Little Women - Chapter 34
时间：2020-09-28 08:45:48
（单词翻译:单击）
Though very happy in the social atmosphere about her, and very busy with the daily work that earned her bread and made it sweeter for the effort, Jo still found time for literary labors1. The purpose which now took possession of her was a natural one to a poor and ambitious girl, but the means she took to gain her end were not the best. She saw that money conferred power, money and power, therefore, she resolved to have, not to be used for herself alone, but for those whom she loved more than life. The dream of filling home with comforts, giving Beth everything she wanted, from strawberries in winter to an organ in her bedroom, going abroad herself, and always having more than enough, so that she might indulge in the luxury of charity, had been for years Jo's most cherished castle in the air.
The prize-story experience had seemed to open a way which might, after long traveling and much uphill work, lead to this delightful2 chateau3 en Espagne. But the novel disaster quenched4 her courage for a time, for public opinion is a giant which has frightened stouter-hearted Jacks7 on bigger beanstalks than hers. Like that immortal8 hero, she reposed9 awhile after the first attempt, which resulted in a tumble and the least lovely of the giant's treasures, if I remember rightly. But the 'up again and take another' spirit was as strong in Jo as in Jack6, so she scrambled10 up on the shady side this time and got more booty, but nearly left behind her what was far more precious than the moneybags.
She took to writing sensation stories, for in those dark ages, even all-perfect America read rubbish. She told no one, but concocted11 a 'thrilling tale', and boldly carried it herself to Mr. Dashwood, editor of the Weekly Volcano. She had never read Sartor Resartus, but she had a womanly instinct that clothes possess an influence more powerful over many than the worth of character or the magic of manners. So she dressed herself in her best, and trying to persuade herself that she was neither excited nor nervous, bravely climbed two pairs of dark and dirty stairs to find herself in a disorderly room, a cloud of cigar smoke, and the presence of three gentlemen, sitting with their heels rather higher than their hats, which articles of dress none of them took the trouble to remove on her appearance. Somewhat daunted12 by this reception, Jo hesitated on the threshold, murmuring in much embarrassment13 . . .
"Excuse me, I was looking for the Weekly Volcano office. I wished to see Mr. Dashwood."
Down went the highest pair of heels, up rose the smokiest gentleman, and carefully cherishing his cigar between his fingers, he advanced with a nod and a countenance14 expressive15 of nothing but sleep. Feeling that she must get through the matter somehow, Jo produced her manuscript and, blushing redder and redder with each sentence, blundered out fragments of the little speech carefully prepared for the occasion.
"A friend of mine desired me to offer - a story - just as an experiment - would like your opinion - be glad to write more if this suits."
While she blushed and blundered, Mr. Dashwood had taken the manuscript, and was turning over the leaves with a pair of rather dirty fingers, and casting critical glances up and down the neat pages.
"Not a first attempt, I take it?" observing that the pages were numbered, covered only on one side, and not tied up with a ribbon - sure sign of a novice16.
"No, sir. She has had some experience, and got a prize for a tale in the Blarneystone Banner."
"Oh, did she?" and Mr. Dashwood gave Jo a quick look, which seemed to take note of everything she had on, from the bow in her bonnet17 to the buttons on her boots. "Well, you can leave it, if you like. We've more of this sort of thing on hand than we know what to do with at present, but I'll run my eye over it, and give you an answer next week."
Now, Jo did not like to leave it, for Mr. Dashwood didn't suit her at all, but, under the circumstances, there was nothing for her to do but bow and walk away, looking particularly tall and dignified18, as she was apt to do when nettled19 or abashed20. Just then she was both, for it was perfectly21 evident from the knowing glances exchanged among the gentlemen that her little fiction of 'my friend' was considered a good joke, and a laugh, produced by some inaudible remark of the editor, as he closed the door, completed her discomfiture22. Half resolving never to return, she went home, and worked off her irritation23 by stitching pinafores vigorously, and in an hour or two was cool enough to laugh over the scene and long for next week.
When she went again, Mr. Dashwood was alone, whereat she rejoiced. Mr. Dashwood was much wider awake than before, which was agreeable, and Mr. Dashwood was not too deeply absorbed in a cigar to remember his manners, so the second interview was much more comfortable than the first.
"We'll take this (editors never say I), if you don't object to a few alterations24. It's too long, but omitting the passages I've marked will make it just the right length," he said, in a businesslike tone.
Jo hardly knew her own MS. again, so crumpled25 and underscored were its pages and paragraphs, but feeling as a tender parent might on being asked to cut off her baby's legs in order that it might fit into a new cradle, she looked at the marked passages and was surprised to find that all the moral reflections - which she had carefully put in as ballast for much romance - had been stricken out.
"But, Sir, I thought every story should have some sort of a moral, so I took care to have a few of my sinners repent27."
