Neeland had undressed, bathed his somewhat battered1 body, and had then thrown himself on the bed, fully2 intending to rise in a few moments and await breakfast.
But it was a very weary young man who stretched himself out for ten minutes’ repose4. And, when again he unclosed his eyes, the austere5 clock on the mantel informed him that it was five—not five in the morning either.
He had slept through the first day of general mobilisation.
Across the lowered latticed blinds late afternoon sunshine struck red. The crests6 of the chestnut7 trees in the rue8 Soleil d’Or had turned rosy9; and a delicate mauve sky, so characteristic of Paris in early autumn, already stretched above the city like a frail10 tent of silk from which fragile cobweb clouds hung, tinted11 with saffron and palest rose.
Hoisting12 the latteen shades, he looked out through lace curtains into the most silent city he had ever beheld13. Not that the streets and avenues were deserted14: they swarmed15 with hurrying, silent people and with taxicabs.
Never had he seen so many taxicabs; they streamed by everywhere, rushing at high speed. They passed through the rue Soleil d’Or; the rue de la Lune fairly 411whizzed with them; the splendid avenue was merely a vista16 of flying taxis; and in every one of them there was a soldier.
Otherwise, except for cyclists, there seemed to be very few soldiers in Paris—an odd fact immediately noticeable.
Also there were no omnibuses to be seen, no private automobiles18, no electric vehicles of any sort except great grey army trucks trundling by with a sapper at the wheel.
And, except for the whiz and rush of the motors and the melancholy19 siren blasts from their horns, an immense silence reigned20 in the streets.
There was no laughter to be heard, no loud calling, no gay and animated21 badinage22. People who met and stopped conversed23 in undertones; gestures were sober and rare.
And everywhere, in the intense stillness, Red Cross flags hung motionless in the late afternoon sunshine; everywhere were posted notices warning the Republic of general mobilisation—on dead walls, on tree-boxes, on kiosques, on bulletin boards, on the façades of public and ecclesiastical buildings.
Another ordinance24 which Neeland could read from where he stood at the window warned all citizens from the streets after eight o’clock in the evening; and on the closed iron shutters25 of every shop in sight of his window were pasted white strips of paper bearing, in black letters, the same explanation:
“Fermé à cause de la mobilisation.”
Nowhere could he see the word “war” printed or otherwise displayed. The conspiracy26 of silence concerning it seemed the more ominous27.
Nor, listening, could he hear the sinister28 voices of 412men and boys calling extra editions of the papers. There seemed to be no need for the raising of hoarse29 and threatening voices in the soundless capital. Men and youths of all ages traversed the avenues and streets with sheafs of fresh, damp newspapers over their ragged30 arms, but it was the populace who crowded after and importuned31 them, not they the people; and no sooner did a paper-seller appear than he was stripped of his wares32 and was counting his coppers33 under the trees before hurrying away for a fresh supply.
Neeland dressed himself in sections, always returning to the window to look out; and in this manner he achieved his toilet.
Marotte, the old butler, was on the floor below, carrying a tea tray into the wide, sunny sitting-room34 as Neeland descended35.
“I overslept,” explained the young American, “and I’m nearly starved. Is Mademoiselle Carew having tea?”
“Mademoiselle requested tea for two, sir, in case you should awake,” said the old man solemnly.
Neeland watched him fussing about with cloth and table and silver.
“Have you any news?” he asked after a moment.
“Very little, Monsieur Neeland. The police have ordered all Germans into detention36 camps—men, women, and children. It is said that there are to be twelve great camps for these unfortunates who are to assemble in the Lycée Condorcet for immediate17 transportation.”
Neeland thought of Ilse Dumont. Presently he asked whether any message had been received from the Princess Mistchenka.
“Madame the Princess telephoned from Havre at 413four o’clock this afternoon. Mademoiselle Carew has the message.”
“No other news, Marotte?”
“The military have taken our automobiles from the garage, and have requisitioned the car which Madame la Princess is now using, ordering us to place it at their disposal as soon as it returns from Havre. Also, Monsieur le Capitaine Sengoun has telephoned from the Russian Embassy, but Mademoiselle Carew would not permit Monsieur to be awakened39.”
“What did Captain Sengoun say?”
“Mademoiselle Carew received the message.”
“And did anyone else call me up?” asked Neeland, smiling.
“Il y avait une fe—une espèce de dame,” replied the old man doubtfully, “—who named herself Fifi la Tzigane. I permitted myself to observe to her,” added the butler with dignity, “that she had the liberty of writing to you what she thought necessary to communicate.”
