Intensely blue, the placid3 sea curdles4 around the rock bases of this wonderful little island as if it loved them. There are no rude breakers, no thundering, earth-shaking on-rushings of snowy-crested5 waves, leaping at the point of impact into filmy columns of spray.
Overhead the violet, star-sprinkled splendours of the night are just beginning to throb6 with returning light. One cannot say that the beams are definite, rather it is a palpitating glow that is just commencing to permeate7 the whole solemnity of the dome8 above, as does the first impulse of returning joy relax the lines of a saddened face. Far to the north may be seen a tiny cluster of fleecy cloudlets nestling together as if timid and lonely in that vast expanse of clear sky. But as the coming day touches them they put on garments of glory and beauty. Infinite gradations of colour, all tender, melt into one another upon their billowy surfaces until they spread and brighten, investing all their quadrant of the heavens with the likeness9 of the Gardens of Paradise.
At my feet lie the mighty10 edifices11 of stone that have, by the patient unending labour of this busy people, grown up through past ages, until now the mind reels in the attempt to sum up the account of that labour. A sea of white roofs, punctuated12 here and there with the dome and twin steeples of a church, the only breaks in the universal fashion of roof architecture. Away beneath, the white, clean streets—so strangely silent that the far-off tinkle13 of a goat-bell on the neck of some incoming band of milk-bearers strikes sharply athwart the pellucid14 atmosphere, like the fall of a piece of broken glass on to the pavement below. A few dim figures, recumbent upon the wide piazza15 of the Opera House, stir uneasily as the new light reaches them, and gape16, and stretch, and fumble17 for cigarettes. A hurried, furtive-looking labourer glides18 past, his bare feet arousing no echo, but making him pass like a ghost. And then, from the direction of the Auberge de Castile, comes a solemn sound of music.
Its first faint strains rise upon the sweet morning calm like some lovely suggestion of prayer, but they are accompanied by an indefinite pulsation19 as of a beating at the walls of one’s heart. More and more distinct the strains arise until recognizable as Chopin’s “Marche Funèbre,” and suddenly in the distance may be discerned, turning into the Strada Mezzodi, row after row of khaki-clad figures moving, oh, so slowly. Deadened and dull the drum-beats fall, more and more insistent20 wails21 that heart-rending music, and close in its rear appears the only spot of colour in the331 sad ranks, the brilliant folds of the union Jack22, hiding that small oblong coffer which holds all that was mortal of Private No. ——. Perhaps in life he was rather an insignificant23 unit of his regiment24, at times a troublesome one, familiar with “pack-drill,” “C.B.,” and “clink,” but now he has been brevetted, for a fleeting25 hour his fast-decaying remains26 are greeted with almost Royal honours.
Nearer and nearer creeps the solemn and stately procession, so slowly that the strain becomes intolerable. How do his comrades bear it? We who knew him not at all find ourselves choking, gasping27 in sympathy. While that silent escort is filing past we have traced his history, as it might be, his babyhood in some fair British village far away, his school-days, his pranks28, his mother’s pride. Then his aspirations29, what he would do when he was a man. Or perhaps he came from the slums of a great town, where, neglected, unwanted, he wallowed in the gutters30, living like the sparrows, but less easily, and only surviving the rough treatment by dint31 of a harder grip of life than so many of his fellows. He knew no love, was coarse of speech, given to much drink and little repentance32. But who thinks of that now? He is our dear brother departed, and his comrades follow him home, for the time at least solemnized at the presence among them of that awful power before whom all heads must bow.
Now, the so lately slumbering33 street has filled. Swarthy Maltese, Sicilians, Indians, men of all occupations, and of none, stand with bared heads and332 downcast faces as the King goes by. Oh that they would hasten on! But no. As if the procession would never end, it files through the Porta Reale, and at last is lost to view, although for long afterwards those muffled34 drums still beat upon the heart.
As if rejoicing at the passing of death, the street suddenly awakens35. A very hubbub36 of conversation arises. Incoming crowds of workmen, striding along with that peculiarly easy gait common to the barefooted, jostle each other, and fling jest and repartee37 in guttural Maltese. Country vehicles, laden38 with all manner of queer produce, their bitless stallions swaying tinkling39 bells, encumber40 the way. Presently all make clear the crown of the road for the passage of a company of mounted infantry41, which, in the almost blatant42 pride of fitness and workmanlike appearance, sallies forth43 into the country for exercise beyond the walls. But hark! martial44 strains are heard, a joyous45 blare of brass46, a gleeful clatter47 of cymbal48 and drum. Hearts beat quicker, the foot taps, involuntarily acknowledging the power of music to elevate or depress the mind. Swinging into view strides a jaunty49 company, with heads erect50 and splendid swagger, and in their midst the plain imitation gun-carriage, which so short a time ago was burdened with the flag-enwrapped dead, is gaily51 trundled along. The moments of mourning are ended. We have hidden our dead out of our sight, and, with a spring of relief, are back again with the duties and pleasures of the living.
