“To keep time with!”— To Eugene Gant, Presented to Him on the Occasion of His Twelfth Birthday, by His Brother, B. H. Gant, October 3, 1912. . . . “To keep time with!” . . . Up on the mountain, down in the valley, deep, deep in the hill, Ben, cold, cold, cold.
“Ces arbres —”
“Monsieur?” a thin, waxed face of tired Gaul, professionally attentive4, the eyebrows5 arched perplexedly above old tired eyes, the waiter’s fatigued6 napkin on the arm.
“— Monsieur —?”
“Ces arbres —” he stammered7, pointing helplessly —“J’ai — j’ai — mais je les ai vu — avant —”
“Monsieur?”— the eyebrows still more patient, puzzled and concerned, the voice wrought8 with attention —“vous dites, monsieur?”
“J’ai dit que — ces arbres — je les ai vu —” he blundered helplessly, and suddenly muttered, with a face gone sullen9 and ashamed —"?a ne fait rien — l’addition, s’il vous pla?t.”
The waiter stared at him a moment with courteous10, slightly pained astonishment11, then smiled apologetically, shrugged12 his shoulders slightly in a movement of defeat, and saying, “Bien, monsieur,” took the ten-franc note upon the table, counted the racked saucers, and made change for him.
When the waiter had gone, he sat for a moment staring at the trees. It was in the month of April, it was night, he was alone on the café terrace, and yet the chill air was touched with a fragrance13 that was soft, thrilling and mysterious — a citrous fume14, the smell of unknown flowers, or perhaps not even this — but only the ghost of a perfume, the thrilling, barren, and strangely seductive odour of Provence.
It was a street in the little town of Arles, at night — an old, worn, rutted, curiously15 dirty-looking street, haunted by the trunks of immense and dusty-looking trees. He had never been here before, the scene was strange and haunting as a dream, and yet it was instantly and intolerably familiar. It was, somehow, he thought, like a street he had been to in some small town in the hot South at the faded end of summer — a South Carolina town, he thought it must be, and he was sure that he would hear the sound of familiar, unknown voices, the passing of feet, the rustling16 of quiet, tired leaves. And then he saw again how strange it was, and could see the tired waiter racking chairs and tables for the night, and in the café tired lights and emptiness, and the white, tired light upon the old dusty street, the huge haunting boles of the great trees; and he knew that he had never been along that way before.
Then he got up and walked away, and put his hand upon the trunk of one of the old trees: it was white and felt smooth to the touch, and was somewhat like the sycamores at home — and yet it was not this that haunted him with troubling memory. He felt, intolerably, that the place, the scene, the great wreathed branches of the trees, were something he had seen before — that he had seen it here from the same spot where now he sat — but WHEN, WHEN, WHEN?
And suddenly, with a thrill of recognition that flashed across his brain like an electric spark, he saw that he was looking at the same trees that Van Gogh had painted in his picture of the roadmenders at their work in Arles, that the scene was the same, that he was sitting where the painter had sat before. And he noted17 that the trees had tall, straight, symmetrical trunks, and remembered that the trees that Vincent had painted had great, tendoned trunks that writhed18 and twisted like creatures in a dream — and yet were somehow more true than truth, more real than this reality. And the great vinelike trunks of these demented trees had wound and rooted in his heart, so that now he could not forget them, nor see this scene in any other way than that in which Van Gogh had painted it.
When he got up, the waiter was still racking chairs upon the tables, and the white and quiet light from the café fell like a tired stillness on the dusty street, and he walked away, haunted by unfathomed memories of home, and with something in his heart he could not utter.
In all the dreams and visions that now swarmed19 across his sleep, dreams and visions which can only be described as haunted fatally by the sense of time — his mind seemed to exercise the same complete control it ever had shown in all the operations of its conscious memory. He slept, and knew he slept, and saw the whole vast structure of the sleeping world about him as he slept; he dreamed, and knew he dreamed, and like a sorcerer, drew upward at his will, out of dark deeps and blue immensities of sleep, the strange, dark fish of his imagining.
Sometimes they came with elvish flakings of a hoary21 light, sometimes they came like magic and the promise of immortal22 joy; they came with victory and singing and a shout of triumph in his blood, and again he felt the strange and deathless joy of voyages: he was a passenger upon great ships again, he walked the broad, scrubbed decks exultantly24, and smelled the hot, tarred roofs of powerful and ugly piers26; he smelled the spermy sea-wrack of the harbour once again, the wastes of oil, the sharp, acrid27 and exultant23 smoke from busy little tugs28, the odour of old, worn plankings, drenched29 with sunlight, and the thousand strange compacted spices of the laden30 piers. Again he felt the gold and sapphire31 loveliness of a Saturday in May, and drank the glory of the earth into his heart, and heard in lucent and lyrical air the heavy shattering “baugh” of the great ship’s whistle, as it spoke32 gloriously, of springtime, new lands and departure. Again he saw ten thousand faces, touched with their strange admixture of sorrow and joy, swarm20 past the openings of the pier25, and again he saw the flashing tides that girdled the city, whitened around the prows33 of a hundred boats and gleaming with a million iridescent34 points of light. Again the great walled cliff, the crowded isle35, the fabulous36 spires37 and ramparts of the city, as delicate as the hues38 of light that flashed around them, slid away from him, and one by one, the great ships, with the proud sweep of their breasts of white, their opulent storeyed superstructure, their music of power and speed, fell into line at noon on Saturday. And now, like bridled39 horses held in leash40, with princely chafe41 and curvetings, they breach42 the mighty43 harbour, nose the narrows, circle slowly to brief pauses at the pilot’s boat, and then, like racers set loose from the barriers, they are sent away, their engines tremble to a mighty stroke, the ships are given to the sea, to solitude44, and to their proper glory once more.
