How many a poor devil has dropped from the footboard of the train just before these electric lights were reached—to take his chance of crossing the frontier before morning—history will never tell! How many have succeeded in passing in and out of that dread1 railway station with a false passport and a steady face, beneath the searching eye of the officials, Heaven only knows! There is no other way of passing Alexandrowo—of getting in or out of the kingdom of Poland—but by this route. Before the train is at a standstill at the platform each one of the long corridor carriages is boarded by a man in the dirty white trousers, the green tunic2 and green cap, the top-boots, and the majesty3 of Russian law. Here, whatever time of day or night, winter or summer, it is always as light as day, thanks to an unsparing use of electricity. There are always sentries4 on the outer side of the train. The platform is a prison-yard—the waiting rooms are prison-yards.
With a passport in perfect order, vised for here and there and everywhere, with good clothes, good luggage, and nothing contraband5 in baggage or demeanor6, Alexandrowo is easy enough. Obedience7 and patience will see the traveller through. There is no fear of his being left in the huge station, or of his going anywhere but to his avowed8 and rightful destination. But with a passport that is old or torn, with a visa which bears any but a recent date, with a restless eye or a hunted look, the voyager had better take his chance of dropping from the footboard at speed, especially if it be a misty9 night.
Like sheep, the passengers are driven from the train in which not so much as a newspaper is left. Only the sleeping-car is allowed to go through, but it is emptied and searched. The travellers are penned within a large room where the luggage is inspected, and they are deprived of their passports. When the customs formalities are over they are allowed to find the refreshment-room, and there console themselves with weak tea in tumblers until such time as they are released.
The train on this occasion was a full one, and the great inspection-room, with its bare walls and glaring lights, crammed10 to overflowing11. The majority of the travellers seemed, as usual, to be Germans. There were a few ladies. And two men, better dressed than the others, had the appearance of Englishmen. They drifted together—just as the women drifted together and the little knot of shady characters who hoped against hope that their passports were in order. For the most part, no one spoke12, though one German commercial traveller protested with so much warmth that an examination of his trunks was nothing but an intrusion on the officer's valuable time that a few essayed to laugh and feel at their ease.
Reginald Cartoner, who had been among the first to quit Lady Orlay's, was an easy first across the frontier. He had twelve hours' start of anybody, and was twenty-four hours ahead of all except Paul Deulin, whose train had steamed into Berlin Station as the Warsaw Express left it. He seemed to know the ways of Alexandrowo, and the formalities to be observed at the frontier, but he was not eager to betray his knowledge. He obeyed with a silent patience the instructions of the white-aproned, black-capped porter who had a semi-official charge of him. He made no attempt to escape an examination of his luggage, and he avoided the refreshment-room tea.
Cartoner glanced at the man, whose appearance would seem to indicate that he was a fellow-countryman, and made sure that he did not know him. Then he looked at him again, and the other happened to turn his profile. Cartoner recognized the profile, and drew away to the far corner of the examination-room. But they drifted together again—or, perhaps, the younger man made a point of approaching. It was, at all events, he who, when all had been marshalled into the refreshment-room, drew forward a chair and sat down at the table where Cartoner had placed himself.
He ordered a cup of coffee in Russian, and sought his cigarette-case. He opened it and laid it on the table in front of Cartoner. He was a fair young man, with an energetic manner and the clear, ruddy complexion13 of a high-born Briton.
“Englishman?” he said, with an easy and friendly nod.
“Thought you were,” said the other, who, though his clothes were English and his language was English, was nevertheless not quite an Englishman. There was a sort of eagerness in his look, a picturesque15 turn of the head—a sense, as it were, of the outwardly pictorial16 side of existence. He moved his chair, in order to turn his back on a Russian officer who was seated near, and did it absently, as if mechanically closing his eye to something unsightly and conducive17 to discomfort18. Then he turned to his coffee with a youthful spirit of enjoyment19.
“All this would be mildly amusing,” he said, “at say any other hour of the twenty-four, but at three in the morning it is rather poor fun. Do you succeed in sleeping in these German schlafwagens?”
“I can sleep anywhere,” replied Cartoner, and his companion glanced at him inquiringly. It seemed that he was sleepy now, and did not wish to talk.
“I know Alexandrowo pretty well,” the other volunteered, nevertheless, “and the ways of these gentlemen. With some of them I am quite on friendly terms. They are inconceivably stupid; as boring as—the multiplication-table. I am going to Warsaw; are you? I fancy we have the sleeping-car to ourselves. I live in Warsaw as much as anywhere.”
He paused to feel in his pocket, not for his cigarettes this time, but for a card.
“I know who you are,” said Cartoner, quietly: “I recognized you from your likeness20 to your sister. I was dancing with her forty-eight hours ago in London.”
“Wanda?” inquired the other, eagerly. “Dear old Wanda! How is she? She was the prettiest girl in the room, I bet.”
He leaned across the table.
