A Tale of ‘16
IF the Order Above be but the reflection of the Order Below (as that Ancient affirms, who had some knowledge of the Order), it is not outside the Order of Things that there should have been confusion also in the Department of Death. The world’s steadily1 falling death-rate, the rising proportion of scientifically prolonged fatal illnesses, which allowed months of warning to all concerned, had weakened initiative throughout the Necrological Departments. When the War came, these were as unprepared as civilised mankind; and, like mankind, they improvised4 and recriminated in the face of Heaven.
As Death himself observed to St. Peter, who had just come off The Gate for a rest: ‘One does the best one can with the means at one’s disposal, but —’
‘I know,’ said the good Saint sympathetically. ‘Even with what help I can muster5, I’m on The Gate twenty-two hours out of the twenty-four.’
‘Do you find your volunteer staff any real use?’ Death went on. ‘Isn’t it easier to do the work oneself than —’
‘One must guard against that point of view,’ St. Peter returned, ‘but I know what you mean. Office officialises the best of us . . . What is it now?’ He turned to a prim-lipped Seraph6 who had followed him with an expulsion-form for signature. St. Peter glanced it over. ‘Private R. M. Buckland,’ he read, ‘on the charge of saying that there is no God. ‘That all?’
‘He says he is prepared to prove it, sir, and — according to the Rules — ‘
‘If you will make yourself acquainted with the Rules, you’ll find they lay down that “the fool says in his heart, there is no God.” That decides it; probably shell-shock. Have you tested his reflexes?’
‘No, sir. He kept on saying that there —’
‘Pass him in at once! Tell off some one to argue with him and give him the best of the argument till St. Luke’s free. Anything else?’
‘A hospital-nurse’s record, sir. She has been nursing for two years.’
‘A long while.’ St. Peter spoke7 severely8. ‘She may very well have grown careless.’
‘It’s her civilian9 record, sir. I judged best to refer it to you.’ The Seraph handed him a vivid scarlet10 docket.
‘The next time,’ said St. Peter, folding it down and writing on one corner, ‘that you get one of these — er — tinted11 forms, mark it Q.M.A. and pass bearer at once. Don’t worry over trifles.’ The Seraph flashed off and returned to the clamorous12 Gate.
‘Which Department is Q.M.A.?’ said Death. St. Peter chuckled13 .
‘It’s not a department. It’s a Ruling. “Quia multum amavit.” A most useful Ruling. I’ve stretched it to . . . Now, I wonder what that child actually did die of.’
‘I’ll ask,’ said Death, and moved to a public telephone near by. ‘Give me War Check and Audit14: English side: non-combatant,’ he began. ‘Latest returns . . . Surely you’ve got them posted up to date by now! . . . Yes! Hospital Nurse in France . . . No! Not “nature and aliases15.” I said — what-was-nature-of-illness? . . . Thanks.’ He turned to St. Peter. ‘Quite normal,’ he said. ‘Heart-failure after neglected pleurisy following overwork.’
‘Good!’ St. Peter rubbed his hands. ‘That brings her under the higher allowance G.L.H. scale —“Greater love hath no man —” But my people ought to have known that from the first.’
‘Who is that clerk of yours?’ asked Death. ‘He seems rather a stickler16 for the proprieties17.’
‘The usual type nowadays,’ St. Peter returned. ‘A young Power in charge of some half-baked Universe. Never having dealt with life yet, he’s somewhat nebulous.’
Death sighed. ‘It’s the same with my old Departmental Heads. Nothing on earth will make my fossils on the Normal Civil Side realise that we are dying in a new age. Come and look at them. They might interest you.’
‘Thanks, I will, but — Excuse me a minute! Here’s my zealous18 young assistant on the wing once more.’
The Seraph had returned to report the arrival of overwhelmingly heavy convoys20 at The Gate, and to ask what the Saint advised.
‘I’m just off on an inter-departmental inspection21 which will take me some time,’ said St. Peter. ‘You must learn to act on your own initiative. So I shall leave you to yourself for the next hour or two, merely suggesting (I don’t wish in any way to sway your judgment) that you invite St. Paul, St. Ignatius (Loyola, I mean) and — er — St. Christopher to assist as Supervising Assessors on the Board of Admission. Ignatius is one of the subtlest intellects we have, and an officer and a gentleman to boot. I assure you’— the Saint turned towards Death —‘he revels23 in dialectics. If he’s allowed to prove his case, he’s quite capable of letting off the offender24. St. Christopher, of course, will pass anything that looks wet and muddy.’
‘They are nearly all that now, sir,’ said the Seraph.
‘So much the better; and — as I was going to say — St. Paul is an embarrass — a distinctly strong colleague. Still — we all have our weaknesses. Perhaps a well-timed reference to his seamanship in the Mediterranean25 — by the way, look up the name of his ship, will you? Alexandria register, I think-might be useful in some of those sudden maritime26 cases that crop up. I needn’t tell you to be firm, of course. That’s your besetting27 — er — I mean — reprimand ’em severely and publicly, but —’ the Saint’s voice broke —‘oh, my child, you don’t know what it is to need forgiveness. Be gentle with ’em — be very gentle with ’em!’
Swiftly as a falling shaft28 of light the Seraph kissed the sandalled feet and was away.
‘Aha!’ said St. Peter. ‘He can’t go far wrong with that Board of Admission as I’ve — er — arranged it.’
They walked towards the great central office of Normal Civil Death, which, buried to the knees in a flood of temporary structures, resembled a closed cribbage-board among spilt dominoes.
They entered an area of avenues and cross-avenues, flanked by long, low buildings, each packed with seraphs working wing to folded wing.