And again he walked the decks, he walked the decks alone, and saw the glittering sea-flung city melt within his sight, and watched the sandy edges of the land fade away, and felt the incredible gold and sapphire glory of the day, the sparkle of dancing waters, and smelled salt, seaborne air again, and saw upon the decks the joyful45 and exultant faces of the passengers, their looks of wonder, hope, and speculation46, as they looked into the faces of strange men and women, now by the miracle of the voyage and chance isled47 with them in the loneliness of water, upon the glorious prison of a ship. And again he saw the faces of the lovely women, and saw the lights of love and passion in their eyes, and again he felt the plangent48 and depthless undulance, the unforgettable feeling of the fathomless49 might of the sea beneath a ship; a wild cry was torn from his throat, and a thousand unutterable feelings of the voyage, of white coasts and sparkling harbours and the creaking, eerie50 cries of gulls51, of the dear, green dwelling52 of the earth again, and of strange, golden cities, potent53 wines, delicious foods, of women, love, and amber54 thighs55 spread amorously56 in ripe golden hay, of discovery and new lands, welled up in him like deathless song and certitude.
But just as these visions of delight and joy thronged57 upward through the deep marine58 of sleep, so, by the same fiat59, the same calm order of an imperial will, the visions of a depthless shame, a faceless abomination of horror, an indefinable and impalpable corruption60, returned to haunt his brain with their sentences of inexpiable guilt62 and ruin: under their evil spell he lay tranced upon his bed in a hypnosis of acquiescent63 horror, in a willing suspension of all his forces of resistance, like some creature held captive before the hypnotic rhythm of a reptile’s head, the dull, envenomed fascination65 of its eye.
He moved on ceaselessly across a naked and accursed landscape and beneath a naked and accursed sky, an exile in the centre of a planetary vacancy66 that, like his guilt and shame, had neither place among things living nor among things dead, in which there was neither vengeance67 of lightning nor mercy of burial, in which there was neither shade nor shelter, curve nor bend, nor hill, nor tree, nor hollow, in which — earth, air, sky, and limitless horizon — there was only one vast naked eye, inscrutable and accusing, from which there was no escape, and which bathed his naked soul in its fathomless depths of shame.
And then the vision faded, and suddenly, with the bridgeless immediacy of a dream, he found himself within the narrow canyon68 of a street, pacing interminably along on endless pavements where there was neither face nor footfall save his own, nor eye, nor window, nor any door that he might enter.
He thought he was walking through the harsh and endless continuity of one of those brown stone streets of which most of the city was constructed fifty years ago, and of which great broken lengths and fragments still remain. These streets, even if visited by someone in his waking hours, by some stranger in the fullness of health and sanity69, and under the living and practical light of noon or, more particularly, by some man stunned70 with drink, who came there at some desolate71 and empty hour of night, might have a kind of cataleptic horror, a visionary unreality, as if some great maniac72 of architecture had conceived and shaped the first harsh, ugly pattern of brown angularity, and then repeated it, without a change, into the infinity73 of illimitable repetition, with the mad and measureless insistence74 of an idiotic75 monotony.
And for ever he walked the street, under the brown and fatal light that fell upon him. He walked the street, and looked for a house there that was his own, for a door he knew that he must enter, for someone who was waiting for him in the house, and for the merciful dark wall and door that would hide and shelter him from the immense and naked eye of shame that peered upon him constantly. For ever he walked the street and searched the bleak76, untelling fa?ades for the house he knew and had forgotten; for ever he prowled along before the endless and unchanging fa?ades of the street, and he never found it, and at length he became aware of a vast sibilant whispering, of an immense conspiracy77 of subdued78 and obscene laughter, and of the mockery of a thousand evil eyes that peered in silence from these bleak fa?ades, and that he could never find or see; and for ever he walked the streets alone and heard the immense and secret whisperings and laughter, and was bathed in the bottomless depths of a wordless shame, and could never find the house he had lost, the door he had forgotten.
