Norman and Elena were both swept from their seats in spite of themselves. Elena's eyes flashed with excitement.
"What on earth is that they are singing, Norman?" she whispered.
"The Marseillaise hymn2."
"Isn't it thrilling?" she gasped3.
"It makes your heart leap, doesn't it?"
"And, heavens, how they sing it!" she exclaimed.
Norman turned and looked over the crowd of eager faces—every man and woman singing with the passionate4 enthusiasm of religious fanatics5—an enthusiasm electric, contagious6, overwhelming. In spite of himself he felt his heart beat with quickened sympathy.
He was amazed at the character of the audience. He had expected to see a throng7 of low-browed brutes8. The first shock he received was the [20]feeling that this crowd was distinctly an intellectual one. They might be fanatics. They certainly were not fools. The stamp of personality was clean cut on almost every face. They were fighters. They meant business and they didn't care who knew it. Some of them wore dirty clothes, but their faces were stamped with the power of free, rebellious10 thought—a power that always commands respect in spite of shabby clothes. He looked in vain for a single joyous11 face. Not a smile. Deep, dark eyes, shining with the light of purpose, mouths firm, headstrong, merciless, and bitter, but nowhere the glimmer12 of a ray of sunlight! He felt with a sense of awe13 the uncanny presence of Tragedy.
And to his amazement14 he noticed a lot of men he knew in the crowd—three or four authors, a newspaper reporter evidently off duty, two college professors, a clergyman, three artists, a priest, and a street preacher.
The hymn died away into a low sigh, like the sob15 of the wind after a storm. The crowd sank to their seats so quietly with the dying of the music that Norman and Elena were standing16 alone for an instant. They awoke from the spell, and dropped into their seats with evident embarrassment17.
A boy of sixteen stepped briskly to the front in answer to a nod from the chairman, and recited a [21]Socialist18 poem. After the first stanza19, which was crude and stilted20, Norman's eye rested on the heavy figure of the chairman. He was surprised at the power of his rugged21 face. Through its brute9 strength flashed the keenest sense of alert intelligence—an intelligence which seemed to lurk22 behind the big, shaggy eyebrows23 as if about to spring on its victim. His heavy-set face was covered with a thick, reddish blond beard and his short hair stood up straight on his head, like the bristles24 of a wild boar. Of medium height and heavy build, with arms and legs of extraordinary muscle and big, coarse short fingers evidently gnarled and knotted, by the coarsest labor25 in youth, he looked like a blacksmith who had taken a college course by the light of his forge at night. There was something about the way he sat crouching26 low in his seat, watching with his keen gray eyes everything that passed, that bespoke27 the man of reserve power—the man who was quietly waiting his hour.
"By George, a pretty good pet name they've given him—'The Blond Beast,'" Norman muttered. "I shouldn't like to tackle him in the dark."
The woman in red leaned toward the chairman and said something in low tones. He nodded his massive head, smiled, and looked back over his shoulder at the girl sitting behind them. [22]The movement showed for the first time a long ugly scar on the side of his great neck.
"Look at that fellow's neck!" whispered Elena.
"Yes. He had a close call that time," Norman answered. "But I'll bet the other one never lived to tell the story——"
"Sh! 'The Scarlet Nun29' is going to speak."
The woman in red rose and walked to the edge of the platform. She stood silent for a moment, her tall, graceful30, willowy figure erect31 and tense. The crowd burst into a tumult32 of applause. She smiled, bowed, and lifted her slender hand with a quick, imperious gesture for silence.
Norman was struck by the note of religious fervour which her whole personality seemed to radiate. The peculiar33 scarlet robe she wore accented this impression perhaps, and its strangeness added a touch of awe. The dress gave one the impression of a nun's garb34 except that its long folds were so arranged that they revealed rather than concealed35 the beautiful lines of her graceful figure. The colour was the deep, warm red of the Socialist flag—the colour of human blood, chosen as the symbol of the universal brotherhood36 of man. The effect of a nun's cowl was given by a thin scarlet mantilla thrown over the head, the silken meshes37 of its long fringe mingling38 with the waves of her thick black [23]hair. Her face was that of a madonna of the slender type, except that the lips were too full, round, and sensuous39 and her long eyelashes drooped40 slightly over dark, lustrous41 eyes.
"Comrades," she began, in slow, measured tones, "after to-night I retire from the platform to take up work for which I am better fitted. I promised you a big surprise this evening, and you shall not be disappointed——"
A murmur42 rippled43 the audience and she paused, smiling into Norman's face with a curious look. She spoke28 with a decided44 foreign accent with little moments of coquettish hesitation45 as though feeling for words. Norman felt an almost irresistible46 impulse to help her.