‘Our temporary buildings,’ Death explained. ‘Always being added to. This is the War-side. You’ll find nothing changed on the Normal Civil Side. They are more human than mankind.’
‘It doesn’t lie in my mouth to blame them,’ said St. Peter.
‘No, I’ve yet to meet the soul you wouldn’t find excuse for,’ said Death tenderly; ‘but then I don’t — er — arrange my Boards of Admission.’
‘If one doesn’t help one’s Staff, one’s Staff will never help itself,’ St. Peter laughed, as the shadow of the main porch of the Normal Civil Death Offices darkened above them.
‘This facade29 rather recalls the Vatican, doesn’t it?’ said the Saint.
‘They’re quite as conservative. ‘Notice how they still keep the old Holbein uniforms?‘Morning, Sergeant30 Fell. How goes it?’ said Death as he swung the dusty doors and nodded at a Commissionaire, clad in the grim livery of Death, even as Hans Holbein has designed it.
‘Sadly. Very sadly indeed, sir,’ the Commissionaire replied. ‘So many pore ladies and gentlemen, sir, ‘oo might well ‘ave lived another few years, goin’ off, as you might say, in every direction with no time for the proper obsequities.’
‘Too bad,’ said Death sympathetically. ‘Well, we’re none of us as young as we were, Sergeant.’
They climbed a carved staircase, behung with the whole millinery of undertaking31 at large. Death halted on a dark Aberdeen granite32 landing and beckoned33 a messenger.
‘We’re rather busy today, sir,’ the messenger whispered, ‘but I think His Majesty34 will see you.’
‘Who is the Head of this Department if it isn’t you?’ St. Peter whispered in turn.
‘You may well ask,’ his companion replied. ‘I’m only —’ he checked himself and went on. ‘The fact is, our Normal Civil Death side is controlled by a Being who considers himself all that I am and more. He’s Death as men have made him — in their own image.’ He pointed35 to a brazen36 plate, by the side of a black-curtained door, which read: ‘Normal Civil Death, K.G., K.T., K.P., P.C., etc.’ ‘He’s as human as mankind.’
‘I guessed as much from those letters. What do they mean?’
‘Titles conferred on him from time to time. King of Ghosts; King of Terrors; King of Phantoms37; Pallid38 Conqueror39, and so forth40. There’s no denying he’s earned every one of them. A first-class mind, but just a leetle bit of a sn —’
‘His Majesty is at liberty,’ said the messenger.
Civil Death did not belie41 his name. No monarch42 on earth could have welcomed them more graciously; or, in St. Peter’s case, with more of that particularity of remembrance which is the gift of good kings. But when Death asked him how his office was working, he became at once the Departmental Head with a grievance43.
‘Thanks to this abominable44 war,’ he began testily45, ‘my N.C.D. has to spend all its time fighting for mere22 existence. Your new War-side seems to think that nothing matters except the war. I’ve been asked to give up two-thirds of my Archives Basement (E. 7-E. 64) to the Polish Civilian Casualty Check and Audit. Preposterous46! Where am I to move my Archives? And they’ve just been cross-indexed, too!’
‘As I understood it,’ said Death, ‘our War-side merely applied47 for desk-room in your basement. They were prepared to leave your Archives in situ.’
‘Impossible! We may need to refer to them at any moment. There’s a case now which is interesting Us all — a Mrs. Ollerby. Worcestershire by extraction — dying of an internal hereditary48 complaint. At any moment, We may wish to refer to her dossier, and how can We if Our basement is given up to people over whom We exercise no departmental control? This war has been made excuse for slackness in every direction.’
‘Indeed!’ said Death. ‘You surprise me. I thought nothing made any difference to the N.C.D.’
‘A few years ago I should have concurred,’ Civil Death replied. ‘But since this — this recent outbreak of unregulated mortality there has been a distinct lack of respect toward certain aspects of Our administration. The attitude is bound to reflect itself in the office. The official is, in a large measure, what the public makes him. Of course, it is only temporary reaction, but the merest outsider would notice what I mean. Perhaps you would like to see for yourself?’ Civil Death bowed towards St. Peter, who feared that he might be taking up his time.
‘Not in the least. If I am not the servant of the public, what am I?’ Civil Death said, and preceded them to the landing. ‘Now, this’— he ushered49 them into an immense but badly lighted office —‘is our International Mortuary Department — the I.M.D. as we call it. It works with the Check and Audit. I should be sorry to say offhand50 how many billion sterling51 it represents, invested in the funeral ceremonies of all the races of mankind.’ He stopped behind a very bald-headed clerk at a desk. ‘And yet We take cognizance of the minutest detail, do not We?’ he went on. ‘What have We here, for example?’
‘Funeral expenses of the late Mr. John Shenks Tanner.’ The clerk stepped aside from the redruled book. ‘Cut down by the executors on account of the War from “173:19:1 to “47:18:4. A sad falling off, if I may say so, Your Majesty.’
‘And what was the attitude of the survivors52?’ Civil Death asked.
‘Very casual. It was a motor-hearse funeral.’
‘A pernicious example, spreading, I fear, even in the lowest classes,’ his superior muttered. ‘Haste, lack of respect for the Dread53 Summons, carelessness in the Subsequent Disposition54 of the Corpse55 and —’
‘But as regards people’s real feelings?’ St. Peter demanded of the clerk.
‘That isn’t within the terms of our reference, Sir,’ was the answer. ‘But we do know that, as often as not, they don’t even buy black-edged announcement-cards nowadays.’