He was sitting in Marseilles, at a table on the terrace of a café on La Canebière, when he saw them. Suddenly, above the rapid and vociferous79 animation80 of the café crowd, he heard Starwick’s strangely timbred voice, and turning, saw them seated at a table not a dozen feet away. Starwick had just turned to Elinor and was saying something quietly, in his tone of grave yet casual seriousness that often introduced his drolleries, and then he could see Starwick’s ruddy face suffuse81 and deepen with his laughter, and Elinor’s heavy shoulders begin to tremble, and then heard her shriek82 of high, astounded83, and protesting merriment. Ann was seated listening, dark, silent, sullenly85 intent, with one long, slender hand resting upon the neck of the big dog who crouched86 quietly beside her, and suddenly her dark and sullen face was lighted by its rare and radiant smile that gave her features the instant configuration87 of noble beauty.
The world rocked before him as if shattered by the force of an explosion: all the life seemed to have been blown out of him, and he sat there staring at them, blind, numb88, hollow, emptied to a shell, and conscious of only one sensation — a kind of horrible fear that they would turn and see him, a kind of horrible fear that they would not. They did not turn or notice him: completely absorbed in one another, it seemed to him that they had forgotten him as completely as if they had never known him, and he was suddenly stabbed with a horrible chagrin89 at sight of their free gaiety, a bitter anguish90 of despair because of the triumph of their laughter. Then he was conscious of a single, blind and overpowering desire — to get away from them, to get away unseen, to get away somewhere — anywhere — so long as he could escape the agony of meeting, the naked shame of revelation. He signalled to a waiter, paid his bill, and quickly made his way out among the tables into the noisy crowd that thronged for ever past upon the pavement. He set his face blindly away from them and plunged91 ahead: it seemed to him that he could hear Starwick’s shout of recognition, his voice calling to him above the thousand mixed vociferations of the crowd — and like a man pursued by devils, he set his head down blindly and fled.
His life had passed into a state which, if not insane, was distinguished92 from insanity93 chiefly by a kind of quiescent64 understanding which surveyed the passage of time and his own actions with the powerless detachment of a spectator in a dream. Now, after this encounter with his three lost friends, even this sense of valuation was taken from him. In the weeks that followed he was caught in a spell of time in which his life passed in a kind of evil dream, and later he was no more able to recall what he had done, how he had lived, where he had gone during this period, than if he had been the subject of a powerful and complete hypnosis. He was only vaguely95 conscious of what had happened, he felt a numb sense of horrible catastrophe96, such as a drowning man might feel, or an an?sthetized patient who is bleeding to death under the surgeon’s knife. He had a blind consciousness that some central governance of his life and reason had been exploded, that he was spinning down out of control like a shattered aeroplane — and that there was nothing he could do to save himself, that he could not get control again, that he could not “get back.”
He lost the time-sense utterly97 — and it was his consciousness of this that filled him with numb terror. He would return to his room at night telling himself that he must work, then sleep, then rise by day and work again, and suddenly his room would be filled with light, the street below his window would be loud with all the noisy business of noon, and he would be seated at his table, with no knowledge how the time had passed.
He was now haunted constantly by a sense of the overwhelming nearness of his three lost friends. This feeling, indeed, would become so overpowering that at times the living presences of Starwick, Elinor, and Ann seemed invisibly to be with him, beside him. And the knowledge that they were here — for his conviction had become the obsession98 of an unshakable belief — seemed to give to the strange and sinister99 life of the evil and mysterious city an unutterable magic, to infect the very air he breathed with an intolerable anguish and delight. His whole life — heart and mind and spirit, and every nerve and sense and sinew of his body — was now passionately100, indefatigably101 on the search for them. If he slept, it only brought to him an unbelievable ecstasy102, an unbearable103 pain.
When he went out into the streets now it was only with the thought that he would find them — with an overwhelming conviction of his impending104 meeting with them. It seemed to him that every step he took was bringing him nearer to them, that he would meet them face to face around every corner that he turned — and this knowledge palsied his flesh with excitement, joy, and terror.
The two priests had finished eating, and provided with small cups of black coffee and small glasses of green Chartreuse, they had settled back against the wall to enjoy in relaxed comfort the peace that passeth understanding. Both of the priests were Franciscans, they were on their way to Rome for the Holy Year, and apparently105 they had come well bestowed106. Beside their table a frosty silver bucket, over the rim84 of which floated the gold necks of two empty champagne107 bottles, gave evidence of a meal from which nothing had been lacking. A waiter brought a box of Coronas108 and offered them prayerfully. The priests selected their cigars with an appeased109 and drowsy110 air: they bit the ends and grunted112 slightly at the flame the waiter offered them; then collapsing113 slowly against the cushioned wall, they meditated114 the ceiling in silence for several minutes through a blue, fragrant115 mist of dreamful ease.
