He had returned punctually at sunset—driven not by Sir Thomas Browne, but by a maiden6 lady who was full of quiet fun. They had talked of omnibuses and also of barouche landaus. How far away her gentle voice seemed now! Yet it was scarcely three hours since he had left her up the alley7.
His mother called through the door. "Dear, you are to come down and to bring your poetry with you."
He came down, and found that Mr. Bons was in the smoking-room with his father. It had been a dinner party.
"Here is the great traveller!" said his father grimly. "Here is the young gentleman who drives in an omnibus over rainbows, while young ladies sing to him." Pleased with his wit, he laughed.
"After all," said Mr. Bons, smiling, "there is something a little like it in Wagner. It is odd how, in quite illiterate8 minds, you will find glimmers9 of Artistic10 Truth. The case interests me. Let me plead for the culprit. We have all romanced in our time, haven't we?"
"Hear how kind Mr. Bons is," said his mother, while his father said, "Very well. Let him say his Poem, and that will do. He is going away to my sister on Tuesday, and she will cure him of this alley-slopering." (Laughter.) "Say your Poem."
His father laughed again—roared. "One for you, my son! 'Standing aloof in giant ignorance!' I never knew these poets talked sense. Just describes you. Here, Bons, you go in for poetry. Put him through it, will you, while I fetch up the whisky?"
"Yes, give me the Keats," said Mr. Bons. "Let him say his Keats to me."
So for a few moments the wise man and the ignorant boy were left alone in the smoking-room.
"'Standing aloof in giant ignorance, of thee I dream and of the Cyclades, as one who sits ashore13 and longs perchance to visit——'"
"Quite right. To visit what?"
"'To visit dolphin coral in deep seas,'" said the boy, and burst into tears.
"Come, come! why do you cry?"
"Because—because all these words that only rhymed before, now that I've come back they're me."
Mr. Bons laid the Keats down. The case was more interesting than he had expected. "You?" he exclaimed, "This sonnet14, you?"
"Yes—and look further on: 'Aye, on the shores of darkness there is light, and precipices15 show untrodden green.' It is so, sir. All these things are true."
"I never doubted it," said Mr. Bons, with closed eyes.
"You—then you believe me? You believe in the omnibus and the driver and the storm and that return ticket I got for nothing and——"
"Tut, tut! No more of your yarns16, my boy. I meant that I never doubted the essential truth of Poetry. Some day, when you read more, you will understand what I mean."
"But Mr. Bons, it is so. There is light upon the shores of darkness. I have seen it coming. Light and a wind."
"Nonsense," said Mr. Bons.
"If I had stopped! They tempted17 me. They told me to give up my ticket—for you cannot come back if you lose your ticket. They called from the river for it, and indeed I was tempted, for I have never been so happy as among those precipices. But I thought of my mother and father, and that I must fetch them. Yet they will not come, though the road starts opposite our house. It has all happened as the people up there warned me, and Mr. Bons has disbelieved me like every one else. I have been caned. I shall never see that mountain again."
"What's that about me?" said Mr. Bons, sitting up in his chair very suddenly.
"I told them about you, and how clever you were, and how many books you had, and they said, 'Mr. Bons will certainly disbelieve you.'"
"Stuff and nonsense, my young friend. You grow impertinent. I—well—I will settle the matter. Not a word to your father. I will cure you. To-morrow evening I will myself call here to take you for a walk, and at sunset we will go up this alley opposite and hunt for your omnibus, you silly little boy."
His face grew serious, for the boy was not disconcerted, but leapt about the room singing, "Joy! joy! I told them you would believe me. We will drive together over the rainbow. I told them that you would come." After all, could there be anything in the story? Wagner? Keats? Shelley? Sir Thomas Browne? Certainly the case was interesting.
And on the morrow evening, though it was pouring with rain, Mr. Bons did not omit to call at Agathox Lodge.
The boy was ready, bubbling with excitement, and skipping about in a way that rather vexed18 the President of the Literary Society. They took a turn down Buckingham Park Road, and then—having seen that no one was watching them—slipped up the alley. Naturally enough (for the sun was setting) they ran straight against the omnibus.
"Good heavens!" exclaimed Mr. Bons. "Good gracious heavens!"