‘Good Heavens!’ said Civil Death swellingly. ‘No cards! I must look into this myself. Forgive me, St. Peter, but we Servants of Humanity, as you know, are not our own masters. No cards, indeed!’ He waved them off with an official hand, and immersed himself in the ledger56.
‘Oh, come along,’ Death whispered to St. Peter. ‘This is a blessed relief!’
They two walked on till they reached the far end of the vast dim office. The clerks at the desks here scarcely pretended to work. A messenger entered and slapped down a small autophonic reel.
‘Here you are!’ he cried. ‘Mister Wilbraham Lattimer’s last dying speech and record. He made a shockin’ end of it.’
‘Good for Lattimer!’ a young voice called from a desk. ‘Chuck it over!’
‘Yes,’ the messenger went on.‘Lattimer said to his brother: “Bert, I haven’t time to worry about a little thing like dying these days, and what’s more important, you haven’t either. You go back to your Somme doin’s, and I’ll put it through with Aunt Maria. It’ll amuse her and it won’t hinder you.” That’s nice stuff for your boss!’ The messenger whistled and departed. A clerk groaned57 as he snatched up the reel.
‘How the deuce am I to knock this into official shape?’ he began. ‘Pass us the edifying58 Gantry Tubnell. I’ll have to crib from him again, I suppose.’
‘Be careful!’ a companion whispered, and shuffled59 a typewritten form along the desk. ‘I’ve used Tubby twice this morning already.’
The late Mr. Gantry Tubnell must have demised60 on approved departmental lines, for his record was much thumbed. Death and St. Peter watched the editing with interest.
‘I can’t bring in Aunt Maria any way,’ the clerk broke out at last. ‘Listen here, every one! She has heart-disease. She dies just as she’s lifted the dropsical Lattimer to change his sheets. She says: “Sorry, Willy! I’d make a dam’ pore ‘ospital nurse!”; Then she sits down and croaks61. Now I call that good! I’ve a great mind to take it round to the War-side as an indirect casualty and get a breath of fresh air.’
‘Then you’ll be hauled over the coals,’ a neighbour suggested.
‘I’m used to that, too,’ the clerk sniggered.
‘Are you?’ said Death, stepping forward suddenly from behind a high map-stand. ‘Who are you?’ The clerk cowered62 in his skeleton jacket.
‘I’m not on the Regular Establishment, Sir,’ he stammered63. ‘I’m a — Volunteer. I— I wanted to see how people behaved when they were in trouble.’
‘Did you? Well, take the late Mr. Wilbraham Lattimer’s and Miss Maria Lattimer’s papers to the War-side General Reference Office. When they have been passed upon, tell the Attendance Clerk that you are to serve as probationer in — let’s see — in the Domestic Induced Casualty Side — 7 G.S.’
The clerk collected himself a little and spoke through dry lips.
‘But — but I’m — I slipped in from the Lower Establishment, Sir,’ he breathed.
There was no need to explain. He shook from head to foot as with the palsy; and under all Heaven none tremble save those who come from that class which ‘also believe and tremble.’
‘Do you tell Me this officially, or as one created being to another?’ Death asked after a pause.
‘Oh, non-officially, Sir. Strictly64 non-officially, so long as you know all about it.’
His awe-stricken fellow-workers could not restrain a smile at Death having to be told about anything. Even Death bit his lips.
‘I don’t think you will find the War-side will raise any objection,’ said he. ‘By the way, they don’t wear that uniform over there.’
Almost before Death ceased speaking, it was ripped off and flung on the floor, and that which had been a sober clerk of Normal Civil Death stood up an unmistakable, curly-haired, bat-winged, faun-eared Imp3 of the Pit. But where his wings joined his shoulders there was a patch of delicate dove-coloured feathering that gave promise to spread all up the pinion65. St. Peter saw it and smiled, for it was a known sign of grace.
‘Thank Goodness!’ the ex-clerk gasped66 as he snatched up the Lattimer records and sheered sideways through the skylight.
‘Amen!’ said Death and St. Peter together, and walked through the door.
‘Weren’t you hinting something to me a little while ago about my lax methods?’ St. Peter demanded, innocently.
‘Well, if one doesn’t help one’s Staff, one’s Staff will never help itself,’ Death retorted. ‘Now, I shall have to pitch in a stiff demi-official asking how that young fiend came to be taken on in the N.C.D. without examination. And I must do it before the N.C.D. complain that I’ve been interfering67 with their departmental transfers. Aren’t they human? If you want to go back to The Gate I think our shortest way will be through here and across the War–Sheds.’
They came out of a side-door into Heaven’s full light. A phalanx of Shining Ones swung across a great square singing
‘To Him Who made the Heavens abide68, yet cease not from their motion.
To Him Who drives the cleansing69 tide twice a day round Ocean–Let His Name be magnified in all poor folks’ devotion!’
Death halted their leader, and asked a question.
‘We’re Volunteer Aid Serving Powers,’ the Seraph explained, ‘reporting for duty in the Domestic Induced Casualty Department — told off to help relatives, where we can.’
The shift trooped on — such an array of Powers, Honours, Glories, Toils70, Patiences, Services, Faiths and Loves as no man may conceive even by favour of dreams. Death and St. Peter followed them into a D.I.C.D. Shed on the English side where, for the moment, work had slackened. Suddenly a name flashed on the telephone-indicator. ‘Mrs. Arthur Bedott, 317, Portsmouth Avenue, Brondesbury. Husband badly wounded. One child.’ Her special weakness was appended.
A Seraph on the raised dais that overlooked the Volunteer Aids waiting at the entrance, nodded and crooked72 a finger. One of the new shift — a temporary Acting73 Glory — hurled74 himself from his place and vanished earthward.
