It was rudely borne in upon me that there was another side to the shield. I was too much immersed in my own thoughts to note the peculiar1 character of the small remote old-world town I came to in the afternoon; next day was Sunday, and on my way to the church to attend morning service, it struck me as one of the oldest-looking of the small old towns I had stumbled upon in my rambles2 in this ancient land. There was the wide vacant space where doubtless meetings had taken place for a thousand years, and the steep narrow crooked3 medieval streets, and here and there some stately building rising like a castle above the humble4 cottage houses clustering round it as if for protection. Best of all was the church with its noble tower where a peal5 of big bells were just now flooding the whole place with their glorious noise.
It was even better when, inside, I rose from my knees and looked about me, to find myself in an ideal interior, the kind I love best; rich in metal and glass and old carved wood, the ornaments6 which the good Methody would scornfully put in the hay and stubble category, but which owing to long use and associations have acquired for others a symbolic7 and spiritual significance. The beauty and richness were all the fresher for the dimness, and the light was dim because it filtered through old oxydised stained glass of that unparalleled loveliness of colour which time alone can impart. It was, excepting in vastness, like a cathedral interior, and in some ways better than even the best of these great fanes, wonderful as they are. Here, recalling them, one could venture to criticise8 and name their several deficits:—a Wells divided, a ponderous9 Ely, a vacant and cold Canterbury, a too light and airy Salisbury, and so on even to Exeter, supreme10 in beauty, spoilt by a monstrous11 organ in the wrong place. That wood and metal giant, standing12 as a stone bridge to mock the eyes' efforts to dodge13 past it and have sight of the exquisite14 choir15 beyond, and of an east window through which the humble worshipper in the nave16 might hope, in some rare mystical moment, to catch a glimpse of the far Heavenly country beyond.
I also noticed when looking round that it was an interior rich in memorials to the long dead—old brasses17 and stone tablets on the walls, and some large monuments. By chance the most imposing18 of the tombs was so near my seat that with little difficulty I succeeded in reading and committing to memory the whole contents of the very long inscription19 cut in deep letters on the hard white stone. It was to the memory of Sir Ranulph Damarell, who died in 1531, and was the head of a family long settled in those parts, lord of the manor20 and many other things. On more than one occasion he raised a troop from his own people and commanded it himself, fighting for his king and country both in and out of England. He was, moreover, a friend of the king and his counsellor, and universally esteemed21 for his virtues22 and valour; greatly loved by all his people, especially by the poor and suffering, on account of his generosity23 and kindness of heart.
A very glorious record, and by-and-by I believed every word of it. For after reading the inscription I began to examine the effigy24 in marble of the man himself which surmounted25 the tomb. He was lying extended full length, six feet and five inches, his head on a low pillow, his right hand grasping the handle of his drawn26 sword. The more I looked at it, both during and after the service, the more convinced I became that this was no mere27 conventional figure made by some lapidary28 long after the subject's death, but was the work of an inspired artist, an exact portrait of the man, even to his stature29, and that he had succeeded in giving to the countenance30 the very expression of the living Sir Ranulph. And what it expressed was power and authority and, with it, spirituality. A noble countenance with a fine forehead and nose, the lower part of the face covered with the beard, and long hair that fell to the shoulders.
It produced a feeling such as I have whenever I stand before a certain sixteenth-century portrait in the National Gallery: a sense or an illusion of being in the presence of a living person with whom I am engaged in a wordless conversation, and who is revealing his inmost soul to me. And it is only the work of a genius that can affect you in that way.
Quitting the church I remembered with satisfaction that my hostess at the quiet home-like family hotel where I had put up, was an educated intelligent woman (good-looking, too), and that she would no doubt be able to tell me something of the old history of the town and particularly of Sir Ranulph. For this marble man, this knight31 of ancient days, had taken possession of me and I could think of nothing else.
