have found at every turn that knights37 of less renown38 than mine have accomplished39 things more difficult: it is no great matter to kill a whelp of a giant, however arrogant40 he may be; for it is not many hours since I myself was engaged with one, and — I will not speak of it, that they may not say I am lying; time, however, that reveals all, will tell the tale when we least expect it.”
“You were engaged with a couple of wine-skins, and not a giant,” said the landlord at this; but Don Fernando told him to hold his tongue and on no account interrupt Don Quixote, who continued, “I say in conclusion, high and disinherited lady, that if your father has brought about this metamorphosis in your person for the reason I have mentioned, you ought not to attach any importance to it; for there is no peril41 on earth through which my sword will not force a way, and with it, before many days are over, I will bring your enemy’s head to the ground and place on yours the crown of your kingdom.”
Don Quixote said no more, and waited for the reply of the princess, who aware of Don Fernando’s determination to carry on the deception42 until Don Quixote had been conveyed to his home, with great ease of manner and gravity made answer, “Whoever told you, valiant43 Knight36 of the Rueful Countenance, that I had undergone any change or transformation18 did not tell you the truth, for I am the same as I was yesterday. It is true that certain strokes of good fortune, that have given me more than I could have hoped for, have made some alteration44 in me; but I have not therefore ceased to be what I was before, or to entertain the same desire I have had all through of availing myself of the might of your valiant and invincible45 arm. And so, senor, let your goodness reinstate the father that begot46 me in your good opinion, and be assured that he was a wise and prudent47 man, since by his craft he found out such a sure and easy way of remedying my misfortune; for I believe, senor, that had it not been for you I should never have lit upon the good fortune I now possess; and in this I am saying what is perfectly48 true; as most of these gentlemen who are present can fully49 testify. All that remains50 is to set out on our journey to-morrow, for to-day we could not make much way; and for the rest of the happy result I am looking forward to, I trust to God and the valour of your heart.”
So said the sprightly52 Dorothea, and on hearing her Don Quixote turned to Sancho, and said to him, with an angry air, “I declare now, little Sancho, thou art the greatest little villain53 in Spain. Say, thief and vagabond, hast thou not just now told me that this princess had been turned into a maiden called Dorothea, and that the head which I am persuaded I cut off from a giant was the bitch that bore thee, and other nonsense that put me in the greatest perplexity I have ever been in all my life? I vow” (and here he looked to heaven and ground his teeth) “I have a mind to play the mischief54 with thee, in a way that will teach sense for the future to all lying squires55 of knights-errant in the world.”
“Let your worship be calm, senor,” returned Sancho, “for it may well be that I have been mistaken as to the change of the lady princess Micomicona; but as to the giant’s head, or at least as to the piercing of the wine-skins, and the blood being red wine, I make no mistake, as sure as there is a God; because the wounded skins are there at the head of your worship’s bed, and the wine has made a lake of the room; if not you will see when the eggs come to be fried; I mean when his worship the landlord calls for all the damages: for the rest, I am heartily56 glad that her ladyship the queen is as she was, for it concerns me as much as anyone.”
“I tell thee again, Sancho, thou art a fool,” said Don Quixote; “forgive me, and that will do.”
“That will do,” said Don Fernando; “let us say no more about it; and as her ladyship the princess proposes to set out to-morrow because it is too late to-day, so be it, and we will pass the night in pleasant conversation, and to-morrow we will all accompany Senor Don Quixote; for we wish to witness the valiant and unparalleled achievements he is about to perform in the course of this mighty57 enterprise which he has undertaken.”
“It is I who shall wait upon and accompany you,” said Don Quixote; “and I am much gratified by the favour that is bestowed58 upon me, and the good opinion entertained of me, which I shall strive to justify59 or it shall cost me my life, or even more, if it can possibly cost me more.”
Many were the compliments and expressions of politeness that passed between Don Quixote and Don Fernando; but they were brought to an end by a traveller who at this moment entered the inn, and who seemed from his attire60 to be a Christian61 lately come from the country of the Moors63, for he was dressed in a short-skirted coat of blue cloth with half-sleeves and without a collar; his breeches were also of blue cloth, and his cap of the same colour, and he wore yellow buskins and had a Moorish64 cutlass slung65 from a baldric across his breast. Behind him, mounted upon an ass2, there came a woman dressed in Moorish fashion, with her face veiled and a scarf on her head, and wearing a little brocaded cap, and a mantle66 that covered her from her shoulders to her feet. The man was of a robust67 and well-proportioned frame, in age a little over forty, rather swarthy in complexion68, with long moustaches and a full beard, and, in short, his appearance was such that if he had been well dressed he would have been taken for a person of quality and good birth. On entering he asked for a room, and when they told him there was none in the inn he seemed distressed, and approaching her who by her dress seemed to be a Moor62 he her down from saddle in his arms. Luscinda, Dorothea, the landlady, her daughter and Maritornes, attracted by the strange, and to them entirely69 new costume, gathered round her; and Dorothea, who was always kindly70, courteous71, and quick-witted, perceiving that both she and the man who had brought her were annoyed at not finding a room, said to her, “Do not be put out, senora, by the discomfort72 and want of luxuries here, for it is the way of road-side inns to be without them; still, if you will be pleased to share our lodging73 with us (pointing to Luscinda) perhaps you will have found worse accommodation in the course of your journey.”