‘You may take it,’ Death whispered to St. Peter, ‘there will be a sustaining epic75 built up round Private Bedott’s wound for his wife and Baby Bedott to cling to. And here —‘they heard wings that flapped wearily —‘here, I suspect, comes one of our failures.’
A Seraph entered and dropped, panting, on a form. His plumage was ragged76, his sword splintered to the hilt; and his face still worked with the passions of the world he had left, as his soiled vesture reeked77 of alcohol.
‘Defeat,’ he reported hoarsely79, when he had given in a woman’s name. ‘Utter defeat! Look!’ He held up the stump80 of his sword. ‘I broke this on her gin-bottle.’
‘So? We try again,’ said the impassive Chief Seraph. Again he beckoned, and there stepped forward that very Imp whom Death had transferred from the N.C.D.
‘Go you!’ said the Seraph. ‘We must deal with a fool according to her folly81. Have you pride enough?’
There was no need to ask. The messenger’s face glowed and his nostrils82 quivered with it. Scarcely pausing to salute83, he poised84 and dived, and the papers on the desks spun85 beneath the draught86 of his furious vans.
St. Peter nodded high approval. ‘I see!’ he said. ‘He’ll work on her pride to steady her. By all means —“if by all means,” as my good Paul used to say. Only it ought to read “by any manner of possible means.” Excellent!’
‘It’s difficult, though,’ a soft-eyed Patience whispered. ‘I fail again and again. I’m only fit for an old-maid’s tea-party.’
Once more the record flashed — a multiple-urgent appeal on behalf of a few thousand men, worn-out body and soul. The Patience was detailed87.
‘Oh, me!’ she sighed, with a comic little shrug88 of despair, and took the void softly as a summer breeze at dawning.
‘But how does this come under the head of Domestic Casualties? Those men were in the trenches89. I heard the mud squelch,’ said St. Peter.
‘Something wrong with the installation — as usual. Waves are always jamming here,’ the Seraph replied.
‘So it seems,’ said St. Peter as a wireless90 cut in with the muffled91 note of some one singing (sorely out of tune), to an accompaniment of desultory92 poppings:
‘Unless you can love as the Angels love With the breadth of Heaven be —’
‘Twixt!’ It broke off. The record showed a name. The waiting Seraphs stiffened93 to attention with a click of tense quills94.
‘As you were!’ said the Chief Seraph. ‘He’s met her.’
‘Who is she?’ said St. Peter.
‘His mother. You never get over your weakness for romance,’ Death answered, and a covert95 smile spread through the Office.
‘Thank Heaven, I don’t. But I really ought to be going —’
‘Wait one minute. Here’s trouble coming through, I think,’ Death interposed.
A recorder had sparked furiously in a broken run of S.O.S.‘s that allowed no time for inquiry96.
‘Name! Name!’ an impatient young Faith panted at last. ‘It can’t be blotted97 out.’ No name came up. Only the reiterated98 appeal.
‘False alarm!’ said a hard-featured Toil71, well used to mankind. ‘Some fool has found out that he owns a soul. ‘Wants work. I’d cure him! . . . ’
‘Hush99!’ said a Love in Armour100, stamping his mailed foot. The office listened.
‘‘Bad case?’ Death demanded at last.
‘Rank bad, Sir. They are holding back the name,’ said the Chief Seraph. The S.O.S. signals grew more desperate, and then ceased with an emphatic101 thump102. The Love in Armour winced103.
‘Firing-party,’ he whispered to St. Peter. ‘‘Can’t mistake that noise!’
‘What is it?’ St. Peter cried nervously104.
‘Deserter; spy; murderer,’ was the Chief Seraph’s weighed answer. ‘It’s out of my department now. No — hold the line! The name’s up at last.’
It showed for an instant, broken and faint as sparks on charred105 wadding, but in that instant a dozen pens had it written. St. Peter with never a word gathered his robes about him and bundled through the door, headlong for The Gate.
‘No hurry,’ said Death at his elbow. ‘With the present rush your man won’t come up for ever so long.’
‘‘Never can be sure these days. Anyhow, the Lower Establishment will be after him like sharks. He’s the very type they’d want for propaganda. Deserter-traitor106-murderer. Out of my way, please, babies!’
A group of children round a red-headed man who was telling them stories, scattered107 laughing. The man turned to St. Peter.
‘Deserter, traitor, murderer,’ he repeated. ‘Can I be of service?’
‘You can!’ St. Peter gasped. ‘Double on ahead to The Gate and tell them to hold up all expulsions till I come. Then,’ he shouted as the man sped off at a long hound-like trot108, ‘go and picket109 the outskirts110 of the Convoys. Don’t let any one break away on any account. Quick!’
But Death was right. They need not have hurried. The crowd at The Gate was far beyond the capacities of the Examining Board even though, as St. Peter’s Deputy informed him, it had been enlarged twice in his absence.
‘We’re doing our best,’ the Seraph explained, ‘but delay is inevitable111, Sir. The Lower Establishment are taking advantage of it, as usual, at the tail of the Convoys. I’ve doubled all pickets112 there, and I’m sending more. Here’s the extra list, Sir–Arc J., Bradlaugh C., Bunyan J., Calvin J. Iscariot J. reported to me just now, as under your orders, and took ’em with him. Also Shakespeare W. and —’
‘Never mind the rest,’ said St. Peter. I— I’m going there myself. Meantime, carry on with the passes — don’t fiddle113 over ’em — and give me a blank or two.’ He caught up a thick block of Free Passes, nodded to a group in khaki at a passport table, initialled their Commanding Officer’s personal pass as for ‘Officer and Party,’ and left the numbers to be filled in by a quite competent-looking Quarter-master-Sergeant. Then, Death beside him, he breasted his way out of The Gate against the incoming multitude of all races, tongues, and creeds114 that stretched far across the plain.