It was a fine evening towards the end of May, and the two priests were in the best place to observe it. They had the first table on the right as you entered the café, and at this season of the year there was no door: the front was open. Just outside, the priests could see all the gaily116 painted little chairs and tables of the terrace, which was empty, and just beyond, the sidewalk and the Avenue de la Victoire, the chief thoroughfare of Nice. The street itself was quiet: from time to time a motor car flashed past or an old nag117 with clopping hooves, pulling a dilapidated-looking victoria and urged on by a driver hunting for a fare. The trees along the street were in their full green leaf now and the air was sweet with the smell of the trees, the fragrance of earth and gardens and of unknown flowers. From time to time people came by with the strolling movement which a fine evening of this sort always seems to induce; and sometimes there would be young couples, lovers with arms around each other’s waists, the women walking with a movement of voluptuous118 and languorous119 appeasement120 as if they were just coming from the act of love. But probably all they felt was the sensuous121 mystery, beauty and fragrance of the night, the smell of the trees and the earth and the flowers, which seemed to impregnate the whole continent of dark with the thrilling promises of desire almost made palpable, of unknown joys about to be realized.
It was a wonderfully seductive scene that opened from the entrance of the café, and all the more exciting because of its homely122 familiarity, its small framed limits into which life passed briefly123 with a ring of jaunting hooves, a sudden casual nearness and loudness of passing voices, and then — the fading and lonely recession of these homely sounds, a woman’s burst of low and sensual laughter in the dark, the far-off dying-out of jaunting hooves — and silence.
The two priests missed nothing of the quiet scene: they drank it in with the air of men who have eaten nobly and who, fumed124 to contentment with the drugs of good tobacco and an old liqueur, are enormously pleased with life.
They were a strangely sorted pair and, once seen, would never be forgotten. The larger of the two was a huge tub and belly125 of a man, a kind of mammoth126 creature out of Rabelais, whose great moon of face flared127 fiercely, from the excess of his eating and his drinking. His fat neck and triple chin exuded128 over the neck-band of his robe, so that the garment he wore seemed to be stained and larded with the man’s own grease. Everything about the great priest cried out with swingeing openness: his whole nature seemed to be permeated129 by a good humour so mountainously all-engulfing that nothing in the world could stop it: the huge red face would swell130, suffuse, and purple with its choking laughter, the whole huge torso — the shoulders, arms and breast, and the great heaving belly — would shake and tremble like a hogshead full of jelly. And so far was he from being troubled by a thought of judgment131, by fear of censure132 or the world’s reproving eye, that the sight of a shocked or unconceding face was enough to send him off in a renewed paroxysm of volcanic133 mirth. There was no concealment135 in the man, there was even a kind of mountainously good-natured contempt for what the world might say or think of him, and for this reason his association with his fellow-priest was all the more grotesquely137 humorous — a humour which was certainly not lost on this great modern Friar John of the Funnels138, but which he relished139 to the full. For, by contrast to this great flaring140, heaving, roaring, full moon of a man, it would be impossible to imagine a more cautious and hypocritical figure than the other priest cut. The second priest was a little man with a grey, bleak, meagre and incredibly sly kind of face in which his native caution and fear of self-exposure were constantly waging a grotesque136 and open warfare141 with the sly, cunning, avaricious142 greed and sensual desire obscenely legible in his countenance143. At the present moment this tormented144 struggle between lust145 and caution was comically evident: the fellow’s face was a grotesque painting of desire, and his furtive146 little eyes kept darting147 around in his head like rodents’ and he peered slyly right and left all round the café to see if anyone had noticed the naked exposure of his passions. The reason for his confusion, the very sight of which set his huge companion off in great breast-and belly-heavings of tremendous laughter, was not hard to find: at the table next to the two priests were seated two comely148 young prostitutes, who had ogled149 and enticed150 the two holy men all through the evening and whose seductive cajoleries, encouraged by the great priest’s explosions of mountainous belly-gushing laughter, had now become naked, open, and outrageous151. The little fellow was in a cold, grey sweat of fear and longing152: afraid to look at the two women, he could yet hardly keep his eyes off them; and terrified lest his conduct be observed and followed, he was nevertheless unable to conceal134 the feverish153 eagerness of desire which held him fascinated in a kind of trance.
So the indecent comedy proceeded: the two women, emboldened154 by the huge priest’s mountainous heavings of laughter, passed swiftly from flirtatious155 raillery to proposals of a more serious character: at the end, something certain, swift and serious passed between the women and the huge fat priest: one of them spoke to him in a low hoarse156 tone, he lowered his great moon of face a trifle, and without looking at her, answered. In a moment the two girls rose with an elaborate casualness, the priest paid their bill, and the women sauntered out, turned left, moved slowly towards the corner and, crossing to the other side, advanced a few yards down the quiet intersecting street, where they paused and turned, waiting, in the obscuring shadow of a tree.
In a moment the huge priest called for the bill, paid it, tipped the waiter generously, and rising with a mountainous grunt111, deliberately157 launched his huge bulk towards the street, closely followed by the sly and terror-stricken figure of the little priest. Outside the café the great priest paused deliberately, looking both ways with a kind of huge and rotund benevolence158; then turning left in the direction the girls had gone, he set out again in leisurely159, unperturbed pursuit. And the little priest trotted160 along beside him like a frightened puppy beside an elephant; in every step, in every stride and movement that they made, the separate characters of the two men were grotesquely and powerfully evident. The huge priest barged along with a tremendous and deliberate majesty161, swinging his great belly right and left before him as an elephant swings its trunk, and magnificently indifferent to what anyone might think or say. But the little man trotted along in a state bordering on terror; he tried desperately162 to look casual and unconcerned, but his shifting eyes darted163 furtive glances right and left, and beneath the hem2 of his rough gown his sandalled feet kept slatting up and down in a movement that was somehow comically sly and that revealed the man’s whole character. At the corner the big priest paused deliberately again, turned, surveyed the scene and then, espying164 the white of the girls’ dresses below the trees across the street, set out in deliberate pursuit. And the little priest trotted along beside, his head lowered, his eyes darting furtive glances right and left, his sandalled feet slatting slyly up and down. Then they caught up with the girls below the trees and, half obscured in darkness, they stood for a moment talking in low voices. Then each of the girls took one of the priests by the arm and they all walked off together down the street and soon were lost in leafy darkness and the mystery of the night. Then the waiter, who had served the priests and who, standing94 in the entrance, had observed the meeting across the street, turned and, glaring at the youth, said quietly:
“C’est tres joli, eh? . . . Moi,” he continued, after a brief pause, “je n’ai pas le sentiment religieux.” And having delivered himself without rancour or surprise of that devastating165 statement, he dismissed the subject from his mind completely and, turning to the table that the priests had left, he racked the saucers up and wiped the table clean.
From a distance there came suddenly a woman’s low, rich burst of sensual laughter, the receding166 hoof-beats of a horse, and then all around there was silence, the overpowering fragrance of the earth, the huge thrill and mystery of night, and the sense of an intolerable desire, close and palpable and lovely, and never to be grasped or found: and from the huge and haunting familiarity of all these things a thousand receding and unuttered memories of time arose, a feeling of bitter loss, wild joy and pain — of a door that closed, a cloud-shadow that had gone for ever. He thought of home.
Among the dreams that returned to haunt his waking, watchful167 sleep during the strange, living vision of that green spring, as he lay hearted at the pulse of time, there was one which remained ever after in his memory.
He was striding along a wide and sandy beach and by the side of a calm and tranquilly168 flowing sea. The waves broke quietly and evenly in a long, low roll upon the beach, rushing up the sand in small hissing169 eddies170 of foam171 and water. Below his feet the firm, brown sand sprang back with an elastic172 vitality173, a warm and vital wind was blowing, and he drew into his lungs exultantly the smell of the sea and of the warm, wet, fragrant beach, ribbed evenly with braided edges of brown seaweed.
He did not recognize the scene as one which he had ever visited before, and yet he felt an instant and complete familiarity with it, as if he had known it for ever. Behind him, drumming evenly upon the hard, elastic sand, and fading away into the distance with a hard, wooden thunder of wheels, he heard the furious rhythm of pounding hooves of driven horses. He knew that he had just descended174 from a ship and that he was living in one of the antique and early ages of the earth; and all of this he knew with joy and wonder, and without surprise, with the thrill of recovering something he had always known and had lost for ever.
It was a scene out of the classic period of the earth, and yet it was wholly different from every image he had ever had about this earth in his imagination. For where, in every vision of his mind and reading, that earth had come to him in a few sharp and radiant colours, in a structure of life as glowing and proportionate as one of its faultless temples, as remote from the world he lived in as all its fables175, myths, and legends, this earth he now walked on was permeated with the living tones and weathers of life.
The world of Homer was the world of first light, sunlight, and of morning: the sea was wine-dark, a gold and sapphire purity of light fell on the walls of Troy, a lucent depthless purity of light welled from the eyes of Helen, as false, fatal, and innocently corrupt61 a woman as ever wrought destruction on the earth. The light that fell on Nausicaa and her maidens176 was all gold and crystal like the stream they bathed in, as lucent in purity as their limbs, as radiant as joy and morning on the earth; and even the lights of vengeance and the rout177 of the dread178 furies that fell upon the doomed180 and driven figure of Orestes were as fatal as blood, as relentless181 as an antique tragedy, as toneless as a destiny.
And in his pictures of a later time, of Athens in the period of recorded history, of Pericles and Plato and the time of the wars with Sparta, the scenes of history were bathed in these radiant and perfect lights and weathers. He knew these men were made of living, breathing flesh and subject to the errors and imperfections of mortal men, and yet when he tried to think of a slum in Athens, of people with bad teeth, blemished182 skins, muddy complexions183 — of disease, filth184, and squalor among them, and of the million weary, beaten, dusty, sweating moments of their lives, he could not. Even human grief, pain, and trouble took on a colour of classical perfection, of tragic185 grandeur186, and the tortured and distressful187 skein of human life, with all that is ugly, trivial, and disgusting in it, took on the logical pattern of design and ordered destiny.
The light that fell upon them was of gold and sapphire, and of singing, or as ominous188 and fatal as a certain and inexorable doom179; but now he walked this beach in one of the classical periods of the earth, and nothing was as he had tried to picture it, and yet all was as familiar as if he had known it for ever.