He had arranged the tea-table. Now he retired40, but returned almost immediately to decorate the table with Cloth of Gold roses.
Fussing and pottering about until the mass of lovely blossoms suited him, he finally presented himself to Neeland for further orders, and, learning that there were none, started to retire with a self-respecting dignity that was not at all impaired41 by the tears which kept welling up in his aged42 eyes, and which he always winked43 away with a demi-tour and a discreet44 cough correctly stifled45 by his dry and wrinkled hand.
As he passed out the door Neeland said:
“Are you in trouble, Marotte?”414
The old man straightened up, and a fierce pride blazed for a moment from his faded eyes:
“Not trouble, monsieur; but—when one has three sons departing for the front—dame!—that makes one reflect a little––”
He bowed with the unconscious dignity of a wider liberty, a subtler equality which, for a moment, left such as he indifferent to circumstances of station.
Neeland stepped forward extending his hand:
“Bonne chance! God be with France—and with us all who love our liberty. Luck to your three sons!”
“I thank monsieur––” He steadied his voice, bowed in the faultless garments which were his badge of service, and went his way through the silence in the house.
Neeland had walked to the long windows giving on the pretty balcony with its delicate, wrought-iron rails and its brilliant masses of geraniums.
Outside, along the Avenue, in absolute silence, a regiment46 of cuirassiers was passing, the level sun blazing like sheets of crimson47 fire across their helmets and breastplates. And now, listening, the far clatter48 of their horses came to his ears in an immense, unbroken, rattling49 resonance50.
Their gold-fringed standard passed, and the sunlight on the naked sabres ran from point to hilt like liquid blood. Sons of the Cuirassiers of Morsbronn, grandsons of the Cuirassiers of Waterloo—what was their magnificent fate to be?—For splendid it could not fail to be, whether tragic51 or fortunate.
The American’s heart began to hammer in his breast and throb52 in his throat, closing it with a sudden spasm53 that seemed to confuse his vision for a moment and turn the distant passing regiment to a glittering stream of steel and flame.415
Then it had passed; the darkly speeding torrent54 of motor cars alone possessed55 the Avenue; and Neeland turned away into the room again.
And there, before him, stood Rue Carew.
A confused sense of unreasoning, immeasurable happiness rushed over him, and, in that sudden, astounding56 instant of self-revelation, self-amazement left him dumb.
She had given him both her slim white hands, and he held to them as though to find his bearings. Both were a trifle irrelevant57 and fragmentary.
“Do you c-care for tea, Jim?... What a night! What a fright you gave us.... There are croissants, too, and caviar.... I would not permit anybody to awaken38 you; and I was dying to see you––”
“I am so sorry you were anxious about me. And I’m tremendously hungry.... You see, Sengoun and I did not mean to remain out all night.... I’ll help you with that tea; shall I?...”
He still retained her hands in his; she smiled and flushed in a breathless sort of way, and looked sometimes at the tea-kettle as though she never before had seen such an object; and looked up at him as though she had never until that moment beheld any man like him.
“The Princess Naïa has left us quite alone,” she said, “so I must give you some tea.” She was nervous and smiling and a little frightened and confused with the sense of their contact.
“So—I shall give you your tea, now,” she repeated.
She did not mention her manual inability to perform her promise, but presently it occurred to him to release her hands, and she slid gracefully58 into her chair and took hold of the silver kettle with fingers that trembled.416
He ate everything offered him, and then took the initiative. And he talked—Oh, heaven! How he talked! Everything that had happened to him and to Sengoun from the moment they left the rue Soleil d’Or the night before, this garrulous59 young man detailed60 with a relish61 for humorous circumstance and a disregard for anything approaching the tragic, which left her with an impression that it had all been a tremendous lark62—indiscreet, certainly, and probably reprehensible—but a lark, for all that.
Fireworks, shooting, noise, and architectural destruction he admitted, but casualties he skimmed over, and of death he never said a word. Why should he? The dead were dead. None concerned this young girl now—and, save one, no death that any man had died there in the shambles63 of the Café des Bulgars could ever mean anything to Rue Carew.
Some day, perhaps, he might tell her that Brandes was dead—not where or how he had died—but merely the dry detail. And she might docket it, if she cared to, and lay it away among the old, scarcely remembered, painful things that had been lived, and now were to be forgotten forever.
The silence of intensest interest, shy or excited questions, and the grey eyes never leaving his—this was her tribute.
Grey eyes tinged64 with golden lights, now clear with suspense65, now brilliant at a crisis, now gentle, wondering, troubled, as he spoke66 of Ilse Dumont and the Russian girl, now charmingly vague as her mind outstripped67 his tongue and she divined something of the sturdy part he had played—golden-grey eyes that grew exquisite68 with her pride in him, tender with solicitude69 for him in dangers already passed away—this was her tribute417
Engaging grey eyes of a girl with the splendour and mystery of womanhood possessing her—attracting him, too, fascinating him, threatening, conquering, possessing him—this, the Greek gift of Rue Carew, her tribute.
And he took all, forgetting that the Greeks bore gifts; or, perhaps, remembering, rejoicing, happy in his servitude, he took into his heart and soul the tribute this young girl offered, a grateful, thankful captive.
The terrible cataclysm70 impending71, menacing the world, they seemed powerless, yet, to grasp and comprehend and understand.
Outside, the street rippled72 and roared with the interminable clatter of passing cavalry73: the girl looked into the eyes of the boy across the tea-table, and her young eyes, half fearful yet enchanted74, scarce dared divine what his eyes were telling her while his hurrying tongue chattered75 irrelevancies.
Three empires, two kingdoms, and a great republic resounded76 with the hellish din3 of arming twenty million men. Her soft lips were touched with the smile of youth that learns for the first time it is beloved; her eyes of a child, exquisite, brooding, rested with a little more courage now on his—were learning, little by little, to sustain his gaze, endure the ardour that no careless, laughing speech of his could hide or dim or quench77.
In the twilight78 of the streets there was silence, save for the rush of motors and the recurrent trample79 of armed men. But the heart of Rue Carew was afire with song—and every delicate vein80 in her ran singing to her heart.
There was war in the Eastern world; and palace and chancellery were ablaze81. But they spoke of the West—of humble82 places and lowly homes; of still 418woodlands where mosses83 edged the brooks84; of peaceful villages they both had known, where long, tree-shaded streets slept in the dappled shadow under the sun of noon.
There were two letters for Neeland, left by hand. And, when the old man had gone away bearing his silver tray among his heavier burdens:
“Read them,” nodded Rue Carew.
He read them both aloud to her: the first amused them a little—not without troubling them a little, too:
Monsieur Neeland:
It is the Tzigane, Fifi, who permits herself the honour of addressing you.
Breslau escaped. With him went the plans, it seems. You behaved admirably in the Café des Bulgars. A Russian comrade has you and Prince Erlik to remember in her prayers.
You have done well, monsieur. Now, your task is ended. Go back to the Western World and leave us to end this battle between ourselves.
It is written and confirmed by the stars that what the Eastern World has sown it shall now reap all alone.
We Tziganes know. You should not mock at our knowledge. For there is a dark star, Erlik, named from the Prince of Hell. And last night it was in conjunction with the red star, Mars. None saw it; none has ever beheld the dark star, Erlik.
But we Tziganes know. We have known for five thousand years that Erlik hung aloft, followed by ten black moons. Ask your astronomers86. But we Tziganes knew this before there ever were astronomers!
Therefore, go home to your own land, monsieur. The Prince of Hell is in the heavens. The Yellow Devil shall see the Golden Horn again. Empires shall totter87 and fall. Little American, stand from under.419
Adieu! We Tziganes wish you well—Fifi and Nini of the Jardin Russe.
“Adieu, beau jeune homme! And—to her whom you shall take with you—homage, good wishes, good augury88, and adieux!”
“‘To her whom you shall take with you,’” he repeated, looking at Rue Carew.
The girl blushed furiously and bent89 her head, and her slender fingers grew desperately90 busy with her handkerchief.
Neeland, as nervous as she, fumbled91 with the seal of the remaining letter, managed finally to break it, glanced at the writing, then laughed and read:
My dear Comrade Neeland:
I get my thousand lances! Congratulate me! Were you much battered by that canaille last night? I laugh until I nearly burst when I think of that absurd bousculade!
That girl I took with me is all right. I’m going to Petrograd! I’m going on the first opportunity by way of Switzerland.
What happiness, Neeland! No more towns for me, except those I take. No more politics, no more diplomacy92! I shall have a thousand lances to do my talking for me. Hurrah93!
Neeland, I love you as a brother. Come to the East with me. You shall make a splendid trooper! Not, of course, a Terek Cossack. A Cossack is God’s work. A Terek Cossack is born, not made.
But, good heavens! There is other most excellent cavalry in the world, I hope! Come with me to Russia. Say that you will come, my dear comrade Neeland, and I promise you we shall amuse ourselves when the world’s dance begins––
“Oh!” breathed the girl, exasperated94. “Sengoun is a fool!”420
Neeland looked up quickly from his letter; then his face altered, and he rose; but Rue Carew was already on her feet; and she had lost most of her colour—and her presence of mind, too, it seemed, for Neeland’s arms were half around her, and her hands were against his shoulders.
Neither of them spoke; and he was already amazed and rather scared at his own incredible daring—already terribly afraid of this slender, fragrant95 creature who stood rigid96 and silent within the circle of his arm, her head lowered, her little, resisting hands pressed convulsively against his breast.
And after a long time the pressure against his breast slowly relaxed; her restless fingers moved nervously97 against his shoulders, picked at the lapels of his coat, clung there as he drew her head against his breast.
The absurd beating of his heart choked him as he stammered98 her name; he dropped his head beside her hot and half hidden cheek. And, after a long, long time, her face stirred on his breast, turned a very little toward him, and her young lips melted against his.
So they stood through the throbbing99 silence in the slowly darkening room, while the street outside echoed with the interminable trample of passing cavalry, and the dim capital lay like a phantom100 city under the ghostly lances of the searchlights as though probing all Heaven to the very feet of God in search of reasons for the hellish crime now launched against the guiltless Motherland.
And high among the planets sped the dark star, Erlik, unseen by men, rushing through viewless interstellar space, hurled101 out of nothing by the Prince of Hell into the nothing toward which all Hell is speeding, too; and 421whither it shall one day fade and disappear and pass away forever.
“My darling––”
“Oh, Jim—I have loved you all my life,” she whispered. And her young arms crept up and clung around his neck.
“My darling Rue—my little Rue Carew––”
Outside the window an officer also spoke through the unbroken clatter of passing horsemen which filled the whole house with a hollow roar. But she heard her lover’s voice alone as in a hushed and magic world; and in her girl’s enchanted ears his words were the only sounds that stirred a heavenly quiet that reigned between the earth and stars.
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收听单词发音
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1
battered
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| adj.磨损的；v.连续猛击；磨损 | |
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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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din
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| n.喧闹声，嘈杂声 | |
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repose
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| v.(使)休息；n.安息 | |
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austere
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| adj.艰苦的；朴素的，朴实无华的；严峻的 | |
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6
crests
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| v.到达山顶（或浪峰）( crest的第三人称单数 )；到达洪峰，达到顶点 | |
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chestnut
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| n.栗树，栗子 | |
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8
rue
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| n.懊悔，芸香，后悔；v.后悔，悲伤，懊悔 | |
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rosy
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| adj.美好的，乐观的，玫瑰色的 | |
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10
frail
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| adj.身体虚弱的；易损坏的 | |
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11
tinted
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| adj. 带色彩的 动词tint的过去式和过去分词 | |
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hoisting
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| 起重，提升 | |
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13
beheld
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| v.看，注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
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14
deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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15
swarmed
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| 密集( swarm的过去式和过去分词 )； 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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vista
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| n.远景，深景，展望，回想 | |
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17
immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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18
automobiles
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| n.汽车( automobile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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reigned
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| vi.当政，统治（reign的过去式形式） | |
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animated
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| adj.生气勃勃的，活跃的，愉快的 | |
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badinage
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| n.开玩笑，打趣 | |
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conversed
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| v.交谈，谈话( converse的过去式 ) | |
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ordinance
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| n.法令；条令；条例 | |
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shutters
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| 百叶窗( shutter的名词复数 )； （照相机的）快门 | |
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conspiracy
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| n.阴谋，密谋，共谋 | |
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ominous
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| adj.不祥的，不吉的，预兆的，预示的 | |
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sinister
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| adj.不吉利的，凶恶的，左边的 | |
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29
hoarse
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| adj.嘶哑的，沙哑的 | |
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ragged
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| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
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31
importuned
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| v.纠缠，向（某人）不断要求( importune的过去式和过去分词 )；（妓女）拉（客） | |
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32
wares
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| n. 货物, 商品 | |
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coppers
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| 铜( copper的名词复数 )； 铜币 | |
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34
sitting-room
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| n.（BrE）客厅，起居室 | |
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35
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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36
detention
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| n.滞留，停留；拘留，扣留；(教育)留下 | |
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reassured
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| adj.使消除疑虑的；使放心的v.再保证，恢复信心( reassure的过去式和过去分词) | |
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38
awaken
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| vi.醒，觉醒；vt.唤醒，使觉醒，唤起，激起 | |
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39
awakened
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| v.（使）醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
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40
retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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41
impaired
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| adj.受损的；出毛病的；有（身体或智力）缺陷的v.损害，削弱( impair的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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42
aged
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| adj.年老的，陈年的 | |
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43
winked
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| v.使眼色( wink的过去式和过去分词 )；递眼色（表示友好或高兴等）；（指光）闪烁；闪亮 | |
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44
discreet
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| adj.(言行)谨慎的；慎重的；有判断力的 | |
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45
stifled
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| （使）窒息， （使）窒闷( stifle的过去式和过去分词 )； 镇压，遏制； 堵 | |
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46
regiment
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| n.团，多数，管理；v.组织，编成团，统制 | |
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47
crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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48
clatter
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| v./n.(使)发出连续而清脆的撞击声 | |
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49
rattling
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| adj. 格格作响的, 活泼的, 很好的 adv. 极其, 很, 非常 动词rattle的现在分词 | |
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50
resonance
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| n.洪亮；共鸣；共振 | |
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51
tragic
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| adj.悲剧的，悲剧性的，悲惨的 | |
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52
throb
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| v.震颤，颤动；(急速强烈地)跳动，搏动 | |
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53
spasm
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| n.痉挛，抽搐；一阵发作 | |
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54
torrent
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| n.激流，洪流；爆发，(话语等的)连发 | |
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55
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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56
astounding
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| adj.使人震惊的vt.使震惊，使大吃一惊astound的现在分词) | |
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57
irrelevant
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| adj.不恰当的，无关系的，不相干的 | |
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58
gracefully
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| ad.大大方方地；优美地 | |
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59
garrulous
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| adj.唠叨的，多话的 | |
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60
detailed
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| adj.详细的，详尽的，极注意细节的，完全的 | |
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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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62
lark
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| n.云雀，百灵鸟；n.嬉戏，玩笑；vi.嬉戏 | |
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63
shambles
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| n.混乱之处；废墟 | |
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64
tinged
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| v.（使）发丁丁声( ting的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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suspense
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| n.（对可能发生的事）紧张感，担心，挂虑 | |
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66
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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67
outstripped
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| v.做得比…更好，（在赛跑等中）超过( outstrip的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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68
exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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69
solicitude
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| n.焦虑 | |
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70
cataclysm
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| n.洪水，剧变，大灾难 | |
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71
impending
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| a.imminent, about to come or happen | |
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72
rippled
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| 使泛起涟漪（ripple的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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73
cavalry
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| n.骑兵；轻装甲部队 | |
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74
enchanted
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| adj. 被施魔法的，陶醉的，入迷的 动词enchant的过去式和过去分词 | |
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75
chattered
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| （人）喋喋不休( chatter的过去式 )； 唠叨； （牙齿）打战； （机器）震颤 | |
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76
resounded
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| v.（指声音等）回荡于某处( resound的过去式和过去分词 )；产生回响；（指某处）回荡着声音 | |
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77
quench
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| vt.熄灭，扑灭；压制 | |
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twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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79
trample
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| vt.踩，践踏；无视，伤害，侵犯 | |
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80
vein
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| n.血管，静脉；叶脉，纹理；情绪；vt.使成脉络 | |
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81
ablaze
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| adj.着火的，燃烧的；闪耀的，灯火辉煌的 | |
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82
humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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83
mosses
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| n. 藓类, 苔藓植物 名词moss的复数形式 | |
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84
brooks
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| n.小溪( brook的名词复数 ) | |
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85
tranquil
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| adj. 安静的, 宁静的, 稳定的, 不变的 | |
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astronomers
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| n.天文学者，天文学家( astronomer的名词复数 ) | |
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87
totter
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| v.蹒跚， 摇摇欲坠；n.蹒跚的步子 | |
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88
augury
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| n.预言，征兆，占卦 | |
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89
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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90
desperately
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| adv.极度渴望地，绝望地，孤注一掷地 | |
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91
fumbled
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| （笨拙地）摸索或处理（某事物）( fumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 乱摸，笨拙地弄； 使落下 | |
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92
diplomacy
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| n.外交；外交手腕，交际手腕 | |
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hurrah
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| int.好哇，万岁，乌拉 | |
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exasperated
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| adj.恼怒的 | |
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fragrant
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| adj.芬香的，馥郁的，愉快的 | |
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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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97
nervously
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| adv.神情激动地，不安地 | |
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98
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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99
throbbing
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| a. 跳动的,悸动的 | |
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100
phantom
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| n.幻影，虚位，幽灵；adj.错觉的，幻影的，幽灵的 | |
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101
hurled
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| v.猛投，用力掷( hurl的过去式和过去分词 )；大声叫骂 | |
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