An old lady, firmly clutching a mottle-nosed, middle-aged116 Major by the belt, pushed across a procession of keen-faced poilus, and blocked his path, her captive held in that terrible mother-grip no Power has yet been able to unlock.
‘I found him! I’ve got him! Pass him!’ she ordered.
St. Peter’s jaw117 fell. Death politely looked elsewhere.
‘There are a few formalities,’ the Saint began.
‘With Jerry in this state? Nonsense! How like a man! My boy never gave me a moment’s anxiety in —’
‘Don’t, dear — don’t!’ The Major looked almost as uncomfortable as St. Peter.
‘Well, nothing compared with what he would give me if he weren’t passed.’
‘Didn’t I hear you singing just now?’ Death asked, seeing that his companion needed a breathing-space.
‘Of course you did,’ the Mother intervened. ‘He sings beautifully. And that’s another reason! You’re bass118, aren’t you now, darling?’
St. Peter glanced at the agonised Major and hastily initialled him a pass. Without a word of thanks the Mother hauled him away.
‘Now, under what conceivable Ruling do you justify119 that?’ said Death.
‘I.W.— the Importunate120 Widow. It’s scandalous!’ St. Peter groaned. Then his face darkened as he looked across the great plain beyond The Gate. ‘I don’t like this,’ he said. ‘The Lower Establishment is out in full force to-night. I hope our pickets are strong enough —’
The crowd here had thinned to a disorderly queue flanked on both sides by a multitude of busy, discreet121 emissaries from the Lower Establishment who continually edged in to do business with them, only to be edged off again by a line of watchful122 pickets. Thanks to the khaki everywhere, the scene was not unlike that which one might have seen on earth any evening of the old days outside the refreshment-room by the Arch at Victoria Station, when the Army trains started. St. Peter’s appearance was greeted by the usual outburst of cock-crowing from the Lower Establishment.
‘Dirty work at the cross-roads,’ said Death dryly.
‘I deserve it!’ St. Peter grunted123, ‘but think what it must mean for Judas.’
He shouldered into the thick of the confusion where the pickets coaxed124, threatened, implored125, and in extreme cases bodily shoved the wearied men and women past the voluble and insinuating126 spirits who strove to draw them aside.
A Shropshire Yeoman had just accepted, together with a forged pass, the assurance of a genial127 runner of the Lower Establishment that Heaven lay round the corner, and was being stealthily steered128 thither129, when a large hand jerked him back, another took the runner in the chest, and some one thundered: ‘Get out, you crimp!’ The situation was then vividly130 explained to the soldier in the language of the barrack-room.
‘Don’t blame me, Guv’nor,’ the man expostulated. ‘I ‘aven’t seen a woman, let alone angels, for umpteen131 months. I’m from Joppa. Where ‘you from?’
‘Northampton,’ was the answer. ‘Rein back and keep by me.’
‘What? You ain’t ever Charley B. that my dad used to tell about? I thought you always said —’
‘I shall say a deal more soon. Your Sergeant’s talking to that woman in red. Fetch him inquick!’
Meantime, a sunken-eyed Scots officer, utterly132 lost to the riot around, was being button-holed by a person of reverend aspect who explained to him that, by the logic2 of his own ancestral creed115, not only was the Highlander133 irrevocably damned, but that his damnation had been predetermined before Earth was made.
‘It’s unanswerable — just unanswerable,’ said the young man sorrowfully. ‘I’ll be with ye.’ He was moving off, when a smallish figure interposed, not without dignity.
‘Monsieur,’ it said, ‘would it be of any comfort to you to know that I am — I was — John Calvin?’ At this the reverend one cursed and swore like the lost Soul he was, while the Highlander turned to discuss with Calvin, pacing towards The Gate, some alterations134 in the fabric135 of a work of fiction called the Institutio.
Others were not so easily held. A certain Woman, with loosened hair, bare arms, flashing eyes and dancing feet, shepherded her knot of waverers, hoarse78 and exhausted136. When the taunt137 broke out against her from the opposing line: ‘Tell ’em what you were! Tell ’em if you dare!’ she answered unflinchingly, as did Judas, who, worming through the crowd like an Armenian carpet-vendor, peddled138 his shame aloud that it might give strength to others.
‘Yes,’ he would cry, ‘I am everything they say, but if I’m here it must be a moral cert for you gents. This way, please. Many mansions139, gentlemen! Go-ood billets! Don’t you notice these low people, Sar. Plees keep hope, gentlemen!’
When there were cases that cried to him from the ground — poor souls who could not stick it but had found their way out with a rifle and a boot-lace, he would tell them of his own end, till he made them contemptuous enough to rise up and curse him. Here St. Luke’s imperturbable140 bedside manner backed and strengthened the other’s almost too oriental flux141 of words.
In this fashion and step by step, all the day’s Convoy19 were piloted past that danger-point where the Lower Establishment are, for reasons not given us, allowed to ply142 their trade. The pickets dropped to the rear, relaxed, and compared notes.
‘What always impresses me most,’ said Death to St. Peter, ‘is the sheeplike simplicity143 of the intellectual mind.’ He had been watching one of the pickets apparently144 overwhelmed by the arguments of an advanced atheist145 who — so hot in his argument that he was deaf to the offers of the Lower Establishment to make him a god — had stalked, talking hard — while the picket always gave ground before him — straight past the Broad Road.