It was not the omnibus in which the boy had driven first, nor yet that in which he had returned. There were three horses—black, gray, and white, the gray being the finest. The driver, who turned round at the mention of goodness and of heaven, was a sallow man with terrifying jaws19 and sunken eyes. Mr. Bons, on seeing him, gave a cry as if of recognition, and began to tremble violently.
The boy jumped in.
"Is it possible?" cried Mr. Bons. "Is the impossible possible?"
"Sir; come in, sir. It is such a fine omnibus. Oh, here is his name—Dan some one."
Mr. Bons sprang in too. A blast of wind immediately slammed the omnibus door, and the shock jerked down all the omnibus blinds, which were very weak on their springs.
"Dan.... Show me. Good gracious heavens! we're moving."
"Hooray!" said the boy.
Mr. Bons became flustered20. He had not intended to be kidnapped. He could not find the door-handle, nor push up the blinds. The omnibus was quite dark, and by the time he had struck a match, night had come on outside also. They were moving rapidly.
"A strange, a memorable21 adventure," he said, surveying the interior of the omnibus, which was large, roomy, and constructed with extreme regularity22, every part exactly answering to every other part. Over the door (the handle of which was outside) was written, "Lasciate ogni baldanza voi che entrate"—at least, that was what was written, but Mr. Bons said that it was Lashy arty something, and that baldanza was a mistake for speranza. His voice sounded as if he was in church. Meanwhile, the boy called to the cadaverous driver for two return tickets. They were handed in without a word. Mr. Bons covered his face with his hand and again trembled. "Do you know who that is!" he whispered, when the little window had shut upon them. "It is the impossible."
"Well, I don't like him as much as Sir Thomas Browne, though I shouldn't be surprised if he had even more in him."
"More in him?" He stamped irritably23. "By accident you have made the greatest discovery of the century, and all you can say is that there is more in this man. Do you remember those vellum books in my library, stamped with red lilies? This—sit still, I bring you stupendous news!—this is the man who wrote them."
The boy sat quite still. "I wonder if we shall see Mrs. Gamp?" he asked, after a civil pause.
"Mrs. ——?"
"Mrs. Gamp and Mrs. Harris. I like Mrs. Harris. I came upon them quite suddenly. Mrs. Gamp's bandboxes have moved over the rainbow so badly. All the bottoms have fallen out, and two of the pippins off her bedstead tumbled into the stream."
"Out there sits the man who wrote my vellum books!" thundered Mr. Bons, "and you talk to me of Dickens and of Mrs. Gamp?"
"I know Mrs. Gamp so well," he apologized. "I could not help being glad to see her. I recognized her voice. She was telling Mrs. Harris about Mrs. Prig."
"Did you spend the whole day in her elevating company?"
"Oh, no. I raced. I met a man who took me out beyond to a race-course. You run, and there are dolphins out at sea."
"Indeed. Do you remember the man's name?"
"Achilles. No; he was later. Tom Jones."
Mr. Bons sighed heavily. "Well, my lad, you have made a miserable24 mess of it. Think of a cultured person with your opportunities! A cultured person would have known all these characters and known what to have said to each. He would not have wasted his time with a Mrs. Gamp or a Tom Jones. The creations of Homer, of Shakespeare, and of Him who drives us now, would alone have contented25 him. He would not have raced. He would have asked intelligent questions."
"True, true, and I beg you not to disgrace me when we arrive. No gossiping. No running. Keep close to my side, and never speak to these Immortals27 unless they speak to you. Yes, and give me the return tickets. You will be losing them."
The boy surrendered the tickets, but felt a little sore. After all, he had found the way to this place. It was hard first to be disbelieved and then to be lectured. Meanwhile, the rain had stopped, and moonlight crept into the omnibus through the cracks in the blinds.
"But how is there to be a rainbow?" cried the boy.
"You distract me," snapped Mr. Bons. "I wish to meditate28 on beauty. I wish to goodness I was with a reverent29 and sympathetic person."