There was no gold and sapphire in the air: it was warm and sultry, omened with some troubling, variable and exultant menace, fraught189 with the sulphurous promise of a storm, pregnant with mystery and discovery, touched with a hundred disturbing elements and weathers of man’s soul, and scented190 with a thousand warm and spermy odours of the land and sea, that touched man’s entrails with delight and prophecy.
And the sea also was neither lyrical with gold and blue nor wine-dark in its single harmony: the sea was dark and sultry as the sky that bent191 above it, murked greenly, thickly, milkily, as it rolled quietly and broke upon the beach, as omened with impalpable prophecy as the earth and air.
He did not know the reason for his being there, and yet he knew beyond a doubt that he had come there for a purpose, that someone was waiting for him there, that the greatest joy and triumph he had ever known was impending in this glorious meeting.
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1
behold
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| v.看，注视，看到 | |
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hem
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| n.贴边，镶边；vt.缝贴边；(in)包围，限制 | |
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3
locusts
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| n.蝗虫( locust的名词复数 )；贪吃的人；破坏者；槐树 | |
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4
attentive
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| adj.注意的，专心的；关心(别人)的，殷勤的 | |
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5
eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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6
fatigued
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| adj. 疲乏的 | |
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7
stammered
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| v.结巴地说出( stammer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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8
wrought
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| v.引起；以…原料制作；运转；adj.制造的 | |
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sullen
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| adj.愠怒的，闷闷不乐的，(天气等)阴沉的 | |
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courteous
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| adj.彬彬有礼的，客气的 | |
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astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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fragrance
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| n.芬芳，香味，香气 | |
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fume
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| n.(usu pl.)(浓烈或难闻的)烟，气，汽 | |
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curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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16
rustling
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| n. 瑟瑟声，沙沙声 adj. 发沙沙声的 | |
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17
noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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18
writhed
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| （因极度痛苦而）扭动或翻滚( writhe的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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19
swarmed
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| 密集( swarm的过去式和过去分词 )； 云集； 成群地移动； 蜜蜂或其他飞行昆虫成群地飞来飞去 | |
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swarm
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| n.(昆虫)等一大群；vi.成群飞舞；蜂拥而入 | |
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21
hoary
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| adj.古老的；鬓发斑白的 | |
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22
immortal
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| adj.不朽的；永生的，不死的；神的 | |
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exultant
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| adj.欢腾的，狂欢的，大喜的 | |
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exultantly
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| adv.狂欢地，欢欣鼓舞地 | |
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25
pier
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| n.码头；桥墩，桥柱；[建]窗间壁，支柱 | |
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26
piers
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| n.水上平台( pier的名词复数 )；（常设有娱乐场所的）突堤；柱子；墙墩 | |
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27
acrid
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| adj.辛辣的，尖刻的，刻薄的 | |
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28
tugs
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| n.猛拉( tug的名词复数 )；猛拖；拖船v.用力拉，使劲拉，猛扯( tug的第三人称单数 ) | |
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29
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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30
laden
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| adj.装满了的；充满了的；负了重担的；苦恼的 | |
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31
sapphire
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| n.青玉，蓝宝石；adj.天蓝色的 | |
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32
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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33
prows
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| n.船首( prow的名词复数 ) | |
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34
iridescent
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| adj.彩虹色的，闪色的 | |
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35
isle
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| n.小岛，岛 | |
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36
fabulous
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| adj.极好的；极为巨大的；寓言中的，传说中的 | |
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spires
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| n.（教堂的） 塔尖，尖顶( spire的名词复数 ) | |
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38
hues
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| 色彩( hue的名词复数 )； 色调； 信仰； 观点 | |
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39
bridled
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| 给…套龙头( bridle的过去式和过去分词 )； 控制； 昂首表示轻蔑（或怨忿等）； 动怒，生气 | |
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40
leash
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| n.牵狗的皮带，束缚；v.用皮带系住 | |
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41
chafe
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| v.擦伤；冲洗；惹怒 | |
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42
breach
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| n.违反，不履行；破裂；vt.冲破，攻破 | |
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43
mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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44
solitude
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| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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45
joyful
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| adj.欢乐的，令人欢欣的 | |
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46
speculation
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| n.思索，沉思；猜测；投机 | |
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47
isled
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| 使成为岛屿（isle的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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48
plangent
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| adj.悲哀的，轰鸣的 | |
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49
fathomless
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| a.深不可测的 | |
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50
eerie
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| adj.怪诞的；奇异的；可怕的；胆怯的 | |
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51
gulls
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| n.鸥( gull的名词复数 )v.欺骗某人( gull的第三人称单数 ) | |
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52
dwelling
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| n.住宅，住所，寓所 | |
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53
potent
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| adj.强有力的，有权势的；有效力的 | |
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54
amber
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| n.琥珀；琥珀色；adj.琥珀制的 | |
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55
thighs
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| n.股，大腿( thigh的名词复数 )；食用的鸡（等的）腿 | |
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56
amorously
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| adv.好色地，妖艳地；脉；脉脉；眽眽 | |
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57
thronged
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| v.成群，挤满( throng的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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58
marine
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| adj.海的；海生的；航海的；海事的；n.水兵 | |
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59
fiat
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| n.命令，法令，批准；vt.批准，颁布 | |
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60
corruption
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| n.腐败，堕落，贪污 | |
