There was in those years a prince of the blood, an old man, left behind by the times. His mother was of the finest lineage. There had once been talk of seeking a favored position for him; but there were disturbances1 and a new alignment2 of forces, at the end of which his prospects3 were in ruins. His supporters, embittered4 by this turn of events, were less than steadfast5: they made their various excuses and left him. And so in his public life and in his private, he was quite alone, blocked at every turn. His wife, the daughter of a former minister, had fits of bleakest6 depression at the thought of her parents and their plans for her, now of course in ruins. Her consolation7 was that she and her husband were close as husbands and wives seldom are. Their confidence in each other was complete.
But here too there was a shadow: the years went by and they had no children. If only there were a pretty little child to break the loneliness and boredom8, the prince would think — and sometimes give voice to his thoughts. And then, surprisingly, a very pretty daughter was in fact born to them. She was the delight of their lives. Years passed, and there were signs that the princess was again with child. The prince hoped that this time he would be favored with a son, but again the child was a daughter. Though the birth was easy enough, the princess fell desperately9 ill soon afterwards, and was dead before many days had passed. The prince was numb11 with grief. The vulgar world had long had no place for him, he said, and frequently it had seemed quite unbearable12; and the bond that had held him to it had been the beauty and the gentleness of his wife. How could he go on alone? And there were his daughters. How could he, alone, rear them in a manner that would not be a scandal? — for he was not, after all, a commoner. His conclusion was that he must take the tonsure13. Yet he hesitated. Once he was gone, there would be no one to see to the safety of his daughters.
So the years went by. The princesses grew up, each with her own grace and beauty. It was difficult to find fault with them, they gave him what pleasure he had. The passing years offered him no opportunity to carry out his resolve.
The serving women muttered to themselves that the younger girl’s very birth had been a mistake, and were not as diligent15 as they might have been in caring for her. With the prince it was a different matter. His wife, scarcely in control of her senses, had been especially tormented16 by thoughts of this new babe. She had left behind a single request: “Think of her as a keepsake, and be good to her.”
The prince himself was not without resentment18 at the child, that her birth should so swiftly have severed19 their bond from a former life, his and his princess’s.
“But such was the bond that it was,” he said. “And she worried about the girl to the very end.”
The result was that if anything he doted upon the child to excess. One almost sensed in her fragile beauty a sinister20 omen14.
The older girl was comely21 and of a gentle disposition22, elegant in face and in manner, with a suggestion behind the elegance23 of hidden depths. In quiet grace, indeed, she was the superior of the two. And so the prince favored each as each in her special way demanded. There were numerous matters which he was not able to order as he wished, however, and his household only grew sadder and lonelier as time went by. His attendants, unable to bear the uncertainty24 of their prospects, took their leave one and two at a time. In the confusion surrounding the birth of the younger girl, there had not been time to select a really suitable nurse for her. No more dedicated25 than one would have expected in the circumstances, the nurse first chosen abandoned her ward10 when the girl was still an infant. Thereafter the prince himself took charge of her upbringing.
Much care had gone into the planning of his garden. Though the ponds and hillocks were as they had always been, the prince gazed listlessly out upon a garden returning to nature. His stewards26 being of a not very diligent sort, there was no one to fight off the decay. The garden was rank with weeds, and creeping ferns took over the eaves as if the house belonged to them. The freshness of the cherry blossoms in spring, the tints27 of the autumn leaves, had been a consolation in loneliness while he had had his wife with him. Now the beauties of the passing seasons only made him lonelier. It became his compelling duty to see that the chapel28 was properly appointed, and he spent his days and nights in religious observances. Even his affection for his daughters, because it was a bond with this world, made him strangely fretful. He had to set it down as a mark against him for some misdeed in a former life, the fact that he was not up to following his inclinations29 and renouncing30 the world. The possibility that he might bow to custom and remarry seemed more and more remote. Time went by and thoughts of marriage left him. He had become a saint who still wore the robes of this world. His wife was dead and it was unthinkable that anyone should replace her.
“Enough of this, Your Highness,” said the people around him. “We understand, please believe us, why your grief was what it was when our lady left you. But time passes, grief should not go on forever. Can you not bring yourself to do as others do? And look at this house, if you will, with no one to watch over it. If there were someone, anyone, for us to look to, it would not be the ruin it is.”
So they argued, and he was informed of numerous possible matches; but he would not listen. When he was not at his prayers, his daughters were his companions. They were growing up and they occupied themselves with music and Go, and word games, and other profitless pastimes. Each had her own individual ways, he was beginning to notice. The older girl was composed and meditative31, quick to learn but with a tendency toward moodiness32. The younger, though also quiet and reserved, was distinguished33 by a certain shy and childlike gaiety.
One warm spring day he sat looking out over the garden. Mallards were swimming about on the pond, wing to wing, chattering34 happily to each other. It was a sight which in earlier years would scarcely have caught the prince’s eye, but now he felt something like jealousy35 toward these mindless creatures, each steadfast to its mate.
He had the girls go over a music lesson, and very appealing they were too, as they bent36 their small figures to the work. The sound of the instruments was enough to bring tears to his eyes. Softly, he recited a verse, brushing away a tear as he did so.
“She has left behind her mate, and these nestlings too.
Why have they lingered in this uncertain world?”
He was an extremely handsome man. Emaciation37 from years of abstinence only added to the courtliness of his bearing. He had put on a figured robe for the music lesson. Somewhat rumpled38, casually39 thrown over his shoulders, it seemed to emphasize by its very carelessness the nobility of the wearer.
Oigimi, the older girl, quietly took out an inkstone and seemed about to write a few lines on it.
“Come now. You know better than to write on an inkstone.” He pushed a sheet of paper towards her.
“I know now, as I see it leave the nest,
How uncertain is the lot of the waterfowl.”
It was not a masterpiece, but in the circumstances it was very touching40. The hand showed promise even though the characters were separated one from another in a still childish fashion.
“And now it is your turn,” he said to Nakanokimi, the younger.
More of a child than her sister, she took longer with her verse:
“Unsheltered by the wing of the grieving father,
The nestling would surely have perished in the nest.”
It saddened him to see the princesses, their robes shabby and wrinkled, no one to take care of them, bored and without hope of relief from boredom — but they were utterly41 charming on such occasions, each in her own way. He read from the holy text in his hand, sometimes interrupting with a poem. To the older girl he had taught the lute42, to the younger the thirteen-stringed koto. When they played duets, of which they were fond, he thought them very satisfactory pupils, if still somewhat immature43.
He had early lost his father, the old emperor, and his mother as well. Without the sort of resolute44 backing necessary for a youth in his position, he tended to neglect serious Chinese studies. Practical matters of state and career were yet further beyond his grasp. He was of an elegance extraordinary even for one of his birth, with a soft gentility that approached the womanish; and so the treasures from his ancestors, the fields left by his grandfather the minister, which at the outset had seemed inexhaustible, had presently disappeared, he could not have said where. Only his mansion45 and its furnishings — fine and numerous, to be sure — remained. The last of his retainers had left him, and the last of those with whom he might find companionship. To relieve the tedium46 he would summon eminent47 musicians from the palace and lose himself in impractical48 pursuits. In the course of time he became as skilled a musician as his teachers.