Mr. Dashwoods's editorial gravity relaxed into a smile, for Jo had forgotten her 'friend', and spoken as only an author could.
"People want to be amused, not preached at, you know. Morals don't sell nowadays." Which was not quite a correct statement, by the way.
"You think it would do with these alterations, then?"
"Yes, it's a new plot, and pretty well worked up - language good, and so on," was Mr. Dashwood's affable reply.
"What do you - that is, what compensation - " began Jo, not exactly knowing how to express herself.
"Oh, yes, well, we give from twenty-five to thirty for things of this sort. Pay when it comes out," returned Mr. Dashwood, as if that point had escaped him. Such trifles do escape the editorial mind, it is said.
"Very well, you can have it," said Jo, handing back the story with a satisfied air, for after the dollar-a-column work, even twenty-five seemed good pay.
"Shall I tell my friend you will take another if she has one better than this?" asked Jo, unconscious of her little slip of the tongue, and emboldened30 by her success.
"Well, we'll look at it. Can't promise to take it. Tell her to make it short and spicy31, and never mind the moral. What name would your friend like to put on it?" in a careless tone.
"None at all, if you please, she doesn't wish her name to appear and has no nom de plume," said Jo, blushing in spite of herself.
"Just as she likes, of course. The tale will be out next week. Will you call for the money, or shall I send it?" asked Mr. Dashwood, who felt a natural desire to know who his new contributor might be.
"I'll call. Good morning, Sir."
As she departed, Mr. Dashwood put up his feet, with the graceful32 remark, "Poor and proud, as usual, but she'll do."
Following Mr. Dashwood's directions, and making Mrs. Northbury her model, Jo rashly took a plunge33 into the frothy sea of sensational34 literature, but thanks to the life preserver thrown her by a friend, she came up again not much the worse for her ducking.
Like most young scribblers, she went abroad for her characters and scenery, and banditti, counts, gypsies, nuns35, and duchesses appeared upon her stage, and played their parts with as much accuracy and spirit as could be expected. Her readers were not particular about such trifles as grammar, punctuation36, and probability, and Mr. Dashwood graciously permitted her to fill his columns at the lowest prices, not thinking it necessary to tell her that the real cause of his hospitality was the fact that one of his hacks37, on being offered higher wages, had basely left him in the lurch38.
She soon became interested in her work, for her emaciated39 purse grew stout5, and the little hoard40 she was making to take Beth to the mountains next summer grew slowly but surely as the weeks passed. One thing disturbed her satisfaction, and that was that she did not tell them at home. She had a feeling that Father and Mother would not approve, and preferred to have her own way first, and beg pardon afterward41. It was easy to keep her secret, for no name appeared with her stories. Mr. Dashwood had of course found it out very soon, but promised to be dumb, and for a wonder kept his word.
She thought it would do her no harm, for she sincerely meant to write nothing of which she would be ashamed, and quieted all pricks42 of conscience by anticipations43 of the happy minute when she should show her earnings44 and laugh over her well-kept secret.
But Mr. Dashwood rejected any but thrilling tales, and as thrills could not be produced except by harrowing up the souls of the readers, history and romance, land and sea, science and art, police records and lunatic asylums45, had to be ransacked46 for the purpose. Jo soon found that her innocent experience had given her but few glimpses of the tragic48 world which underlies49 society, so regarding it in a business light, she set about supplying her deficiencies with characteristic energy. Eager to find material for stories, and bent50 on making them original in plot, if not masterly in execution, she searched newspapers for accidents, incidents, and crimes. She excited the suspicions of public librarians by asking for works on poisons. She studied faces in the street, and characters, good, bad, and indifferent, all about her. She delved51 in the dust of ancient times for facts or fictions so old that they were as good as new, and introduced herself to folly52, sin, and misery53, as well as her limited opportunities allowed. She thought she was prospering54 finely, but unconsciously she was beginning to desecrate55 some of the womanliest attributes of a woman's character. She was living in bad society, and imaginary though it was, its influence affected56 her, for she was feeding heart and fancy on dangerous and unsubstantial food, and was fast brushing the innocent bloom from her nature by a premature57 acquaintance with the darker side of life, which comes soon enough to all of us.
She was beginning to feel rather than see this, for much describing of other people's passions and feelings set her to studying and speculating about her own, a morbid58 amusement in which healthy young minds do not voluntarily indulge. Wrongdoing always brings its own punishment, and when Jo most needed hers, she got it.
I don't know whether the study of Shakespeare helped her to read character, or the natural instinct of a woman for what was honest, brave, and strong, but while endowing her imaginary heroes with every perfection under the sun, Jo was discovering a live hero, who interested her in spite of many human imperfections. Mr. Bhaer, in one of their conversations, had advised her to study simple, true, and lovely characters, wherever she found them, as good training for a writer. Jo took him at his word, for she coolly turned round and studied him - a proceeding59 which would have much surprised him, had he known it, for the worthy60 Professor was very humble61 in his own conceit62.