At luncheon32 we met as in a private house at our table with our nice hostess at the head, and beside her three or four guests staying in the house; a few day visitors to the town came in and joined us. Next to me I had a young New Zealand officer whose story I had heard with painful interest the previous evening. Like so many of the New Zealanders I had met before, he was a splendid young fellow; but he had been terribly gassed at the front and had been told by the doctors that he would not be fit to go back even if the war lasted another year, and we were then well through the third. The way the poison in his lungs affected33 him was curious. He had his bad periods when for a fortnight or so he would lie in his hospital suffering much and terribly depressed34, and at such time black spots would appear all over his chest and neck and arms so that he would be spotted35 like a pard. Then the spots would fade and he would rise apparently36 well, and being of an energetic disposition37, was allowed to do local war work.
On the other side of the table facing us sat a lady and gentleman who had come in together for luncheon. A slim lady of about thirty, with a well-shaped but colourless face and very bright intelligent eyes. She was a lively talker, but her companion, a short fat man with a round apple face and cheeks of an intensely red colour and a black moustache, was reticent38, and when addressed directly replied in monosyllables. He gave his undivided attention to the thing on his plate.
The young officer talked to me of his country, describing with enthusiasm his own district which he averred39 contained the finest mountain and forest scenery in New Zealand. The lady sitting opposite began to listen and soon cut in to say she knew it all well, and agreed in all he said in praise of the scenery. She had spent weeks of delight among those great forests and mountains. Was she then his country-woman? he asked. Oh, no, she was English but had travelled extensively and knew a great deal of New Zealand. And after exhausting this subject the conversation, which had become general, drifted into others, and presently we were all comparing notes about our experience of the late great frost. Here I had my say about what had happened in the village I had been staying in. The prolonged frost, I said, had killed all or most of the birds in the open country round us, but in the village itself a curious thing had happened to save the birds of the place. It was a change of feeling in the people, who are by nature or training great persecutors of birds. The sight of them dying of starvation had aroused a sentiment of compassion40, and all the villagers, men, women, and children, even to the roughest bush-beating boys, started feeding them, with the result that the birds quickly became tame and spent their whole day flying from house to house, visiting every yard and perching on the window-sills. While I was speaking the gentleman opposite put down his knife and fork and gazed steadily41 at me with a smile on his red-apple face, and when I concluded he exploded in a half-suppressed sniggering laugh.
It annoyed me, and I remarked rather sharply that I didn't see what there was to laugh at in what I had told them. Then the lady with ready tact42 interposed to say she had been deeply interested in my experiences, and went on to tell what she had done to save the birds in her own place; and her companion, taking it perhaps as a snub to himself from her, picked up his knife and fork and went on with his luncheon, and never opened his mouth to speak again. Or, at all events, not till he had quite finished his meal.
By-and-by, when I found an opportunity of speaking to our hostess, I asked her who that charming lady was, and she told me she was a Miss Somebody—I forget the name—a native of the town, also that she was a great favourite there and was loved by everyone, rich and poor, and that she had been a very hard worker ever since the war began, and had inspired all the women in the place to work.
"And who," I asked, "was the fellow who brought her in to lunch—a relative or a lover?"
"Oh, no, no relation and certainly not a lover. I doubt if she would have him if he wanted her, in spite of his position."
"I don't wonder at that—a perfect clown! And who is he?"
"Oh, didn't you know! Sir Ranulph Damarell."
"Good Lord!" I gasped43. "That your great man—lord of the manor and what not! He may bear the name, but I'm certain he's not a descendant of the Sir Ranulph whose monument is in your church."
"Oh, yes, he is," she replied. "I believe there has never been a break in the line from father to son since that man's day. They were all knights44 in the old time, but for the last two centuries or so have been baronets."
"Good Lord!" I exclaimed again. "And please tell me what is he——what does he do? What is his distinction?"