He was the Eighth Prince, a younger brother of the shining Genji. During the years when the Reizei emperor was crown prince, the mother of the reigning49 emperor had sought in that conspiratorial50 way of hers to have the Eighth Prince named crown prince, replacing Reizei. The world seemed hers to rule as she wished, and the Eighth Prince was very much at the center of it. Unfortunately his success irritated the opposing faction51. The day came when Genji and presently Yūgiri had the upper hand, and he was without supporters. He had over the years become an ascetic52 in any case, and he now resigned himself to living the life of the sage53 and hermit54.
There came yet another disaster. As if fate had not been unkind enough already, his mansion was destroyed by fire. Having no other suitable house in the city, he moved to Uji, some miles to the southeast, where he happened to own a tastefully appointed mountain villa55. He had renounced56 the world, it was true, and yet leaving the capital was a painful wrench57 indeed. With fishing weirs58 near at hand to heighten the roar of the river, the situation at Uji was hardly favorable to quiet study. But whit59 mustI e must be. With the flowering trees of spring and the leaves of autumn and the flow of the river to bring repose60, he lost himself more than ever in solitary61 meditation62. There was one thought even so that never left his mind: how much better it would be, even in these remote mountains, if his wife were with him!
“She who was with me, the roof above are smoke.
And why must I alone remain behind?”
So much was the past still with him that life scarcely seemed worth living.
Mountain upon mountain separated his dwelling63 from the larger world. Rough people of the lower classes, woodcutters and the like, sometimes came by to do chores for him. There were no other callers. The gloom continued day after day, as stubborn and clinging as “the morning mist on the peaks.”
There happened to be in those Uji mountains an abbot, a most saintly man. Though famous for his learning, he seldom took part in public rites64. He heard in the course of time that there was a prince living nearby, a man who was teaching himself the mysteries of the Good Law. Thinking this a most admirable undertaking65, he made bold to visit the prince, who upon subsequent interviews was led deeper into the texts he had studied over the years. The prince became more immediately aware of what was meant by the transience and uselessness of the material world.
“In spirit,” he confessed, quite one with the holy man, “I have perhaps found my place upon the lotus of the clear pond; but I have not yet made my last farewells to the world because I cannot bring myself to leave my daughters behind.”
The abbot was an intimate of the Reizei emperor and had been his preceptor as well. One day, visiting the city, he called upon the Reizei emperor to answer any questions that might have come to him since their last meeting.
“Your honored brother,” he said, bringing the Eighth Prince into the conversation, “has pursued his studies so diligently66 that he has been favored with the most remarkable67 insights. Only a bond from a former life can account for such dedication68. Indeed, the depth of his understanding makes me want to call him a saint who has not yet left the world.”
“He has not taken the tonsure? But I remember now — the young people do call him’the saint who is still one of us.’”
Kaoru chanced to be present at the interview. He listened intently. No one knew better than he the futility69 of this world, and yet he passed useless days, his devotions hardly so frequent or intense as to attract public notice. The heart of a man who, though still in this world, was in all other respects a saint — to what might it be likened?
The abbot continued:” He has long wanted to cut his last ties with the world, but a trifling70 matter made it difficult for him to carry out his resolve. Now he has two motherless children whom he cannot bring himself to leave behind. They are the burden he must bear.”
The abbot himself had not entirely71 given up the pleasures of the world: he had a good ear for music. “And when their highnesses deign72 to play a duet,” he said, “they bid fair to outdo the music of the river, and put one in mind of the blessed musicians above.”
The Reizei emperor smiled at this rather fusty way of stating the matter. “You would not expect girl s who have had a saint for their principal companion to have such accomplishments73. How pleasant to know about them — and what an uncommonly75 good father he must be! I am sure that the thought of having to leave them is pure torment17. It is always possible that I will live longer than he, and if I do perhaps I may ask to be given responsibility for them.
He was himself the tenth son of the family, younger than his brother at Uji. There was the example of the Suzaku emperor, who had left his young daughter in Genji’s charge. Something similar might be arranged, he thought. He would have companions to relieve the monotony of his days.
Kaoru was less interested in the daughters than in the father. Quite entranced with what he had heard, he longed to see for himself that figure so wrapped in the serenity76 of religion.
“I have every intention of calling on him and asking him to be my master,” he said as the abbot left. “Might I ask you to find out, unobtrusively, of course, how he would greet the possibility?”
“And tell him, please,” said the Reizei emperor, “that I have been much affected77 by your description of his holy retreat.” And he wrote down a verse to be delivered to the Eighth Prince.
“Wearily, my soul goes off to your mountains,
And cloud upon circling cloud holds my person back?”
With the royal messenger in the lead, the abbot set off for Uji, thinking to visit the Eighth Prince on his way back to the monastery78. The prince so seldom heard from anyone that he was overjoyed at these tidings. He ordered wine for his guests and side dishes peculiar79 to the region. This was the poem he sent back to his brother:
“I am not as free as I seem. From the gloom of the world
I retreat only briefly80 to the Hill of Gloom.”
He declined to call himself one of the truly enlightened. The vulgar world still called up regrets and resentments81, thought the Reizei emperor, much moved.
The abbot also spoke82 of Kaoru, who, he said, was of a strongly religious bent. “He asked me most earnestly to tell you about him: to tell you that he has longed since childhood to give himself up to study of the scriptures83; that he has been kept busy with inconsequential affairs, public and private, and has been unable to leave the world; that since these affairs are trivial in any case and no one could call his career a brilliant one, he could hardly expect people to notice if he were to lock himself up in prayers and meditation; that he has had an unfortunate way of letting himself be distracted. And when he had entrusted84 me with all this, he added that, having heard through me of your own revered85 person, he could
“When there has been a great misfortune,” said the prince, “when the whole world seems hostile — that is when most people come to think it a flimsy fa?ade, and wish to have no more of it. I can only marvel87 that a young man for whom everything lies ahead, who has had everything his way, should start thinking of other worlds. In my own case, it often seems to me, the powers deliberately88 arranged matters to give my mind such a turn, and so I came to religion as if it were the natural thing. I have managed to find a certain amount of peace, I suppose; but when I think of the short time I have left and of how slowly my preparations creep forward, I know that what I have learned comes to nothing and that in the end it will still be nothing. No, I am afraid I would be a scandalously bad teacher. Let him think of me as a fellow seeker after truth, a very humble89 one.”
Kaoru and the prince exchanged letters and presently Kaoru paid his first visit.
It was an even sadder place than the abbot’s description had led him to expect. The house itself was like a grass hut put up for a few days’ shelter, and as for the furnishings, everything even remotely suggesting luxury had been dispensed90 with. There were mountain villages that had their own quiet charm; but here the tumult91 of the waters and the wailing92 of the wind must make it impossible to have a moment free of sad thoughts. He could see why a man on the way to enlightenment might seek out such a place as a means of cutting his ties with the world. But what of the daughters? Did they not have the usual fondness for delicate, ladylike things?
A sliding partition seemed to separate the chapel from their rooms. A youth of more amorous93 inclinations would have approached and made himself known, curious to see what his reception would be. Kaoru was not above feeling a certain excitement at being so near; but a show of interest would have betrayed his whole purpose, which was to be free of just such thoughts, here in distant mountains. The smallest hint of frivolity94 would have denied the reason for the visit.