“Tell me,” he said, “all about them. But, first, tell me your name. Wanda writes to me nearly every day, and I hear about all their friends—the Orlays and the others. What is your name? She is sure to have made mention of it in her letters.”
“Reginald Cartoner.”
“Ah! I have heard of you—but not from Wanda.”
He paused to reflect.
“No,” he added, rather wonderingly, after a pause. “No, she never mentioned your name. But, of course, I know it. It is better known out of England than in your own country, I fancy. Deulin—you know Deulin?—has spoken to us of you. No doubt we have dozens of other friends in common. We shall find them out in time. I am very glad to meet you. You say you know my name—yes, I am Martin Bukaty. Odd that you should have recognized me from my likeness to Wanda. I am very glad you think I am like her. Dear old Wanda! She is a better sort than I am, you know.”
And he finished with a frank and hearty21 laugh—not that there was anything to laugh at, but merely because he was young, and looked at life from a cheerful standpoint.
Cartoner sipped22 his coffee, and looked reflectively at his companion over the cup. “Cartoner,” Paul Deulin had once said to a common friend, “weighs you, and naturally finds you wanting.” It seemed that he was weighing Prince Martin Bukaty now.
“I saw your father also,” he said, at length. “He was kind enough to ask me to call, which I did.”
“That was kind of you. Of course we know no one in London—no one, I mean, who speaks anything except English. That is a thing which is never quite understood on the Continent—that if you go to London you must speak English. If you cannot, you had better hang yourself and be done with it, for you are practically in solitary23 confinement24. My father does not easily make friends—you must have been very civil to him.”
“According to my lights, I was,” admitted Cartoner.
Martin laughed again. It is a gay heart that can be amused at three in the morning.
“The truth is,” continued Martin, in his quick and rather heedless way, “that we Poles are under a cloud in Europe now. We are the wounded man by the side of the road from Jerusalem down to Jericho, and there is a tendency to pass by on the other side. We are a nation with a bad want, and it is nobody's business to satisfy it. Everybody is ready, however, to admit that we have been confoundedly badly treated.”
He tossed off his coffee as he spoke, and turned in his chair to nod an acknowledgment to the profound bows of a gold-laced official who had approached him, and who now tendered an envelope, with some murmured words of politeness.
“Thank you—thank you,” said Prince Martin, and slipped the envelope within his pocket.
“It is my passport,” he explained to Cartoner, lightly. “All the rest of you will receive yours when you are in the train. Mine is the doubtful privilege of being known here, and being a suspected character. So they are doubly polite and doubly watchful25. As for you, at Alexandrowo you rejoice in a happy obscurity. You will pass in with the crowd, I suppose.”
“You see,” went on Martin, not too discreetly27, considering their environments, “we cannot forget that we were a great nation before there was a Russian Empire or an Austrian Empire or a German Empire. We are a landlady28 who has seen better days; who has let her lodgings29 to three foreign gentlemen who do not pay the rent—who make us clean their boots and then cast them at our heads.”
The doors of the great room had now been thrown open, and the passengers were passing slowly out to the long, deserted30 platform. It was almost daylight now, and the train was drawn31 up in readiness to start, with a fresh engine and new officials. The homeliness32 of Germany had vanished, giving place to that subtle sense of discomfort and melancholy33 which hangs in the air from the Baltic to the Pacific coast.
“I hope you will stay a long time in Warsaw,” said Martin, as they walked up the platform. “My father and sister will be coming home before long, and will be glad to see you. We will do what we can to make the place tolerable for you. We live in the Kotzebue, and I have a horse for you when you want it. You know we have good horses in Warsaw, as good as any. And the only way to see the country is from the saddle. We have the best horses and the worst roads.”
“Thanks, very much,” replied Cartoner. “I, of course, do not know how long I shall stay. I am not my own master, you understand. I never know from one day to another what my movements may be.”
“No,” replied Martin, in the absent tone of one who only half hears. “No, of course not. By-the-way, we have the races coming on. I hope you will be here for them. In our small way, it is the season in Warsaw now. But, of course, there are difficulties—even the races present difficulties—there is the military element.”
He paused and indicated with a short nod the Russian officer who was passing to his carriage in front of them.
“They have the best horses,” he explained. “They have more money than we have. We have been robbed, as you know. You, whose business it is.”
He turned, with his foot on the step of the carriage. He was so accustomed to the recognition of his rank that he went first without question.
“Yes,” he said, with a laugh, “I had quite forgotten that it is your business to know all about us.”
“I have tried to remind you of it several times,” answered Cartoner, quietly.
“To shut me up, you mean?” asked the younger man.
“Yes.”
“Good-night,” he said. “Hope you will get some more sleep. We shall meet again in a few hours.”
He closed the sliding door, and as the train moved slowly out of the station Cartoner could hear the cheerful voice—of a rather high timbre—in conversation with the German attendant in the corridor. For, like nearly all his countrymen, Prince Martin was a man of tongues. The Pole is compelled by circumstances to learn several languages: first, his own; then the language of the conqueror36, either Russian or German, or perhaps both. For social purposes he must speak the tongue of the two countries that promised so much for Poland and performed so little—England and France.
