[Pg 83]
In due course Dick was called up by the Military Authorities. He pleaded conscientious10 objection. The date of his appearance before the Tribunal was fixed11. Dick did not much relish12 the prospect13 of being a Christian14 martyr15; it seemed an anachronism. However, it would have to be done. He would be an absolutist; there would be a little buffeting16, spitting, and scourging17, followed by an indefinite term of hard labour. It was all very unpleasant. But nothing could be much more unpleasant than life as he was now living it. He didn’t even mind very much if they killed him. Being or not being—the alternatives left him equally cold.
The days that preceded his appearance before the Tribunal were busy days, spent in consulting solicitors18, preparing speeches, collecting witnesses.
“We’ll give you a good run for your money,” said Hyman. “I hope they’ll be feeling a little uncomfortable by the time they have done with you, Greenow.”
“Not nearly so uncomfortable as I [Pg 84]shall be feeling,” Dick replied, with a slightly melancholy19 smile.
The South Marylebone Tribunal sat in a gloomy and fetid chamber21 in a police station. Dick, who was extremely sensitive to his surroundings, felt his fatigue22 and nervousness perceptibly increase as he entered the room. Five or six pitiable creatures with paralytic23 mothers or one-man businesses were briskly disposed of, and then it was Dick’s turn to present himself before his judges. He looked round the court, nodded to Hyman, smiled at Millicent, who had so far thawed24 their wartime coolness as to come and see him condemned25, caught other friendly eyes. It was as though he were about to be electrocuted. The preliminaries passed off; he found himself answering questions in a loud, clear voice. Then the Military Representative began to loom20 horribly large. The Military Representative was a solicitor’s clerk disguised as a lieutenant26 in the Army Service Corps27. He spoke28 in an accent that was more than genteel; it was rich, noble, aristocratic. Dick tried to remember where he had heard a [Pg 85]man speaking like that before. He had it now. Once when he had been at Oxford29 after term was over. He had gone to see the Varieties, which come twice nightly and with cheap seats to the theatre after the undergraduates have departed. One of the turns had been a Nut, a descendant of the bloods and Champagne30 Charlies of earlier days. A young man in an alpaca evening suit and a monocle. He had danced, sung a song, spoken some patter. Sitting in the front row of the stalls, Dick had been able to see the large, swollen31, tuberculous glands32 in his neck. They wobbled when he danced or sang. Fascinatingly horrible, those glands; and the young man, how terribly, painfully pathetic. . . . When the Military Representative spoke, he could hear again that wretched Nut’s rendering33 of the Eton and Oxford voice. It unnerved him.
“What is your religion, Mr. Greenow?” the Military Representative asked.
Fascinated, Dick looked to see whether he too had tuberculous glands. The Lieutenant had to repeat his question [Pg 86]sharply. When he was irritated, his voice went back to its more natural nasal twang. Dick recovered his presence of mind.
“I have no religion,” he answered.
“But, surely, sir, you must have some kind of religion.”
“Well, if I must, if it’s in the Army Regulations, you had better put me down as an Albigensian, or a Bogomile, or, better still, as a Manichean. One can’t find oneself in this court without possessing a profound sense of the reality and active existence of a power of evil equal to, if not greater than, the power of good.”
“This is rather irrelevant34, Mr. Greenow,” said the Chairman.
“I apologize.” Dick bowed to the court.
“But if,” the Military Representative continued—“if your objection is not religious, may I ask what it is?”
“It is based on a belief that all war is wrong, and that the solidarity35 of the human race can only be achieved in practice by protesting against war, wherever it appears and in whatever form.”
[Pg 87]
“Do you disbelieve in force, Mr. Greenow?”
“You might as well ask me if I disbelieve in gravitation. Of course, I believe in force: it is a fact.”
“What would you do if you saw a German violating your sister?” said the Military Representative, putting his deadliest question.
“Perhaps I had better ask my sister first,” Dick replied. “She is sitting just behind you in the court.”
The Military Representative was covered with confusion. He coughed and blew his nose. The case dragged on. Dick made a speech; the Military Representative made a speech; the Chairman made a speech. The atmosphere of the court-room grew fouler36 and fouler. Dick sickened and suffocated37 in the second-hand38 air. An immense lassitude took possession of him; he did not care about anything—about the cause, about himself, about Hyman or Millicent or Pearl Bellairs. He was just tired. Voices buzzed and drawled in his ears—sometimes his own voice, sometimes other people’s. He did not listen to [Pg 88]what they said. He was tired—tired of all this idiotic39 talk, tired of the heat and smell. . . .
Tired of picking up very thistly wheat sheaves and propping40 them up in stooks on the yellow stubble. For that was what, suddenly, he found himself doing. Overhead the sky expanded in endless steppes of blue-hot cobalt. The pungent41 prickly dust of the dried sheaves plucked at his nose with imminent42 sneezes, made his eyes smart and water. In the distance a reaping-machine whirred and hummed. Dick looked blankly about him, wondering where he was. He was thankful, at any rate, not to be in that sweltering court-room; and it was a mercy, too, to have escaped from the odious43 gentility of the Military Representative’s accent. And, after all, there were worse occupations than harvesting.