Deeply moved by the saintly figure before him, he offered the warmest avowals of friendship. His visits were frequent thereafter. Nowhere did he find evidence of shallowness in the discourses95 to which he was treated; nor was there a suggestion of pompousness97 in the prince’s explanations of the scriptures and of his profoundly significant reasons, even though he had stopped short of taking the tonsure, for living in the mountains.
The world was full of saintly and learned men, but the stiff, forbidding bishops98 and patriarchs who were such repositories of virtue99 had little time of their own, and he found it far from easy to approach them with his questions. Then there were lesser100 disciples101 of the Buddha102. They were to be admired for observing the discipline, it was true; but they tended to be vulgar and obsequious103 in their manner and rustic104 in their speech, and they could be familiar to the point of rudeness. Since Kaoru was busy with official duties in the daytime, it was in the quiet of the evening, in the intimacy105 of his private chambers106, that he liked to have company. Such people would not do.
Now he had found a man who combined great elegance with a reticence107 that certainly was not obsequious, and who, even when he was discussing the Good Law, was adept108 at bringing plain, familiar similes109 into his discourse96. He was not, perhaps, among the completely enlightened, but people of birth and culture have their own insights into the nature of things. After repeated visits Kaoru came to feel that he wanted to be always at the prince’s side, and he would be overtaken by intense longing110 when official duties kept him away for a time.
Impressed by Kaoru’s devotion, the Reizei emperor sent messages; and so the Uji house, silent and forgotten by the world, came to have visitors again. Sometimes the Reizei emperor sent lavish111 gifts and supplies. In pleasant matters having to do with the seasons and the festivals and in practical matters as well, Kaoru missed no chance to be of service.
Three years went by. It was the end of autumn, and the time had come for the quarterly reading of the scriptures. The roar of the fish weirs was more than a man could bear, said the Eighth Prince as he set off for the abbot’s monastery, there to spend a week in retreat.
The princesses were lonelier than ever. It had been weighing on Kaoru’s mind that too much time had passed since his last visit. One night as a late moon was coming over the hills he set out for Uji, his guard as unobtrusive as possible, his caparison of the simplest. He could go on horseback and did not have to worry about a boat, since the prince’s villa was on the near side of the Uji River. As he came into the mountains the mist was so heavy and the underbrush so thick that he could hardly make out the path; and as he pushed his way through thickets113 the rough wind would throw showers of dew upon him from a turmoil114 of falling leaves. He was very cold, and, though he had no one to blame but himself, he had to admit that he was also very wet. This was not the sort of journey he was accustomed to. It was sobering and at the same time exciting.
“From leaves that cannot withstand the mountain wind
The dew is falling. My tears fall yet more freely.”
He forbade his outrunners to raise their usual cries, for the woodcutters in these mountains could be troublesome. Brushing through a wattle fence, crossing a rivulet115 that meandered116 down from nowhere, he tried as best he could to silence the hoofs117 of his colt. But he could not keep that extraordinary fragrance118 from wandering off on the wind, and more than one family awoke in surprise at “the scent119 of an unknown master.”
As he drew near the Uji house, he could hear the plucking of he did not know what instrument, unimaginably still and lonely. He had heard from the abbot that the prince liked to practice with his daughters, but somehow had not found occasion to hear that famous koto. This would be his chance. Making his way into the grounds, he knew that he had been listening to a lute, tuned120 to the ōjiki mode. There was nothing unusual about the melody. Perhaps the strangeness of the setting had made it seem different. The sound was cool and clean, especially when a string was plucked from beneath. The lute fell silent and there were a few quiet strokes on a koto. He would have liked to listen on, but he was challenged by a man with a somewhat threatening manner, one of the guards, it would seem.
The man immediately recognized him and explained that, for certain reasons, the prince had gone into seclusion121 in a mountain monastery. He would be informed immediately of the visit.
“Please do not bother,” said Kaoru. “It would be a pity to interrupt his retreat when it will be over soon in any case. But do tell the ladies that I have arrived, sodden122 as you see me, and must go back with my mission unaccomplished; and if they are sorry for me that will be my reward.”
The rough face broke into a smile. “They will be informed.”
But as he turned to depart, Kaoru called him back. “No, wait a minute. For years I have been fascinated by stories I have heard of their playing, and this is my chance. Will there be somewhere that I might hide and listen for a while? If I were to rush in on them they would of course stop, and that would be the last thing I would want.”
His face and manner were such as to quell123 even the most untamed of rustics124. “This is how it is. They are at it morning and night when there is no one around to hear. But let someone come from the city even if he is in rags, and they won’t let you have a twang of it. No one’s supposed to know they even exist. That’s how His Highness wants it.”
Kaoru smiled. “Now there is an odd sort of secret for you. The whole world knows that two specimens125 of the rarest beauty are hidden here. But come. Show me the way. I have all the best intentions. That is the way I am, I assure you.” His manner was grave and courteous126. “It is hard to believe that they can be less than perfect.”
“Suppose they find out, sir. I might be in trouble.”
Nonetheless he led Kaoru to a secluded127 wing fenced off by wattled bamboo and the guards to the west veranda128, where he saw to their needs as best he could.
A gate seemed to lead to the princesses’ rooms. Kaoru pushed it open a little. The blind had been half raised to give a view of the moon, more beautiful for the mist. A young girl, tiny and delicate, her soft robe somewhat rumpled, sat shivering at the veranda. With her was an older woman similarly dressed. The princesses were farther inside. Half hidden by a pillar, one had a lute before her and sat toying with the plectrum. Just then the moon burst forth129 in all its brilliance130.
“Well, now,” she said. “This does quite as well as a fan for bringing out the moon.” The upraised face was bright and lively.
The other, leaning against an armrest, had a koto before her. “I have heard that you summon the sun with one of those objects, but you seem to have ideas of your own on how to use it.” She was smiling, a melancholy131, contemplative sort of smile.
“I may be asking too much, I admit, but you have to admit that lutes and moons are related.”
It was a charming scene, utterly unlike what Kaoru had imagined from afar. He had often enough heard the young women of his household reading from old romances. They were always coming upon such scenes, and he had thought them the most unadulterated nonsense. And here, hidden away from the world, was a scene as affecting as any in a romance. He was dangerously near losing control of himself. The mist had deepened until he could barely make out the figures of the princesses. Summon it forth again, he whispered — but a woman had come from within to tell them of the caller. The blind was lowered and everyone withdrew to the rear of the house. There was nothing confused, nothing disorderly about the withdrawal132, so calm and quiet that he caught not even a rustling133 of silk. Elegance and grace could at times push admiration134 to the point of envy.
He slipped out and sent someone back to the city for a carriage.
“I was sorry to find the prince away,” he said to the man who had been so helpful, “but I have drawn135 some consolation from what you have been so good as to let me see. Might I ask you to tell them that I am here, and to add that I am thoroughly136 drenched137?”