To this the veiled lady made no reply; all she did was to rise from her seat, crossing her hands upon her bosom74, bowing her head and bending her body as a sign that she returned thanks. From her silence they concluded that she must be a Moor and unable to speak a Christian tongue.
At this moment the captive came up, having been until now otherwise engaged, and seeing that they all stood round his companion and that she made no reply to what they addressed to her, he said, “Ladies, this damsel hardly understands my language and can speak none but that of her own country, for which reason she does not and cannot answer what has been asked of her.”
“Nothing has been asked of her,” returned Luscinda; “she has only been offered our company for this evening and a share of the quarters we occupy, where she shall be made as comfortable as the circumstances allow, with the good-will we are bound to show all strangers that stand in need of it, especially if it be a woman to whom the service is rendered.”
“On her part and my own, senora,” replied the captive, “I kiss your hands, and I esteem75 highly, as I ought, the favour you have offered, which, on such an occasion and coming from persons of your appearance, is, it is plain to see, a very great one.”
“Tell me, senor,” said Dorothea, “is this lady a Christian or a Moor? for her dress and her silence lead us to imagine that she is what we could wish she was not.”
“In dress and outwardly,” said he, “she is a Moor, but at heart she is a thoroughly76 good Christian, for she has the greatest desire to become one.”
“Then she has not been baptised?” returned Luscinda.
“There has been no opportunity for that,” replied the captive, “since she left Algiers, her native country and home; and up to the present she has not found herself in any such imminent77 danger of death as to make it necessary to baptise her before she has been instructed in all the ceremonies our holy mother Church ordains78; but, please God, ere long she shall be baptised with the solemnity befitting her which is higher than her dress or mine indicates.”
By these words he excited a desire in all who heard him, to know who the Moorish lady and the captive were, but no one liked to ask just then, seeing that it was a fitter moment for helping79 them to rest themselves than for questioning them about their lives. Dorothea took the Moorish lady by the hand and leading her to a seat beside herself, requested her to remove her veil. She looked at the captive as if to ask him what they meant and what she was to do. He said to her in Arabic that they asked her to take off her veil, and thereupon she removed it and disclosed a countenance so lovely, that to Dorothea she seemed more beautiful than Luscinda, and to Luscinda more beautiful than Dorothea, and all the bystanders felt that if any beauty could compare with theirs it was the Moorish lady’s , and there were even those who were inclined to give it somewhat the preference. And as it is the privilege and charm of beauty to win the heart and secure good-will, all forthwith became eager to show kindness and attention to the lovely Moor.
Don Fernando asked the captive what her name was, and he replied that it was Lela Zoraida; but the instant she heard him, she guessed what the Christian had asked, and said hastily, with some displeasure and energy, “No, not Zoraida; Maria, Maria!” giving them to understand that she was called “Maria” and not “Zoraida.” These words, and the touching80 earnestness with which she uttered them, drew more than one tear from some of the listeners, particularly the women, who are by nature tender-hearted and compassionate81. Luscinda embraced her affectionately, saying, “Yes, yes, Maria, Maria,” to which the Moor replied, “Yes, yes, Maria; Zoraida macange,” which means “not Zoraida.”
Night was now approaching, and by the orders of those who accompanied Don Fernando the landlord had taken care and pains to prepare for them the best supper that was in his power. The hour therefore having arrived they all took their seats at a long table like a refectory one, for round or square table there was none in the inn, and the seat of honour at the head of it, though he was for refusing it, they assigned to Don Quixote, who desired the lady Micomicona to place herself by his side, as he was her protector. Luscinda and Zoraida took their places next her, opposite to them were Don Fernando and Cardenio, and next the captive and the other gentlemen, and by the side of the ladies, the curate and the barber. And so they supped in high enjoyment82, which was increased when they observed Don Quixote leave off eating, and, moved by an impulse like that which made him deliver himself at such length when he supped with the goatherds, begin to address them:
“Verily, gentlemen, if we reflect upon it, great and marvellous are the things they see, who make profession of the order of knight-errantry. Say, what being is there in this world, who entering the gate of this castle at this moment, and seeing us as we are here, would suppose or imagine us to be what we are? Who would say that this lady who is beside me was the great queen that we all know her to be, or that I am that Knight of the Rueful Countenance, trumpeted84 far and wide by the mouth of Fame? Now, there can be no doubt that this art and calling surpasses all those that mankind has invented, and is the more deserving of being held in honour in proportion as it is the more exposed to peril. Away with those who assert that letters have the preeminence85 over arms; I will tell them, whosoever they may be, that they know not what they say. For the reason which such persons commonly assign, and upon which they chiefly rest, is, that the labours of the mind are greater than those of the body, and that arms give employment to the body alone; as if the calling were a porter’s trade, for which nothing more is required than sturdy strength; or as if, in what we who profess83 them call arms, there were not included acts of vigour86 for the execution of which high intelligence is requisite87; or as if the soul of the warrior88, when he has an army, or the defence of a city under his care, did not exert itself as much by mind as by body. Nay89; see whether by bodily strength it be possible to learn or divine the intentions of the enemy, his plans, stratagems90, or obstacles, or to ward51 off impending91 mischief; for all these are the work of the mind, and in them the body has no share whatever. Since, therefore, arms have need of the mind, as much as letters, let us see now which of the two minds, that of the man of letters or that of the warrior, has most to do; and this will be seen by the end and goal that each seeks to attain92; for that purpose is the more estimable which has for its aim the nobler object. The end and goal of letters — I am not speaking now of divine letters, the aim of which is to raise and direct the soul to Heaven; for with an end so infinite no other can be compared — I speak of human letters, the end of which is to establish distributive justice, give to every man that which is his, and see and take care that good laws are observed: an end undoubtedly93 noble, lofty, and deserving of high praise, but not such as should be given to that sought by arms, which have for their end and object peace, the greatest boon94 that men can desire in this life. The first good news the world and mankind received was that which the angels announced on the night that was our day, when they sang in the air, ‘Glory to God in the highest, and peace on earth to men of good-will;’ and the salutation which the great Master of heaven and earth taught his disciples95 and chosen followers96 when they entered any house, was to say, ‘Peace be on this house;’ and many other times he said to them, ‘My peace I give unto you, my peace I leave you, peace be with you;’ a jewel and a precious gift given and left by such a hand: a jewel without which there can be no happiness either on earth or in heaven. This peace is the true end of war; and war is only another name for arms. This, then, being admitted, that the end of war is peace, and that so far it has the advantage of the end of letters, let us turn to the bodily labours of the man of letters, and those of him who follows the profession of arms, and see which are the greater.”
Don Quixote delivered his discourse97 in such a manner and in such correct language, that for the time being he made it impossible for any of his hearers to consider him a madman; on the contrary, as they were mostly gentlemen, to whom arms are an appurtenance by birth, they listened to him with great pleasure as he continued: “Here, then, I say is what the student has to undergo; first of all poverty: not that all are poor, but to put the case as strongly as possible: and when I have said that he endures poverty, I think nothing more need be said about his hard fortune, for he who is poor has no share of the good things of life. This poverty he suffers from in various ways, hunger, or cold, or nakedness, or all together; but for all that it is not so extreme but that he gets something to eat, though it may be at somewhat unseasonable hours and from the leavings of the rich; for the greatest misery98 of the student is what they themselves call ‘going out for soup,’ and there is always some neighbour’s brazier or hearth99 for them, which, if it does not warm, at least tempers the cold to them, and lastly, they sleep comfortably at night under a roof. I will not go into other particulars, as for example want of shirts, and no superabundance of shoes, thin and threadbare garments, and gorging100 themselves to surfeit101 in their voracity102 when good luck has treated them to a banquet of some sort. By this road that I have described, rough and hard, stumbling here, falling there, getting up again to fall again, they reach the rank they desire, and that once attained103, we have seen many who have passed these Syrtes and Scyllas and Charybdises, as if borne flying on the wings of favouring fortune; we have seen them, I say, ruling and governing the world from a chair, their hunger turned into satiety104, their cold into comfort, their nakedness into fine raiment, their sleep on a mat into repose105 in holland and damask, the justly earned reward of their virtue106; but, contrasted and compared with what the warrior undergoes, all they have undergone falls far short of it, as I am now about to show.”
这些话桑乔全听到了。他见美丽的米科米科娜公主成了多罗特亚,巨人变成了费尔南多,他所希望的伯爵称号也成了泡影,心里不免隐隐作痛。可是他的主人却依然鼾声大作,对发生的事情全然不知。此时的多罗特亚仍在怀疑自己得到的幸福是一场梦,卡德尼奥也这么想,卢辛达同样如此。费尔南多则感谢功德无量的老天,把他从险些断送名誉和灵魂的迷途中解救了出来。总之,客店里的所有人都为这件本来无望解决的棘手事情有了如此美满的结局而高兴。办事有方的神甫把问题解决得恰到好处,他祝贺每个人都各有所得。不过,最高兴的是客店主妇,因为卡德尼奥和神甫已经答应赔偿应由唐吉诃德赔偿的所有损失和财物。
只有桑乔像刚才说的,显得很难过,很不幸,很伤心。他满面阴云地来到唐吉诃德的房间。唐吉诃德刚睡醒。桑乔对他说:
“猥獕大人,您完全可以任意睡下去,不用再操心去杀什么巨人,或者为公主光复王国了。一切都已经结束了。”
“我觉得这很好,”唐吉诃德说,“我刚才同那个巨人进行了一场估计是我这一生中最激烈的战斗。我一个反手就把他的头砍落在地,流了那么多血,就像水一样在地上流淌。”
“您最好说像红葡萄酒一样流淌,”桑乔说,“如果您不知道,我告诉您,那个死了的巨人是个酒囊,血是六个阿罗瓦的红葡萄酒,被砍掉的头呢……是养我的那个婊子,都他妈的见鬼去吧。”
“你说什么?你疯了?”唐吉诃德问,“你头脑清醒吗?”
“您起来吧,”桑乔说,“看看您做的好事吧,咱们还得赔偿呢。您还会看到,女王变成了普通少女,名叫多罗特亚。还有其它一些事情哩。您知道后准会惊奇。”
“我一点儿也不惊奇,”唐吉诃德说,“你想想,上次咱们在这儿的时候,我对你说过,这里发生的一切都是受魔法操纵的,所以,这次故伎重演也不足为奇。”
“假如我被人用被单扔也属于这种情况,我当然相信,”桑乔说,“可惜并不是这样,那是千真万确的事情。我看见今天在这儿的店主当时抓住被单的一角,既开心又用力地把我往天上扔,虽然我头脑简单,是个笨蛋,可我还认得这个人,肯定没有什么魔法,有的只是痛苦和倒霉。”
“那好,上帝会安抚你的,”唐吉诃德说,“你把衣服给我,我出去看看你所说的那些事情和变化。”
桑乔把衣服递给他。这边唐吉诃德穿衣服,那边神甫则向卡德尼奥和其他人讲唐吉诃德如何抽疯,他们又是如何设计把他从“卑岩”弄回来的,当时唐吉诃德正胡想自己受到了夫人的藐视。神甫把桑乔告诉他的那些事几乎全讲了,大家听后觉得惊奇而又可笑,一致认为这是胡思乱想造成的最奇怪的疯癫。神甫还说,多罗特亚的好事使得他这个计划不能再继续下去了,因此还得再想个办法,把唐吉诃德弄回老家去。卡德尼奥愿意把这件事继续下去,让卢辛达来扮演多罗特亚原来扮演的角色。
“不必这样,”费尔南多说,“我倒愿意让多罗特亚继续把她的角色扮演下去。如果这位骑士的家乡离这儿不远,我倒愿意想办法治好他的病。”
“离这儿不过两天的路程。”
“即使再远的路,我也愿意去,做点好事么。”
这时候,唐吉诃德全副武装地出来了。他头戴已经被砸瘪的曼布里诺的头盔,手持皮盾,胳膊还夹着那根当长矛用的棍子。唐吉诃德的样子让费尔南多和其他人感到吃惊。他的脸拉得很长,又黄又干,身上的披挂也是各式不一,神态矜持。大家都没有吱声,看他想说什么。唐吉诃德看着美丽的多罗特亚,极其严肃而又平静地说:
“美丽的公主,我已经从我的侍从那儿得知,您的尊贵地位已经没有了,您的身份也没有了,您已经从过去的女王和公主变成了普通少女。如果这是您的会巫术的父亲的旨意,怕我不能给您必要的帮助,那么我说,他过去和现在对于骑士小说都是一无所知,或知之甚少。如果他像我一样认真阅读骑士小说,随处都会发现,一些名气比我小得多的骑士,没费什么气力就杀死了某个巨人,不管那个巨人有多么高傲,从而完成了一些十分困难的事情。我没费什么时间就把那巨人……我不说了,免得你们说我吹牛。不过,时间会揭示一切,它会在我们意想不到的时候把这件事公之于众。”
“您看看,您攻击的是两个酒囊,而不是巨人。”店主这时说道。
费尔南多让店主住嘴,无论如何别打断唐吉诃德的话。唐吉诃德接着说道:
“总之,失去了继承权的尊贵公主,如果您的父亲是因为我说的那个原因而改变了您的身份,您不必往心里去。在任何危险面前都没有我的短剑打不开的道路。用不了几天,我就会用这把剑把您的敌人的头砍落在地,把王冠戴到您头上。”
唐吉诃德不再说话,等待公主的回答。多罗特亚心里明白,费尔南多已经决定把这场戏演下去,直到把唐吉诃德带回他的家乡,于是就风趣十足而又一本正经地回答道:
“勇敢的猥獕骑士,无论谁对您说我的情况变了,他说的都不是真的。我确实出乎意料地交了点好运,可我并没有因此就不是以前的我了,而且我要依靠您战无不胜的臂膀力量的想法依然没有变。所以,我的大人,请您相信我的父亲,承认他是个精明而又谨慎的人,他养育了我,以他的学识为我找到了一条弥补我的不幸的真正捷径。我认为,如果不是由于大人您,我决不会遇到今天这样的好事。我说的都是真话,在场的很多大人都可以证明这点。现在剩下的事情就是咱们明天继续赶路,今天的时间不多了。至于我期望的更多的好事,就全仰仗上帝和英勇的您了。”
机灵的多罗特亚刚说完,唐吉诃德就把头转向桑乔,满面怒容地说道:
“现在我告诉你,你这个臭桑乔,你是西班牙最大的坏蛋!江湖骗子,你说,你刚才不是对我说,这位公主已经变成了叫多罗特亚的少女吗?你不是说我砍下的那个巨人的脑袋是养你的婊子吗?你还说了其他一些混帐话,把我都弄糊涂了,我这辈子还从来没这么糊涂过呢。我发誓,”唐吉诃德咬牙切齿地仰天说道,“我要教训教训你,让天下游侠骑士的所有敢撒谎的侍从都长点记性!”
“您息怒,我的大人,”桑乔说,“就算我说米科米科娜公主的身份已改变是错了,可巨人脑袋的事,那些被扎破的酒囊,还有那些盘是葡萄酒,我都没讲错,上帝万岁,那些破酒囊就在您床边,屋里的红葡萄酒也流成河了。您若不信,到时候就知道了。我的意思是说,等店主让您赔的时候您就知道了。至于女王的身份没有变,我也和人家一样从心里感到高兴。”
“现在我告诉你,桑乔,”唐吉诃德说,“你是个笨蛋。对不起,完了。”
“行了,”费尔南多说,“别再说这些了。公主说明天再走。今天已经晚了,就这么办吧。今天晚上,咱们可以好好聊一夜,明天陪同唐吉诃德大人一起赶路,我们也想亲眼目睹他在这一伟大事业中前所未有的英勇事迹呢。”
“是我为大家效劳,陪同大家赶路。”唐吉诃德说,“感谢大家对我的关照和良好评价。我一定要做到名符其实,即使为此牺牲自己的生命或者其他可能比生命还宝贵的东西也在所不辞。”
唐吉诃德和费尔南多彼此客气谦让了一番。这时有个旅客走进客店,大家一下子都不说话了。从装束上看,那个人是刚从摩尔人那边来的。他上身穿着蓝呢半袖无领短上衣,下身是蓝麻布裤,头上戴着一顶蓝色帽子。脚上是枣色高统皮鞋,胸前的一条皮肩带上挂着一把摩尔刀。他身后跟着一个摩尔装束的女人。那女人骑在驴上,一块头巾包住了整个脑袋,把脸也遮住了。她头上还戴着一顶锦缎帽子,从肩膀到脚罩着一件摩尔式长袍。那男人有四十多岁的样子,脸色有些发黑,长长的胡子梳理得井井有条。总之,看他那副样子,如果穿戴得再好些,人们肯定会以为他是什么豪门巨子。他一进客店,就要一个房间。当他得知已经没有房间的时候,显得极为不快。他走到那个打扮像摩尔人的女人身旁,把她从驴背上抱了下来。多罗特亚、客店主妇和她的女儿,还有女仆,从没见过摩尔女人的装束,觉得很新鲜,就围了过来。多罗特亚总是那么和蔼、谦恭、机敏,她发现那个女人和同她一起来的人对没有房间感到很懊丧,就对那女人说:
“别着急,我的夫人,这里的条件不大好,但客店就是这个样子。也许您愿意同我们住在一起,”多罗特亚说着指了指卢辛达,“这条路上的其他客店恐怕还不如这儿呢。”
蒙面女人一言不发,只是从她原来坐的地方站了起来,两手交叉在胸前,低着头,深深一躬表示谢意。大家见她不说话,料想是摩尔人不会讲西班牙语。
这时,那个俘虏①过来了,他刚才一直在忙别的事情。他见她们围着与自己同行的那个女人,而她对别人跟她说的话都不作答,就说:
①上文只提到这个人是个旅客,并未说明他是俘虏。
“夫人们,这位小姐几乎不懂我们的语言,她只能讲她家乡的语言,所以问她话她也回答不了。”
“我们什么也没问,”卢辛达说,“我们只是请她今晚与我们做伴。我们在我们的房间里给她腾个地方,这样她可以更方便些。我们愿意为所有外国人,特别是外国女人,提供便利条件。”
“我以她和我个人的名义吻您的手,我的夫人。”那个俘虏说,“我很珍重您的关怀。从您在这种情况下的举动可以看出,您一定是个非常伟大的人。”
“请告诉我,大人,”多罗特亚说,“她是信基督教的人还是摩尔人?她这身打扮,还有她始终不说话,让我们以为她是我们并不希望的摩尔人。”
“装束和人是摩尔人,不过她的灵魂是个地地道道的信基督教的人。她特别想做基督教徒。”
“那么,她受洗礼了吗?”卢辛达问。
“自从她离开她的故乡阿尔及尔后,一直没有机会受洗礼。”俘虏说,“直到现在她还没有遇到什么死亡威胁,迫使她必须受洗礼。而且,她首先应该学习我们神圣信仰的各种礼仪。不过上帝保佑,她很快就要以与她身份相符的方式受洗礼了。她和我的衣服远远不能体现她的身份。”
大家听到这几句话,都很想知道摩尔女人和这个俘虏到底是什么人。不过谁也不想在这个时候问,大家知道这两个人现在最希望的是休息,而不是人们打听他们的生活。多罗特亚拉起那女人的手,让她坐在自己身边,并请她摘掉头上的面罩。那女人看着俘虏,好像在问她们说什么。俘虏用阿拉伯语告诉她,她们让她把面罩摘了。那女人把面罩摘了下来,露出一张俊秀的脸,多罗特亚觉得比卢辛达的脸还俏丽,卢辛达觉得比多罗特亚的脸还娇媚。在场的人都承认,如果说有谁的脸比多罗特亚和卢辛达的脸还漂亮,那么只有那个摩尔女人了,甚至有人觉得摩尔女人比她们俩更美。美貌历来都得宠,它能够令人动情,赢得好感,所以大家都愿意为摩尔女人尽心效力,殷勤备至。
费尔南多问俘虏,摩尔女人叫什么名字。俘虏说叫莱拉·索赖达。摩尔女人听见了,知道费尔南多问的是什么,急忙嗔怪地说:
“不,不是索赖达,是玛丽亚,玛丽亚。”她这么说显然是为了告诉人们,她叫玛丽亚而不是索赖达。
她说的这句话以及说话的感情让在场的几个人,特别是女人们,流下了眼泪。女人的性情就是心慈手软。
卢辛达非常亲热地抱住她,对她说:
“是的,是的,玛丽亚,玛丽亚。”
摩尔女人说:
“是的,是的,玛丽亚!索赖达马坎赫!”马坎赫的意思是“不是”。
这时夜幕降临。店主按照与费尔南多同行的那些人的吩咐,精心准备了一顿他最拿手的晚饭。客店里既没有圆桌,也没有方桌,到了吃晚饭的时间,大家就像仆人用餐一样,围坐在一条长桌前,把桌首的位置让给了唐吉诃德,尽管他尽力推辞。他觉得自己是米科米科娜的守护者,应该坐在她旁边。依次下去是卢辛达和索赖达。她们的对面是费尔南多和卡德尼奥,接着是俘虏和其他男人,神甫和理发师坐到了女人们的一侧。晚餐吃得兴致勃勃。后来看到唐吉诃德又像那次同牧羊人吃饭那样,一时说兴大发,饭都不吃就滔滔不绝地说起来,大家的兴致更浓了。唐吉诃德说:
“只要你们注意一下,诸位大人,就会看到游侠骑士所从事的事业的确是空前伟大的。否则,假如现在有人从这座城堡的大门进来,看见了我们,怎么会想象得到我们是什么人呢?他怎么会知道坐在我身旁的这位女子就是大名鼎鼎的女王,而我就是人们到处传颂的猥獕骑士呢?
“毫无疑问,这项事业胜过人们从事的所有行业。它遇到的危险越大,越是受到人们的尊重。如果有人说舞文弄墨比舞刀弄枪好,就让他从我面前滚开吧,那是信口胡言。他们依据的理由就是脑力劳动比体力劳动辛苦,舞刀弄枪使用的只是体力,就像臭苦力干活那样,只要有力气就行了;就好像我们从事的这个舞刀弄枪的行业不包括防御似的,而防御需要很好的智力;就好像一个率领军队或承担防守一座被围困的城市的斗士不需要动脑子一样,其实这既需要脑力又需要体力。
“你们想想,要揣测了解敌人的意图和计谋,要估计存在的困难,避免可能遇到的损失,光靠体力能做到吗?这全是动脑子的事情,与体力根本无关。而且,舞刀弄枪也同舞文弄墨一样,需要动用脑力。咱们不妨看看,文武相比,哪一项最辛苦。不过,这要看每个人追求的目的和结局。追求的目标越高尚,就越应该受到尊重。
“咱们不说神职人员,神职人员的目的就是把人的灵魂送上天。这是一个无与伦比的崇高目标。咱们就谈世俗文人的目的吧。他们的目的就是实现公平的分配,让每个人得其所应得,并且让公正的法律得到遵守。这的确是个宏伟、高尚、值得赞扬的目标。不过,它还无法与武士的目标相比,这些人把平安视为最终目标,平安才是人类生活可以企望的最高利益。所以,世界和人类最初听到的福音,就是我们在见到光明的那个晚上①听到的天使的声音。天使在空中唱道:‘在至高之处荣耀归于神,在地上平安归于他所喜悦的人。’无论在人间还是在天上,我们最高的导师都教导他们的信徒和受到他们帮助的人,到某人家去的时候,最好的问候就是‘愿这一家平安’,并且常常教导他们说:‘我留下平安给你们,我将我的平安赐给你们,愿你们平安。’这平安就好比一件珍宝。没有这件珍宝,无论人间还是天上,都不会有任何幸福。这个平安就是打仗的真正目的,而从戎就是要打仗。
①此处指耶稣诞生之夜。下面的几句引语均出自《新约全书》。
“如果是这样,打仗的最终目的是平安,而这个目的又比文人的目的要强得多。咱们现在看看文人和武将各自付出的辛劳吧,看看谁消耗的体力最多、最辛苦。”
唐吉诃德口若悬河,侃侃而谈,听他讲话的那些人谁也不能把他看成是疯子。相反,其他男人都与从武的行业无缘,因此听起来津津有味。唐吉诃德接着说:
“我认为文人的最大难处就是穷,当然并不是所有的文人都穷,我只是想在这种情况下把事情说绝对些。我觉得受穷就是一种不幸,因为穷人历来都不会有什么顺心的事。他们受贫穷之苦表现在几个方面,挨饿、受冻或缺衣少穿,或者是尽皆有之。不过尽管如此,他们并不是没有吃的,只是不能按时吃,或者吃些富人的残羹剩饭。他们最大的难处就是这个‘吃乞食’。他们也不是没有火炉或壁炉,即使火不热,至少可以驱驱寒,总之他们可以在房间里睡得很舒服。其它一些琐事,我就不提了。譬如说他们缺衣少鞋,衣服单薄,如果有幸吃顿好饭就狠吃猛塞。
“在我描述的这条艰辛道路上,他们在这里摔倒了,爬起来,再摔倒,一直到达他们所希望的地位。我们看到过很多这种情况,他们含辛茹苦,一旦达到了目标,就好像插上了时来运转的翅膀,开始坐在椅子上统治世界,饥肠辘辘变成了脑满肠肥,忍寒受冻变成了怡然自得,缺衣少穿变成了穿着阔绰,铺席而眠变成了铺绫盖缎。这些都是他们功德的合理所得。不过他们付出的代价如果与战士们相比,就差得太远了。下面我再继续讲。”
1 tranquilly | |
adv. 宁静地 | |
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2 ass | |
n.驴;傻瓜,蠢笨的人 | |
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3 labyrinth | |
n.迷宫;难解的事物;迷路 | |
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4 landlady | |
n.女房东,女地主 | |
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5 distressed | |
痛苦的 | |
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6 countenance | |
n.脸色,面容;面部表情;vt.支持,赞同 | |
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7 killing | |
n.巨额利润;突然赚大钱,发大财 | |
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8 prodigious | |
adj.惊人的,奇妙的;异常的;巨大的;庞大的 | |
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9 gushed | |
v.喷,涌( gush的过去式和过去分词 );滔滔不绝地说话 | |
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10 forth | |
adv.向前;向外,往外 | |
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11 rivulets | |
n.小河,小溪( rivulet的名词复数 ) | |
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12 hacked | |
生气 | |
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13 belly | |
n.肚子,腹部;(像肚子一样)鼓起的部分,膛 | |
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14 enchantment | |
n.迷惑,妖术,魅力 | |
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15 neatly | |
adv.整洁地,干净地,灵巧地,熟练地 | |
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16 bruising | |
adj.殊死的;十分激烈的v.擦伤(bruise的现在分词形式) | |
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17 transformations | |
n.变化( transformation的名词复数 );转换;转换;变换 | |
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18 transformation | |
n.变化;改造;转变 | |
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19 dressing | |
n.(食物)调料;包扎伤口的用品,敷料 | |
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20 stratagem | |
n.诡计,计谋 | |
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21 marvelled | |
v.惊奇,对…感到惊奇( marvel的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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22 proceeding | |
n.行动,进行,(pl.)会议录,学报 | |
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23 sufficiently | |
adv.足够地,充分地 | |
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24 worthy | |
adj.(of)值得的,配得上的;有价值的 | |
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25 panoply | |
n.全副甲胄,礼服 | |
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26 amazement | |
n.惊奇,惊讶 | |
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27 contemplated | |
adj. 预期的 动词contemplate的过去分词形式 | |
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28 armour | |
(=armor)n.盔甲;装甲部队 | |
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29 squire | |
n.护卫, 侍从, 乡绅 | |
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30 annihilated | |
v.(彻底)消灭( annihilate的过去式和过去分词 );使无效;废止;彻底击溃 | |
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31 maiden | |
n.少女,处女;adj.未婚的,纯洁的,无经验的 | |
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32 versed | |
adj. 精通,熟练 | |
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33 chivalry | |
n.骑士气概,侠义;(男人)对女人彬彬有礼,献殷勤 | |
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34 attentively | |
adv.聚精会神地;周到地;谛;凝神 | |
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35 deliberately | |
adv.审慎地;蓄意地;故意地 | |
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36 knight | |
n.骑士,武士;爵士 | |
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37 knights | |
骑士; (中古时代的)武士( knight的名词复数 ); 骑士; 爵士; (国际象棋中)马 | |
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38 renown | |
n.声誉,名望 | |
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39 accomplished | |
adj.有才艺的;有造诣的;达到了的 | |
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40 arrogant | |
adj.傲慢的,自大的 | |
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41 peril | |
n.(严重的)危险;危险的事物 | |
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42 deception | |
n.欺骗,欺诈;骗局,诡计 | |
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43 valiant | |
adj.勇敢的,英勇的;n.勇士,勇敢的人 | |
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44 alteration | |
n.变更,改变;蚀变 | |
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45 invincible | |
adj.不可征服的,难以制服的 | |
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46 begot | |
v.为…之生父( beget的过去式 );产生,引起 | |
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47 prudent | |
adj.谨慎的,有远见的,精打细算的 | |
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48 perfectly | |
adv.完美地,无可非议地,彻底地 | |
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49 fully | |
adv.完全地,全部地,彻底地;充分地 | |
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50 remains | |
n.剩余物,残留物;遗体,遗迹 | |
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51 ward | |
n.守卫,监护,病房,行政区,由监护人或法院保护的人(尤指儿童);vt.守护,躲开 | |
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52 sprightly | |
adj.愉快的,活泼的 | |
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53 villain | |
n.反派演员,反面人物;恶棍;问题的起因 | |
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54 mischief | |
n.损害,伤害,危害;恶作剧,捣蛋,胡闹 | |
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55 squires | |
n.地主,乡绅( squire的名词复数 ) | |
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56 heartily | |
adv.衷心地,诚恳地,十分,很 | |
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57 mighty | |
adj.强有力的;巨大的 | |
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58 bestowed | |
赠给,授予( bestow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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59 justify | |
vt.证明…正当(或有理),为…辩护 | |
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60 attire | |
v.穿衣,装扮[同]array;n.衣着;盛装 | |
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61 Christian | |
adj.基督教徒的;n.基督教徒 | |
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62 moor | |
n.荒野,沼泽;vt.(使)停泊;vi.停泊 | |
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63 moors | |
v.停泊,系泊(船只)( moor的第三人称单数 ) | |
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64 moorish | |
adj.沼地的,荒野的,生[住]在沼地的 | |
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65 slung | |
抛( sling的过去式和过去分词 ); 吊挂; 遣送; 押往 | |
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66 mantle | |
n.斗篷,覆罩之物,罩子;v.罩住,覆盖,脸红 | |
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67 robust | |
adj.强壮的,强健的,粗野的,需要体力的,浓的 | |
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68 complexion | |
n.肤色;情况,局面;气质,性格 | |
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69 entirely | |
ad.全部地,完整地;完全地,彻底地 | |
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70 kindly | |
adj.和蔼的,温和的,爽快的;adv.温和地,亲切地 | |
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71 courteous | |
adj.彬彬有礼的,客气的 | |