‘He was plaiting of long-tagged epigrams,’ the sober-faced picket smiled. ‘Give that sort only an ear and they’ll follow ye gobbling like turkeys.’
‘And John held his peace through it all,’ a full fresh voice broke in. ‘“It may be so,” says John. “Doubtless, in your belief, it is so,” says John. “Your words move me mightily,” says John, and gorges146 his own beliefs like a pike going backwards147. And that young fool, so busy spinning words-words-words — that he trips past Hell Mouth without seeing it! . . . Who’s yonder, Joan?’
‘One of your English. ‘Always late. Look!’ A young girl with short-cropped hair pointed with her sword across the plain towards a single faltering148 figure which made at first as though to overtake the Convoy, but then turned left towards the Lower Establishment, who were enthusiastically cheering him as a leader of enterprise.
‘That’s my traitor,’ said St. Peter. ‘He has no business to report to the Lower Establishment before reporting to Convoy.’
The figure’s pace slackened as he neared the applauding line. He looked over his shoulder once or twice, and then fairly turned tail and fled again towards the still Convoy.
‘Nobody ever gave me credit for anything I did,’ he began, sobbing149 and gesticulating. ‘They were all against me from the first. I only wanted a little encouragement. It was a regular conspiracy150, but I showed ’em what I could do! I showed ’em! And — and —’ he halted again. ‘Oh, God! What are you going to do with me?’
No one offered any suggestion. He ranged sideways like a doubtful dog, while across the plain the Lower Establishment murmured seductively. All eyes turned to St. Peter.
‘At this moment,’ the Saint said half to himself, ‘I can’t recall any precise ruling under which —’
‘My own case?’ the ever-ready Judas suggested.
‘No-o! That’s making too much of it. And yet —’
‘Oh, hurry up and get it over,’ the man wailed151, and told them all that he had done, ending with the cry that none had ever recognised his merits; neither his own narrow-minded people, his inefficient152 employers, nor the snobbish153 jumped-up officers of his battalion154.
‘You see,’ said St. Peter at the end. ‘It’s sheer vanity. It isn’t even as if we had a woman to fall back upon.’
‘Yet there was a woman or I’m mistaken,’ said the picket with the pleasing voice who had praised John.
‘Eh — what? When?’ St. Peter turned swiftly on the speaker. ‘Who was the woman?’
‘The wise woman of Tekoah,’ came the smooth answer. ‘I remember, because that verse was the private heart of my plays — some of ’em.’
But the Saint was not listening. ‘You have it!’ he cried. ‘Samuel Two, Double Fourteen. To think that I should have forgotten! “For we must needs die and are as water spilled on the ground which cannot be gathered up again. Neither Both God respect any person, yet —” Here, you! Listen to this!’
The man stepped forward and stood to attention. Some one took his cap as Judas and the picket John closed up beside him.
‘“Yet doth He devise means (d’you understand that?) devise means that His banished155 be not expelled from Him!” This covers your case. I don’t know what the means will be. That’s for you to find out. They’ll tell you yonder.’ He nodded towards the now silent Lower Establishment as he scribbled156 on a pass. ‘Take this paper over to them and report for duty there. You’ll have a thin time of it; but they won’t keep you a day longer than I’ve put down. Escort!’
‘Does — does that mean there’s any hope?’ the man stammered.
‘Yes — I’ll show you the way,’ Judas whispered. ‘I’ve lived there — a very long time.’
‘I’ll bear you company a piece,’ said John, on his left flank. ‘There’ll be Despair to deal with. Heart up, Mr. Littlesoul!’
The three wheeled off, and the Convoy watched them grow smaller and smaller across the plain.
St. Peter smiled benignantly and rubbed his hands.
‘And now we’re rested,’ said he, ‘I think we might make a push for billets this evening, gentlemen, eh?’
The pickets fell in, guardians157 no longer but friends and companions all down the line. There was a little burst of cheering and the whole Convoy strode away towards the not so distant Gate.
The Saint and Death stayed behind to rest awhile. It was a heavenly evening. They could hear the whistle of the low-flighting Cherubim, clear and sharp, under the diviner note of some released Seraph’s wings, where, his errand accomplished158, he plunged159 three or four stars deep into the cool Baths of Hercules; the steady dynamo-like hum of the nearer planets on their axes; and, as the hush deepened, the surprised little sigh of some new-born sun a universe of universes away. But their minds were with the Convoy that their eyes followed.
Said St. Peter proudly at last: ‘If those people of mine had seen that fellow stripped of all hope in front of ’em, I doubt if they could have marched another yard to-night. Watch ’em stepping out now, though! Aren’t they human?’
‘To whom do you say it?’ Death answered, with something of a tired smile. ‘I’m more than human. I’ve got to die some time or other. But all other created Beings — afterwards . . . ’
‘I know,’ said St. Peter softly. ‘And that is why I love you, 0 Azrael!’
For now they were alone Death had, of course, returned to his true majestic160 shape — that only One of all created beings who is doomed161 to perish utterly, and knows it.
‘Well, that’s that — for me!’ Death concluded as he rose. ‘And yet —’ he glanced towards the empty plain where the Lower Establishment had withdrawn162 with their prisoner. ‘“Yet doth He devise means.”’
