“Now, mester!” shouted the barrel-man thickly, in response to Edwin’s airy remark, “these ’ere two chaps’ll shunt off for th’ price of a quart!” He indicated a couple of barrel-tenants8 of his own tribe, who instantly jumped down, touching9 their soiled caps. They were part of the barrel-man’s machinery10 for increasing profits. Edwin could not withdraw. His very cowardice11 forced him to be audacious. By the time he had satisfied the clawing greed of three dirty hands, the two barrels had cost him a shilling. Hilda’s only observation was, as Edwin helped her to the plateau of the barrel: “I do wish they wouldn’t spit on their money.” All barrels being now let to bona fide tenants and paid for, the three men sidled hastily away in order to drink luck to Sunday schools in the Duke of Wellington’s Entire. And Edwin, mounting the barrel next to Hilda’s, was thinking: “I’ve been done over that job. I ought to have got them for sixpence.” He saw how expensive it was, going about with delicately nurtured12 women. Never would he have offered a barrel to Maggie, and even had he done so Maggie would assuredly have said that she could make shift well enough without one.
“It’s simply perfect for seeing,” exclaimed Hilda, as he achieved her altitude. Her tone was almost cordial. He felt surprisingly at ease.
Two.
The whole Square was now suddenly revealed as a swarming13 mass of heads, out of which rose banners and pennons that were cruder in tint14 even than the frocks and hats of the little girls and the dresses and bonnets15 of their teachers; the men, too, by their neckties, scarves, and rosettes, added colour to colour. All the windows were chromatic16 with the hues17 of bright costumes, and from many windows and from every roof that had a flagstaff flags waved heavily against the gorgeous sky. At the bottom of the Square the lorries with infants had been arranged, and each looked like a bank of variegated18 flowers. The principal bands—that is to say, all the bands that could be trusted—were collected round the red baize platform at the top of the Square, and the vast sun-reflecting euphoniums, trumpets19, and comets made a glittering circle about the officials and ministers and their wives and women. All denominations20, for one day only, fraternised effusively21 together on that platform; for princes of the royal house, and the Archbishop of Canterbury and the Lord Mayor of London had urged that it should be so. The Primitive22 Methodists’ parson discovered himself next but one to Father Milton, who on any other day would have been a Popish priest, and whose wooden substitute for a wife was the queen on a chessboard. And on all these the sun blazed torridly.
And almost in the middle of the Square an immense purple banner bellied23 in the dusty breeze, saying in large gold letters, “The Blood of the Lamb,” together with the name of some Sunday school, which Edwin from his barrel could not decipher.
Then a hoary24 white-tied notability on the platform raised his might arm very high, and a bugle25 called, and a voice that had filled fields in exciting times of religious revival26 floated in thunder across the enclosed Square, easily dominating it—
“Let us sing.”
And the conductor of the eager massed bands set them free with a gesture, and after they had played a stave, a small stentorian27 choir28 at the back of the platform broke forth29, and in a moment the entire multitude, at first raggedly30, but soon in good unison31, was singing—
Let me hide myself in Thee;
Let the water and the blood,
From Thy riven side which flowed,
Be of sin the double cure:
The volume of sound was overwhelming. Its crashing force was enough to sweep people from barrels. Edwin could feel moisture in his eyes, and he dared not look at Hilda. “Why the deuce do I want to cry?” he asked himself angrily, and was ashamed. And at the beginning of the second verse, when the glittering instruments blared forth anew, and the innumerable voices, high and loud, infantile and aged35, flooded swiftly over their brassy notes, subduing37 them, the effect on Edwin was the same again: a tightening38 of the throat, and a squeezing down of the eyelids39. Why was it? Through a mist he read the words “The Blood of the Lamb,” and he could picture the riven trunk of a man dying, and a torrent40 of blood flowing therefrom, and people like his Auntie Clara and his brother-in-law Albert plunging41 ecstatically into the liquid in order to be white. The picture came again in the third verse,—the red fountains and the frantic42 bathers.
Then the notability raised his arm once more, and took off his hat, and all the males on the platform took off their hats, and presently every boy and man in the Square had uncovered his head to the strong sunshine; and at last Edwin had to do the same, and only the policemen, by virtue43 of their high office, could dare to affront44 the majesty45 of God. And the reverberating46 voice cried—
“Oh, most merciful Lord! Have pity upon us. We are brands plucked from the burning.” And continued for several minutes to descant47 upon the theme of everlasting48 torture by incandescence49 and thirst. Nominally50 addressing a deity51, but in fact preaching to his audience, he announced that, even for the veriest infant on a lorry, there was no escape from the eternal fires save by complete immersion52 in the blood. And he was so convinced and convincing that an imaginative nose could have detected the odour of burnt flesh. And all the while the great purple banner waved insistently53: “The Blood of the Lamb.”
Three.
When the prayer was finished for the benefit of the little ones, another old and favourite hymn54 had to be sung. (None but the classical lyrics55 of British Christianity had found a place in the programme of the great day.) Guided by the orchestra, the youth of Bursley and the maturity56 thereof chanted with gusto—
There is a fountain filled with blood
Lose all their guilty stains.
...
Dear dying Lamb, Thy precious blood—
Edwin, like everybody, knew every line of the poem. With the purple banner waving there a bloody60 motto, he foresaw each sanguinary detail of the verse ere it came to him from the shrill61 childish throats. And a phrase from another hymn jumped from somewhere in his mind just as William Cowper’s ended and a speech commenced. The phrase was ‘India’s coral strand62.’ In thinking upon it he forgot to listen to the speech. He saw the flags, banners, and pennons floating in the sunshine and in the heavy breeze; he felt the reverberation63 of the tropic sun on his head; he saw the crowded humanity of the Square attired64 in its crude, primary colours; he saw the great brass36 serpentine65 instruments gleaming; he saw the red daïs; he saw, bursting with infancy66, the immense cams to which were attached the fantastically plaited horses; he saw the venerable zealots on the daïs raving67 lest after all the institutions whose centenary they had met to honour should not save these children from hopeless and excruciating torture for ever and ever; he saw those majestic68 purple folds in the centre embroidered69 with the legend of the blood of the mystic Paschal Lamb; he saw the meek70, stupid, and superstitious71 faces, all turned one way, all for the moment under the empire of one horrible idea, all convinced that the consequences of sins could be prevented by an act of belief, all gloating over inexhaustible tides of blood. And it seemed to him that he was not in England any longer. It seemed to him that in the dim cellars under the shambles72 behind the Town Hall, where he had once been, there dwelt, squatting73, a strange and savage74 god who would blast all those who did not enter his presence dripping with gore75, be they child or grandfather. It seemed to him that the drums were tom-toms, and Baines’s a bazaar76. He could fit every detail of the scene to harmonise with a vision of India’s coral strand.
There was no mist before his eyes now. His sight was so clear that he could distinguish his father at a window of the Bank, at the other top corner of the Square. Part of his mind was so idle that he could wonder how his father had contrived77 to get there, and whether Maggie was staying at home with Clara. But the visualisation of India’s coral strand in Saint Luke’s Square persisted. A phrase in the speech loosed some catch in him and he turned suddenly to Hilda, and in an intimate half-whisper murmured—
“More blood!”
“What?” she harshly questioned. But he knew that she understood.
“Well,” he said audaciously, “look at it! It only wants the Ganges at the bottom of the Square!”
No one heard save she. But she put her hand on his arm protestingly. “Even if we don’t believe,” said she—not harshly, but imploringly78, “we needn’t make fun.”
“We don’t believe!” And that new tone of entreaty79! She had comprehended without explanation. She was a weird80 woman. Was there another creature, male or female, to whom he would have dared to say what he had said to her? He had chosen to say it to her because he despised her, because he wished to trample81 on her feelings. She roused the brute82 in him, and perhaps no one was more astonished than himself to witness the brute stirring. Imagine saying to the gentle and sensitive Janet: “It only wants the Ganges at the bottom of the Square—” He could not.
They stood silent, gazing and listening. And the sun went higher in the sky and blazed down more cruelly. And then the speech ended, and the speaker wiped his head with an enormous handkerchief. And the multitude, led by the brazen83 instruments, which in a moment it overpowered, was singing to a solemn air—
On which the Prince of Glory died,
My richest gain I count but loss,
And pour contempt on all my pride.
Hilda shook her head.
“What’s the matter?” he asked, leaning towards her from his barrel.
“That’s the most splendid religious verse ever written!” she said passionately85. “You can say what you like. It’s worth while believing anything, if you can sing words like that and mean them!”
She had an air of restrained fury.
But fancy exciting herself over a hymn!
“Yes, it is fine, that is!” he agreed.
“Do you know who wrote it?” she demanded menacingly.
“I’m afraid I don’t remember,” he said. The hymn was one of his earliest recollections, but it had never occurred to him to be curious as to its authorship.
He could hear her, beneath the tremendous chanting from the Square, repeating the words to herself with her precise and impressive articulation88.
点击收听单词发音
1 detour | |
n.绕行的路,迂回路;v.迂回,绕道 | |
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2 clan | |
n.氏族,部落,宗族,家族,宗派 | |
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3 disappearance | |
n.消失,消散,失踪 | |
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4 pointed | |
adj.尖的,直截了当的 | |
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5 vaults | |
n.拱顶( vault的名词复数 );地下室;撑物跳高;墓穴 | |
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6 intemperate | |
adj.无节制的,放纵的 | |
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8 tenants | |
n.房客( tenant的名词复数 );佃户;占用者;占有者 | |
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9 touching | |
adj.动人的,使人感伤的 | |
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10 machinery | |
n.(总称)机械,机器;机构 | |
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11 cowardice | |
n.胆小,怯懦 | |
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12 nurtured | |
养育( nurture的过去式和过去分词 ); 培育; 滋长; 助长 | |
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13 swarming | |
密集( swarm的现在分词 ); 云集; 成群地移动; 蜜蜂或其他飞行昆虫成群地飞来飞去 | |
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14 tint | |
n.淡色,浅色;染发剂;vt.着以淡淡的颜色 | |
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15 bonnets | |
n.童帽( bonnet的名词复数 );(烟囱等的)覆盖物;(苏格兰男子的)无边呢帽;(女子戴的)任何一种帽子 | |
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16 chromatic | |
adj.色彩的,颜色的 | |
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17 hues | |
色彩( hue的名词复数 ); 色调; 信仰; 观点 | |
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18 variegated | |
adj.斑驳的,杂色的 | |
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19 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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20 denominations | |
n.宗派( denomination的名词复数 );教派;面额;名称 | |
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21 effusively | |
adv.变溢地,热情洋溢地 | |
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22 primitive | |
adj.原始的;简单的;n.原(始)人,原始事物 | |
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23 bellied | |
adj.有腹的,大肚子的 | |
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24 hoary | |
adj.古老的;鬓发斑白的 | |
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25 bugle | |
n.军号,号角,喇叭;v.吹号,吹号召集 | |
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26 revival | |
n.复兴,复苏,(精力、活力等的)重振 | |
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27 stentorian | |
adj.大声的,响亮的 | |
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28 choir | |
n.唱诗班,唱诗班的席位,合唱团,舞蹈团;v.合唱 | |
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29 forth | |
adv.向前;向外,往外 | |
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30 raggedly | |
破烂地,粗糙地 | |
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31 unison | |
n.步调一致,行动一致 | |
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32 cleft | |
n.裂缝;adj.裂开的 | |
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33 cleanse | |
vt.使清洁,使纯洁,清洗 | |
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34 guilt | |
n.犯罪;内疚;过失,罪责 | |
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35 aged | |
adj.年老的,陈年的 | |
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36 brass | |
n.黄铜;黄铜器,铜管乐器 | |
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37 subduing | |
征服( subdue的现在分词 ); 克制; 制服; 色变暗 | |
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38 tightening | |
上紧,固定,紧密 | |
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39 eyelids | |
n.眼睑( eyelid的名词复数 );眼睛也不眨一下;不露声色;面不改色 | |
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40 torrent | |
n.激流,洪流;爆发,(话语等的)连发 | |
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41 plunging | |
adj.跳进的,突进的v.颠簸( plunge的现在分词 );暴跌;骤降;突降 | |
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42 frantic | |
adj.狂乱的,错乱的,激昂的 | |
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43 virtue | |
n.德行,美德;贞操;优点;功效,效力 | |
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44 affront | |
n./v.侮辱,触怒 | |
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45 majesty | |
n.雄伟,壮丽,庄严,威严;最高权威,王权 | |
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46 reverberating | |
回响,回荡( reverberate的现在分词 ); 使反响,使回荡,使反射 | |
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47 descant | |
v.详论,絮说;n.高音部 | |
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48 everlasting | |
adj.永恒的,持久的,无止境的 | |
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49 incandescence | |
n.白热,炽热;白炽 | |
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50 nominally | |
在名义上,表面地; 应名儿 | |
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51 deity | |
n.神,神性;被奉若神明的人(或物) | |
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52 immersion | |
n.沉浸;专心 | |
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53 insistently | |
ad.坚持地 | |
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54 hymn | |
n.赞美诗,圣歌,颂歌 | |
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55 lyrics | |
n.歌词 | |
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56 maturity | |
n.成熟;完成;(支票、债券等)到期 | |
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57 drawn | |
v.拖,拉,拔出;adj.憔悴的,紧张的 | |
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58 veins | |
n.纹理;矿脉( vein的名词复数 );静脉;叶脉;纹理 | |
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59 plunged | |
v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 );暴跌;骤降;突降 | |
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60 bloody | |
adj.非常的的;流血的;残忍的;adv.很;vt.血染 | |
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61 shrill | |
adj.尖声的;刺耳的;v尖叫 | |
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62 strand | |
vt.使(船)搁浅,使(某人)困于(某地) | |
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63 reverberation | |
反响; 回响; 反射; 反射物 | |
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64 attired | |
adj.穿着整齐的v.使穿上衣服,使穿上盛装( attire的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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65 serpentine | |
adj.蜿蜒的,弯曲的 | |
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66 infancy | |
n.婴儿期;幼年期;初期 | |
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67 raving | |
adj.说胡话的;疯狂的,怒吼的;非常漂亮的;令人醉心[痴心]的v.胡言乱语(rave的现在分词)n.胡话;疯话adv.胡言乱语地;疯狂地 | |
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68 majestic | |
adj.雄伟的,壮丽的,庄严的,威严的,崇高的 | |
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69 embroidered | |
adj.绣花的 | |
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70 meek | |
adj.温顺的,逆来顺受的 | |
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71 superstitious | |
adj.迷信的 | |
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72 shambles | |
n.混乱之处;废墟 | |
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73 squatting | |
v.像动物一样蹲下( squat的现在分词 );非法擅自占用(土地或房屋);为获得其所有权;而占用某片公共用地。 | |
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74 savage | |
adj.野蛮的;凶恶的,残暴的;n.未开化的人 | |
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75 gore | |
n.凝血,血污;v.(动物)用角撞伤,用牙刺破;缝以补裆;顶 | |
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76 bazaar | |
n.集市,商店集中区 | |
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77 contrived | |
adj.不自然的,做作的;虚构的 | |
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78 imploringly | |
adv. 恳求地, 哀求地 | |
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79 entreaty | |
n.恳求,哀求 | |
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80 weird | |
adj.古怪的,离奇的;怪诞的,神秘而可怕的 | |
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81 trample | |
vt.踩,践踏;无视,伤害,侵犯 | |
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82 brute | |
n.野兽,兽性 | |
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83 brazen | |
adj.厚脸皮的,无耻的,坚硬的 | |
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84 wondrous | |
adj.令人惊奇的,奇妙的;adv.惊人地;异乎寻常地;令人惊叹地 | |
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85 passionately | |
ad.热烈地,激烈地 | |
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86 sneered | |
讥笑,冷笑( sneer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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87 watts | |
(电力计量单位)瓦,瓦特( watt的名词复数 ) | |
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88 articulation | |
n.(清楚的)发音;清晰度,咬合 | |
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