Gradually, and bit by bit, Dick pieced together his history. He had, it seemed, done a cowardly and treacherous44 thing: deserted45 in the face of the enemy, betrayed his cause. He had a bitter letter [Pg 89]from Hyman. “Why couldn’t you have stuck it out? I thought it was in you. You’ve urged others to go to prison for their beliefs, but you get out of it yourself by sneaking46 off to a soft alternative service job on a friend’s estate. You’ve brought discredit47 on the whole movement.” It was very painful, but what could he answer? The truth was so ridiculous that nobody could be expected to swallow it. And yet the fact was that he had been as much startled to find himself working at Crome as anyone. It was all Pearl’s doing.
He had found in his room a piece of paper covered with the large, flamboyant48 feminine writing which he knew to be Pearl’s. It was evidently the rough copy of an article on the delights of being a land-girl: dewy dawns, rosy49 children’s faces, quaint50 cottages, mossy thatch51, milkmaids, healthy exercise. Pearl was being a land-girl; but he could hardly explain the fact to Hyman. Better not attempt to answer him.
Dick hated the manual labour of the farm. It was hard, monotonous, dirty, and depressing. It inhibited52 almost completely [Pg 90]the functions of his brain. He was unable to think about anything at all; there was no opportunity to do anything but feel uncomfortable. God had not made him a Caliban to scatter53 ordure over fields, to pick up ordure from cattle-yards. His r?le was Prospero.
“Ban, Ban, Caliban”—it was to that derisive54 measure that he pumped water, sawed wood, mowed55 grass; it was a march for his slow, clotted56 feet as he followed the dung-carts up the winding57 lanes. “Ban, Ban, Caliban—Ban, Ban, Ban . . .”
“Oh, that bloody58 old fool Tolstoy,” was his profoundest reflection on a general subject in three months of manual labour and communion with mother earth.
He hated the work, and his fellow-workers hated him. They mistrusted him because they could not understand him, taking the silence of his overpowering shyness for arrogance59 and the contempt of one class for another. Dick longed to become friendly with them. His chief trouble was that he did not know what to say. At meal-times he would spend long minutes in cudgelling his brains for some suitable remark to make. And even if [Pg 91]he thought of something good, like—“It looks as though it were going to be a good year for roots,” he somehow hesitated to speak, feeling that such a remark, uttered in his exquisitely60 modulated61 tones, would be, somehow, a little ridiculous. It was the sort of thing that ought to be said rustically62, with plenty of Z’s and long vowels63, in the manner of William Barnes. In the end, for lack of courage to act the yokel’s part, he generally remained silent. While the others were eating their bread and cheese with laughter and talk, he sat like the skeleton at the feast—a skeleton that longed to join in the revelry, but had not the power to move its stony64 jaws65. On the rare occasions that he actually succeeded in uttering something, the labourers looked at one another in surprise and alarm, as though it were indeed a skeleton that had spoken.
He was not much more popular with the other inhabitants of the village. Often, in the evenings, as he was returning from work, the children would pursue him, yelling. With the unerringly cruel instinct of the young they had recognized in him a fit object for abuse and lapidation. [Pg 92]An outcast member of another class, from whom that class in casting him out had withdrawn66 its protection, an alien in speech and habit, a criminal, as their zealous67 schoolmaster lost no opportunity of reminding them, guilty of the blackest treason against God and man—he was the obviously predestined victim of childish persecution68. When stones began to fly, and dung and precocious69 obscenity, he bowed his head and pretended not to notice that anything unusual was happening. It was difficult, however, to look quite dignified70.
There were occasional short alleviations to the dreariness71 of his existence. One day, when he was engaged in his usual occupation of manuring, a familiar figure suddenly appeared along the footpath72 through the field. It was Mrs. Cravister. She was evidently staying at the big house; one of the Manorial73 dachshunds preceded her. He took off his cap.
“Mr. Greenow!” she exclaimed, coming to a halt. “Ah, what a pleasure to see you again! Working on the land: so Tolstoyan. But I trust it doesn’t affect your ?sthetic ideas in the same way [Pg 93]as it did his. Fifty peasants singing together is music; but Bach’s chromatic74 fantasia is mere9 gibbering incomprehensibility.”
“I don’t do this for pleasure,” Dick explained. “It’s hard labour, meted75 out to the Conscientious Objector.”
“Of course, of course,” said Mrs. Cravister, raising her hand to arrest any further explanation. “I had forgotten. A conscientious objector, a Bible student. I remember how passionately76 devoted77 you were, even at school, to the Bible.”
She closed her eyes and nodded her head several times.
“On the contrary——” Dick began; but it was no good. Mrs. Cravister had determined78 that he should be a Bible student and it was no use gainsaying79 her. She cut him short.
“Dear me, the Bible. . . . What a style! That alone would prove it to have been directly inspired. You remember how Mahomet appealed to the beauty of his style as a sign of his divine mission. Why has nobody done the same for the Bible? It remains81 for you, Mr. Greenow, to do so. You will [Pg 94]write a book about it. How I envy you!”
“The style is very fine,” Dick ventured, “but don’t you think the matter occasionally leaves something to be desired?”
“The matter is nothing,” cried Mrs. Cravister, making a gesture that seemed to send all meaning flying like a pinch of salt along the wind—“nothing at all. It’s the style that counts. Think of Madame Bovary.”
“I certainly will,” said Dick.
Mrs. Cravister held out her hand. “Good-bye. Yes, I certainly envy you. I envy you your innocent labour and your incessant82 study of that most wonderful of books. If I were asked, Mr. Greenow, what book I should take with me to a desert island, what single solitary83 book, I should certainly say the Bible, though, indeed, there are moments when I think I should choose Tristram Shandy. Good-bye.”
Mrs. Cravister sailed slowly away. The little brown basset trotted84 ahead, straining his leash85. One had the impression of a great ship being towed into harbour by a diminutive86 tug87.
[Pg 95]
Dick was cheered by this glimpse of civilization and humanity. The unexpected arrival, one Saturday afternoon, of Millicent was not quite such an unmixed pleasure. “I’ve come to see how you’re getting on,” she announced, “and to put your cottage straight and make you comfortable.”
“Very kind of you,” said Dick. He didn’t want his cottage put straight.
Millicent was in the Ministry88 of Munitions89 now, controlling three thousand female clerks with unsurpassed efficiency. Dick looked at her curiously90, as she talked that evening of her doings. “To think I should have a sister like that,” he said to himself. She was terrifying.
“You do enjoy bullying91 other people!” he exclaimed at last. “You’ve found your true vocation92. One sees now how the new world will be arranged after the war. The women will continue to do all the bureaucratic93 jobs, all that entails94 routine and neatness and interfering95 with other people’s affairs. And man, it is to be hoped, will be left free for the important statesman’s business, [Pg 96]free for creation and thought. He will stay at home and give proper education to the children, too. He is fit to do these things, because his mind is disinterested96 and detached. It’s an arrangement which will liberate97 all man’s best energies for their proper uses. The only flaw I can see in the system is that you women will be so fiendishly and ruthlessly tyrannical in your administration.”
“You can’t seriously expect me to argue with you,” said Millicent.
“No, please don’t. I am not strong enough. My dung-carrying has taken the edge off all my reasoning powers.”
Millicent spent the next morning in completely rearranging Dick’s furniture. By lunch-time every article in the cottage was occupying a new position.
“That’s much nicer,” said Millicent, surveying her work and seeing that it was good.
There was a knock at the door. Dick opened it and was astonished to find Hyman.
“I just ran down to see how you were getting on,” he explained.
[Pg 97]
“I’m getting on very well since my sister rearranged my furniture,” said Dick. He found it pleasing to have an opportunity of exercising his long unused powers of malicious98 irony99. This was very mild, but with practice he would soon come on to something more spiteful and amusing.
Hyman shook hands with Millicent, scowling100 as he did so. He was irritated that she was there; he wanted to talk with Dick alone. He turned his back on her and began addressing Dick.
“Well,” he said, “I haven’t seen you since the fatal day. How is the turnip-hoeing?”
“Pretty beastly,” said Dick.
Dick nodded his head wearily, foreseeing what must inevitably102 come.
“You’ve escaped that all right,” Hyman went on.
“Yes; you ought to be thankful,” Millicent chimed in.
“I still can’t understand why you did it, Greenow. It was a blow to me. I didn’t expect it of you.” Hyman [Pg 98]spoke with feeling. “It was desertion; it was treason.”
“I agree,” said Millicent judicially103. “He ought to have stuck to his principles.”
“He ought to have stuck to what was right, oughtn’t he, Miss Greenow?” Hyman turned towards Millicent, pleased at finding someone who shared his views.
“Of course,” she replied—“of course. I totally disagree with you about what is right. But if he believed it right not to fight, he certainly ought to have gone to prison for his belief.”
Dick lit a pipe with an air of nonchalance104. He tried to disguise the fact that he was feeling extremely uncomfortable under these two pairs of merciless, accusing eyes.
“To my mind, at any rate,” said Millicent, “your position seems quite illogical and untenable, Dick.”
It was a relief to be talked to and not about.
“I’m sorry about that,” said Dick rather huskily—not a very intelligent remark, but what was there to say?
“Of course, it’s illogical and untenable. [Pg 99]Your sister is quite right.” Hyman banged the table.
“I can’t understand what induced you to take it up——”
“After you’d said you were going to be one of the absolutes,” cried Hyman, interrupting and continuing Millicent’s words.
“Why?” said Millicent.
“Why, why, why?” Hyman echoed.
Dick, who had been blowing out smoke at a great rate, put down his pipe. The taste of the tobacco was making him feel rather sick. “I wish you would stop,” he said wearily. “If I gave you the real reasons, you wouldn’t believe me. And I can’t invent any others that would be in the least convincing.”
“I believe the real reason is that you were afraid of prison.”
Dick leaned back in his chair and shut his eyes. He did not mind being insulted now; it made no difference. Hyman and Millicent were still talking about him, but what they said did not interest him; he scarcely listened.
They went back to London together in the evening.
[Pg 100]
“Very intelligent woman, your sister,” said Hyman just before they were starting. “Pity she’s not on the right side about the war and so forth105.”
Four weeks later Dick received a letter in which Hyman announced that he and Millicent had decided106 to get married.
“I am happy to think,” Dick wrote in his congratulatory reply, “that it was I who brought you together.”
He smiled as he read through the sentence; that was what the Christian martyr might say to the two lions who had scraped acquaintance over his bones in the amphitheatre.
One warm afternoon in the summer of 1918, Mr. Hobart, Clerk to the Wibley Town Council, was disturbed in the midst of his duties by the sudden entry into his office of a small dark man, dressed in corduroys and gaiters, but not having the air of a genuine agricultural labourer.
“What may I do for you?” inquired Mr. Hobart.
“I have come to inquire about my vote,” said the stranger.
“Aren’t you already registered?”
[Pg 101]
“Not yet. You see, it isn’t long since the Act was passed giving us the vote.”
Mr. Hobart stared.
“I don’t quite follow,” he said.
“I may not look it,” said the stranger, putting his head on one side and looking arch—“I may not look it, but I will confess to you, Mr.—er—Mr.—er——”
“Hobart.”
“Mr. Hobart, that I am a woman of over thirty.”
Mr. Hobart grew visibly paler. Then, assuming a forced smile and speaking as one speaks to a child or a spoiled animal, he said:
“I see—I see. Over thirty, dear me.”
He looked at the bell, which was over by the fireplace at the other side of the room, and wondered how he should ring it without rousing the maniac’s suspicions.
“Over thirty,” the stranger went on. “You know my woman’s secret. I am Miss Pearl Bellairs, the novelist. Perhaps you have read some of my books. Or are you too busy?”
“Oh no, I’ve read several,” Mr. Hobart replied, smiling more and more [Pg 102]brightly and speaking in even more coaxing107 and indulgent tones.
“Then we’re friends already, Mr. Hobart. Anyone who knows my books, knows me. My whole heart is in them. Now, you must tell me all about my poor little vote. I shall be very patriotic108 with it when the time comes to use it.”
Mr. Hobart saw his opportunity.
“Certainly, Miss Bellairs,” he said. “I will ring for my clerk and we’ll—er—we’ll take down the details.”
He got up, crossed the room, and rang the bell with violence.
“I’ll just go and see that he brings the right books,” he added, and darted109 to the door. Once outside in the passage, he mopped his face and heaved a sigh of relief. That had been a narrow shave, by Jove. A loony in the office—dangerous-looking brute110, too.
On the following day Dick woke up and found himself in a bare whitewashed111 room, sparsely112 furnished with a little iron bed, a washstand, a chair, and table. He looked round him in surprise. Where had he got to this time? He went to the [Pg 103]door and tried to open it; it was locked. An idea entered his mind: he was in barracks somewhere; the Military Authorities must have got hold of him somehow in spite of his exemption113 certificate. Or perhaps Pearl had gone and enlisted114. . . . He turned next to the window, which was barred. Outside, he could see a courtyard, filled, not with soldiers, as he had expected, but a curious motley crew of individuals, some men and some women, wandering hither and thither115 with an air of complete aimlessness. Very odd, he thought—very odd. Beyond the courtyard, on the farther side of a phenomenally high wall, ran a railway line and beyond it a village, roofed with tile and thatch, and a tall church spire80 in the midst. Dick looked carefully at the spire. Didn’t he know it? Surely—yes, those imbricated copper116 plates with which it was covered, that gilded117 ship that served as wind vane, the little gargoyles119 at the corner of the tower there could be no doubt; it was Belbury church. Belbury—that was where the . . . No, no; he wouldn’t believe it. But looking down again into that high-walled courtyard, [Pg 104]full of those queer, aimless folk, he was forced to admit it. The County Asylum120 stands at Belbury. He had often noticed it from the train, a huge, gaunt building of sausage-coloured brick, standing121 close to the railway, on the opposite side of the line to Belbury village and church. He remembered how, the last time he had passed in the train, he had wondered what they did in the asylum. He had regarded it then as one of those mysterious, unapproachable places, like Lhassa or a Ladies’ Lavatory122, into which he would never penetrate123. And now, here he was, looking out through the bars, like any other madman. It was all Pearl’s doing, as usual. If there had been no bars, he would have thrown himself out of the window.
He sat down on his bed and began to think about what he should do. He would have to be very sane124 and show them by his behaviour and speech that he was no more mad than the commonalty of mankind. He would be extremely dignified about it all. If a warder or a doctor or somebody came in to see him, he would rise to his feet and say in [Pg 105]the calmest and severest tones: “May I ask, pray, why I am detained here and upon whose authority?” That ought to stagger them. He practised that sentence, and the noble attitude with which he would accompany it, for the best part of an hour. Then, suddenly, there was the sound of a key in the lock. He hastily sat down again on the bed. A brisk little man of about forty, clean shaven and with pince-nez, stepped into the room, followed by a nurse and a warder in uniform. The doctor! Dick’s heart was beating with absurd violence; he felt like an amateur actor at the first performance of an imperfectly rehearsed play. He rose, rather unsteadily, to his feet, and in a voice that quavered a little with an emotion he could not suppress, began:
“Pray I ask, may . . .”
The doctor turned to the nurse.
“Did you hear that?” he asked. “He called me May. He seems to think everybody’s a woman, not only himself.”
[Pg 106]
Turning to Dick with a cheerful smile, he went on:
“Sit down, Miss Bellairs, please sit down.”
It was too much. Dick burst into tears, flung himself upon the bed, and buried his face in the pillow. The doctor looked at him as he lay there sobbing127, his whole body shaken and convulsed.
“A bad case, I fear.”
And the nurse nodded.
For the next three days Dick refused to eat. It was certainly unreasonable128, but it seemed the only way of making a protest. On the fourth day the doctor signed a certificate to the effect that forcible feeding had become necessary. Accompanied by two warders and a nurse, he entered Dick’s room.
“Now, Miss Bellairs,” he said, making a last persuasive129 appeal, “do have a little of this nice soup. We have come to have lunch with you.”
“I refuse to eat,” said Dick icily, “as a protest against my unlawful detention130 in this place. I am as sane as any of you here.”
[Pg 107]
“Yes, yes.” The doctor’s voice was soothing131. He made a sign to the warders. One was very large and stout132, the other wiry, thin, sinister133, like the second murderer in a play. They closed in on Dick.
“I won’t eat and I won’t be made to eat!” Dick cried. “Let me go!” he shouted at the fat warder, who had laid a hand on his shoulder. His temper was beginning to rise.
“Now, do behave yourself,” said the fat warder. “It ain’t a bit of use kicking up a row. Now, do take a little of this lovely soup,” he added wheedlingly134.
He began to struggle violently. The fat warder put an arm round his shoulders, as though he were an immense mother comforting an irritable136 child. Dick felt himself helpless; the struggle had quite exhausted137 him; he was weaker than he had any idea of. He began kicking the fat man’s shins; it was the only way he could still show fight.
“Temper, temper,” remonstrated138 the [Pg 108]warder, more motherly than ever. The thin warder stooped down, slipped a strap139 round the kicking legs, and drew it tight. Dick could move no more. His fury found vent7 in words—vain, abusive, filthy140 words, such as he had not used since he was a schoolboy.
“Let me go,” he screamed—“let me go, you devils! You beasts, you swine! beasts and swine!” he howled again and again.
They soon had him securely strapped141 in a chair, his head held back ready for the doctor and his horrible-looking tubes. They were pushing the horrors up his nostrils142. He coughed and choked, spat143, shouted inarticulately, retched. It was like having a spoon put on your tongue and being told to say A-a-h, but worse; it was like jumping into the river and getting water up your nose—how he had always hated that!—only much worse. It was like almost everything unpleasant, only much, much worse than all. He exhausted himself struggling against his utterly144 immovable bonds. They had to carry him to his bed, he was so weak.
[Pg 109]
He lay there, unmoving—for he was unable to move—staring at the ceiling. He felt as though he were floating on air, unsupported, solid no longer; the sensation was not unpleasant. For that reason he refused to let his mind dwell upon it; he would think of nothing that was not painful, odious, horrible. He thought about the torture which had just been inflicted145 on him and of the monstrous146 injustice147 of which he was a victim. He thought of the millions who had been and were still being slaughtered148 in the war; he thought of their pain, all the countless149 separate pains of them; pain incommunicable, individual, beyond the reach of sympathy; infinities150 of pain pent within frail151 finite bodies; pain without sense or object, bringing with it no hope and no redemption, futile152, unnecessary, stupid. In one supreme153 apocalyptic154 moment he saw, he felt the universe in all its horror.
They forcibly fed him again the following morning and again on the day after. On the fourth day pneumonia155, the result of shock, complicated by [Pg 110]acute inflammation of the throat and pleura, set in. The fever and pain gained ground. Dick had not the strength to resist their ravages156, and his condition grew hourly worse. His mind, however, continued to work clearly—too clearly. It occurred to him that he might very likely die. He asked for pencil and paper to be brought him, and putting forth all the little strength he had left, he began to make his testament157.
“I am perfectly125 sane,” he wrote at the top of the page, and underlined the words three times. “I am confined here by the most intol. injust.” As soon as he began, he realized how little time and strength were left him; it was a waste to finish the long words. “They are killing158 me for my opins. I regard this war and all wars as utter bad. Capitalists’ war. The devils will be smashed sooner later. Wish I could help. But it won’t make any difference,” he added on a new line and as though by an afterthought. “World will always be hell. Cap. or Lab., Engl. or Germ.—all beasts. One in a mill. is GOOD. [Pg 111]I wasn’t. Selfish intellect. Perhaps Pearl Bellairs better. If die, send corp. to hosp. for anatomy159. Useful for once in my life!”
Quite suddenly, he lapsed160 into delirium161. The clear lucidity162 of his mind became troubled. The real world disappeared from before his eyes, and in its place he saw a succession of bright, unsteady visions created by his sick fantasy. Scenes from his childhood, long forgotten, bubbled up and disappeared. Unknown, hideous163 faces crowded in upon him; old friends revisited him. He was living in a bewildering mixture of the familiar and the strange. And all the while, across this changing unsubstantial world, there hurried a continual, interminable procession of dromedaries—countless high-domed beasts, with gargoyle118 faces and stiff legs and necks that bobbed as though on springs. Do what he could, he was unable to drive them away. He lost his temper with the brutes164 at last, struck at them, shouted; but in vain. The room rang with his cries of, “Get away, you beasts. Bloody humps. None of your nonconformist faces here.” And while [Pg 112]he was yelling and gesticulating (with his left hand only), his right hand was still busily engaged in writing. The words were clear and legible; the sentences consecutive165 and eminently166 sane. Dick might rave167, but Pearl Bellairs remained calm and in full possession of her deplorable faculties168. And what was Pearl doing with her busy pencil, while Dick, like a frenzied169 Betsy Trotwood, shouted at the trespassing170 camels? The first thing she did was to scratch out all that poor Dick had said about the war. Underneath171 it she wrote:
“We shall not sheathe172 the sword, which we have not lightly . . .” And then, evidently finding that memorable173 sentence too long, particularly so since the addition of Poland and Czecho-Slovakia to the list of Allies, she began again.
“We are fighting for honour and the defence of Small Nationalities. Plucky174 little Belgium! We went into the war with clean hands.”
A little of Pearl’s thought seemed at this moment to have slopped over into Dick’s mind; for he suddenly stopped abusing his dromedaries and began to cry [Pg 113]out in the most pitiable fashion, “Clean hands, clean hands! I can’t get mine clean. I can’t, I can’t, I can’t. I contaminate everything.” And he kept rubbing his left hand against the bed-clothes and putting his fingers to his nose, only to exclaim, “Ugh, they still stink175 of goat!” and then to start rubbing again.
The right hand wrote on unperturbed. “No peace with the Hun until he is crushed and humiliated176. Self-respecting Britons will refuse to shake a Hunnish hand for many a long year after the war. No more German waiters. Intern177 the Forty-Seven Thousand Hidden Hands in High Places!”
At this point, Pearl seemed to have been struck by a new idea. She took a clean page and began:
“To the Girls of England. I am a woman and proud of the fact. But, girls, I blushed for my sex to-day when I read in the papers that there had been cases of English girls talking to Hun prisoners, and not only talking to them, but allowing themselves to be kissed by them. Imagine! Clean, healthy British girls allowing themselves to be kissed by the swinish and [Pg 114]bloodstained lips of the unspeakable Hun! Do you wonder that I blush for my sex? Stands England where she did? No, emphatically no, if these stories are true, and true—sadly and with a heavy bleeding heart do I admit it—true they are.”
“Clean hands, clean hands,” Dick was still muttering, and applying his ringers to his nose once more, “Christ,” he cried, “how they stink! Goats, dung . . .”
“Is there any excuse for such conduct?” the pencil continued. “The most that can be said in palliation of the offence is that girls are thoughtless, that they do not consider the full significance of their actions. But listen to me, girls of all ages, classes and creeds178, from the blue-eyed, light-hearted flapper of sixteen to the stern-faced, hard-headed business woman—listen to me. There is a girlish charm about thoughtlessness, but there is a point beyond which thoughtlessness becomes criminal. A flapper may kiss a Hun without thinking what she is doing, merely for the fun of the thing; perhaps, even, out of misguided pity. Will she repeat the offence if she realizes, as she [Pg 115]must realize if she will only think, that this thoughtless fun, this mawkish179 and hysterical180 pity, is nothing less than Treason? Treason—it is a sinister word, but . . .”
The pencil stopped writing; even Pearl was beginning to grow tired. Dick’s shouting had died away to a hoarse181, faint whisper. Suddenly her attention was caught by the last words that Dick had written—the injunction to send his body, if he died, to a hospital for an anatomy. She put forth a great effort.
“NO. NO,” she wrote in huge capitals. “Bury me in a little country churchyard, with lovely marble angels like the ones in St. George’s at Windsor, over Princess Charlotte’s tomb. Not anatomy. Too horrible, too disgus . . .”
The coma182 which had blotted183 out Dick’s mind fell now upon hers as well. Two hours later Dick Greenow was dead; the fingers of his right hand still grasped a pencil. The scribbled184 papers were thrown away as being merely the written ravings of a madman; they were accustomed that sort of thing at the asylum.
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1
monotonous
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| adj.单调的，一成不变的，使人厌倦的 | |
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2
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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3
devoid
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| adj.全无的，缺乏的 | |
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4
grotesque
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| adj.怪诞的，丑陋的；n.怪诞的图案，怪人（物） | |
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5
dreary
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| adj.令人沮丧的，沉闷的，单调乏味的 | |
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adventurous
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| adj.爱冒险的；惊心动魄的，惊险的，刺激的 | |
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7
vent
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| n.通风口，排放口；开衩；vt.表达，发泄 | |
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8
delightfully
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| 大喜，欣然 | |
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9
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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10
conscientious
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| adj.审慎正直的，认真的，本着良心的 | |
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11
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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12
relish
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| n.滋味，享受，爱好，调味品；vt.加调味料，享受，品味；vi.有滋味 | |
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13
prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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14
Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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15
martyr
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| n.烈士，殉难者；vt.杀害，折磨，牺牲 | |
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16
buffeting
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| 振动 | |
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17
scourging
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| 鞭打( scourge的现在分词 )； 惩罚，压迫 | |
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18
solicitors
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| 初级律师( solicitor的名词复数 ) | |
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19
melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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20
loom
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| n.织布机，织机；v.隐现，(危险、忧虑等)迫近 | |
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21
chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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22
fatigue
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| n.疲劳，劳累 | |
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23
paralytic
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| adj. 瘫痪的 n. 瘫痪病人 | |
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24
thawed
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| 解冻 | |
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25
condemned
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| adj. 被责难的, 被宣告有罪的 动词condemn的过去式和过去分词 | |
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26
lieutenant
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| n.陆军中尉，海军上尉；代理官员，副职官员 | |
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27
corps
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| n.(通信等兵种的)部队；(同类作的)一组 | |
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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
Oxford
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| n.牛津（英国城市） | |
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30
champagne
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| n.香槟酒；微黄色 | |
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31
swollen
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| adj.肿大的，水涨的；v.使变大，肿胀 | |
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32
glands
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| n.腺( gland的名词复数 ) | |
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33
rendering
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| n.表现，描写 | |
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34
irrelevant
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| adj.不恰当的，无关系的，不相干的 | |
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35
solidarity
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| n.团结；休戚相关 | |
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36
fouler
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| adj.恶劣的( foul的比较级 )；邪恶的；难闻的；下流的 | |
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37
suffocated
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| （使某人）窒息而死( suffocate的过去式和过去分词 )； （将某人）闷死； 让人感觉闷热； 憋气 | |
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38
second-hand
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| adj.用过的，旧的，二手的 | |
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39
idiotic
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| adj.白痴的 | |
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40
propping
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| 支撑 | |
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41
pungent
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| adj.（气味、味道）刺激性的，辛辣的；尖锐的 | |
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42
imminent
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| adj.即将发生的，临近的，逼近的 | |
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43
odious
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| adj.可憎的，讨厌的 | |
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44
treacherous
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| adj.不可靠的，有暗藏的危险的；adj.背叛的，背信弃义的 | |
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45
deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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46
sneaking
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| a.秘密的，不公开的 | |
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47
discredit
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| vt.使不可置信；n.丧失信义；不信，怀疑 | |
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48
flamboyant
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| adj.火焰般的，华丽的，炫耀的 | |
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49
rosy
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| adj.美好的，乐观的，玫瑰色的 | |
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50
quaint
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| adj.古雅的，离奇有趣的，奇怪的 | |
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51
thatch
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| vt.用茅草覆盖…的顶部；n.茅草(屋) | |
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52
inhibited
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| a.拘谨的，拘束的 | |
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53
scatter
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| vt.撒，驱散，散开；散布/播；vi.分散，消散 | |
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54
derisive
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| adj.嘲弄的 | |
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55
mowed
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| v.刈，割( mow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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56
clotted
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| adj.凝结的v.凝固( clot的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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57
winding
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| n.绕，缠，绕组，线圈 | |
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58
bloody
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| adj.非常的的；流血的；残忍的；adv.很；vt.血染 | |
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59
arrogance
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| n.傲慢，自大 | |
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60
exquisitely
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| adv.精致地；强烈地；剧烈地；异常地 | |
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61
modulated
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| 已调整[制]的，被调的 | |
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62
rustically
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| adv.乡土气地，简朴地 | |
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63
vowels
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| n.元音，元音字母( vowel的名词复数 ) | |
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64
stony
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| adj.石头的，多石头的，冷酷的，无情的 | |
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65
jaws
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| n.口部；嘴 | |
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66
withdrawn
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| vt.收回；使退出；vi.撤退，退出 | |
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67
zealous
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| adj.狂热的，热心的 | |
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68
persecution
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| n. 迫害,烦扰 | |
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69
precocious
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| adj.早熟的；较早显出的 | |
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70
dignified
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| a.可敬的，高贵的 | |
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71
dreariness
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| 沉寂，可怕，凄凉 | |
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72
footpath
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| n.小路，人行道 | |
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73
manorial
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| adj.庄园的 | |
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74
chromatic
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| adj.色彩的，颜色的 | |
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75
meted
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| v.（对某人）施以，给予（处罚等）( mete的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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76
passionately
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| ad.热烈地，激烈地 | |
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77
devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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78
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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79
gainsaying
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| v.否认，反驳( gainsay的现在分词 ) | |
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80
spire
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| n.(教堂)尖顶，尖塔，高点 | |
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81
remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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82
incessant
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| adj.不停的，连续的 | |
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83
solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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84
trotted
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| 小跑，急走( trot的过去分词 )； 匆匆忙忙地走 | |
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85
leash
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| n.牵狗的皮带，束缚；v.用皮带系住 | |
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86
diminutive
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| adj.小巧可爱的，小的 | |
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87
tug
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| v.用力拖(或拉)；苦干；n.拖；苦干；拖船 | |
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88
ministry
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| n.(政府的)部；牧师 | |
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89
munitions
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| n.军火，弹药；v.供应…军需品 | |
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90
curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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91
bullying
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| v.恐吓，威逼( bully的现在分词 )；豪；跋扈 | |
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92
vocation
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| n.职业，行业 | |
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93
bureaucratic
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| adj.官僚的，繁文缛节的 | |
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94
entails
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| 使…成为必要( entail的第三人称单数 )； 需要； 限定继承； 使必需 | |
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95
interfering
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| adj. 妨碍的 动词interfere的现在分词 | |
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96
disinterested
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| adj.不关心的，不感兴趣的 | |
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97
liberate
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| v.解放，使获得自由，释出，放出；vt.解放，使获自由 | |
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98
malicious
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| adj.有恶意的，心怀恶意的 | |
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99
irony
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| n.反语，冷嘲；具有讽刺意味的事，嘲弄 | |
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100
scowling
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| 怒视，生气地皱眉( scowl的现在分词 ) | |
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101
gaol
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| n.(jail)监狱；(不加冠词)监禁；vt.使…坐牢 | |
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102
inevitably
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| adv.不可避免地；必然发生地 | |
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103
judicially
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| 依法判决地，公平地 | |
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104
nonchalance
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| n.冷淡，漠不关心 | |
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105
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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106
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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107
coaxing
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| v.哄，用好话劝说( coax的现在分词 )；巧言骗取；哄劝，劝诱；“锻炼”效应 | |
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108
patriotic
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| adj.爱国的，有爱国心的 | |
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109
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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110
brute
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| n.野兽，兽性 | |
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111
whitewashed
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| 粉饰，美化，掩饰( whitewash的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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112
sparsely
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| adv.稀疏地；稀少地；不足地；贫乏地 | |
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113
exemption
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| n.豁免，免税额，免除 | |
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114
enlisted
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| adj.应募入伍的v.（使）入伍， （使）参军( enlist的过去式和过去分词 )；获得（帮助或支持） | |
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115
thither
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| adv.向那里；adj.在那边的，对岸的 | |
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116
copper
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| n.铜；铜币；铜器；adj.铜(制)的；(紫)铜色的 | |
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117
gilded
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| a.镀金的，富有的 | |
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118
gargoyle
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| n.笕嘴 | |
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119
gargoyles
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| n.怪兽状滴水嘴( gargoyle的名词复数 ) | |
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120
asylum
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| n.避难所，庇护所，避难 | |
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121
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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122
lavatory
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| n.盥洗室，厕所 | |
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123
penetrate
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| v.透(渗)入；刺入，刺穿；洞察，了解 | |
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sane
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| adj.心智健全的，神志清醒的，明智的，稳健的 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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126
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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127
sobbing
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| <主方>Ⅰ adj.湿透的 | |
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128
unreasonable
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| adj.不讲道理的，不合情理的，过度的 | |
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129
persuasive
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| adj.有说服力的，能说得使人相信的 | |
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130
detention
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| n.滞留，停留；拘留，扣留；(教育)留下 | |
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131
soothing
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| adj.慰藉的；使人宽心的；镇静的 | |
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133
sinister
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| adj.不吉利的，凶恶的，左边的 | |
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134
wheedlingly
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| 用甜言蜜语哄骗 | |
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135
bullied
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| adj.被欺负了v.恐吓，威逼( bully的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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136
irritable
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| adj.急躁的；过敏的；易怒的 | |
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137
exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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138
remonstrated
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| v.抗议( remonstrate的过去式和过去分词 )；告诫 | |
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139
strap
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| n.皮带，带子；v.用带扣住，束牢；用绷带包扎 | |
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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
strapped
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| adj.用皮带捆住的，用皮带装饰的；身无分文的；缺钱；手头紧v.用皮带捆扎(strap的过去式和过去分词)；用皮带抽打；包扎；给…打绷带 | |
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142
nostrils
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| 鼻孔( nostril的名词复数 ) | |
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143
spat
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| n.口角，掌击；v.发出呼噜呼噜声 | |
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144
utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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inflicted
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| 把…强加给，使承受，遭受( inflict的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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146
monstrous
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| adj.巨大的；恐怖的；可耻的，丢脸的 | |
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injustice
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| n.非正义，不公正，不公平，侵犯（别人的）权利 | |
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slaughtered
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| v.屠杀，杀戮，屠宰( slaughter的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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countless
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| adj.无数的，多得不计其数的 | |
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infinities
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| n.无穷大( infinity的名词复数 )；无限远的点；无法计算的量；无限大的量 | |
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151
frail
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| adj.身体虚弱的；易损坏的 | |
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futile
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| adj.无效的，无用的，无希望的 | |
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153
supreme
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| adj.极度的，最重要的；至高的，最高的 | |
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154
apocalyptic
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| adj.预示灾祸的，启示的 | |
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155
pneumonia
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| n.肺炎 | |
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156
ravages
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| 劫掠后的残迹，破坏的结果，毁坏后的残迹 | |
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testament
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| n.遗嘱；证明 | |
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158
killing
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| n.巨额利润；突然赚大钱，发大财 | |
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anatomy
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| n.解剖学，解剖；功能，结构，组织 | |
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lapsed
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| adj.流失的，堕落的v.退步( lapse的过去式和过去分词 )；陷入；倒退；丧失 | |
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161
delirium
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| n. 神智昏迷,说胡话;极度兴奋 | |
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lucidity
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| n.明朗，清晰，透明 | |
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163
hideous
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| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
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164
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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consecutive
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| adj.连续的，联贯的，始终一贯的 | |
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eminently
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| adv.突出地；显著地；不寻常地 | |
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167
rave
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| vi.胡言乱语；热衷谈论；n.热情赞扬 | |
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168
faculties
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| n.能力( faculty的名词复数 )；全体教职员；技巧；院 | |
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169
frenzied
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| a.激怒的；疯狂的 | |
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170
trespassing
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| [法]非法入侵 | |
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171
underneath
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| adj.在...下面，在...底下；adv.在下面 | |
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172
sheathe
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| v.（将刀剑）插入鞘；包，覆盖 | |
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173
memorable
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| adj.值得回忆的，难忘的，特别的，显著的 | |
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174
plucky
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| adj.勇敢的 | |
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175
stink
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| vi.发出恶臭；糟透，招人厌恶；n.恶臭 | |
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176
humiliated
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| 感到羞愧的 | |
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177
intern
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| v.拘禁，软禁；n.实习生 | |
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178
creeds
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| （尤指宗教）信条，教条( creed的名词复数 ) | |
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179
mawkish
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| adj.多愁善感的的；无味的 | |
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180
hysterical
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| adj.情绪异常激动的，歇斯底里般的 | |
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181
hoarse
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| adj.嘶哑的，沙哑的 | |
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182
coma
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| n.昏迷，昏迷状态 | |
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183
blotted
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| 涂污( blot的过去式和过去分词 )； （用吸墨纸）吸干 | |
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184
scribbled
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| v.潦草的书写( scribble的过去式和过去分词 )；乱画；草草地写；匆匆记下 | |
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