Why everybody liked him was what puzzled Jo, at first. He was neither rich nor great, young nor handsome, in no respect what is called fascinating, imposing63, or brilliant, and yet he was as attractive as a genial64 fire, and people seemed to gather about him as naturally as about a warm hearth65. He was poor, yet always appeared to be giving something away; a stranger, yet everyone was his friend; no longer young, but as happy-hearted as a boy; plain and peculiar66, yet his face looked beautiful to many, and his oddities were freely forgiven for his sake. Jo often watched him, trying to discover the charm, and at last decided67 that it was benevolence68 which worked the miracle. If he had any sorrow, 'it sat with its head under its wing', and he turned only his sunny side to the world. There were lines upon his forehead, but Time seemed to have touched him gently, remembering how kind he was to others. The pleasant curves about his mouth were the memorials of many friendly words and cheery laughs, his eyes were never cold or hard, and his big hand had a warm, strong grasp that was more expressive than words.
His very clothes seemed to partake of the hospitable69 nature of the wearer. They looked as if they were at ease, and liked to make him comfortable. His capacious waistcoat was suggestive of a large heart underneath70. His rusty71 coat had a social air, and the baggy72 pockets plainly proved that little hands often went in empty and came out full. His very boots were benevolent73, and his collars never stiff and raspy like other people's.
"That's it!" said Jo to herself, when she at length discovered that genuine good will toward one's fellow men could beautify and dignify74 even a stout German teacher, who shoveled75 in his dinner, darned his own socks, and was burdened with the name of Bhaer.
Jo valued goodness highly, but she also possessed76 a most feminine respect for intellect, and a little discovery which she made about the Professor added much to her regard for him. He never spoke28 of himself, and no one ever knew that in his native city he had been a man much honored and esteemed78 for learning and integrity, till a countryman came to see him. He never spoke of himself, and in a conversation with Miss Norton divulged79 the pleasing fact. From her Jo learned it, and liked it all the better because Mr. Bhaer had never told it. She felt proud to know that he was an honored Professor in Berlin, though only a poor language-master in America, and his homely80, hard-working life was much beautified by the spice of romance which this discovery gave it. Another and a better gift than intellect was shown her in a most unexpected manner. Miss Norton had the entree81 into most society, which Jo would have had no chance of seeing but for her. The solitary82 woman felt an interest in the ambitious girl, and kindly83 conferred many favors of this sort both on Jo and the Professor. She took them with her one night to a select symposium84, held in honor of several celebrities85.
Jo went prepared to bow down and adore the mighty86 ones whom she had worshiped with youthful enthusiasm afar off. But her reverence87 for genius received a severe shock that night, and it took her some time to recover from the discovery that the great creatures were only men and women after all. Imagine her dismay, on stealing a glance of timid admiration88 at the poet whose lines suggested an ethereal being fed on 'spirit, fire, and dew', to behold89 him devouring90 his supper with an ardor91 which flushed his intellectual countenance. Turning as from a fallen idol92, she made other discoveries which rapidly dispelled93 her romantic illusions. The great novelist vibrated between two decanters with the regularity94 of a pendulum95; the famous divine flirted96 openly with one of the Madame de Staels of the age, who looked daggers97 at another Corinne, who was amiably98 satirizing99 her, after outmaneuvering her in efforts to absorb the profound philosopher, who imbibed100 tea Johnsonianly and appeared to slumber101, the loquacity102 of the lady rendering103 speech impossible. The scientific celebrities, forgetting their mollusks and glacial periods, gossiped about art, while devoting themselves to oysters104 and ices with characteristic energy; the young musician, who was charming the city like a second Orpheus, talked horses; and the specimen105 of the British nobility present happened to be the most ordinary man of the party.
Before the evening was half over, Jo felt so completely disillusioned106, that she sat down in a corner to recover herself. Mr. Bhaer soon joined her, looking rather out of his element, and presently several of the philosophers, each mounted on his hobby, came ambling107 up to hold an intellectual tournament in the recess108. The conversations were miles beyond Jo's comprehension, but she enjoyed it, though Kant and Hegel were unknown gods, the Subjective109 and Objective unintelligible110 terms, and the only thing 'evolved from her inner consciousness' was a bad headache after it was all over. It dawned upon her gradually that the world was being picked to pieces, and put together on new and, according to the talkers, on infinitely111 better principles than before, that religion was in a fair way to be reasoned into nothingness, and intellect was to be the only God. Jo knew nothing about philosophy or metaphysics of any sort, but a curious excitement, half pleasurable, half painful, came over her as she listened with a sense of being turned adrift into time and space, like a young balloon out on a holiday.