The great sun is soaring high, and already his beams are heating the stones so that we can hardly333 bear to touch them. The sea is rejoicing, for with the sun a little breeze has risen and covered that gorgeous expanse of sapphire52 with an infinity53 of wavelets, each crested with a spray of diamonds. A few barbaric-looking feluccas, their great pointed54 sails gleaming like snow against the blue sea, are creeping in from Gozo or Sicily, laden with fruit and fish for hungry Valetta. Far out, a long black stain against the clear sky betokens55 the presence of a huge steamship56, homeward bound from the East, and avoiding these bright shores carefully because of stringent57 quarantine regulations. The very mention of the dread58 word “plague” is enough to cause a panic here, and if the most rigorous exclusion59, at whatever cost, of vessels60 from infected ports, will keep us free, we will see to it that such exclusion is practised.
But what is this long, phantom-like vessel61, her colour so blending with the blue of the sea, that she is difficult to distinguish? Occasionally from one of her three irregularly placed funnels62 there is a burst of black smoke, but otherwise she is as nearly invisible as careful painting can make her. Up there at the lofty look-out station the signalmen are discussing her with many epithets63 of dislike. They know her well, and all her kindred; know well, too, with what jealous, longing64 eyes those on board peer at the prosperous island, and with what accents of hatred65 they speak of the insolent66, perfidious67 Briton, who dare to thus maintain a station of such strength, a naval68 base of such inestimable value, in the midst of what should be a Latin-governed sea.
But the treasure so coveted69 is not only guarded by all the deadly devices known to modern warfare70, it is made doubly secure in that these swarthy speakers of a strange tongue know and love their rulers too well to exchange them, save at the cost of almost utter annihilation, for masters whom they equally well know and hate.
The morning freshness has gone. Valetta, never quite asleep at any time, only drowsing occasionally, is wide awake now. The bright waters of the harbour are alive with “disós,” gondola-like boats, and small steamers. The hurrying thousands have swarmed71 into their appointed places in the dockyard, the never-finished stone-hewing is going briskly forward, the market is a howling vortex of clamour and heat and excitement; and in its niche72 of living rock the tabernacle of him who yesterday was Private ——, of her Majesty’s army, lies quietly oblivious73 of it all.
点击收听单词发音
1 sweeping | |
adj.范围广大的,一扫无遗的 | |
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2 panorama | |
n.全景,全景画,全景摄影,全景照片[装置] | |
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3 placid | |
adj.安静的,平和的 | |
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4 curdles | |
v.(使)凝结( curdle的第三人称单数 ) | |
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5 crested | |
adj.有顶饰的,有纹章的,有冠毛的v.到达山顶(或浪峰)( crest的过去式和过去分词 );到达洪峰,达到顶点 | |
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6 throb | |
v.震颤,颤动;(急速强烈地)跳动,搏动 | |
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7 permeate | |
v.弥漫,遍布,散布;渗入,渗透 | |
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8 dome | |
n.圆屋顶,拱顶 | |
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9 likeness | |
n.相像,相似(之处) | |
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10 mighty | |
adj.强有力的;巨大的 | |
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11 edifices | |
n.大建筑物( edifice的名词复数 ) | |
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12 punctuated | |
v.(在文字中)加标点符号,加标点( punctuate的过去式和过去分词 );不时打断某事物 | |
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13 tinkle | |
vi.叮当作响;n.叮当声 | |
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14 pellucid | |
adj.透明的,简单的 | |
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15 piazza | |
n.广场;走廊 | |
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16 gape | |
v.张口,打呵欠,目瞪口呆地凝视 | |
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17 fumble | |
vi.笨拙地用手摸、弄、接等,摸索 | |
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18 glides | |
n.滑行( glide的名词复数 );滑音;音渡;过渡音v.滑动( glide的第三人称单数 );掠过;(鸟或飞机 ) 滑翔 | |
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19 pulsation | |
n.脉搏,悸动,脉动;搏动性 | |
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20 insistent | |
adj.迫切的,坚持的 | |
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21 wails | |
痛哭,哭声( wail的名词复数 ) | |
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22 jack | |
n.插座,千斤顶,男人;v.抬起,提醒,扛举;n.(Jake)杰克 | |
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23 insignificant | |
adj.无关紧要的,可忽略的,无意义的 | |