"I am going to in-tro-duce to you to-night," she continued, "a new leader, whose tongue the God of the poor and the outcast and the dis-in-herited has touched with divine fire. She is no stran-ger. Twenty years ago she was born beneath the bright skies of Cal-i-for-nia at Anaheim, in the little Socialist colony of Polish dreamers led by Madame Modjeska, Count Bozenta, and Henry Sienkiewicz, the distin-guished author of 'Quo Vadis.' As you know, the colony failed. Her mother died in poverty and she was placed in an orphan47 asylum48 until eight years of age, when she was taken back to Poland by her foolish kins-men. [24]Four years later I found her, a ragged49, homeless waif, in the streets of Warsaw, alone and star-ving. Since then she has been mine. Amid the squalor and misery50 of the old world her busy little tongue never tired telling of the glories of Cali-for-nia! Always she sighed for its groves51 of oranges and olives, its dazzling flowers, its luscious52 grapes, its rich valleys, its cloud-kissed, snow-clad mountains and the mur-mur of its mighty53 seas! It was her tiny hand that led me across the ocean to you. I have sent her to school in one of your Western colleges where a great Socialist professor has taught her history and e-con-omics. I have the high honour, comrades, of intro-ducing to you the child of genius who from to-night will be the Joan of Arc of our Cause, Comrade Barbara Bozenta!"
She quickly turned and drew forward a trembling slip of a girl whose big brown eyes were swimming in tears of excitement. A moment of intense silence, and the crowd burst into cheers as the dazzling beauty of their new champion slowly dawned on their understanding. The woman in red resumed her seat, and the girl stood bowing, trembling, and smiling.
The young athlete watched her keenly. Never had he seen such a bundle of quivering, pulsing, nervous, ravishing beauty. He could [25]have sworn he saw electric sparks flash from the tips of every eyelash, from every strand54 of the mass of brown curls that circled her face and fell in rich profusion55 on her shoulders and across her heaving bosom56. He felt before she had uttered a word—felt, rather than saw—the remarkable57 effectiveness of the simple, girlish dress which enhanced her dark beauty. She wore the same deep red as the older woman, but the bottom of the skirt was relieved by a row of ruffles58 edged with white lace. A scarf of white embroidered59 at the ends with scarlet flowers, was thrown gracefully60 around her shoulders and hung below the knees. Her round young arms were bare to the elbows, her throat and neck bare to the upper edge of the full bust61.
The girl's eyes sought Norman's for an imperceptible instant and a smile flashed from her trembling lips. The cheering ceased and she began to speak. He watched her with breathless intensity62, and listened with steadily63 increasing fascination64. Her voice at first was low, yet every word fell clear and distinct. Never had he heard a voice so tender and full of expressive65 feeling—soft and mellow66, sweet like the notes of a flute67. There was something in its tone quality that compelled sympathy, that stole into the inner depths of the soul of the listener, and led reason a willing captive.
[26]In simple yet burning words she told of the darkness and poverty, the crime and shame, hunger and cruelty of the old world in which she had spent four years of her childhood. And then in a flight of poetic68 eloquence69, came the story of her dreams of California, the Golden West, the land of eternal sunshine and flowers. And then, in a voice quivering and choking with emotion, she drew the picture of what she found—of Hell's Half Acre, in which she stood, with its brazen70 vice71, its crime, its hopeless misery, its want and despair. With bold and fierce invective72 she charged modern civilization with this infamy73.
"Why do strong men go forth74 to war?" she cried, looking into the depths of Norman's soul. "Here is the enemy at your door, gripping the soft, white throats of your girls. Watch them sink into the mire75 at your feet and then down, down into the black sewers76 of the under-world never to rise again! I, too, call for volunteers. For heroes and heroines—not to fight another—I call you to a nobler warfare77. I call you to the salvation78 of a world. Will you come? I offer you stones for bread, the sky for your canopy79, the earth for your bed, and for your wages death! None may enter but the brave. Will you come——?"
The last words of her appeal rang through [27]Norman's heart with resistless power. Her round, soft arms seemed about his neck and his soul went out to her in passionate yearning80. He gripped the chair to hold himself back from shouting:
"Yes! I'm coming!"
She sank to her seat before the crowd realized that she had stopped. A shout of triumph shook the building—wave after wave, rising and falling in ever-increasing intensity. At its height the Scarlet Nun sprang to her feet, with a graceful leap reached the edge of the platform, and again lifted her hand. A sudden hush81 fell on the crowd.
