There were in particular women the names and countenances8 and family history of whom were familiar to hundreds of thousands of illustrated-newspaper readers, even in the most distant counties, and who never missed what was called a "function," whether "brilliant," "exclusive," or merely scandalous. At murder trials, at the sales of art collections, at the birth of musical comedies, at boxing matches, at historic debates, at receptions in honour of the renowned9, at luscious10 divorce cases, they were surely present, and the entire Press surely noted11 that they were present. And if executions had been public, they would in the same religious spirit have attended executions, rousing their maids at milkmen's hours in order that they might assume the right cunning frock to fit the occasion. And they were here. And no one could divine why or how, or to what eternal end.
G.J. hated them, and he hated the solemn self-satisfaction that brooded over the haughty12 faces of the throng13. He hated himself for having accepted a ticket from the friend in the War Office who was now sitting next to him. And yet he was pleased, too. A disturbed conscience could not defeat the instinct which bound him to the whole fashionable and powerful assemblage. For ever afterwards, to his dying hour, he could say—casually, modestly, as a matter of course, but he could still say—that he had been there. The Lord Mayor and Sheriffs, tradesmen glittering like Oriental potentates14, passed slowly across his field of vision. He thought with contempt of the City, living ghoulish on the buried past, and obstinately15 and humanly refusing to make a pile of its putrefying interests, set fire to it, and perish thereon.
The music began. It was the Dead March in Saul. The long-rolling drums suddenly rent the soul, and destroyed every base and petty thought that was there. Clergy16, headed by a bishop17, were walking down the cathedral. At the huge doors, nearly lost in the heavy twilight18 of November noon, they stopped, turned and came back. The coffin19 swayed into view, covered with the sacred symbolic20 bunting, and borne on the shoulders of eight sergeants21 of the old regiments23 of the dead man. Then followed the pall-bearers—five field-marshals, five full generals, and two admirals; aged24 men, and some of them had reached the highest dignity without giving a single gesture that had impressed itself on the national mind; nonentities25, apotheosised by seniority; and some showed traces of the bitter rain that was falling in the fog outside. Then the Primate26. Then the King, who had supervened from nowhere, the magic production of chamberlains and comptrollers. The procession, headed by the clergy, moved slowly, amid the vistas27 ending in the dull burning of stained glass, through the congregation in mourning and in khaki, through the lines of yellow-glowing candelabra, towards the crowd of scarlet28 under the dome29; the summit of the dome was hidden in soft mist. The music became insupportable in its sublimity30.
G.J. was afraid, and he did not immediately know why he was afraid. The procession came nearer. It was upon him.... He knew why he was afraid, and he averted31 sharply his gaze from the coffin. He was afraid for his composure. If he had continued to watch the coffin he would have burst into loud sobs32. Only by an extraordinary effort did he master himself. Many other people lowered their faces in self-defence. The searchers after new and violent sensations were having the time of their lives.
The Dead March with its intolerable genius had ceased. The coffin, guarded by flickering33 candles, lay on the lofty catafalque; the eight sergeants were pretending that their strength had not been in the least degree taxed. Princes, the illustrious, the champions of Allied34 might, dark Indians, adventurers, even Germans, surrounded the catafalque in the gloom. G.J. sympathised with the man in the coffin, the simple little man whose non-political mission had in spite of him grown political. He regretted horribly that once he, G.J., who protested that he belonged to no party, had said of the dead man: "Roberts! Well-meaning of course, but senile!" ... Yet a trifle! What did it matter? And how he loathed35 to think that the name of the dead man was now befouled by the calculating and impure36 praise of schemers. Another trifle!
As the service proceeded G.J. was overwhelmed and lost in the grandeur37 and terror of existence. There he sat, grizzled, dignified38, with the great world, looking as though he belonged to the great world; and he felt like a boy, like a child, like a helpless infant before the enormities of destiny. He wanted help, because of his futility39. He could do nothing, or so little. It was as if he had been training himself for twenty years in order to be futile40 at a crisis requiring crude action. And he could not undo41 twenty years. The war loomed42 about him, co-extensive with existence itself. He thought of the sergeant22 who, as recounted that morning in the papers, had led a victorious43 storming party, been decorated—and died of wounds. And similar deeds were being done at that moment. And the simple little man in the coffin was being tilted44 downwards45 from the catafalque into the grave close by. G.J. wanted surcease, were it but for an hour. He longed acutely, unbearably46, to be for an hour with Christine in her warm, stuffy47, exciting, languorous48, enervating49 room hermetically sealed against the war. Then he remembered the tones of her voice as she had told her Belgian adventures.... Was it love? Was it tenderness? Was it sensuality? The difference was indiscernible; it had no importance. Against the stark50 background of infinite existence all human beings were alike and all their passions were alike.
The gaunt, ruthless autocrat51 of the War Office and the frail52 crowned descendant of kings fronted each other across the open grave, and the coffin sank between them and was gone. From the choir53 there came the chanted and soothing54 words:
Steals on the ear the distant triumph-song.
G.J. just caught them clear among much that was incomprehensible. An intense patriotism55 filled him. He could do nothing; but he could keep his head, keep his balance, practise magnanimity, uphold the truth amid prejudice and superstition56, and be kind. Such at that moment seemed to be his mission.... He looked round, and pitied, instead of hating, the searchers after sensations.
A being called the Garter King of Arms stepped forward and in a loud voice recited the earthly titles and honours of the simple little dead man; and, although few qualities are commoner than physical courage, the whole catalogue seemed ridiculous and tawdry until the being came to the two words, "Victoria Cross". The being, having lived his glorious moments, withdrew. The Funeral March of Chopin tramped with its excruciating dragging tread across the ruins of the soul. And finally the cathedral was startled by the sudden trumpets57 of the Last Post, and the ceremony ended.
"Come and have lunch with me," said the young red-hatted officer next to G.J. "I haven't got to be back till two-thirty, and I want to talk music for a change. Do you know I'm putting in ninety hours a week at the W.O.?"
"Can't," G.J. replied, with an affectation of jauntiness58. "I'm engaged for lunch. Sorry."
"Who you lunching with?"
"Mrs. Smith."
The Staff officer exclaimed aghast:
"Conception?"
"Yes. Why, dear heart?"
"My dear chap. You don't know. Carlos Smith's been killed. She doesn't know yet. I only heard by chance. News came through just as I left. Nobody knows except a chap or two in Casualties. They won't be sending out to-day's wires until two or three o'clock."
G.J., terrified and at a loss, murmured:
"What am I to do, then?"
"You know her extremely well, don't you? You ought to go and prepare her."
"But how can I prepare her?"
"I don't know. How do people prepare people?... Poor thing!"
G.J. fought against the incredible fact of death.
"But he only went out six days ago! They haven't been married three weeks."
The central hardness of the other disclosed itself as he said:
"What's that got to do with it? What does it matter if he went out six days ago or six weeks ago? He's killed."
"Well—"
"Of course you must go. Indicate a rumour59. Tell her it's probably false, but you thought you owed it to her to warn her. Only for God's sake don't mention me. We're not supposed to say anything, you know."
G.J. seemed to see his mission, and it challenged him.
点击收听单词发音
1 favourably | |
adv. 善意地,赞成地 =favorably | |
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2 theatrical | |
adj.剧场的,演戏的;做戏似的,做作的 | |
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3 fully | |
adv.完全地,全部地,彻底地;充分地 | |
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4 artistic | |
adj.艺术(家)的,美术(家)的;善于艺术创作的 | |
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5 dilettante | |
n.半瓶醋,业余爱好者 | |
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6 apparently | |
adv.显然地;表面上,似乎 | |
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7 gatherings | |
聚集( gathering的名词复数 ); 收集; 采集; 搜集 | |
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8 countenances | |
n.面容( countenance的名词复数 );表情;镇静;道义支持 | |
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9 renowned | |
adj.著名的,有名望的,声誉鹊起的 | |
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10 luscious | |
adj.美味的;芬芳的;肉感的,引与性欲的 | |
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11 noted | |
adj.著名的,知名的 | |
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12 haughty | |
adj.傲慢的,高傲的 | |
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13 throng | |
n.人群,群众;v.拥挤,群集 | |
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14 potentates | |
n.君主,统治者( potentate的名词复数 );有权势的人 | |
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15 obstinately | |
ad.固执地,顽固地 | |
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16 clergy | |
n.[总称]牧师,神职人员 | |
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17 bishop | |
n.主教,(国际象棋)象 | |
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18 twilight | |
n.暮光,黄昏;暮年,晚期,衰落时期 | |
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19 coffin | |
n.棺材,灵柩 | |
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20 symbolic | |
adj.象征性的,符号的,象征主义的 | |
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21 sergeants | |
警官( sergeant的名词复数 ); (美国警察)警佐; (英国警察)巡佐; 陆军(或空军)中士 | |
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22 sergeant | |
n.警官,中士 | |
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23 regiments | |
(军队的)团( regiment的名词复数 ); 大量的人或物 | |
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24 aged | |
adj.年老的,陈年的 | |
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25 nonentities | |
n.无足轻重的人( nonentity的名词复数 );蝼蚁 | |
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26 primate | |
n.灵长类(目)动物,首席主教;adj.首要的 | |
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27 vistas | |
长条形景色( vista的名词复数 ); 回顾; 展望; (未来可能发生的)一系列情景 | |
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28 scarlet | |
n.深红色,绯红色,红衣;adj.绯红色的 | |
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29 dome | |
n.圆屋顶,拱顶 | |
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30 sublimity | |
崇高,庄严,气质高尚 | |
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31 averted | |
防止,避免( avert的过去式和过去分词 ); 转移 | |
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32 sobs | |
啜泣(声),呜咽(声)( sob的名词复数 ) | |
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33 flickering | |
adj.闪烁的,摇曳的,一闪一闪的 | |
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34 allied | |
adj.协约国的;同盟国的 | |
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35 loathed | |
v.憎恨,厌恶( loathe的过去式和过去分词 );极不喜欢 | |
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36 impure | |
adj.不纯净的,不洁的;不道德的,下流的 | |
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37 grandeur | |
n.伟大,崇高,宏伟,庄严,豪华 | |
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38 dignified | |
a.可敬的,高贵的 | |
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39 futility | |
n.无用 | |
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40 futile | |
adj.无效的,无用的,无希望的 | |
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41 undo | |
vt.解开,松开;取消,撤销 | |
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42 loomed | |
v.隐约出现,阴森地逼近( loom的过去式和过去分词 );隐约出现,阴森地逼近 | |
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43 victorious | |
adj.胜利的,得胜的 | |
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44 tilted | |
v. 倾斜的 | |
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45 downwards | |
adj./adv.向下的(地),下行的(地) | |
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46 unbearably | |
adv.不能忍受地,无法容忍地;慌 | |
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47 stuffy | |
adj.不透气的,闷热的 | |
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48 languorous | |
adj.怠惰的,没精打采的 | |
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49 enervating | |
v.使衰弱,使失去活力( enervate的现在分词 ) | |
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50 stark | |
adj.荒凉的;严酷的;完全的;adv.完全地 | |
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51 autocrat | |
n.独裁者;专横的人 | |
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52 frail | |
adj.身体虚弱的;易损坏的 | |
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53 choir | |
n.唱诗班,唱诗班的席位,合唱团,舞蹈团;v.合唱 | |
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54 soothing | |
adj.慰藉的;使人宽心的;镇静的 | |
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55 patriotism | |
n.爱国精神,爱国心,爱国主义 | |
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56 superstition | |
n.迷信,迷信行为 | |
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57 trumpets | |
喇叭( trumpet的名词复数 ); 小号; 喇叭形物; (尤指)绽开的水仙花 | |
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58 jauntiness | |
n.心满意足;洋洋得意;高兴;活泼 | |
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59 rumour | |
n.谣言,谣传,传闻 | |
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