The ladies were in an agony of embarrassment138. They had not dreamed that anyone would be looking in at them — and had he even overheard that silly conversation? Now that they thought of it, there had been a peculiar fragrance on the wind; but the hour was late and they had not paid much attention. Could anything be more embarrassing? Impatient at the woman assigned to deliver his message — she did not seem to have the experience for the task — Kaoru decided139 that there was a time for boldness and a time for reserve; and the mist was in his favor. He advanced to the blind that bed been raised earlier and knelt deferentially140 before it. The countrified maids had not the first notion of what to say to him. Indeed they seemed incapable141 of so ordinary a courtesy as inviting142 him to sit down.
“You must see how uncomfortable I am,” he said quietly. “I have come over steep mountains. You cannot believe, surely, that a man with improper143 intentions would have gone to the trouble. This is not the reward I expected. But I take some comfort in the thought that if I submit to the drenching144 time after time your ladies may come to understand.”
They were young and incapable of a proper answer. They seemed to wither145 and crumple146. It was taking a great deal of time to summon a more experienced woman from the inner chambers. The prolonged silence, Oigimi feared, might make it seem that they were being coy.
“We know nothing, nothing. How can we pretend otherwise?” It was an elegantly modulated147 voice, but so soft that he could scarcely make it out.
“One of the more trying mannerisms of this world, I have always thought, is for people who know its cruelties to pretend that they do not. Even you are guilty of the fault, which I find more annoying than I can tell you. Your honored father has gained deep insights into the nature of things. You have lived here with him. I should have thought that you would have gained similar insights, and that they might now demonstrate their worth by making you see the intensity148 of my feelings and the difficulty with which I contain them. You cannot believe, surely, that I am the usual sort of adventurer. I fear that I am of a rather inflexible149 nature and refuse to wander in that direction even when others try to lead me. These facts are general knowledge and will perhaps have reached your ears. If I had your permission to tell you of my silent days, if I could hope to have you come forward and seek some relief from your solitude150 — I cannot describe the pleasure it would give me.”
Oigimi, too shy to answer, deferred151 to an older woman who had at length been brought from her room.
There was nothing reticent152 about her. “Oh no! You’ve left him out there all by himself! Bring him in this minute. I simply do not understand young people.” The princesses must have found this as trying as the silence. “You see how it is, sir. His Highness has decided to live as if he did not belong to the human race. No one comes calling these days, not even people you’d think would never forget what they owe him. And here you are, good enough to come and see us. I may be stupid and insensitive, but I know when to be grateful. So do my ladies. But they are so shy.”
Kaoru was somewhat taken aback. Yet the woman’s manner suggested considerable polish and experience, and her voice was not unpleasant.
“I had been feeling rather unhappy,” he said, “and your words cheer me enormously. It is good to be told that they understand.”
He had come inside. Through the curtains, the old woman could make him out in the dawn light. It was as she had been told: he had discarded every pretense153 of finery and come in rough travel garb154, and he was drenched. A most extraordinary fragrance — it hardly seemed of this world — filled the air.
“I would not want you to think me forward,” she said, and there were tears in her voice; “but I have hoped over the years that the day might come when I could tell you a little, the smallest bit, of a sad story of long ago.” Her voice was trembling. “In among my other prayers I have put a prayer that the day might come, and now it seems that the prayer has been answered. How I have longed for this moment! But see what is happening. I am all choked up before I have come to the first word.”
He had heard, and it had been his experience, that old people weep easily. This, however, was no ordinary display of feeling.
“I have fought my way here so many times and not known that a perceptive155 lady like yourself was in residence. Come, this is your chance. Do not leave anything out.”
“This is my chance, and there may not be another. When you are my age you can’t be sure that you will last the night. Well, let me talk. Let me tell you that this old hag is still among the living. I have heard somewhere that Kojijū, the one who waited upon your revered mother — I have heard that she is dead. So it goes. Most of the people I was fond of are dead, the people who were young when I was young. And after I had outlived them all, certain family ties brought me back from the far provinces, and I have been in the service of my ladies these five or six years. None of this, I am sure, will have come to your attention. But you may have heard of the young gentleman who was a guards captain when he died. I am told that his brother is now a grand councillor. It hardly seems possible that we have had time to dry our tears, and yet I count on my fingers and I see that there really have been years enough for you to be the fine young gentleman you are. They seem like a dream, all those years.
“My mother was his nurse. I was privileged myself to wait upon him. I did not matter, of course, but he sometimes told me secrets he kept from others, let slip things he could not keep to himself. And as he lay dying he called me to his side and left a will, I suppose you might call it. There were things in it I knew I must tell you of someday. But no more. You will ask why, having said this much, I do not go on. Well, there may after all be another chance and I can tell you everything. These youngsters are of the opinion that I have said too much already, and they are right.” She was a loquacious156 old person obviously, but now she fell silent.
It was like a story in a dream, like the unprompted recital157 of a medium in a trance. It was too odd — and at the same time it touched upon events of which he had long wanted to know more. But this was not the time. She was right. Too many eyes were watching. And it would not do to surrender on the spot and waste a whole night on an ancient story.
“I do not understand everything you have said, I fear, and yet your talk of old times does call up fond thoughts. I shall come again and ask you to tell me the rest of the story. You see how I am dressed, and if the mist clears before I leave I will disgrace myself in front of the ladies. I would like to stay longer but do not see how I can.”
As he stood up to leave, the bell of the monastery sounded in the distance. The mist was heavy. The sadness of these lives poured in upon him, of the isolation158 enforced by heavy mountain mists. They were lives into which the whole gamut159 of sorrows had entered, he thought, and he thought too that he understood why they preferred to live in seclusion.
“How very sad.
“In the dawn I cannot see the path I took
To find Oyama of the Pines in mist.”
He turned away, and yet hesitated. Even ladies who saw the great gentlemen of the capital every day would have found him remarkable, and he quite dazzled these rustic maids. Oigimi, knowing that it would be too much to ask one of them to deliver it for her, offered a reply, her voice soft and shy as before, and with a hint of a sigh in it.
“Our mountain path, enshrouded whatever the season,
Is now closed off by the deeper mist of autumn.”
The scene itself need not have detained him, but these evidences of loneliness made him reluctant to leave. Presently, uncomfortable at the thought of being seen in broad daylight, he went to the west veranda, where a place had been prepared for him, and looked out over the river.
“To have spoken so few words and to have had so few in return,” he said as he left the princesses’ wing of the house, “makes it certain that I shall have much to think about. Perhaps when we are better acquainted I can tell you of it. In the meantime, I shall say only that if you think me no different from most young men, and you do seem to, then your judgment160 in such matters is not what I would have hoped it to be.”
His men had become expert at presiding over the weirs. “Listen to all the shouting,” said one of them. “And they don’t seem to be exactly boasting over what they’ve caught. The fish are not cooperating.”
Strange, battered161 little boats, piled high with brush and wattles, made their way up and down the river, each boatman pursuing his own sad, small livelihood162 at the uncertain mercy of the waters. “It is the same with all of us,” thought Kaoru to himself. “Am I to boast that I am safe from the flood, calm and secure in a jeweled mansion?”
Asking for brush and ink, he got off a note to Oigimi: “It is not hard to guess the sad thoughts that must be yours.
“Wet are my sleeves as the oars163 that work these shallows,
For my heart knows the heart of the lady at the bridge.”