"Now, comrades, the battle-hymn of the Republic set to new music! Mark its words, and remember that we sing it not as a mem-ory, but as a proph-esy of the day our streets may run red with the blood of the last struggle of Man to break his chains of Slav-ery—a proph-esy, remember, not a mem-ory! Read it Barbara!"
The girl was by her side in an instant, and read from memory, her clear sweet voice tremulous with passion:
"Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord; He is trampling82 out the vintage where the grapes of wrath83 are stored; He has loosed the fateful lightning of his terrible swift sword: His truth is marching on!
I have seen Him in the watch-fires of a hundred circling camps;[28] They have builded Him an altar in the evening's dews and damps; I can read His righteous sentence by the dim and flaring84 lamps: His day is marching on!
He has sounded forth the trumpet85 that shall never call retreat; He is sifting86 out the hearts of men before His judgment87 seat; Oh! be swift, my soul, to answer them, be jubilant my feet! Our God is marching on!"
The crowd burst again into triumphant88 song, and Norman looked at their faces with increasing amazement. The immense vitality89 of their faith, the rush of its forward movement, the grandeur90 and audacity91 of their programme struck him as a revelation. They proposed no half-way measures. They meant to uproot92 the foundations of modern society and build a new world on its ruins. Their leaders were fanatics—yes. But fanatics were the only kind of people who would dare such things and do them. Here was a movement, which at least meant something—something big, heroic, daring. His face suddenly flushed and his heart leaped with an impulse.
"In heaven's name, Norman, what's the matter?" Elena asked.
[29]The young poet-athlete looked at her in a dazed sort of way and stammered93:
"Did you ever see anything like it?"
"No, and I don't want to again," she replied with a frown. "Let's go home."
"Wait, they are taking up a collection. At least we must pay for our seats."
When the usher94 passed he emptied the contents of his pocket in the collection-box.
As the meeting broke up, the boy who placed their seats touched Norman on the arm.
"Let me introduce ye to her. I wants ter tell 'er ye er my friend—I've yelled my head off for ye many a day on de football ground. Jest er minute. I'll fetch 'er right down."
The boy darted95 up on the platform, and Norman turned to Elena:
"Shall we please the boy?"
"You mean yourself," she replied. "I decline the honour."
She turned away into the crowd as the boy returned leading Barbara.
Norman hastened to meet them at the foot of the platform steps.
"Dis is me friend, Worth, de captain of de football team, Miss Barbara," proudly exclaimed the boy.
Barbara extended her soft hand with a warm, [30]friendly smile, and Norman clasped it while his heart throbbed96.
"I congratulate you," he said, "on your wonderful triumph to-night."
"You were interested?" she asked, quietly.
"More than I can tell you," was the quick response.
"Then join our club and help me in my work among the poor," she urged, with frank eagerness. "We meet to-morrow afternoon at three o'clock. Won't you come?"
A long, deep look into her brown eyes—his face flushed and his heart leaped with sudden resolution.
"Thank you, I will," he slowly answered.
He joined Elena at the door and they walked home in brooding silence.
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收听单词发音
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1
scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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hymn
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| n.赞美诗，圣歌，颂歌 | |
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gasped
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| v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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passionate
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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fanatics
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| 狂热者，入迷者( fanatic的名词复数 ) | |
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contagious
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| adj.传染性的，有感染力的 | |
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throng
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| n.人群，群众；v.拥挤，群集 | |
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brutes
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| 兽( brute的名词复数 )； 畜生； 残酷无情的人； 兽性 | |
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brute
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| n.野兽，兽性 | |
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rebellious
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| adj.造反的，反抗的，难控制的 | |
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joyous
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| adj.充满快乐的；令人高兴的 | |
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glimmer
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| v.发出闪烁的微光；n.微光，微弱的闪光 | |
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13
awe
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| n.敬畏，惊惧；vt.使敬畏，使惊惧 | |
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amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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sob
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| n.空间轨道的轰炸机；呜咽，哭泣 | |
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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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embarrassment
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| n.尴尬；使人为难的人(事物)；障碍；窘迫 | |
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socialist
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| n.社会主义者；adj.社会主义的 | |
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stanza
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| n.（诗）节，段 | |
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stilted
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| adj.虚饰的；夸张的 | |
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rugged
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| adj.高低不平的，粗糙的，粗壮的，强健的 | |
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lurk
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| n.潜伏，潜行；v.潜藏，潜伏，埋伏 | |
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eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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bristles
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| 短而硬的毛发，刷子毛( bristle的名词复数 ) | |
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labor
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| n.劳动，努力，工作，劳工；分娩；vi.劳动，努力，苦干；vt.详细分析；麻烦 | |
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26
crouching
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| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的现在分词 ) | |
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bespoke
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| adj.（产品）订做的；专做订货的v.预定( bespeak的过去式 )；订（货）；证明；预先请求 | |
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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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nun
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| n.修女，尼姑 | |
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graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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erect
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| n./v.树立，建立，使竖立；adj.直立的，垂直的 | |
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tumult
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| n.喧哗；激动，混乱；吵闹 | |
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peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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garb
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| n.服装，装束 | |
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concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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brotherhood