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61
corrupt
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| v.贿赂，收买；adj.腐败的，贪污的 | |
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62
guilt
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| n.犯罪；内疚；过失，罪责 | |
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63
acquiescent
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| adj.默许的，默认的 | |
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64
quiescent
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| adj.静止的，不活动的，寂静的 | |
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65
fascination
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| n.令人着迷的事物，魅力，迷恋 | |
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66
vacancy
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| n.（旅馆的）空位，空房，（职务的）空缺 | |
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67
vengeance
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| n.报复，报仇，复仇 | |
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68
canyon
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| n.峡谷，溪谷 | |
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69
sanity
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| n.心智健全，神智正常，判断正确 | |
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70
stunned
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| adj. 震惊的，惊讶的 动词stun的过去式和过去分词 | |
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71
desolate
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| adj.荒凉的，荒芜的；孤独的，凄凉的；v.使荒芜，使孤寂 | |
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72
maniac
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| n.精神癫狂的人；疯子 | |
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73
infinity
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| n.无限，无穷，大量 | |
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74
insistence
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| n.坚持；强调；坚决主张 | |
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75
idiotic
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| adj.白痴的 | |
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76
bleak
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| adj.(天气)阴冷的；凄凉的；暗淡的 | |
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77
conspiracy
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| n.阴谋，密谋，共谋 | |
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78
subdued
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| adj. 屈服的，柔和的，减弱的 动词subdue的过去式和过去分词 | |
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79
vociferous
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| adj.喧哗的，大叫大嚷的 | |
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80
animation
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| n.活泼，兴奋，卡通片／动画片的制作 | |
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81
suffuse
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| v.(色彩等)弥漫，染遍 | |
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82
shriek
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| v./n.尖叫，叫喊 | |
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83
astounded
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| v.使震惊(astound的过去式和过去分词)；愕然；愕；惊讶 | |
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84
rim
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| n.(圆物的)边，轮缘；边界 | |
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85
sullenly
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| 不高兴地，绷着脸，忧郁地 | |
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86
crouched
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| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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87
configuration
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| n.结构，布局，形态，(计算机)配置 | |
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88
numb
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| adj.麻木的，失去感觉的；v.使麻木 | |
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89
chagrin
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| n.懊恼；气愤；委屈 | |
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90
anguish
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| n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦，烦恼 | |
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91
plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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92
distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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93
insanity
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| n.疯狂，精神错乱；极端的愚蠢，荒唐 | |
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94
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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95
vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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96
catastrophe
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| n.大灾难，大祸 | |
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97
utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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98
obsession
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| n.困扰，无法摆脱的思想(或情感) | |
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99
sinister
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| adj.不吉利的，凶恶的，左边的 | |
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100
passionately
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| ad.热烈地，激烈地 | |
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101
indefatigably
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| adv.不厌倦地，不屈不挠地 | |
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102
ecstasy
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| n.狂喜，心醉神怡，入迷 | |
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103
unbearable
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| adj.不能容忍的；忍受不住的 | |
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104
impending
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| a.imminent, about to come or happen | |
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105
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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106
bestowed
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| 赠给，授予( bestow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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107
champagne
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| n.香槟酒；微黄色 | |
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108
coronas
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| n.日冕，日华( corona的名词复数 ) | |
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109
appeased
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| 安抚，抚慰( appease的过去式和过去分词 )； 绥靖（满足另一国的要求以避免战争） | |
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110
drowsy
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| adj.昏昏欲睡的，令人发困的 | |
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111
grunt
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| v.嘟哝；作呼噜声；n.呼噜声，嘟哝 | |
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112
grunted
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| （猪等）作呼噜声( grunt的过去式和过去分词 )； （指人）发出类似的哼声； 咕哝着说 | |
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113
collapsing
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| 压扁[平]，毁坏，断裂 | |
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114
meditated
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| 深思，沉思，冥想( meditate的过去式和过去分词 )； 内心策划，考虑 | |
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115
fragrant
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| adj.芬香的，馥郁的，愉快的 | |
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116
gaily
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| adv.欢乐地，高兴地 | |
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117
nag
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| v.(对…)不停地唠叨；n.爱唠叨的人 | |
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118
voluptuous
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| adj.肉欲的，骄奢淫逸的 | |
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119
languorous
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| adj.怠惰的，没精打采的 | |
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120
appeasement
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| n.平息，满足 | |
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121
sensuous
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| adj.激发美感的；感官的，感觉上的 | |
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122
homely
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| adj.家常的，简朴的；不漂亮的 | |
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123
briefly
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| adv.简单地，简短地 | |
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124
fumed
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| 愤怒( fume的过去式和过去分词 )； 大怒； 发怒； 冒烟 | |
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125
belly
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| n.肚子，腹部；(像肚子一样)鼓起的部分，膛 | |
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126
mammoth
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| n.长毛象；adj.长毛象似的，巨大的 | |
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127
Flared
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| adj. 端部张开的, 爆发的, 加宽的, 漏斗式的 动词flare的过去式和过去分词 | |
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128
exuded
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| v.缓慢流出，渗出，分泌出( exude的过去式和过去分词 )；流露出对（某物）的神态或感情 | |
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129
permeated
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| 弥漫( permeate的过去式和过去分词 )； 遍布； 渗入； 渗透 | |
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130
swell
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| vi.膨胀，肿胀；增长，增强 | |
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131
judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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132
censure
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| v./n.责备；非难；责难 | |
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133
volcanic
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| adj.火山的；象火山的；由火山引起的 | |
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134
conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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135
concealment
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| n.隐藏, 掩盖，隐瞒 | |
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136
grotesque
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| adj.怪诞的，丑陋的；n.怪诞的图案，怪人（物） | |
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137
grotesquely
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| adv. 奇异地,荒诞地 | |
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138
funnels
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| 漏斗( funnel的名词复数 )； （轮船，火车等的）烟囱 | |
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139
relished
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| v.欣赏( relish的过去式和过去分词 )；从…获得乐趣；渴望 | |
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140
flaring
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| a.火焰摇曳的，过份艳丽的 | |
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141
warfare
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| n.战争(状态)；斗争；冲突 | |
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142
avaricious
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| adj.贪婪的，贪心的 | |
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143
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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144
tormented
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| 饱受折磨的 | |
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145
lust
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| n.性(淫)欲；渴(欲)望；vi.对…有强烈的欲望 | |
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146
furtive
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| adj.鬼鬼崇崇的，偷偷摸摸的 | |
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147
darting
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| v.投掷，投射( dart的现在分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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148
comely
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| adj.漂亮的，合宜的 | |
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149
ogled
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| v.（向…）抛媚眼，送秋波( ogle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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150
enticed
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| 诱惑，怂恿( entice的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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151
outrageous
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| adj.无理的，令人不能容忍的 | |
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152
longing
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| n.（for）渴望 | |
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153
feverish
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| adj.发烧的，狂热的，兴奋的 | |
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154
emboldened
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| v.鼓励，使有胆量( embolden的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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155
flirtatious
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| adj.爱调情的，调情的，卖俏的 | |
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156
hoarse
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| adj.嘶哑的，沙哑的 | |
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157
deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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158
benevolence
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| n.慈悲，捐助 | |
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159
leisurely
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| adj.悠闲的；从容的，慢慢的 | |
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160
trotted
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| 小跑，急走( trot的过去分词 )； 匆匆忙忙地走 | |
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161
majesty
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| n.雄伟，壮丽，庄严，威严；最高权威，王权 | |
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162
desperately
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| adv.极度渴望地，绝望地，孤注一掷地 | |
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163
darted
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| v.投掷，投射( dart的过去式和过去分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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164
espying
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| v.看到( espy的现在分词 ) | |
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165
devastating
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| adj.毁灭性的，令人震惊的，强有力的 | |
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166
receding
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| v.逐渐远离( recede的现在分词 )；向后倾斜；自原处后退或避开别人的注视；尤指问题 | |
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167
watchful
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| adj.注意的，警惕的 | |
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168
tranquilly
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| adv. 宁静地 | |
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169
hissing
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| n. 发嘶嘶声, 蔑视 动词hiss的现在分词形式 | |
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170
eddies
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| （水、烟等的）漩涡，涡流( eddy的名词复数 ) | |
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171
foam
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| v./n.泡沫，起泡沫 | |
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172
elastic
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| n.橡皮圈，松紧带；adj.有弹性的；灵活的 | |
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173
vitality
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| n.活力，生命力，效力 | |
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174
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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175
fables
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| n.寓言( fable的名词复数 )；神话，传说 | |
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176
maidens
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| 处女( maiden的名词复数 )； 少女； 未婚女子； （板球运动）未得分的一轮投球 | |
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177
rout
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| n.溃退，溃败；v.击溃，打垮 | |
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178
dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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179
doom
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| n.厄运，劫数；v.注定，命定 | |
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180
doomed
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| 命定的 | |
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181
relentless
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| adj.残酷的，不留情的，无怜悯心的 | |
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182
blemished
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| v.有损…的完美，玷污( blemish的过去式 ) | |
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183
complexions
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| 肤色( complexion的名词复数 )； 面色； 局面； 性质 | |
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184
filth
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| n.肮脏，污物，污秽；淫猥 | |
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185
tragic
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| adj.悲剧的，悲剧性的，悲惨的 | |
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186
grandeur
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| n.伟大，崇高，宏伟，庄严，豪华 | |
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187
distressful
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| adj.苦难重重的，不幸的，使苦恼的 | |
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188
ominous
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| adj.不祥的，不吉的，预兆的，预示的 | |
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189
fraught
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| adj.充满…的，伴有(危险等)的；忧虑的 | |
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190
scented
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| adj.有香味的；洒香水的；有气味的v.嗅到(scent的过去分词) | |
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191
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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