"His distinction for me," she smilingly replied, "is that he prefers my house to have his luncheon in after Sunday morning service. He knows where he can get good cooking. And as a rule he invites some friend in the town to lunch with him, so that should there be any conversation at table his guest can speak for both and leave him quite free to enjoy his food."
"And what part does he take in politics and public affairs—how does he stand among your leading men?"
Her answer was that he had never taken any part in politics—had never been or desired to be in Parliament or in the County Council, and was not even a J.P., nor had he done anything for his country during the war. Nor was he a sportsman. He was simply a country gentleman, and every morning he took a ride or walk, mainly she supposed to give him a better appetite for his luncheon. And he was a good landlord to his tenants45 and he was respected by everybody and no one had ever said a word against him.
There was nothing now for me to say except 'Good Lord!' so I said it once more, and that made three times.
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1
peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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2
rambles
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| （无目的地）漫游( ramble的第三人称单数 )； （喻）漫谈； 扯淡； 长篇大论 | |
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3
crooked
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| adj.弯曲的；不诚实的，狡猾的，不正当的 | |
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4
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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5
peal
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| n.钟声；v.鸣响 | |
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6
ornaments
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| n.装饰( ornament的名词复数 )；点缀；装饰品；首饰v.装饰，点缀，美化( ornament的第三人称单数 ) | |
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7
symbolic
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| adj.象征性的，符号的，象征主义的 | |
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8
criticise
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| v.批评，评论；非难 | |
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9
ponderous
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| adj.沉重的，笨重的，(文章)冗长的 | |
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10
supreme
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| adj.极度的，最重要的；至高的，最高的 | |
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11
monstrous
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| adj.巨大的；恐怖的；可耻的，丢脸的 | |
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12
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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13
dodge
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| v.闪开，躲开，避开；n.妙计，诡计 | |
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14
exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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15
choir
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| n.唱诗班，唱诗班的席位，合唱团，舞蹈团；v.合唱 | |
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16
nave
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| n.教堂的中部；本堂 | |
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17
brasses
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| n.黄铜( brass的名词复数 )；铜管乐器；钱；黄铜饰品（尤指马挽具上的黄铜圆片） | |
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18
imposing
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| adj.使人难忘的，壮丽的，堂皇的，雄伟的 | |
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inscription
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| n.（尤指石块上的）刻印文字，铭文，碑文 | |
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manor
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| n.庄园，领地 | |
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21
esteemed
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| adj.受人尊敬的v.尊敬( esteem的过去式和过去分词 )；敬重；认为；以为 | |
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22
virtues
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| 美德( virtue的名词复数 )； 德行； 优点； 长处 | |
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23
generosity
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| n.大度，慷慨，慷慨的行为 | |
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24
effigy
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| n.肖像 | |
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surmounted
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| 战胜( surmount的过去式和过去分词 )； 克服（困难）； 居于…之上； 在…顶上 | |
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26
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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28
lapidary
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| n.宝石匠；adj.宝石的；简洁优雅的 | |
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29
stature
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| n.（高度）水平，（高度）境界，身高，身材 | |
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30
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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31
knight
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| n.骑士，武士；爵士 | |
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32
luncheon
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| n.午宴，午餐，便宴 | |
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33
affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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34
depressed
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| adj.沮丧的，抑郁的，不景气的，萧条的 | |
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spotted
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| adj.有斑点的，斑纹的，弄污了的 | |
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36
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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37
disposition
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| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
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38
reticent
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| adj.沉默寡言的；言不如意的 | |
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39
averred
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| v.断言( aver的过去式和过去分词 )；证实；证明…属实；作为事实提出 | |
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40
compassion
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| n.同情，怜悯 | |
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41
steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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42
tact
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| n.机敏，圆滑，得体 | |
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43
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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44
knights
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| 骑士； （中古时代的）武士( knight的名词复数 )； 骑士； 爵士； （国际象棋中）马 | |
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45
tenants
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| n.房客( tenant的名词复数 )；佃户；占用者；占有者 | |
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