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72 discomfort | |
n.不舒服,不安,难过,困难,不方便 | |
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73 lodging | |
n.寄宿,住所;(大学生的)校外宿舍 | |
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74 bosom | |
n.胸,胸部;胸怀;内心;adj.亲密的 | |
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75 esteem | |
n.尊敬,尊重;vt.尊重,敬重;把…看作 | |
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76 thoroughly | |
adv.完全地,彻底地,十足地 | |
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77 imminent | |
adj.即将发生的,临近的,逼近的 | |
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78 ordains | |
v.任命(某人)为牧师( ordain的第三人称单数 );授予(某人)圣职;(上帝、法律等)命令;判定 | |
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79 helping | |
n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的,辅助的 | |
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80 touching | |
adj.动人的,使人感伤的 | |
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81 compassionate | |
adj.有同情心的,表示同情的 | |
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82 enjoyment | |
n.乐趣;享有;享用 | |
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83 profess | |
v.声称,冒称,以...为业,正式接受入教,表明信仰 | |
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84 trumpeted | |
大声说出或宣告(trumpet的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
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85 preeminence | |
n.卓越,杰出 | |
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86 vigour | |
(=vigor)n.智力,体力,精力 | |
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87 requisite | |
adj.需要的,必不可少的;n.必需品 | |
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88 warrior | |
n.勇士,武士,斗士 | |
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89 nay | |
adv.不;n.反对票,投反对票者 | |
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90 stratagems | |
n.诡计,计谋( stratagem的名词复数 );花招 | |
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91 impending | |
a.imminent, about to come or happen | |
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92 attain | |
vt.达到,获得,完成 | |
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93 undoubtedly | |
adv.确实地,无疑地 | |
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94 boon | |
n.恩赐,恩物,恩惠 | |
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95 disciples | |
n.信徒( disciple的名词复数 );门徒;耶稣的信徒;(尤指)耶稣十二门徒之一 | |
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96 followers | |
追随者( follower的名词复数 ); 用户; 契据的附面; 从动件 | |
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97 discourse | |
n.论文,演说;谈话;话语;vi.讲述,著述 | |
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98 misery | |
n.痛苦,苦恼,苦难;悲惨的境遇,贫苦 | |
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99 hearth | |
n.壁炉炉床,壁炉地面 | |
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100 gorging | |
v.(用食物把自己)塞饱,填饱( gorge的现在分词 );作呕 | |
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101 surfeit | |
v.使饮食过度;n.(食物)过量,过度 | |
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102 voracity | |
n.贪食,贪婪 | |
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103 attained | |
(通常经过努力)实现( attain的过去式和过去分词 ); 达到; 获得; 达到(某年龄、水平、状况) | |
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104 satiety | |
n.饱和;(市场的)充分供应 | |
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105 repose | |
v.(使)休息;n.安息 | |
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106 virtue | |
n.德行,美德;贞操;优点;功效,效力 | |
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