收听单词发音 |
1
steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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logic
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| n.逻辑(学)；逻辑性 | |
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imp
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| n.顽童 | |
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improvised
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| a.即席而作的,即兴的 | |
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muster
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| v.集合，收集，鼓起，激起；n.集合，检阅，集合人员，点名册 | |
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seraph
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| n.六翼天使 | |
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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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severely
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| adv.严格地；严厉地；非常恶劣地 | |
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civilian
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| adj.平民的，民用的，民众的 | |
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scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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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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clamorous
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| adj.吵闹的，喧哗的 | |
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chuckled
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| 轻声地笑( chuckle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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audit
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| v.审计；查帐；核对；旁听 | |
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aliases
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| n.别名，化名( alias的名词复数 ) | |
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stickler
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| n.坚持细节之人 | |
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proprieties
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| n.礼仪，礼节；礼貌( propriety的名词复数 )；规矩；正当；合适 | |
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zealous
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| adj.狂热的，热心的 | |
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convoy
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| vt.护送，护卫，护航；n.护送；护送队 | |
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convoys
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| n.（有护航的）船队( convoy的名词复数 )；车队；护航（队）；护送队 | |
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inspection
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| n.检查，审查，检阅 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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revels
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| n.作乐( revel的名词复数 )；狂欢；着迷；陶醉v.作乐( revel的第三人称单数 )；狂欢；着迷；陶醉 | |
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offender
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| n.冒犯者，违反者，犯罪者 | |
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Mediterranean
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| adj.地中海的；地中海沿岸的 | |
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maritime
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| adj.海的，海事的，航海的，近海的，沿海的 | |
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besetting
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| adj.不断攻击的v.困扰( beset的现在分词 )；不断围攻；镶；嵌 | |
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28
shaft
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| n.(工具的)柄，杆状物 | |
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facade
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| n.(建筑物的)正面，临街正面；外表 | |
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sergeant
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| n.警官，中士 | |
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undertaking
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| n.保证，许诺，事业 | |
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32
granite
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| adj.花岗岩，花岗石 | |
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33
beckoned
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| v.（用头或手的动作）示意，召唤( beckon的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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34
majesty
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| n.雄伟，壮丽，庄严，威严；最高权威，王权 | |
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35
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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brazen
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| adj.厚脸皮的，无耻的，坚硬的 | |
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phantoms
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| n.鬼怪，幽灵( phantom的名词复数 ) | |
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38
pallid
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| adj.苍白的，呆板的 | |
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39
conqueror
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| n.征服者，胜利者 | |
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40
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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belie
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| v.掩饰，证明为假 | |
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42
monarch
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| n.帝王，君主，最高统治者 | |
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43
grievance
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| n.怨愤，气恼，委屈 | |
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44
abominable
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| adj.可厌的，令人憎恶的 | |
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45
testily
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| adv. 易怒地, 暴躁地 | |
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46
preposterous
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| adj.荒谬的，可笑的 | |
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47
applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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hereditary
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| adj.遗传的，遗传性的，可继承的，世袭的 | |
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49
ushered
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| v.引，领，陪同( usher的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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50
offhand
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| adj.临时，无准备的；随便，马虎的 | |
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51
sterling
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| adj.英币的(纯粹的，货真价实的)；n.英国货币(英镑) | |
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52
survivors
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| 幸存者，残存者，生还者( survivor的名词复数 ) | |
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53
dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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54
disposition
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| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
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55
corpse
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| n.尸体，死尸 | |
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56
ledger
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| n.总帐，分类帐；帐簿 | |
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57
groaned
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| v.呻吟( groan的过去式和过去分词 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
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58
edifying
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| adj.有教训意味的，教训性的，有益的v.开导，启发( edify的现在分词 ) | |
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59
shuffled
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| v.洗（纸牌）( shuffle的过去式和过去分词 )；拖着脚步走；粗心地做；摆脱尘世的烦恼 | |
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60
demised
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| v.遗赠（demise的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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61
croaks
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| v.呱呱地叫( croak的第三人称单数 )；用粗的声音说 | |
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62
cowered
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| v.畏缩，抖缩( cower的过去式 ) | |
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63
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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64
strictly
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| adv.严厉地，严格地；严密地 | |
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65
pinion
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| v.束缚；n.小齿轮 | |
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66
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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67
interfering
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| adj. 妨碍的 动词interfere的现在分词 | |
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68
abide
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| vi.遵守；坚持；vt.忍受 | |
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69
cleansing
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| n. 净化(垃圾) adj. 清洁用的 动词cleanse的现在分词 | |
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70
toils
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| 网 | |
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71
toil
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| vi.辛劳工作，艰难地行动；n.苦工，难事 | |
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72
crooked
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| adj.弯曲的；不诚实的，狡猾的，不正当的 | |
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73
acting
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| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
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74
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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75
epic
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| n.史诗，叙事诗；adj.史诗般的，壮丽的 | |
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76
ragged
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| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
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77
reeked
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| v.发出浓烈的臭气( reek的过去式和过去分词 )；散发臭气；发出难闻的气味 (of sth)；明显带有（令人不快或生疑的跡象） | |
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78
hoarse
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| adj.嘶哑的，沙哑的 | |
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hoarsely
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| adv.嘶哑地 | |
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80
stump
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| n.残株，烟蒂，讲演台；v.砍断，蹒跚而走 | |
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81
folly
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| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
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82
nostrils
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| 鼻孔( nostril的名词复数 ) | |