He sent it in through the guard of the night before. Red from the cold, the man presently returned with an answer. The princess was not proud of the paper, perfumed in a very undistinguished way, but speed seemed the first consideration.
“I have wet sleeves, and indeed my whole being is at the mercy of the waters.
“With sodden sleeves the boatman plies112 the river.
So too these sleeves of mine, at morn, at night.”
The writing was confident and dignified164. He had not been able to detect a flaw in the lady. But here were these people rushing him on, telling him that his carriage had arrived from the city.
He called the guard aside. “I shall most certainly come again when His Highness has finished his retreat.” Changing to court dress that had come with the carriage, he gave his wet traveling clothes to the man.
The old woman’s remarks were very much on his mind after his return to the city, and the princesses were still before his eyes, more beautiful and reposed165 than he would have thought possible.
“And so,” he thought, “Uji will not, after all, be my renunciation of the world.”
He sent off a letter, taking care that every detail distinguished it from an ordinary love note: the paper was white and thick and firmly rectangular, the brush strong yet pliant166, the ink shaded with great subtlety167.
“It seems a great pity,” he wrote, “that my visit was such a short one, and that I held back so much I would have liked to say; but the last thing I wanted was to be thought forward. I believe I mentioned a hope that in the future I might appear freely before you. I have made note of the day on which your honored father’s retreat is to end, and I hope that by then the gloomy mists will have dissipated.”
The letter showed great restraint and avoided any suggestion of romantic intent. The guards officer who was his messenger was instructed to seek out the old woman and give it to her along with certain gifts. He remembered how the watchman had shivered as he made the rounds, and sent lavish gifts for him too, food in cypress168 boxes and the like.
The following day he dispatched a messenger to the temple to which the prince had withdrawn169. “I have no doubt,” said the letter that accompanied numerous bolts of cotton and silk, “that the priests will be badly treated by the autumn tempests, and that you will want to leave offerings.”
The prince was making preparations to depart, his retreat having ended the evening before. He gave silk and cotton cloth as well as vestments to the priests who had been of service.
The garments of which that watchman had been the recipient170 — a most elegant hunting robe and a fine singlet of white brocade — were further remarkable for their softness and fragrance. Alas171, the man could not change the fact that he had not been born for such finery. It was the same everywhere he went: no one could resist praising him or chiding172 him for the fragrance. He came to regret just a little that he had accepted the gift. It restricted his movements, for he dreaded173 the astonishment174 each new encounter produced. If only he could have the robes without the odor — but no amount of scrubbing would take it away. The gift had, after all, been from a gentleman renowned175 for just that fragrance.
Kaoru was much pleased at the graceful176 and unassuming answer he had had from Oigimi.
“What is this?” said her father, shown a copy of Kaoru’s letter. “Such a chilly177 reception cannot have at all the effect we want. You must bring yourselves to see that he is different from the triflers the world seems to produce these days. I have no doubt that his thoughts have turned to you because I once chanced to hint at a hope that he would watch over you after my death.” He too got off a letter, his thanks for the stream of gifts that had flooded the monastery.
Kaoru began to think of another visit. He thought too of Niou, always mooning over the possibility of finding a great beauty lost away in the mountains. Well, he had a story that would interest his friend.
One quiet evening he went calling. In the course of the usual court gossip, he mentioned the prince at Uji, and went on to describe in some detail what had taken place in the autumn dawn.
He was not disappointed. “A masterpiece!” said Niou.
He added yet further exciting details.
“But what of the letter? You said there was a letter, and you haven’t shown it to me. That is not kind of you. You know that I would hold nothing back if I were in your place.”
“Oh, to be sure. All those letters you’ve had from all those ladies and you have not shown me the smallest scrap178. But I know that something of this sort is not for the weak and obscure of the world to have all to themselves. I would like to take you for a look sometime, I most definitely would; but it is out of the question. I could not think of taking such an important man to such a place. We who are not too burdened with glory are in the happier position. We have our affairs as we want to have them. But think: there must be hundreds of beauties hidden away from us all.
There they are, poor dears, cut off from the world, hidden behind this and that mountain, waiting for us to find them. As a matter of fact, I had for a number of years known of princesses off in the Uji mountains, but the thought of them had only made me shudder179. A man knows, after all, the effect of saintliness on women. But if the sun sets them off as the moon did, then it would be hard to ask for more.”
By the time he had finished, his companion was honestly jealous. Kaoru was not one to be drawn to any ordinary woman. There must be something truly remarkable here. Niou longed to have a look for himself.
“Do, please, investigate further,” he said, openly impatient with his rank, which made such expeditions difficult.
And he had not even seen the ladies, thought Kaoru, smiling to himself. “Come, now. Women aren’t worth the trouble. I must be serious: I had reasons for wanting to get my mind off of my own affairs, and I especially wanted to avoid the sort of frivolity that so excites you. And if my feelings were to pull me against my resolve — you cannot tell me, can you, that any good would come of it.”
“Fine!” Niou said, laughing. “Another sermon. Let us all fall silent and hear what our saint has to say. But no. I think we have had enough.”
It was with longing and dismay that Kaoru thought of the events the old woman’s story had hinted at. He had never been very strongly drawn even to women of uncommon74 charm and talent, and now they interested him still less.
On about the fifth or sixth day of the Tenth Month he paid his next visit to Uji. He must make it a point to have a look at the weirs, said his men. It was the season when they were at their most interesting.
He would prefer not to, he replied. “A fly having a look at the fish — a pretty picture.”
To present as austere180 a figure as possible, he rode in a carriage faced with palmetto fronds181, such as a woman might use, and ordered a cloak and trousers of coarse, unfigured material.
Delighted to see him, the prince arranged a most tasteful banquet from dishes for which the region was known. In the evening, under the lamps, they listened to a discourse on some of the more difficult passages in scriptures they had been over together. The abbot was among those invited down from the monastery. Sleep was out of the question. The roar of the waters and the whipping of leaves and branches in the violent river winds, which in lesser degree might have moved one to a pleasant awareness182 of the season, invited gloom and even despair. Dawn would be approaching, thought Kaoru, and the koto strain he had heard that other morning came back to him.
He guided the conversation to the delights of koto and lute. “On my last visit, as the morning mist was rolling in, I was lucky enough to hear a short melody, a most extraordinary one. It was over in a few seconds, and since then I have not been able to think of anything except how I might hear more.”
“The hues183 and the scents184 of the world are nothing to me now,” said the prince, “and I have forgotten all the music I ever knew.” Even so he sent a woman for the instruments. “No, I am afraid it will not be right. But perhaps — if I had someone to follow, a little might come back?” He pressed a lute upon Kaoru.
“Can it be,” said Kaoru, tuning185 the instrument, “that this is the one I heard the other morning? I had thought that there must be something rather special about the instrument itself, but now I see that there is another explanation for that remarkable music.” He addressed himself to the lute, but in a manner somewhat bemused.
“You must not make sport of us, sir. Where can music likely to catch your ear have come from? You speak of the impossible.”
The prince’s koto had a clearness and strength that were almost chilling. Perhaps it borrowed overtones from “the wind in the mountain pines.” He pretended to falter186 and forget, and pushed the instrument away when he had finished the first strain. The brief performance had suggested great subtlety and discernment.