The lad bit his lip. He made a hundred good resolutions. He would imitate Mr. Bons all the visit. He would not laugh, or run, or sing, or do any of the vulgar things that must have disgusted his new friends last time. He would be very careful to pronounce their names properly, and to remember who knew whom. Achilles did not know Tom Jones—at least, so Mr. Bons said. The Duchess of Malfi was older than Mrs. Gamp—at least, so Mr. Bons said. He would be self-conscious, reticent30, and prim31. He would never say he liked any one. Yet when the Wind flew up at a chance touch of his head, all these good resolutions went to the winds, for the omnibus had reached the summit of a moonlit hill, and there was the chasm32, and there, across it, stood the old precipices, dreaming, with their feet in the everlasting33 river. He exclaimed, "The mountain! Listen to the new tune34 in the water! Look at the camp fires in the ravines," and Mr. Bons, after a hasty glance, retorted, "Water? Camp fires? Ridiculous rubbish. Hold your tongue. There is nothing at all."
Yet, under his eyes, a rainbow formed, compounded not of sunlight and storm, but of moonlight and the spray of the river. The three horses put their feet upon it. He thought it the finest rainbow he had seen, but did not dare to say so, since Mr. Bons said that nothing was there. He leant out—the window had opened—and sang the tune that rose from the sleeping waters.
"The prelude35 to Rhinegold?" said Mr. Bons suddenly. "Who taught you these leit motifs36?" He, too, looked out of the window. Then he behaved very oddly. He gave a choking cry, and fell back on to the omnibus floor. He writhed37 and kicked. His face was green.
"Does the bridge make you dizzy?" the boy asked.
But the driver shook his head.
"We are nearly there," said the boy, "They are asleep. Shall I call? They will be so pleased to see you, for I have prepared them."
Mr. Bons moaned. They moved over the lunar rainbow, which ever and ever broke away behind their wheels. How still the night was! Who would be sentry39 at the Gate?
"I am coming," he shouted, again forgetting the hundred resolutions. "I am returning—I, the boy."
"The boy is returning," cried a voice to other voices, who repeated, "The boy is returning."
"I am bringing Mr. Bons with me."
Silence.
"I should have said Mr. Bons is bringing me with him."
Profound silence.
"Who stands sentry?"
"Achilles."
And on the rocky causeway, close to the springing of the rainbow bridge, he saw a young man who carried a wonderful shield.
"Mr. Bons, it is Achilles, armed."
"I want to go back," said Mr. Bons.
The last fragment of the rainbow melted, the wheels sang upon the living rock, the door of the omnibus burst open. Out leapt the boy—he could not resist—and sprang to meet the warrior40, who, stooping suddenly, caught him on his shield.
"Achilles!" he cried, "let me get down, for I am ignorant and vulgar, and I must wait for that Mr. Bons of whom I told you yesterday."
But Achilles raised him aloft. He crouched41 on the wonderful shield, on heroes and burning cities, on vineyards graven in gold, on every dear passion, every joy, on the entire image of the Mountain that he had discovered, encircled, like it, with an everlasting stream. "No, no," he protested, "I am not worthy42. It is Mr. Bons who must be up here."
"Sir, I did not mean to stand! something made me stand. Sir, why do you delay? Here is only the great Achilles, whom you knew."
Mr. Bons screamed, "I see no one. I see nothing. I want to go back." Then he cried to the driver, "Save me! Let me stop in your chariot. I have honoured you. I have quoted you. I have bound you in vellum. Take me back to my world."
The driver replied, "I am the means and not the end. I am the food and not the life. Stand by yourself, as that boy has stood. I cannot save you. For poetry is a spirit; and they that would worship it must worship in spirit and in truth."
Mr. Bons—he could not resist—crawled out of the beautiful omnibus. His face appeared, gaping44 horribly. His hands followed, one gripping the step, the other beating the air. Now his shoulders emerged, his chest, his stomach. With a shriek45 of "I see London," he fell—fell against the hard, moonlit rock, fell into it as if it were water, fell through it, vanished, and was seen by the boy no more.
"Where have you fallen to, Mr. Bons? Here is a procession arriving to honour you with music and torches. Here come the men and women whose names you know. The mountain is awake, the river is awake, over the race-course the sea is awaking those dolphins, and it is all for you. They want you——"
There was the touch of fresh leaves on his forehead. Some one had crowned him.
TELOS
From the Kingston Gazette, Surbiton Times, and Paynes Park Observer.