She looked round to see how the Professor liked it, and found him looking at her with the grimmest expression she had ever seen him wear. He shook his head and beckoned112 her to come away, but she was fascinated just then by the freedom of Speculative113 Philosophy, and kept her seat, trying to find out what the wise gentlemen intended to rely upon after they had annihilated114 all the old beliefs.
Now, Mr. Bhaer was a diffident man and slow to offer his own opinions, not because they were unsettled, but too sincere and earnest to be lightly spoken. As he glanced from Jo to several other young people, attracted by the brilliancy of the philosophic115 pyrotechnics, he knit his brows and longed to speak, fearing that some inflammable young soul would be led astray by the rockets, to find when the display was over that they had only an empty stick or a scorched116 hand.
He bore it as long as he could, but when he was appealed to for an opinion, he blazed up with honest indignation and defended religion with all the eloquence117 of truth - an eloquence which made his broken English musical and his plain face beautiful. He had a hard fight, for the wise men argued well, but he didn't know when he was beaten and stood to his colors like a man. Somehow, as he talked, the world got right again to Jo. The old beliefs, that had lasted so long, seemed better than the new. God was not a blind force, and immortality118 was not a pretty fable29, but a blessed fact. She felt as if she had solid ground under her feet again, and when Mr. Bhaer paused, outtalked but not one whit119 convinced, Jo wanted to clap her hands and thank him.
She did neither, but she remembered the scene, and gave the Professor her heartiest120 respect, for she knew it cost him an effort to speak out then and there, because his conscience would not let him be silent. She began to see that character is a better possession than money, rank, intellect, or beauty, and to feel that if greatness is what a wise man has defined it to be, 'truth, reverence, and good will', then her friend Friedrich Bhaer was not only good, but great.
This belief strengthened daily. She valued his esteem77, she coveted121 his respect, she wanted to be worthy of his friendship, and just when the wish was sincerest, she came near to losing everything. It all grew out of a cocked hat, for one evening the Professor came in to give Jo her lesson with a paper soldier cap on his head, which Tina had put there and he had forgotten to take off.
"It's evident he doesn't look in his glass before coming down," thought Jo, with a smile, as he said "Goot efening," and sat soberly down, quite unconscious of the ludicrous contrast between his subject and his headgear, for he was going to read her the Death of Wallenstein.
She said nothing at first, for she liked to hear him laugh out his big, hearty122 laugh when anything funny happened, so she left him to discover it for himself, and presently forgot all about it, for to hear a German read Schiller is rather an absorbing occupation. After the reading came the lesson, which was a lively one, for Jo was in a gay mood that night, and the cocked hat kept her eyes dancing with merriment. The Professor didn't know what to make of her, and stopped at last to ask with an air of mild surprise that was irresistible123. . .
"Mees Marsch, for what do you laugh in your master's face? Haf you no respect for me, that you go on so bad?"
"How can I be respectful, Sir, when you forget to take your hat off?" said Jo.
Lifting his hand to his head, the absent-minded Professor gravely felt and removed the little cocked hat, looked at it a minute, and then threw back his head and laughed like a merry bass124 viol.
"Ah! I see him now, it is that imp47 Tina who makes me a fool with my cap. Well, it is nothing, but see you, if this lesson goes not well, you too shall wear him."
But the lesson did not go at all for a few minutes because Mr. Bhaer caught sight of a picture on the hat, and unfolding it, said with great disgust, "I wish these papers did not come in the house. They are not for children to see, nor young people to read. It is not well, and I haf no patience with those who make this harm."
Jo glanced at the sheet and saw a pleasing illustration composed of a lunatic, a corpse125, a villain126, and a viper127. She did not like it, but the impulse that made her turn it over was not one of displeasure but fear, because for a minute she fancied the paper was the Volcano. It was not, however, and her panic subsided128 as she remembered that even if it had been and one of her own tales in it, there would have been no name to betray her. She had betrayed herself, however, by a look and a blush, for though an absent man, the Professor saw a good deal more than people fancied. He knew that Jo wrote, and had met her down among the newspaper offices more than once, but as she never spoke of it, he asked no questions in spite of a strong desire to see her work. Now it occurred to him that she was doing what she was ashamed to own, and it troubled him. He did not say to himself, "It is none of my business. I've no right to say anything," as many people would have done. He only remembered that she was young and poor, a girl far away from mother's love and father's care, and he was moved to help her with an impulse as quick and natural as that which would prompt him to put out his hand to save a baby from a puddle129. All this flashed through his mind in a minute, but not a trace of it appeared in his face, and by the time the paper was turned, and Jo's needle threaded, he was ready to say quite naturally, but very gravely . . .
"Yes, you are right to put it from you. I do not think that good young girls should see such things. They are made pleasant to some, but I would more rather give my boys gunpowder130 to play with than this bad trash."
"All may not be bad, only silly, you know, and if there is a demand for it, I don't see any harm in supplying it. Many very respectable people make an honest living out of what are called sensation stories," said Jo, scratching gathers so energetically that a row of little slits131 followed her pin.