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83
salute
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| vi.行礼，致意，问候，放礼炮；vt.向…致意，迎接，赞扬；n.招呼，敬礼，礼炮 | |
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84
poised
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| a.摆好姿势不动的 | |
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85
spun
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| v.纺，杜撰，急转身 | |
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86
draught
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| n.拉，牵引，拖；一网（饮，吸，阵)；顿服药量，通风；v.起草，设计 | |
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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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88
shrug
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| v.耸肩(表示怀疑、冷漠、不知等) | |
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89
trenches
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| 深沟，地沟( trench的名词复数 )； 战壕 | |
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90
wireless
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| adj.无线的；n.无线电 | |
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91
muffled
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| adj.（声音）被隔的；听不太清的；（衣服）裹严的；蒙住的v.压抑，捂住( muffle的过去式和过去分词 )；用厚厚的衣帽包着（自己） | |
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92
desultory
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| adj.散漫的，无方法的 | |
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93
stiffened
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| 加强的 | |
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94
quills
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| n.（刺猬或豪猪的）刺( quill的名词复数 )；羽毛管；翮；纡管 | |
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95
covert
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| adj.隐藏的；暗地里的 | |
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inquiry
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| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
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blotted
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| 涂污( blot的过去式和过去分词 )； （用吸墨纸）吸干 | |
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98
reiterated
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| 反复地说，重申( reiterate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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99
hush
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| int.嘘，别出声；n.沉默，静寂；v.使安静 | |
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100
armour
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| （=armor）n.盔甲；装甲部队 | |
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101
emphatic
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| adj.强调的，着重的；无可置疑的，明显的 | |
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102
thump
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| v.重击，砰然地响；n.重击，重击声 | |
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103
winced
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| 赶紧避开，畏缩( wince的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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104
nervously
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| adv.神情激动地，不安地 | |
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105
charred
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| v.把…烧成炭( char的过去式)；烧焦 | |
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traitor
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| n.叛徒，卖国贼 | |
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107
scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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108
trot
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| n.疾走，慢跑；n.老太婆；现成译本；(复数）trots:腹泻（与the 连用）；v.小跑，快步走，赶紧 | |
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109
picket
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| n.纠察队；警戒哨；v.设置纠察线；布置警卫 | |
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110
outskirts
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| n.郊外，郊区 | |
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111
inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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pickets
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| 罢工纠察员( picket的名词复数 ) | |
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fiddle
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| n.小提琴；vi.拉提琴；不停拨弄，乱动 | |
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114
creeds
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| （尤指宗教）信条，教条( creed的名词复数 ) | |
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creed
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| n.信条；信念，纲领 | |
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middle-aged
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| adj.中年的 | |
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jaw
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| n.颚，颌，说教，流言蜚语；v.喋喋不休，教训 | |
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118
bass
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| n.男低音(歌手)；低音乐器；低音大提琴 | |
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119
justify
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| vt.证明…正当(或有理)，为…辩护 | |
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120
importunate
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| adj.强求的；纠缠不休的 | |
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121
discreet
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| adj.(言行)谨慎的；慎重的；有判断力的 | |
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watchful
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| adj.注意的，警惕的 | |
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grunted
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| （猪等）作呼噜声( grunt的过去式和过去分词 )； （指人）发出类似的哼声； 咕哝着说 | |
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coaxed
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| v.哄，用好话劝说( coax的过去式和过去分词 )；巧言骗取；哄劝，劝诱 | |
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implored
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| 恳求或乞求（某人）( implore的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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insinuating
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| adj.曲意巴结的，暗示的v.暗示( insinuate的现在分词 )；巧妙或迂回地潜入；（使）缓慢进入；慢慢伸入 | |
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genial
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| adj.亲切的，和蔼的，愉快的，脾气好的 | |
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steered
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| v.驾驶( steer的过去式和过去分词 )；操纵；控制；引导 | |
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129
thither
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| adv.向那里；adj.在那边的，对岸的 | |
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vividly
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| adv.清楚地，鲜明地，生动地 | |
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131
umpteen
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| adj.多的，大量的；n.许许多多 | |
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utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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highlander
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| n.高地的人，苏格兰高地地区的人 | |
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alterations
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| n.改动( alteration的名词复数 )；更改；变化；改变 | |
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fabric
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| n.织物，织品，布；构造，结构，组织 | |
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exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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taunt
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| n.辱骂，嘲弄；v.嘲弄 | |
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peddled
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| （沿街）叫卖( peddle的过去式和过去分词 )； 兜售； 宣传； 散播 | |
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139
mansions
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| n.宅第，公馆，大厦( mansion的名词复数 ) | |
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imperturbable
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| adj.镇静的 | |
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flux
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| n.流动；不断的改变 | |
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ply
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| v.(搬运工等)等候顾客，弯曲 | |
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143
simplicity
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| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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atheist
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| n.无神论者 | |
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146
gorges
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| n.山峡，峡谷( gorge的名词复数 )；咽喉v.（用食物把自己）塞饱，填饱( gorge的第三人称单数 )；作呕 | |
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backwards
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| adv.往回地，向原处，倒，相反，前后倒置地 | |
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faltering
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| 犹豫的，支吾的，蹒跚的 | |
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sobbing
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| <主方>Ⅰ adj.湿透的 | |
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150
conspiracy
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| n.阴谋，密谋，共谋 | |
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151
wailed
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| v.哭叫，哀号( wail的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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152
inefficient
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| adj.效率低的，无效的 | |
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153
snobbish
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| adj.势利的，谄上欺下的 | |
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154
battalion
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| n.营；部队；大队(的人) | |
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banished
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| v.放逐，驱逐( banish的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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scribbled
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| v.潦草的书写( scribble的过去式和过去分词 )；乱画；草草地写；匆匆记下 | |
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157
guardians
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| 监护人( guardian的名词复数 )； 保护者，维护者 | |
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158
accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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159
plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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majestic
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| adj.雄伟的，壮丽的，庄严的，威严的，崇高的 | |
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161
doomed
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| 命定的 | |
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withdrawn
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| vt.收回；使退出；vi.撤退，退出 | |
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