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| n.兄弟般的关系，手中情谊 | |
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meshes
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| 网孔( mesh的名词复数 )； 网状物； 陷阱； 困境 | |
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mingling
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| adj.混合的 | |
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sensuous
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| adj.激发美感的；感官的，感觉上的 | |
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40
drooped
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| 弯曲或下垂，发蔫( droop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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41
lustrous
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| adj.有光泽的；光辉的 | |
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42
murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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43
rippled
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| 使泛起涟漪（ripple的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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44
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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45
hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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46
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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47
orphan
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| n.孤儿；adj.无父母的 | |
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48
asylum
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| n.避难所，庇护所，避难 | |
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49
ragged
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| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
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50
misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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51
groves
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| 树丛，小树林( grove的名词复数 ) | |
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52
luscious
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| adj.美味的；芬芳的；肉感的，引与性欲的 | |
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53
mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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54
strand
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| vt.使（船）搁浅，使（某人）困于（某地） | |
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profusion
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| n.挥霍；丰富 | |
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56
bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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57
remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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ruffles
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| 褶裥花边( ruffle的名词复数 ) | |
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embroidered
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| adj．绣花的 | |
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60
gracefully
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| ad.大大方方地；优美地 | |
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61
bust
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| vt.打破；vi.爆裂；n.半身像；胸部 | |
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intensity
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| n.强烈，剧烈；强度；烈度 | |
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steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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fascination
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| n.令人着迷的事物，魅力，迷恋 | |
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expressive
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| adj.表现的，表达…的，富于表情的 | |
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66
mellow
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| adj.柔和的；熟透的；v.变柔和；(使)成熟 | |
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flute
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| n.长笛；v.吹笛 | |
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poetic
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| adj.富有诗意的，有诗人气质的，善于抒情的 | |
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eloquence
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| n.雄辩；口才，修辞 | |
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70
brazen
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| adj.厚脸皮的，无耻的，坚硬的 | |
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71
vice
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| n.坏事；恶习；[pl.]台钳，老虎钳；adj.副的 | |
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72
invective
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| n.痛骂，恶意抨击 | |
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infamy
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| n.声名狼藉，出丑，恶行 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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mire
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| n.泥沼，泥泞；v.使...陷于泥泞，使...陷入困境 | |
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sewers
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| n.阴沟，污水管，下水道( sewer的名词复数 ) | |
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77
warfare
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| n.战争(状态)；斗争；冲突 | |
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78
salvation
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| n.（尤指基督）救世，超度，拯救，解困 | |
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79
canopy
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| n.天篷，遮篷 | |
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80
yearning
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| a.渴望的；向往的；怀念的 | |
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81
hush
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| int.嘘，别出声；n.沉默，静寂；v.使安静 | |
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82
trampling
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| 踩( trample的现在分词 )； 践踏； 无视； 侵犯 | |
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83
wrath
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| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
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84
flaring
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| a.火焰摇曳的，过份艳丽的 | |
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85
trumpet
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| n.喇叭，喇叭声；v.吹喇叭，吹嘘 | |
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86
sifting
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| n.筛，过滤v.筛( sift的现在分词 )；筛滤；细查；详审 | |
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87
judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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88
triumphant
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| adj.胜利的，成功的；狂欢的，喜悦的 | |
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89
vitality
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| n.活力，生命力，效力 | |
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90
grandeur
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| n.伟大，崇高，宏伟，庄严，豪华 | |
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audacity
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| n.大胆，卤莽，无礼 | |
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92
uproot
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| v.连根拔起，拔除；根除，灭绝；赶出家园，被迫移开 | |
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93
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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94
usher
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| n.带位员，招待员；vt.引导，护送；vi.做招待，担任引座员 | |
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95
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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96
throbbed
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| 抽痛( throb的过去式和过去分词 )； （心脏、脉搏等）跳动 | |
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