"There is a demand for whisky, but I think you and I do not care to sell it. If the respectable people knew what harm they did, they would not feel that the living was honest. They haf no right to put poison in the sugarplum, and let the small ones eat it. No, they should think a little, and sweep mud in the street before they do this thing."
Mr. Bhaer spoke warmly, and walked to the fire, crumpling132 the paper in his hands. Jo sat still, looking as if the fire had come to her, for her cheeks burned long after the cocked hat had turned to smoke and gone harmlessly up the chimney.
"I should like much to send all the rest after him," muttered the Professor, coming back with a relieved air.
Jo thought what a blaze her pile of papers upstairs would make, and her hard-earned money lay rather heavily on her conscience at that minute. Then she thought consolingly to herself, "Mine are not like that, they are only silly, never bad, so I won't be worried," and taking up her book, she said, with a studious face, "Shall we go on, Sir? I'll be very good and proper now."
"I shall hope so," was all he said, but he meant more than she imagined, and the grave, kind look he gave her made her feel as if the words Weekly Volcano were printed in large type on her forehead.
As soon as she went to her room, she got out her papers, and carefully reread every one of her stories. Being a little shortsighted, Mr. Bhaer sometimes used eye glasses, and Jo had tried them once, smiling to see how they magnified the fine print of her book. Now she seemed to have on the Professor's mental or moral spectacles also, for the faults of these poor stories glared at her dreadfully and filled her with dismay.
"They are trash, and will soon be worse trash if I go on, for each is more sensational than the last. I've gone blindly on, hurting myself and other people, for the sake of money. I know it's so, for I can't read this stuff in sober earnest without being horribly ashamed of it, and what should I do if they were seen at home or Mr. Bhaer got hold of them?"
Jo turned hot at the bare idea, and stuffed the whole bundle into her stove, nearly setting the chimney afire with the blaze.
"Yes, that's the best place for such inflammable nonsense. I'd better burn the house down, I suppose, than let other people blow themselves up with my gunpowder," she thought as she watched the Demon133 of the Jura whisk away, a little black cinder134 with fiery135 eyes.
But when nothing remained of all her three month's work except a heap of ashes and the money in her lap, Jo looked sober, as she sat on the floor, wondering what she ought to do about her wages.
"I think I haven't done much harm yet, and may keep this to pay for my time," she said, after a long meditation136, adding impatiently, "I almost wish I hadn't any conscience, it's so inconvenient137. If I didn't care about doing right, and didn't feel uncomfortable when doing wrong, I should get on capitally. I can't help wishing sometimes, that Mother and Father hadn't been so particular about such things."
Ah, Jo, instead of wishing that, thank God that 'Father and Mother were particular', and pity from your heart those who have no such guardians138 to hedge them round with principles which may seem like prison walls to impatient youth, but which will prove sure foundations to build character upon in womanhood.
Jo wrote no more sensational stories, deciding that the money did not pay for her share of the sensation, but going to the other extreme, as is the way with people of her stamp, she took a course of Mrs. Sherwood, Miss Edgeworth, and Hannah More, and then produced a tale which might have been more properly called an essay or a sermon, so intensely moral was it. She had her doubts about it from the beginning, for her lively fancy and girlish romance felt as ill at ease in the new style as she would have done masquerading in the stiff and cumbrous costume of the last century. She sent this didactic gem139 to several markets, but it found no purchaser, and she was inclined to agree with Mr. Dashwood that morals didn't sell.
Then she tried a child's story, which she could easily have disposed of if she had not been mercenary enough to demand filthy140 lucre141 for it. The only person who offered enough to make it worth her while to try juvenile142 literature was a worthy gentleman who felt it his mission to convert all the world to his particular belief. But much as she liked to write for children, Jo could not consent to depict143 all her naughty boys as being eaten by bears or tossed by mad bulls because they did not go to a particular Sabbath school, nor all the good infants who did go as rewarded by every kind of bliss144, from gilded145 gingerbread to escorts of angels when they departed this life with psalms146 or sermons on their lisping tongues. So nothing came of these trials, and Jo corked147 up her inkstand, and said in a fit of very wholesome148 humility149 . . .
"I don't know anything. I'll wait until I do before I try again, and meantime, 'sweep mud in the street' if I can't do better, that's honest, at least." Which decision proved that her second tumble down the beanstalk had done her some good.
While these internal revolutions were going on, her external life had been as busy and uneventful as usual, and if she sometimes looked serious or a little sad no one observed it but Professor Bhaer. He did it so quietly that Jo never knew he was watching to see if she would accept and profit by his reproof150, but she stood the test, and he was satisfied, for though no words passed between them, he knew that she had given up writing. Not only did he guess it by the fact that the second finger of her right hand was no longer inky, but she spent her evenings downstairs now, was met no more among newspaper offices, and studied with a dogged patience, which assured him that she was bent on occupying her mind with something useful, if not pleasant.