Cartoner sat on the vacant seat in his compartment, which had not been made up as a bed, and listened thoughtfully to the pleasant tones. It was broad daylight now, and the flat, carefully cultivated land was green and fresh. Cartoner looked out of the window with an unseeing eye, and the sleeping-carriage lumbered37 along in silence. The Englishman seemed to have no desire for sleep, though, not being an impressionable man, he was usually able to rest and work, fast and eat at such times as might be convenient. He was considered by his friends to be a rather cold, steady man, who concealed38 under an indifferent manner an almost insatiable ambition. He certainly had given way to an entire absorption in his profession, and in the dogged acquirement of one language after another as occasion seemed to demand.
He had been, it was said, more than usually devoted39 to his profession, even to the point of sacrificing friendships which, from a social and possibly from an ambitious point of view, could not have failed to be useful to him. Martin Bukaty was not the first man whom he had kept at arm's-length. But in this instance the treatment had not been markedly successful, and Cartoner was wondering now why the prince had been so difficult to offend. He had refused the friendship, and the effect had only been to bring the friend closer. Cartoner sat at the open window until the sun rose and the fields were dotted here and there with the figures of the red-clad peasant women working at the crops. At seven o'clock he was still sitting there, and soon after Prince Martin Bukaty, after knocking, drew back the sliding door and came into the compartment, closing the door behind him.
“I have been thinking about it,” he said, in his quick way, “and it won't do, you know—it won't do. You cannot appear in Warsaw as our friend. It would never do for us to show special attention to you. Anywhere else in the world, you understand, I am your friend, but not in Warsaw.”
“Yes,” said Cartoner, “I understand.”
He rose as he spoke, for Prince Martin was holding out his hand.
“Good-bye,” he said, in his quiet way, and they shook hands as the train glided40 into Warsaw Station.
“All the same, I don't understand why Wanda did not mention your name to me. She might have foreseen that we should meet. She is quick enough, as a rule, and has already saved my father and me half a dozen times.”
He waited for an answer, and at length Cartoner spoke.
“She did not know that I was coming,” he said.
点击
收听单词发音
收听单词发音 |
1
dread
|
|
| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
tunic
|
|
| n.束腰外衣 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
majesty
|
|
| n.雄伟，壮丽，庄严，威严；最高权威，王权 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
sentries
|
|
| 哨兵，步兵( sentry的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
contraband
|
|
| n.违禁品，走私品 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
demeanor
|
|
| n.行为；风度 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
obedience
|
|
| n.服从，顺从 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
avowed
|
|
| adj.公开声明的，承认的v.公开声明，承认( avow的过去式和过去分词) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
misty
|
|
| adj.雾蒙蒙的，有雾的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
crammed
|
|
| adj.塞满的，挤满的；大口地吃；快速贪婪地吃v.把…塞满；填入；临时抱佛脚( cram的过去式) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
overflowing
|
|
| n. 溢出物,溢流 adj. 充沛的，充满的 动词overflow的现在分词形式 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
spoke
|
|
| 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 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
complexion
|
|
| n.肤色；情况，局面；气质，性格 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
proffered
|
|
| v.提供，贡献，提出( proffer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
picturesque
|
|
| adj.美丽如画的，（语言）生动的，绘声绘色的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
pictorial
|
|
| adj.绘画的；图片的；n．画报 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
conducive
|
|
| adj.有益的，有助的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
discomfort
|
|
| n.不舒服，不安，难过，困难，不方便 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
enjoyment
|
|
| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
likeness
|
|
| n.相像，相似（之处） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
hearty
|
|
| adj.热情友好的；衷心的；尽情的，纵情的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
sipped
|
|
| v.小口喝，呷，抿( sip的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
solitary
|
|
| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
confinement
|
|
| n.幽禁，拘留，监禁；分娩；限制，局限 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
watchful
|
|
| adj.注意的，警惕的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
strictly
|
|
| adv.严厉地，严格地；严密地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
discreetly
|
|
| ad.(言行)审慎地，慎重地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
landlady
|
|
| n.女房东，女地主 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
lodgings
|
|
| n. 出租的房舍, 寄宿舍 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
deserted
|
|
| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
drawn
|
|
| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
homeliness
|
|
| n.简朴，朴实；相貌平平 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
melancholy
|
|
| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
standing
|
|
| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
compartment
|
|
| n.卧车包房，隔间；分隔的空间 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
conqueror
|
|
| n.征服者，胜利者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
lumbered
|
|
| 砍伐（lumber的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
concealed
|
|
| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
devoted
|
|
| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
glided
|
|
| v.滑动( glide的过去式和过去分词 )；掠过；（鸟或飞机 ） 滑翔 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
doorway
|
|
| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |