But history makes the growing of the Secret Party clear,—though it seems almost to cease to be history, in spite of its efforts to be brief and speak only of dull facts, when it is forced to deal with the Bearing of the Sign by two mere10 boys, who, being blown as unremarked as any two grains of dust across Europe, lit the Lamp whose flame so flared11 up to the high heavens that as if from the earth itself there sprang forth12 Samavians by the thousands ready to feed it—Iarovitch and Maranovitch swept aside forever and only Samavians remaining to cry aloud in ardent13 praise and worship of the God who had brought back to them their Lost Prince. The battle-cry of his name had ended every battle. Swords fell from hands because swords were not needed. The Iarovitch fled in terror and dismay; the Maranovitch were nowhere to be found. Between night and morning, as the newsboy had said, the standard of Ivor was raised and waved from palace and citadel14 alike. From mountain, forest and plain, from city, village and town, its followers15 flocked to swear allegiance; broken and wounded legions staggered along the roads to join and kneel to it; women and children followed, weeping with joy and chanting songs of praise. The Powers held out their scepters to the lately prostrate16 and ignored country. Train-loads of food and supplies of all things needed began to cross the frontier; the aid of nations was bestowed17. Samavia, at peace to till its land, to raise its flocks, to mine its ores, would be able to pay all back. Samavia in past centuries had been rich enough to make great loans, and had stored such harvests as warring countries had been glad to call upon. The story of the crowning of the King had been the wildest of all—the multitude of ecstatic people, famished18, in rags, and many of them weak with wounds, kneeling at his feet, praying, as their one salvation19 and security, that he would go attended by them to their bombarded and broken cathedral, and at its high altar let the crown be placed upon his head, so that even those who perhaps must die of their past sufferings would at least have paid their poor homage20 to the King Ivor who would rule their children and bring back to Samavia her honor and her peace.
"Ivor! Ivor!" they chanted like a prayer,—"Ivor! Ivor!" in their houses, by the roadside, in the streets.
"The story of the Coronation in the shattered Cathedral, whose roof had been torn to fragments by bombs," said an important London paper, "reads like a legend of the Middle Ages. But, upon the whole, there is in Samavia's national character, something of the mediaeval, still."
Lazarus, having bought and read in his top floor room every newspaper recording21 the details which had reached London, returned to report almost verbatim, standing22 erect23 before Marco, the eyes under his shaggy brows sometimes flaming with exultation24, sometimes filled with a rush of tears. He could not be made to sit down. His whole big body seemed to have become rigid25 with magnificence. Meeting Mrs. Beedle in the passage, he strode by her with an air so thunderous that she turned and scuttled26 back to her cellar kitchen, almost falling down the stone steps in her nervous terror. In such a mood, he was not a person to face without something like awe27.
In the middle of the night, The Rat suddenly spoke28 to Marco as if he knew that he was awake and would hear him.
"He has given all his life to Samavia!" he said. "When you traveled from country to country, and lived in holes and corners, it was because by doing it he could escape spies, and see the people who must be made to understand. No one else could have made them listen. An emperor would have begun to listen when he had seen his face and heard his voice. And he could be silent, and wait for the right time to speak. He could keep still when other men could not. He could keep his face still—and his hands—and his eyes. Now all Samavia knows what he has done, and that he has been the greatest patriot29 in the world. We both saw what Samavians were like that night in the cavern. They will go mad with joy when they see his face!"
"They have seen it now," said Marco, in a low voice from his bed.
Then there was a long silence, though it was not quite silence because The Rat's breathing was so quick and hard.
"He—must have been at that coronation!" he said at last. "The King—what will the King do to—repay him?"
Marco did not answer. His breathing could be heard also. His mind was picturing that same coronation—the shattered, roofless cathedral, the ruins of the ancient and magnificent high altar, the multitude of kneeling, famine-scourged people, the battle-worn, wounded and bandaged soldiery! And the King! And his father! Where had his father stood when the King was crowned? Surely, he had stood at the King's right hand, and the people had adored and acclaimed30 them equally!
"King Ivor!" he murmured as if he were in a dream. "King Ivor!"
The Rat started up on his elbow.
"You will see him," he cried out. "He's not a dream any longer. The Game is not a game now—and it is ended—it is won! It was real—HE was real! Marco, I don't believe you hear."
"Yes, I do," answered Marco, "but it is almost more a dream than when it was one."
"The greatest patriot in the world is like a king himself!" raved31 The Rat. "If there is no bigger honor to give him, he will be made a prince—and Commander-in-Chief—and Prime Minister! Can't you hear those Samavians shouting, and singing, and praying? You'll see it all! Do you remember the mountain climber who was going to save the shoes he made for the Bearer of the Sign? He said a great day might come when one could show them to the people. It's come! He'll show them! I know how they'll take it!" His voice suddenly dropped—as if it dropped into a pit. "You'll see it all. But I shall not."
Then Marco awoke from his dream and lifted his head. "Why not?" he demanded. It sounded like a demand.
"Because I know better than to expect it!" The Rat groaned32. "You've taken me a long way, but you can't take me to the palace of a king. I'm not such a fool as to think that, even if your father—"
He broke off because Marco did more than lift his head. He sat upright.
"You bore the Sign as much as I did," he said. "We bore it together."
"Who would have listened to ME?" cried The Rat. "YOU were the son of Stefan Loristan."
"You were the friend of his son," answered Marco. "You went at the command of Stefan Loristan. You were the ARMY of the son of Stefan Loristan. That I have told you. Where I go, you will go. We will say no more of this—not one word."
And he lay down again in the silence of a prince of the blood. And The Rat knew that he meant what he said, and that Stefan Loristan also would mean it. And because he was a boy, he began to wonder what Mrs. Beedle would do when she heard what had happened—what had been happening all the time a tall, shabby "foreigner" had lived in her dingy33 back sitting-room34, and been closely watched lest he should go away without paying his rent, as shabby foreigners sometimes did. The Rat saw himself managing to poise35 himself very erect on his crutches36 while he told her that the shabby foreigner was—well, was at least the friend of a King, and had given him his crown—and would be made a prince and a Commander-in-Chief—and a Prime Minister—because there was no higher rank or honor to give him. And his son—whom she had insulted—was Samavia's idol37 because he had borne the Sign. And also that if she were in Samavia, and Marco chose to do it he could batter38 her wretched lodging-house to the ground and put her in a prison—"and serve her jolly well right!"
The next day passed, and the next; and then there came a letter. It was from Loristan, and Marco turned pale when Lazarus handed it to him. Lazarus and The Rat went out of the room at once, and left him to read it alone. It was evidently not a long letter, because it was not many minutes before Marco called them again into the room.
"In a few days, messengers—friends of my father's—will come to take us to Samavia. You and I and Lazarus are to go," he said to The Rat.
"God be thanked!" said Lazarus. "God be thanked!"
Before the messengers came, it was the end of the week. Lazarus had packed their few belongings39, and on Saturday Mrs. Beedle was to be seen hovering40 at the top of the cellar steps, when Marco and The Rat left the back sitting-room to go out.
"You needn't glare at me!" she said to Lazarus, who stood glowering41 at the door which he had opened for them. "Young Master Loristan, I want to know if you've heard when your father is coming back?"
"He will not come back," said Marco.
"He won't, won't he? Well, how about next week's rent?" said Mrs. Beedle. "Your man's been packing up, I notice. He's not got much to carry away, but it won't pass through that front door until I've got what's owing me. People that can pack easy think they can get away easy, and they'll bear watching. The week's up to-day."
Lazarus wheeled and faced her with a furious gesture. "Get back to your cellar, woman," he commanded. "Get back under ground and stay there. Look at what is stopping before your miserable42 gate."
A carriage was stopping—a very perfect carriage of dark brown. The coachman and footman wore dark brown and gold liveries, and the footman had leaped down and opened the door with respectful alacrity43. "They are friends of the Master's come to pay their respects to his son," said Lazarus. "Are their eyes to be offended by the sight of you?"
"Your money is safe," said Marco. "You had better leave us."
Mrs. Beedle gave a sharp glance at the two gentlemen who had entered the broken gate. They were of an order which did not belong to Philibert Place. They looked as if the carriage and the dark brown and gold liveries were every-day affairs to them.
"At all events, they're two grown men, and not two boys without a penny," she said. "If they're your father's friends, they'll tell me whether my rent's safe or not."
The two visitors were upon the threshold. They were both men of a certain self-contained dignity of type; and when Lazarus opened wide the door, they stepped into the shabby entrance hall as if they did not see it. They looked past its dinginess44, and past Lazarus, and The Rat, and Mrs. Beedle—THROUGH them, as it were,—at Marco.
He advanced towards them at once.
"You come from my father!" he said, and gave his hand first to the elder man, then to the younger.
"Yes, we come from your father. I am Baron45 Rastka—and this is the Count Vorversk," said the elder man, bowing.
"If they're barons46 and counts, and friends of your father's, they are well-to-do enough to be responsible for you," said Mrs. Beedle, rather fiercely, because she was somewhat over-awed and resented the fact. "It's a matter of next week's rent, gentlemen. I want to know where it's coming from."
The elder man looked at her with a swift cold glance. He did not speak to her, but to Lazarus. "What is she doing here?" he demanded.
Marco answered him. "She is afraid we cannot pay our rent," he said. "It is of great importance to her that she should be sure."
"Take her away," said the gentleman to Lazarus. He did not even glance at her. He drew something from his coat-pocket and handed it to the old soldier. "Take her away," he repeated. And because it seemed as if she were not any longer a person at all, Mrs. Beedle actually shuffled47 down the passage to the cellar-kitchen steps. Lazarus did not leave her until he, too, had descended48 into the cellar kitchen, where he stood and towered above her like an infuriated giant.
"To-morrow he will be on his way to Samavia, miserable woman!" he said. "Before he goes, it would be well for you to implore49 his pardon."
But Mrs. Beedle's point of view was not his. She had recovered some of her breath.
"I don't know where Samavia is," she raged, as she struggled to set her dusty, black cap straight. "I'll warrant it's one of these little foreign countries you can scarcely see on the map—and not a decent English town in it! He can go as soon as he likes, so long as he pays his rent before he does it. Samavia, indeed! You talk as if he was Buckingham Palace!"
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收听单词发音
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1
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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cavern
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| n.洞穴，大山洞 | |
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jolting
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| adj.令人震惊的 | |
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monastery
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| n.修道院，僧院，寺院 | |
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binding
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| 有约束力的，有效的，应遵守的 | |
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slaughter
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| n.屠杀，屠宰；vt.屠杀，宰杀 | |
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seclusion
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| n.隐遁，隔离 | |
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8
laboring
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| n.劳动，操劳v.努力争取(for)( labor的现在分词 )；苦干；详细分析；（指引擎）缓慢而困难地运转 | |
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9
fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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11
Flared
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| adj. 端部张开的, 爆发的, 加宽的, 漏斗式的 动词flare的过去式和过去分词 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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ardent
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，强烈的，烈性的 | |
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14
citadel
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| n.城堡；堡垒；避难所 | |
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followers
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| 追随者( follower的名词复数 )； 用户； 契据的附面； 从动件 | |
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16
prostrate
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| v.拜倒，平卧，衰竭；adj.拜倒的，平卧的，衰竭的 | |
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bestowed
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| 赠给，授予( bestow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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famished
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| adj.饥饿的 | |
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salvation
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| n.（尤指基督）救世，超度，拯救，解困 | |
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homage
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| n.尊敬，敬意，崇敬 | |
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recording
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| n.录音，记录 | |
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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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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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exultation
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| n.狂喜，得意 | |
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rigid
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| adj.严格的，死板的；刚硬的，僵硬的 | |
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scuttled
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| v.使船沉没( scuttle的过去式和过去分词 )；快跑，急走 | |
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awe
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| n.敬畏，惊惧；vt.使敬畏，使惊惧 | |
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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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patriot
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| n.爱国者，爱国主义者 | |
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acclaimed
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| adj.受人欢迎的 | |
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raved
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| v.胡言乱语( rave的过去式和过去分词 )；愤怒地说；咆哮；痴心地说 | |
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32
groaned
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| v.呻吟( groan的过去式和过去分词 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
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dingy
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| adj.昏暗的，肮脏的 | |
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sitting-room
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| n.（BrE）客厅，起居室 | |
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poise
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| vt./vi. 平衡，保持平衡；n.泰然自若，自信 | |
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crutches
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| n.拐杖, 支柱 v.支撑 | |
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idol
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| n.偶像，红人，宠儿 | |
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batter
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| v.接连重击；磨损；n.牛奶面糊；击球员 | |
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belongings
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| n.私人物品，私人财物 | |
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40
hovering
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| 鸟( hover的现在分词 )； 靠近（某事物）； （人）徘徊； 犹豫 | |
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41
glowering
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| v.怒视( glower的现在分词 ) | |
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42
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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43
alacrity
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| n.敏捷，轻快，乐意 | |
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44
dinginess
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| n.暗淡，肮脏 | |
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45
baron
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| n.男爵；(商业界等)巨头，大王 | |
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46
barons
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| 男爵( baron的名词复数 )； 巨头； 大王； 大亨 | |
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47
shuffled
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| v.洗（纸牌）( shuffle的过去式和过去分词 )；拖着脚步走；粗心地做；摆脱尘世的烦恼 | |
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48
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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49
implore
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| vt.乞求，恳求，哀求 | |
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