He helped her in many ways, proving himself a true friend, and Jo was happy, for while her pen lay idle, she was learning other lessons besides German, and laying a foundation for the sensation story of her own life.
It was a pleasant winter and a long one, for she did not leave Mrs. Kirke till June. Everyone seemed sorry when the time came. The children were inconsolable, and Mr. Bhaer's hair stuck straight up all over his head, for he always rumpled26 it wildly when disturbed in mind.
"Going home? Ah, you are happy that you haf a home to go in," he said, when she told him, and sat silently pulling his beard in the corner, while she held a little levee on that last evening.
She was going early, so she bade them all goodbye overnight, and when his turn came, she said warmly, "Now, Sir, you won't forget to come and see us, if you ever travel our way, will you? I'll never forgive you if you do, for I want them all to know my friend."
"Do you? Shall I come?" he asked, looking down at her with an eager expression which she did not see.
"Yes, come next month. Laurie graduates then, and you'd enjoy commencement as something new."
"That is your best friend, of whom you speak?" he said in an altered tone.
"Yes, my boy Teddy. I'm very proud of him and should like you to see him."
Jo looked up then, quite unconscious of anything but her own pleasure in the prospect151 of showing them to one another. Something in Mr. Bhaer's face suddenly recalled the fact that she might find Laurie more than a 'best friend', and simply because she particularly wished not to look as if anything was the matter, she involuntarily began to blush, and the more she tried not to, the redder she grew. If it had not been for Tina on her knee. She didn't know what would have become of her. Fortunately the child was moved to hug her, so she managed to hide her face an instant, hoping the Professor did not see it. But he did, and his own changed again from that momentary152 anxiety to its usual expression, as he said cordially . . .
"I fear I shall not make the time for that, but I wish the friend much success, and you all happiness. Gott bless you!" And with that, he shook hands warmly, shouldered Tina, and went away.
But after the boys were abed, he sat long before his fire with the tired look on his face and the 'heimweh', or homesickness, lying heavy at his heart. Once, when he remembered Jo as she sat with the little child in her lap and that new softness in her face, he leaned his head on his hands a minute, and then roamed about the room, as if in search of something that he could not find.
"It is not for me, I must not hope it now," he said to himself, with a sigh that was almost a groan153. Then, as if reproaching himself for the longing154 that he could not repress, he went and kissed the two tousled heads upon the pillow, took down his seldom-used meerschaum, and opened his Plato.
He did his best and did it manfully, but I don't think he found that a pair of rampant155 boys, a pipe, or even the divine Plato, were very satisfactory substitutes for wife and child at home.
Early as it was, he was at the station next morning to see Jo off, and thanks to him, she began her solitary journey with the pleasant memory of a familiar face smiling its farewell, a bunch of violets to keep her company, and best of all, the happy thought, "Well, the winter's gone, and I've written no books, earned no fortune, but I've made a friend worth having and I'll try to keep him all my life."
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labors
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| v.努力争取(for)( labor的第三人称单数 )；苦干；详细分析；（指引擎）缓慢而困难地运转 | |
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delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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chateau
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| n.城堡，别墅 | |
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quenched
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| 解（渴）( quench的过去式和过去分词 )； 终止（某事物）； （用水）扑灭（火焰等）； 将（热物体）放入水中急速冷却 | |
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stout
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| adj.强壮的，粗大的，结实的，勇猛的，矮胖的 | |
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6
jack
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| n.插座，千斤顶，男人；v.抬起，提醒，扛举；n.（Jake）杰克 | |
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7
jacks
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| n.抓子游戏；千斤顶( jack的名词复数 )；（电）插孔；[电子学]插座；放弃 | |
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8
immortal
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| adj.不朽的；永生的，不死的；神的 | |
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9
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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10
scrambled
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| v.快速爬行( scramble的过去式和过去分词 )；攀登；争夺；（军事飞机）紧急起飞 | |
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11
concocted
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| v.将（尤指通常不相配合的）成分混合成某物( concoct的过去式和过去分词 )；调制；编造；捏造 | |
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12
daunted
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| 使（某人）气馁，威吓( daunt的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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13
embarrassment
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| n.尴尬；使人为难的人(事物)；障碍；窘迫 | |
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14
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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15
expressive
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| adj.表现的，表达…的，富于表情的 | |
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16
novice
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| adj.新手的，生手的 | |
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17
bonnet
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| n.无边女帽；童帽 | |
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18
dignified
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| a.可敬的，高贵的 | |
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19
nettled
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| v.拿荨麻打，拿荨麻刺（nettle的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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20
abashed
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| adj.窘迫的，尴尬的v.使羞愧，使局促，使窘迫( abash的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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21
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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22
discomfiture
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| n.崩溃；大败；挫败；困惑 | |
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23
irritation
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| n.激怒，恼怒，生气 | |
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24
alterations
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| n.改动( alteration的名词复数 )；更改；变化；改变 | |
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25
crumpled
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| adj. 弯扭的, 变皱的 动词crumple的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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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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27
repent
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| v.悔悟，悔改，忏悔，后悔 | |
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28
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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29
fable
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| n.寓言；童话；神话 | |
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30
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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31
spicy
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| adj.加香料的；辛辣的，有风味的 | |
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32
graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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33
plunge
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| v.跳入，(使)投入，(使)陷入；猛冲 | |
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34
sensational
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| adj.使人感动的，非常好的，轰动的，耸人听闻的 | |
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35
nuns
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| n.（通常指基督教的）修女， （佛教的）尼姑( nun的名词复数 ) | |