“Sometimes, without warning, I do hear in the distance a strain such as to make me think that one of my daughters has acquired some notion of what real music is; but they have had little training, and it has been a very long time since I last made much effort to teach them. As the mood takes them, they play a tune86 or two, and they have only the river to accompany them. It is most unlikely that their twanging would be of any interest to a musician like you. But suppose,” he called to them, “you were to have a try at it.”
“It was bad enough to be overheard when we thought we were alone.”
“I would disgrace myself.”
And so he was rebuffed by both his daughters. He did not give up easily, but, to Kaoru’s great disappointment, they would have nothing of the proposal.
The prince was deeply shamed that his daughters should thus announce themselves as rustic wenches, out of touch with the ways of the world.
“They have lived in such seclusion that their very existence is a secret. I have wished it to be so; but now, when I think how little time I have left, when I think that I may be gone tomorrow, I find that resignation eludes187 me. They have their whole lives yet to live, and might they not end their years as drifters and beggars? A fear of that possibility will be the one bond holding me to the world when my time comes.”
“It would not be honest of me to enter into a firm commitment,” said Kaoru, deeply moved; “but you are not to think, because I say so, that I am in the least cool or indifferent to what you have said. Though I cannot be sure that I will survive you for very long, I mean to be true to every syllable188 I have spoken.”
“You are very kind, very kind indeed.”
When the prince had withdrawn for matins, Kaoru summoned the old woman. Her name was Bennokimi, and the Eighth Prince had her in constant attendance upon his daughters. Though in her late fifties, she was still favored with the graces of a considerably189 younger woman. Her tears wing liberally, she told him of what an unhappy life “the young captain,” Kashiwagi, had led, of how he had fallen ill and presently wasted away to nothing.
It would have been a very affecting tale of long ago even if it had been about a stranger. Haunted and bewildered through the years, longing to know the facts of his birth, Kaoru had prayed that he might one day have a clear explanation. Was it in answer to his prayers that now, without warning, there had come a chance to hear of these old matters, as if in a sad dream? He too was in tears.
“It is hard to believe — and I must admit that it is a little alarming too that someone who remembers those days should still be with us. I suppose people have been spreading the news to the world — and I have had not a whisper of it.”
“No one knew except Kojijū and myself. Neither of us breathed a word to anyone. As you can see, I do not matter; but it was my honor to be always with him, and I began to guess what was happening. Then sometimes — not often, of course — when his feelings were too much for him, one or the other of us would be entrusted with a message. I do not think it would be proper to go into the details. As he lay dying, he left the testament190 I have spoken of. I have had it with me all these years — I am no one, and where was I to leave it? I have not been as diligent with my prayers as I might have been, but I have asked the Blessed One for a chance to let you know of it; and now I think I have a sign that he is here with us. But the testament: I must show it to you. How can I burn it now? I have not known from one day to the next when I might die, and I have worried about letting it fall into other hands. When you began to visit His Highness I felt somewhat better again. There might be a chance to speak to you. I was not merely praying for the impossible, and so I decided that I must keep what he had left with me. Some power stronger than we has brought us together.” Weeping openly now, she told of the illicit191 affair and of his birth, as the details came back to her.
“In the confusion after the young master’s death, my mother too fell ill and died; and so I wore double mourning. A not very nice man who had had his eye on me took advantage of it all and led me off to the West Country, and I lost all touch with the city. He too died, and after ten years and more I was back in the city again, back from a different world. I have for a very long time had the honor to be acquainted indirectly192 with the sister of my young master, the lady who is a consort193 of the Reizei emperor, and it would have been natural for me to go into her service. But there were those old complications, and there were other reasons too. Because of the relationship on my father’s side of the family I have been familiar with His Highness’s household since I was a child, and at my age I am no longer up to facing the world. And so I have become the rotted stump194 you see, buried away in the mountains. When did Kojijū die? I wonder. There aren’t many left of the ones who were young when I was young. The last of them all; it isn’t easy to be the last one, but here I am.”
Another dawn was breaking.
“We do not seem to have come to the end of this old story of yours,” said Kaoru. “Go on with it, please, when we have found a more comfortable place and no one is listening. I do remember Kojijū slightly. I must have been four or five when she came down with consumption and died, rather suddenly I am most grateful to you. If it hadn’t been for you I would have carried the sin to my grave.”
The old woman handed him a cloth pouch195 in which several mildewed196 bits of paper had been rolled into a tight ball.
“Take these and destroy them. When the young master knew he was dying, he got them together and gave them to me. I told myself I would give them to Kojijū when next I saw her and ask her to be sure that they got to her lady. I never saw her again. And so I had my personal sorrow and the other too, the knowledge that I had not done my duty.”
With an attempt at casualness, he put the papers away. He was deeply troubled. Had she told him this unsolicited story, as is the way with the old, because it seemed to her an interesting piece of gossip? She had assured him over and over again that no one else had heard it, and yet — could he really believe her?
After a light breakfast he took his leave of the prince. “Yesterday was a holiday because the emperor was in retreat, but today he will be with us again. And then I must call on the Reizei princess, who is not well, and there will be other things to keep me busy. But I will come again soon, before the autumn leaves have fallen.”
“For me, your visits are a light to dispel198 in some measure the shadows of these mountains.”
Back in the city, Kaoru took out the pouch the old woman had given him. The heavy Chinese brocade bore the inscription199 “For My Lady.” It was tied with a delicate thread and sealed with Kashiwagi’s name. Trembling, Kaoru opened it. Inside were multi-hued bits of paper, on which, among other things, were five or six answers by his mother to notes from Kashiwagi.
And, on five or six sheets of thick white paper, apparently200 in Kashiwagi’s own hand, like the strange tracks of some bird, was a longer letter: “I am very ill, indeed I am dying. It is impossible to get so much as a note to you, and my longing to see you only increases. Another thing adds to the sorrow: the news that you have withdrawn from the world.
“Sad are you, who have turned away from the world,
But sadder still my soul, taking leave of you.
I have heard with strange pleasure of the birth of the child. We need not worry about him, for he will be reared in security. And yet —
“Had we but life, we could watch it, ever taller,
The seedling201 pine unseen among the rocks.”
The writing, fevered and in disarray202, went to the very edge of the paper. The letter was addressed to Kojijū.
The pouch had become a dwelling place for worms and smelled strongly of mildew197; and yet the writing, in such compromising detail, was as clear as if it had been set down the day before. It would have been a disaster if the letter had fallen into the hands of outsiders, he thought, half in sorrow and half in alarm. He was so haunted by this strange affair, stranger than any the future could possibly bring, that he could not persuade himself to set out for court. Instead he went to visit his mother. Youthful and serene203, she had a sutra in her hand, which she put shyly out of sight upon his arrival. He must keep the secret to himself, he thought. It would be cruel to let her know of his own new knowledge. His mind jumped from detail to detail of the story he had heard.