The body of Mr. Septimus Bons has been found in a shockingly mutilated condition in the vicinity of the Bermondsey gas-works. The deceased's pockets contained a sovereign-purse, a silver cigar-case, a bijou pronouncing dictionary, and a couple of omnibus tickets. The unfortunate gentleman had apparently46 been hurled47 from a considerable height. Foul48 play is suspected, and a thorough investigation49 is pending50 by the authorities.
THE END
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收听单词发音
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1
lodge
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| v.临时住宿，寄宿，寄存，容纳；n.传达室，小旅馆 | |
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caned
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| vt.用苔杖打（cane的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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3
truant
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| n.懒惰鬼，旷课者；adj.偷懒的，旷课的，游荡的；v.偷懒，旷课 | |
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liar
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| n.说谎的人 | |
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caning
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| n.鞭打 | |
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6
maiden
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| n.少女，处女；adj.未婚的，纯洁的，无经验的 | |
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7
alley
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| n.小巷，胡同；小径，小路 | |
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8
illiterate
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| adj.文盲的；无知的；n.文盲 | |
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9
glimmers
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| n.微光，闪光( glimmer的名词复数 )v.发闪光，发微光( glimmer的第三人称单数 ) | |
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10
artistic
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| adj.艺术(家)的，美术(家)的；善于艺术创作的 | |
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11
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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12
aloof
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| adj.远离的；冷淡的，漠不关心的 | |
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13
ashore
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| adv.在(向)岸上，上岸 | |
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14
sonnet
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| n.十四行诗 | |
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15
precipices
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| n.悬崖，峭壁( precipice的名词复数 ) | |
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16
yarns
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| n.纱( yarn的名词复数 )；纱线；奇闻漫谈；旅行轶事 | |
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17
tempted
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| v.怂恿（某人）干不正当的事；冒…的险（tempt的过去分词） | |
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18
vexed
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| adj.争论不休的；（指问题等）棘手的；争论不休的问题；烦恼的v.使烦恼( vex的过去式和过去分词 )；使苦恼；使生气；详细讨论 | |
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jaws
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| n.口部；嘴 | |
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flustered
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| adj.慌张的；激动不安的v.使慌乱，使不安( fluster的过去式和过去分词) | |
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21
memorable
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| adj.值得回忆的，难忘的，特别的，显著的 | |
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regularity
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| n.规律性，规则性；匀称，整齐 | |
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irritably
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| ad.易生气地 | |
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miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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contented
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| adj.满意的，安心的，知足的 | |
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26
humbly
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| adv. 恭顺地，谦卑地 | |
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27
immortals
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| 不朽的人物( immortal的名词复数 )； 永生不朽者 | |
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28
meditate
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| v.想，考虑，（尤指宗教上的）沉思，冥想 | |
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29
reverent
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| adj.恭敬的，虔诚的 | |
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30
reticent
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| adj.沉默寡言的；言不如意的 | |
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31
prim
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| adj.拘泥形式的，一本正经的；n.循规蹈矩，整洁；adv.循规蹈矩地，整洁地 | |
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32
chasm
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| n.深坑，断层，裂口，大分岐，利害冲突 | |
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everlasting
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| adj.永恒的，持久的，无止境的 | |
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34
tune
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| n.调子；和谐，协调；v.调音，调节，调整 | |
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prelude
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| n.序言，前兆，序曲 | |
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motifs
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| n. （文艺作品等的）主题( motif的名词复数 )；中心思想；基本模式；基本图案 | |
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37
writhed
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| （因极度痛苦而）扭动或翻滚( writhe的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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38
gasped
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| v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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39
sentry
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| n.哨兵，警卫 | |
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40
warrior
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| n.勇士，武士，斗士 | |
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41
crouched
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| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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42
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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43
trumpeted
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| 大声说出或宣告（trumpet的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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44
gaping
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| adj.口的；张口的；敞口的；多洞穴的v.目瞪口呆地凝视( gape的现在分词 )；张开，张大 | |
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45
shriek
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| v./n.尖叫，叫喊 | |
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46
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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47
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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48
foul
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| adj.污秽的；邪恶的；v.弄脏；妨害；犯规；n.犯规 | |
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49
investigation
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| n.调查，调查研究 | |
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50
pending
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| prep.直到，等待…期间；adj.待定的；迫近的 | |
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