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36
punctuation
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| n.标点符号，标点法 | |
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37
hacks
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| 黑客 | |
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38
lurch
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| n.突然向前或旁边倒；v.蹒跚而行 | |
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39
emaciated
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| adj.衰弱的，消瘦的 | |
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40
hoard
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| n./v.窖藏，贮存，囤积 | |
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41
afterward
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| adv.后来；以后 | |
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42
pricks
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| 刺痛( prick的名词复数 )； 刺孔； 刺痕； 植物的刺 | |
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43
anticipations
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| 预期( anticipation的名词复数 )； 预测； （信托财产收益的）预支； 预期的事物 | |
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44
earnings
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| n.工资收人；利润，利益，所得 | |
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45
asylums
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| n.避难所( asylum的名词复数 )；庇护；政治避难；精神病院 | |
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46
ransacked
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| v.彻底搜查( ransack的过去式和过去分词 )；抢劫，掠夺 | |
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47
imp
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| n.顽童 | |
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48
tragic
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| adj.悲剧的，悲剧性的，悲惨的 | |
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49
underlies
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| v.位于或存在于（某物）之下( underlie的第三人称单数 )；构成…的基础（或起因），引起 | |
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50
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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51
delved
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| v.深入探究，钻研( delve的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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52
folly
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| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
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53
misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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54
prospering
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| 成功，兴旺( prosper的现在分词 ) | |
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55
desecrate
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| v.供俗用，亵渎，污辱 | |
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56
affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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57
premature
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| adj.比预期时间早的；不成熟的，仓促的 | |
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58
morbid
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| adj.病的；致病的；病态的；可怕的 | |
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59
proceeding
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| n.行动，进行，(pl.)会议录，学报 | |
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60
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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61
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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62
conceit
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| n.自负，自高自大 | |
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63
imposing
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| adj.使人难忘的，壮丽的，堂皇的，雄伟的 | |
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64
genial
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| adj.亲切的，和蔼的，愉快的，脾气好的 | |
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65
hearth
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| n.壁炉炉床，壁炉地面 | |
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66
peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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67
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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68
benevolence
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| n.慈悲，捐助 | |
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69
hospitable
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| adj.好客的；宽容的；有利的，适宜的 | |
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70
underneath
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| adj.在...下面，在...底下；adv.在下面 | |
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71
rusty
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| adj.生锈的；锈色的；荒废了的 | |
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72
baggy
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| adj.膨胀如袋的，宽松下垂的 | |
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73
benevolent
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| adj.仁慈的，乐善好施的 | |
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74
dignify
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| vt.使有尊严；使崇高；给增光 | |
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75
shoveled
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| vt.铲，铲出（shovel的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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76
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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77
esteem
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| n.尊敬，尊重；vt.尊重，敬重；把…看作 | |
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78
esteemed
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| adj.受人尊敬的v.尊敬( esteem的过去式和过去分词 )；敬重；认为；以为 | |
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79
divulged
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| v.吐露，泄露( divulge的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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80
homely
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| adj.家常的，简朴的；不漂亮的 | |
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81
entree
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| n.入场权，进入权 | |
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82
solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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83
kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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84
symposium
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| n.讨论会，专题报告会；专题论文集 | |
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85
celebrities
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| n.（尤指娱乐界的）名人( celebrity的名词复数 )；名流；名声；名誉 | |
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86
mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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87
reverence
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| n.敬畏，尊敬，尊严；Reverence:对某些基督教神职人员的尊称；v.尊敬，敬畏，崇敬 | |
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88
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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89
behold
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| v.看，注视，看到 | |
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90
devouring
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| 吞没( devour的现在分词 )； 耗尽； 津津有味地看； 狼吞虎咽地吃光 | |
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91
ardor
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| n.热情，狂热 | |
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92
idol
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| n.偶像，红人，宠儿 | |
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93
dispelled
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| v.驱散，赶跑( dispel的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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94
regularity
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| n.规律性，规则性；匀称，整齐 | |
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95
pendulum
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| n.摆，钟摆 | |
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96
flirted
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| v.调情，打情骂俏( flirt的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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97
daggers
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| 匕首，短剑( dagger的名词复数 ) | |
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98
amiably
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| adv.和蔼可亲地，亲切地 | |
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99
satirizing
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| v.讽刺，讥讽( satirize的现在分词 ) | |
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100
imbibed
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| v.吸收( imbibe的过去式和过去分词 )；喝；吸取；吸气 | |
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101
slumber
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| n.睡眠，沉睡状态 | |
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102
loquacity
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| n.多话，饶舌 | |
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103
rendering
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| n.表现，描写 | |
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104
oysters
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| 牡蛎( oyster的名词复数 ) | |
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105
specimen
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| n.样本，标本 | |
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106
disillusioned
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| a.不再抱幻想的，大失所望的，幻想破灭的 | |
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107
ambling
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| v.（马）缓行( amble的现在分词 )；从容地走，漫步 | |
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108
recess
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| n.短期休息，壁凹（墙上装架子，柜子等凹处） | |
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109
subjective
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| a.主观(上)的，个人的 | |
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110
unintelligible
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| adj.无法了解的，难解的，莫明其妙的 | |
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111
infinitely
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| adv.无限地，无穷地 | |
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112
beckoned
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| v.（用头或手的动作）示意，召唤( beckon的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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113
speculative
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| adj.思索性的，暝想性的，推理的 | |
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114
annihilated
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| v.（彻底）消灭( annihilate的过去式和过去分词 )；使无效；废止；彻底击溃 | |
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115
philosophic
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| adj.哲学的，贤明的 | |
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116
scorched
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| 烧焦，烤焦( scorch的过去式和过去分词 )； 使（植物）枯萎，把…晒枯； 高速行驶； 枯焦 | |
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117
eloquence
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| n.雄辩；口才，修辞 | |
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118
immortality
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| n.不死，不朽 | |
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119
whit
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| n.一点，丝毫 | |
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120
heartiest
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| 亲切的( hearty的最高级 )； 热诚的； 健壮的； 精神饱满的 | |
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121
coveted
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| 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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122
hearty
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| adj.热情友好的；衷心的；尽情的，纵情的 | |
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123
irresistible
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| adj.非常诱人的，无法拒绝的，无法抗拒的 | |
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124
bass
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| n.男低音(歌手)；低音乐器；低音大提琴 | |
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125
corpse
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| n.尸体，死尸 | |
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126
villain
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| n.反派演员，反面人物；恶棍；问题的起因 | |
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127
viper
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| n.毒蛇；危险的人 | |
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128
subsided
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| v.（土地）下陷（因在地下采矿）( subside的过去式和过去分词 )；减弱；下降至较低或正常水平；一下子坐在椅子等上 | |
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129
puddle
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| n.(雨)水坑，泥潭 | |
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130
gunpowder
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| n.火药 | |
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131
slits
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| n.狭长的口子，裂缝( slit的名词复数 )v.切开，撕开( slit的第三人称单数 )；在…上开狭长口子 | |
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132
crumpling
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| 压皱，弄皱( crumple的现在分词 )； 变皱 | |
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133
demon
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| n.魔鬼，恶魔 | |
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134
cinder
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| n.余烬，矿渣 | |
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135
fiery
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| adj.燃烧着的，火红的；暴躁的；激烈的 | |
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136
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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137
inconvenient
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| adj.不方便的，令人感到麻烦的 | |
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138
guardians
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| 监护人( guardian的名词复数 )； 保护者，维护者 | |
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139
gem
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| n.宝石，珠宝；受爱戴的人 [同]jewel | |
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140
filthy
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| adj.卑劣的；恶劣的，肮脏的 | |
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141
lucre
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| n.金钱，财富 | |
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142
juvenile
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| n.青少年，少年读物；adj.青少年的，幼稚的 | |
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143
depict
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| vt.描画，描绘；描写，描述 | |
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144
bliss
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| n.狂喜，福佑，天赐的福 | |
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145
gilded
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| a.镀金的，富有的 | |
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146
psalms
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| n.赞美诗( psalm的名词复数 )；圣诗；圣歌；(中的) | |
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147
corked
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| adj.带木塞气味的，塞着瓶塞的v.用瓶塞塞住( cork的过去式 ) | |
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148
wholesome
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| adj.适合；卫生的；有益健康的；显示身心健康的 | |
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149
humility
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| n.谦逊，谦恭 | |
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150
reproof
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| n.斥责，责备 | |
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151
prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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152
momentary
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| adj.片刻的，瞬息的；短暂的 | |
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153
groan
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| vi./n.呻吟，抱怨；(发出)呻吟般的声音 | |
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154
longing
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| n.（for）渴望 | |
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155
rampant
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| adj.(植物)蔓生的；狂暴的，无约束的 | |
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