收听单词发音 |
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disturbances
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| n.骚乱( disturbance的名词复数 )；打扰；困扰；障碍 | |
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alignment
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| n.队列；结盟，联合 | |
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prospects
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| n.希望，前途(恒为复数) | |
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embittered
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| v.使怨恨，激怒( embitter的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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steadfast
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| adj.固定的，不变的，不动摇的；忠实的；坚贞不移的 | |
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bleakest
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| 阴冷的( bleak的最高级 )； （状况）无望的； 没有希望的； 光秃的 | |
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consolation
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| n.安慰，慰问 | |
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boredom
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| n.厌烦，厌倦，乏味，无聊 | |
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desperately
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| adv.极度渴望地，绝望地，孤注一掷地 | |
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ward
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| 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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numb
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| adj.麻木的，失去感觉的；v.使麻木 | |
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unbearable
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| adj.不能容忍的；忍受不住的 | |
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tonsure
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| n.削发；v.剃 | |
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omen
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| n.征兆，预兆；vt.预示 | |
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diligent
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| adj.勤勉的，勤奋的 | |
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tormented
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| 饱受折磨的 | |
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torment
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| n.折磨；令人痛苦的东西(人)；vt.折磨；纠缠 | |
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resentment
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| n.怨愤，忿恨 | |
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severed
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| v.切断，断绝( sever的过去式和过去分词 )；断，裂 | |
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sinister
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| adj.不吉利的，凶恶的，左边的 | |
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comely
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| adj.漂亮的，合宜的 | |
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disposition
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| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
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elegance
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| n.优雅；优美，雅致；精致，巧妙 | |
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uncertainty
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dedicated
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stewards
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| （轮船、飞机等的）乘务员( steward的名词复数 )； （俱乐部、旅馆、工会等的）管理员； （大型活动的）组织者； （私人家中的）管家 | |
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tints
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| 色彩( tint的名词复数 )； 带白的颜色； （淡色）染发剂； 痕迹 | |
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chapel
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| n.小教堂，殡仪馆 | |
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inclinations
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| 倾向( inclination的名词复数 )； 倾斜； 爱好； 斜坡 | |
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renouncing
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| v.声明放弃( renounce的现在分词 )；宣布放弃；宣布与…决裂；宣布摒弃 | |
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meditative
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| adj.沉思的，冥想的 | |
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moodiness
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| n.喜怒无常；喜怒无常，闷闷不乐；情绪 | |
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distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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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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jealousy
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| n.妒忌，嫉妒，猜忌 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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emaciation
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| n.消瘦，憔悴，衰弱 | |
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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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casually
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| adv.漠不关心地，无动于衷地，不负责任地 | |
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touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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lute
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| n.琵琶，鲁特琴 | |
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immature
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| adj.未成熟的，发育未全的，未充分发展的 | |
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resolute
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| adj.坚决的，果敢的 | |
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mansion
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| n.大厦，大楼；宅第 | |
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tedium
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| n.单调；烦闷 | |
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eminent
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| adj.显赫的，杰出的，有名的，优良的 | |
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impractical
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| adj.不现实的，不实用的，不切实际的 | |
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reigning
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| adj.统治的，起支配作用的 | |
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conspiratorial
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| adj.阴谋的，阴谋者的 | |
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faction
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| n.宗派，小集团；派别；派系斗争 | |
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ascetic
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| adj.禁欲的；严肃的 | |
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sage
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| n.圣人，哲人；adj.贤明的，明智的 | |
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hermit
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| n.隐士，修道者；隐居 | |
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villa
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| n.别墅，城郊小屋 | |
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renounced
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| v.声明放弃( renounce的过去式和过去分词 )；宣布放弃；宣布与…决裂；宣布摒弃 | |
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57
wrench
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| v.猛拧；挣脱；使扭伤；n.扳手；痛苦，难受 | |
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58
weirs
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| n.堰，鱼梁（指拦截游鱼的枝条篱）( weir的名词复数 ) | |
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59
whit
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| n.一点，丝毫 | |
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60
repose
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| v.(使)休息；n.安息 | |
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61
solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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62
meditation
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| n.熟虑，（尤指宗教的）默想，沉思，（pl.）冥想录 | |
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63
dwelling
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| n.住宅，住所，寓所 | |
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64
rites
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| 仪式，典礼( rite的名词复数 ) | |
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65
undertaking
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| n.保证，许诺，事业 | |
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66
diligently
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| ad.industriously;carefully | |
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67
remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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68
dedication
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| n.奉献，献身，致力，题献，献辞 | |
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69
futility
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| n.无用 | |
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70
trifling
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| adj.微不足道的；没什么价值的 | |
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71
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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72
deign
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| v. 屈尊, 惠允 ( 做某事) | |
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73
accomplishments
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| n.造诣；完成( accomplishment的名词复数 )；技能；成绩；成就 | |
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74
uncommon
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| adj.罕见的，非凡的，不平常的 | |
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75
uncommonly
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| adv. 稀罕(极，非常) | |
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76
serenity
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| n.宁静，沉着，晴朗 | |
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77
affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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78
monastery
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| n.修道院，僧院，寺院 | |
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79
peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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80
briefly
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| adv.简单地，简短地 | |
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81
resentments
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| （因受虐待而）愤恨，不满，怨恨( resentment的名词复数 ) | |
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82
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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83
scriptures
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| 经文，圣典( scripture的名词复数 )； 经典 | |
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84
entrusted
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| v.委托，托付( entrust的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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85
revered
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| v.崇敬，尊崇，敬畏( revere的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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86
tune
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| n.调子；和谐，协调；v.调音，调节，调整 | |
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87
marvel
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| vi.(at)惊叹vt.感到惊异；n.令人惊异的事 | |
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88
deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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89
humble
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|
| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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90
dispensed
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| v.分配( dispense的过去式和过去分词 )；施与；配（药） | |
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91
tumult
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| n.喧哗；激动，混乱；吵闹 | |
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92
wailing
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| v.哭叫，哀号( wail的现在分词 )；沱 | |
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93
amorous
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| adj.多情的；有关爱情的 | |
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94
frivolity
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| n.轻松的乐事，兴高采烈；轻浮的举止 | |
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95
discourses
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| 论文( discourse的名词复数 )； 演说； 讲道； 话语 | |
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96
discourse
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| n.论文，演说；谈话；话语；vi.讲述，著述 | |
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97
pompousness
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| 豪华；傲慢 | |
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98
bishops
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| （基督教某些教派管辖大教区的）主教( bishop的名词复数 )； （国际象棋的）象 | |
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99
virtue
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| n.德行，美德；贞操；优点；功效，效力 | |
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100
lesser
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| adj.次要的，较小的；adv.较小地，较少地 | |
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101
disciples
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| 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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102
Buddha
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| n.佛；佛像；佛陀 | |
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103
obsequious
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| adj.谄媚的，奉承的，顺从的 | |
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104
rustic
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| adj.乡村的，有乡村特色的；n.乡下人，乡巴佬 | |
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105
intimacy
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| n.熟悉，亲密，密切关系，亲昵的言行 | |
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106
chambers
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| n.房间( chamber的名词复数 )；（议会的）议院；卧室；会议厅 | |
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107
reticence
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| n.沉默，含蓄 | |
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108
adept
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| adj.老练的，精通的 | |
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109
similes
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| （使用like或as等词语的）明喻( simile的名词复数 ) | |
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110
longing
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| n.（for）渴望 | |
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111
lavish
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| adj.无节制的；浪费的；vt.慷慨地给予，挥霍 | |
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112
plies
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| v.使用（工具）( ply的第三人称单数 )；经常供应（食物、饮料）；固定往来；经营生意 | |
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113
thickets
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| n.灌木丛( thicket的名词复数 )；丛状物 | |
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114
turmoil
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| n.骚乱，混乱，动乱 | |
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115
rivulet
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| n.小溪，小河 | |
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116
meandered
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| （指溪流、河流等）蜿蜒而流( meander的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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117
hoofs
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| n.（兽的）蹄，马蹄( hoof的名词复数 )v.（兽的）蹄，马蹄( hoof的第三人称单数 ) | |
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118
fragrance
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| n.芬芳，香味，香气 | |
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119
scent
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| n.气味，香味，香水，线索，嗅觉；v.嗅，发觉 | |
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120
tuned
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| adj.调谐的，已调谐的v.调音( tune的过去式和过去分词 )；调整；（给收音机、电视等）调谐；使协调 | |
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121
seclusion
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| n.隐遁，隔离 | |
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122
sodden
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| adj.浑身湿透的；v.使浸透；使呆头呆脑 | |
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123
quell
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| v.压制，平息，减轻 | |
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124
rustics
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| n.有农村或村民特色的( rustic的名词复数 )；粗野的；不雅的；用粗糙的木材或树枝制作的 | |
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125
specimens
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| n.样品( specimen的名词复数 )；范例；（化验的）抽样；某种类型的人 | |
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126
courteous
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| adj.彬彬有礼的，客气的 | |
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127
secluded
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| adj.与世隔绝的；隐退的；偏僻的v.使隔开，使隐退( seclude的过去式和过去分词) | |
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128
veranda
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| n.走廊；阳台 | |
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129
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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130
brilliance
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| n.光辉，辉煌，壮丽，（卓越的）才华，才智 | |
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131
melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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132
withdrawal
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| n.取回，提款；撤退，撤军；收回，撤销 | |
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133
rustling
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| n. 瑟瑟声，沙沙声 adj. 发沙沙声的 | |
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134
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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135
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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136
thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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137
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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138
embarrassment
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| n.尴尬；使人为难的人(事物)；障碍；窘迫 | |
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139
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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140
deferentially
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| adv.表示敬意地，谦恭地 | |
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141
incapable
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| adj.无能力的，不能做某事的 | |
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142
inviting
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| adj.诱人的，引人注目的 | |
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143
improper
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| adj.不适当的，不合适的，不正确的，不合礼仪的 | |
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144
drenching
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| n.湿透v.使湿透( drench的现在分词 )；在某人（某物）上大量使用（某液体） | |
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145
wither
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| vt.使凋谢，使衰退，(用眼神气势等)使畏缩；vi.枯萎，衰退，消亡 | |
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146
crumple
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| v.把...弄皱，满是皱痕，压碎，崩溃 | |
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147
modulated
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| 已调整[制]的，被调的 | |
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148
intensity
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| n.强烈，剧烈；强度；烈度 | |
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149
inflexible
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| adj.不可改变的，不受影响的，不屈服的 | |
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150
solitude
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| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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151
deferred
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| adj.延期的，缓召的v.拖延，延缓，推迟( defer的过去式和过去分词 )；服从某人的意愿，遵从 | |
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152
reticent
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| adj.沉默寡言的；言不如意的 | |
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153
pretense
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| n.矫饰，做作，借口 | |
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154
garb
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| n.服装，装束 | |
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155
perceptive
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| adj.知觉的，有洞察力的，感知的 | |
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156
loquacious
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| adj.多嘴的，饶舌的 | |
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157
recital
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| n.朗诵，独奏会，独唱会 | |
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158
isolation
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| n.隔离，孤立，分解，分离 | |
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159
gamut
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| n.全音阶，(一领域的)全部知识 | |
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160
judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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161
battered
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| adj.磨损的；v.连续猛击；磨损 | |
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162
livelihood
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| n.生计，谋生之道 | |
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163
oars
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| n.桨，橹( oar的名词复数 )；划手v.划（行）( oar的第三人称单数 ) | |
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164
dignified
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| a.可敬的，高贵的 | |
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165
reposed
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| v.将（手臂等）靠在某人（某物）上( repose的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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166
pliant
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| adj.顺从的；可弯曲的 | |
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167
subtlety
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| n.微妙，敏锐，精巧；微妙之处，细微的区别 | |
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168
cypress
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| n.柏树 | |
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169
withdrawn
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| vt.收回；使退出；vi.撤退，退出 | |
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170
recipient
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| a.接受的,感受性强的 n.接受者,感受者,容器 | |
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171
alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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172
chiding
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| v.责骂，责备( chide的现在分词 ) | |
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173
dreaded
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|
| adj.令人畏惧的；害怕的v.害怕，恐惧，担心( dread的过去式和过去分词) | |
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174
astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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175
renowned
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| adj.著名的，有名望的，声誉鹊起的 | |
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176
graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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177
chilly
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| adj.凉快的，寒冷的 | |
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178
scrap
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| n.碎片；废料；v.废弃，报废 | |
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179
shudder
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| v.战粟，震动，剧烈地摇晃；n.战粟，抖动 | |
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180
austere
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| adj.艰苦的；朴素的，朴实无华的；严峻的 | |
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181
fronds
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| n.蕨类或棕榈类植物的叶子( frond的名词复数 ) | |
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182
awareness
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| n.意识，觉悟，懂事，明智 | |
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183
hues
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| 色彩( hue的名词复数 )； 色调； 信仰； 观点 | |
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184
scents
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| n.香水( scent的名词复数 )；气味；（动物的）臭迹；（尤指狗的）嗅觉 | |
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185
tuning
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| n.调谐，调整，调音v.调音( tune的现在分词 )；调整；（给收音机、电视等）调谐；使协调 | |
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186
falter
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| vi.(嗓音)颤抖，结巴地说；犹豫；蹒跚 | |
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187
eludes
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| v.（尤指机敏地）避开( elude的第三人称单数 )；逃避；躲避；使达不到 | |
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188
syllable
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| n.音节；vt.分音节 | |
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189
considerably
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| adv.极大地；相当大地；在很大程度上 | |
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190
testament
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| n.遗嘱；证明 | |
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191
illicit
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| adj.非法的，禁止的，不正当的 | |
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192
indirectly
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| adv.间接地，不直接了当地 | |
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193
consort
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| v.相伴；结交 | |
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194
stump
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| n.残株，烟蒂，讲演台；v.砍断，蹒跚而走 | |
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195
pouch
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| n.小袋，小包，囊状袋；vt.装...入袋中，用袋运输；vi.用袋送信件 | |
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196
mildewed
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| adj.发了霉的，陈腐的，长了霉花的v.（使）发霉，（使）长霉( mildew的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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197
mildew
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| n.发霉；v.（使）发霉 | |
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198
dispel
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| vt.驱走，驱散，消除 | |
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199
inscription
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| n.（尤指石块上的）刻印文字，铭文，碑文 | |
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200
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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201
seedling
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| n.秧苗，树苗 | |
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202
disarray
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| n.混乱，紊乱，凌乱 | |
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203
serene
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| adj. 安详的，宁静的，平静的 | |
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