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24 regiment | |
n.团,多数,管理;v.组织,编成团,统制 | |
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25 fleeting | |
adj.短暂的,飞逝的 | |
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26 remains | |
n.剩余物,残留物;遗体,遗迹 | |
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27 gasping | |
adj. 气喘的, 痉挛的 动词gasp的现在分词 | |
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28 pranks | |
n.玩笑,恶作剧( prank的名词复数 ) | |
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29 aspirations | |
强烈的愿望( aspiration的名词复数 ); 志向; 发送气音; 发 h 音 | |
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30 gutters | |
(路边)排水沟( gutter的名词复数 ); 阴沟; (屋顶的)天沟; 贫贱的境地 | |
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31 dint | |
n.由于,靠;凹坑 | |
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32 repentance | |
n.懊悔 | |
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33 slumbering | |
微睡,睡眠(slumber的现在分词形式) | |
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34 muffled | |
adj.(声音)被隔的;听不太清的;(衣服)裹严的;蒙住的v.压抑,捂住( muffle的过去式和过去分词 );用厚厚的衣帽包着(自己) | |
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35 awakens | |
v.(使)醒( awaken的第三人称单数 );(使)觉醒;弄醒;(使)意识到 | |
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36 hubbub | |
n.嘈杂;骚乱 | |
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37 repartee | |
n.机敏的应答 | |
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38 laden | |
adj.装满了的;充满了的;负了重担的;苦恼的 | |
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39 tinkling | |
n.丁当作响声 | |
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40 encumber | |
v.阻碍行动,妨碍,堆满 | |
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41 infantry | |
n.[总称]步兵(部队) | |
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42 blatant | |
adj.厚颜无耻的;显眼的;炫耀的 | |
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43 forth | |
adv.向前;向外,往外 | |
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44 martial | |
adj.战争的,军事的,尚武的,威武的 | |
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45 joyous | |
adj.充满快乐的;令人高兴的 | |
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46 brass | |
n.黄铜;黄铜器,铜管乐器 | |
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47 clatter | |
v./n.(使)发出连续而清脆的撞击声 | |
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48 cymbal | |
n.铙钹 | |
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49 jaunty | |
adj.愉快的,满足的;adv.心满意足地,洋洋得意地;n.心满意足;洋洋得意 | |
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50 erect | |
n./v.树立,建立,使竖立;adj.直立的,垂直的 | |
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51 gaily | |
adv.欢乐地,高兴地 | |
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52 sapphire | |
n.青玉,蓝宝石;adj.天蓝色的 | |
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53 infinity | |
n.无限,无穷,大量 | |
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54 pointed | |
adj.尖的,直截了当的 | |
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55 betokens | |
v.预示,表示( betoken的第三人称单数 ) | |
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56 steamship | |
n.汽船,轮船 | |
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57 stringent | |
adj.严厉的;令人信服的;银根紧的 | |
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58 dread | |
vt.担忧,忧虑;惧怕,不敢;n.担忧,畏惧 | |
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59 exclusion | |
n.拒绝,排除,排斥,远足,远途旅行 | |
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60 vessels | |
n.血管( vessel的名词复数 );船;容器;(具有特殊品质或接受特殊品质的)人 | |
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61 vessel | |
n.船舶;容器,器皿;管,导管,血管 | |
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62 funnels | |
漏斗( funnel的名词复数 ); (轮船,火车等的)烟囱 | |
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63 epithets | |
n.(表示性质、特征等的)词语( epithet的名词复数 ) | |
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64 longing | |
n.(for)渴望 | |
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65 hatred | |
n.憎恶,憎恨,仇恨 | |
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66 insolent | |
adj.傲慢的,无理的 | |
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67 perfidious | |
adj.不忠的,背信弃义的 | |
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68 naval | |
adj.海军的,军舰的,船的 | |
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69 coveted | |
adj.令人垂涎的;垂涎的,梦寐以求的v.贪求,觊觎(covet的过去分词);垂涎;贪图 | |
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70 warfare | |
n.战争(状态);斗争;冲突 | |
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71 swarmed | |
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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72 niche | |
n.壁龛;合适的职务(环境、位置等) | |
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73 oblivious | |
adj.易忘的,遗忘的,忘却的,健忘的 | |
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