The King was happy all that morning with his cardboard and his paint-box. He was engaged in designing the uniforms and coats-of-arms for the various municipalities of London. They gave him deep and no inconsiderable thought. He felt the responsibility.
“I cannot think,” he said, “why people should think the names of places in the country more poetical2 than those in London. Shallow romanticists go away in trains and stop in places called Hugmy-in-the-Hole, or Bumps-on-the-Puddle. And all the time they could, if they liked, go and live at a place with the dim, divine name of St. John’s Wood. I have never been to St. John’s Wood. I dare not. I should be afraid of the innumerable night of fir trees, afraid to come upon a blood-red cup and the beating of the wings of the Eagle. But all these things can be imagined by remaining reverently3 in the Harrow train.”
And he thoughtfully retouched his design for the head-dress of the halberdier of St. John’s Wood, a design in black and red, compounded of a pine tree and the plumage of an eagle. Then he turned to another card. “Let us think of milder matters,” he said. “Lavender Hill! Could any of your glebes and combes and all the rest of it produce so fragrant4 an idea? Think of a mountain of lavender lifting itself in purple poignancy5 into the silver skies and filling men’s nostrils6 with a new breath of life — a purple hill of incense7. It is true that upon my few excursions of discovery on a halfpenny tram I have failed to hit the precise spot. But it must be there; some poet called it by its name. There is at least warrant enough for the solemn purple plumes8 (following the botanical formation of lavender) which I have required people to wear in the neighbourhood of Clapham Junction9. It is so everywhere, after all. I have never been actually to Southfields, but I suppose a scheme of lemons and olives represent their austral instincts. I have never visited Parson’s Green, or seen either the Green or the Parson, but surely the pale-green shovel-hats I have designed must be more or less in the spirit. I must work in the dark and let my instincts guide me. The great love I bear to my people will certainly save me from distressing10 their noble spirit or violating their great traditions.”
As he was reflecting in this vein11, the door was flung open, and an official announced Mr. Barker and Mr. Lambert.
Mr. Barker and Mr. Lambert were not particularly surprised to find the King sitting on the floor amid a litter of water-colour sketches12. They were not particularly surprised because the last time they had called on him they had found him sitting on the floor, surrounded by a litter of children’s bricks, and the time before surrounded by a litter of wholly unsuccessful attempts to make paper darts13. But the trend of the royal infant’s remarks, uttered from amid this infantile chaos14, was not quite the same affair.
For some time they let him babble15 on, conscious that his remarks meant nothing. And then a horrible thought began to steal over the mind of James Barker. He began to think that the King’s remarks did not mean nothing.
“In God’s name, Auberon,” he suddenly volleyed out, startling the quiet hall, “you don’t mean that you are really going to have these city guards and city walls and things?”
“I am, indeed,” said the infant, in a quiet voice. “Why shouldn’t I have them? I have modelled them precisely16 on your political principles. Do you know what I’ve done, Barker? I’ve behaved like a true Barkerian. I’ve . . . but perhaps it won’t interest you, the account of my Barkerian conduct.”
“Oh, go on, go on,” cried Barker.
“The account of my Barkerian conduct,” said Auberon, calmly, “seems not only to interest, but to alarm you. Yet it is very simple. It merely consists in choosing all the provosts under any new scheme by the same principle by which you have caused the central despot to be appointed. Each provost, of each city, under my charter, is to be appointed by rotation17. Sleep, therefore, my Barker, a rosy18 sleep.”
Barker’s wild eyes flared19.
“But, in God’s name, don’t you see, Quin, that the thing is quite different? In the centre it doesn’t matter so much, just because the whole object of despotism is to get some sort of unity20. But if any damned parish can go to any damned man —”
“I see your difficulty,” said King Auberon, calmly. “You feel that your talents may be neglected. Listen!” And he rose with immense magnificence. “I solemnly give to my liege subject, James Barker, my special and splendid favour, the right to override21 the obvious text of the Charter of the Cities, and to be, in his own right, Lord High Provost of South Kensington. And now, my dear James, you are all right. Good day.”
“But —” began Barker.
“The audience is at an end, Provost,” said the King, smiling.
How far his confidence was justified22, it would require a somewhat complicated description to explain. “The Great Proclamation of the Charter of the Free Cities” appeared in due course that morning, and was posted by bill-stickers all over the front of the Palace, the King assisting them with animated23 directions, and standing24 in the middle of the road, with his head on one side, contemplating25 the result. It was also carried up and down the main thoroughfares by sandwichmen, and the King was, with difficulty, restrained from going out in that capacity himself, being, in fact, found by the Groom26 of the Stole and Captain Bowler27, struggling between two boards. His excitement had positively28 to be quieted like that of a child.
The reception which the Charter of the Cities met at the hands of the public may mildly be described as mixed. In one sense it was popular enough. In many happy homes that remarkable29 legal document was read aloud on winter evenings amid uproarious appreciation30, when everything had been learnt by heart from that quaint31 but immortal32 old classic, Mr. W. W. Jacobs. But when it was discovered that the King had every intention of seriously requiring the provisions to be carried out, of insisting that the grotesque33 cities, with their tocsins and city guards, should really come into existence, things were thrown into a far angrier confusion. Londoners had no particular objection to the King making a fool of himself, but they became indignant when it became evident that he wished to make fools of them; and protests began to come in.
The Lord High Provost of the Good and Valiant34 City of West Kensington wrote a respectful letter to the King, explaining that upon State occasions it would, of course, be his duty to observe what formalities the King thought proper, but that it was really awkward for a decent householder not to be allowed to go out and put a post-card in a pillar-box without being escorted by five heralds36, who announced, with formal cries and blasts of a trumpet37, that the Lord High Provost desired to catch the post.
The Lord High Provost of North Kensington, who was a prosperous draper, wrote a curt38 business note, like a man complaining of a railway company, stating that definite inconvenience had been caused him by the presence of the halberdiers, whom he had to take with him everywhere. When attempting to catch an omnibus to the City, he had found that while room could have been found for himself, the halberdiers had a difficulty in getting in to the vehicle — believe him, theirs faithfully.
The Lord High Provost of Shepherd’s Bush said his wife did not like men hanging round the kitchen.
The King was always delighted to listen to these grievances39, delivering lenient40 and kingly answers, but as he always insisted, as the absolute sine qua non, that verbal complaints should be presented to him with the fullest pomp of trumpets41, plumes, and halberds, only a few resolute42 spirits were prepared to run the gauntlet of the little boys in the street.
Among these, however, was prominent the abrupt43 and business-like gentleman who ruled North Kensington. And he had before long, occasion to interview the King about a matter wider and even more urgent than the problem of the halberdiers and the omnibus. This was the great question which then and for long afterwards brought a stir to the blood and a flush to the cheek of all the speculative44 builders and house agents from Shepherd’s Bush to the Marble Arch, and from Westbourne Grove45 to High Street, Kensington. I refer to the great affair of the improvements in Notting Hill. The scheme was conducted chiefly by Mr. Buck1, the abrupt North Kensington magnate, and by Mr. Wilson, the Provost of Bayswater. A great thoroughfare was to be driven through three boroughs46, through West Kensington, North Kensington and Notting Hill, opening at one end into Hammersmith Broadway, and at the other into Westbourne Grove. The negotiations47, buyings, sellings, bullying48 and bribing49 took ten years, and by the end of it Buck, who had conducted them almost single-handed, had proved himself a man of the strongest type of material energy and material diplomacy50. And just as his splendid patience and more splendid impatience51 had finally brought him victory, when workmen were already demolishing52 houses and walls along the great line from Hammersmith, a sudden obstacle appeared that had neither been reckoned with nor dreamed of, a small and strange obstacle, which, like a speck53 of grit54 in a great machine, jarred the whole vast scheme and brought it to a stand-still, and Mr. Buck, the draper, getting with great impatience into his robes of office and summoning with indescribable disgust his halberdiers, hurried over to speak to the King.
Ten years had not tired the King of his joke. There were still new faces to be seen looking out from the symbolic55 head-gears he had designed, gazing at him from amid the pastoral ribbons of Shepherd’s Bush or from under the sombre hoods56 of the Blackfriars Road. And the interview which was promised him with the Provost of North Kensington he anticipated with a particular pleasure, for “he never really enjoyed,” he said, “the full richness of the medi?val garments unless the people compelled to wear them were very angry and business-like.”
Mr. Buck was both. At the King’s command the door of the audience-chamber was thrown open and a herald35 appeared in the purple colours of Mr. Buck’s commonwealth57 emblazoned with the Great Eagle which the King had attributed to North Kensington, in vague reminiscence of Russia, for he always insisted on regarding North Kensington as some kind of semi-arctic neighbourhood. The herald announced that the Provost of that city desired audience of the King.
“From North Kensington?” said the King, rising graciously. “What news does he bring from that land of high hills and fair women? He is welcome.”
The herald advanced into the room, and was immediately followed by twelve guards clad in purple, who were followed by an attendant bearing the banner of the Eagle, who was followed by another attendant bearing the keys of the city upon a cushion, who was followed by Mr. Buck in a great hurry. When the King saw his strong animal face and steady eyes, he knew that he was in the presence of a great man of business, and consciously braced58 himself.
“Well, well,” he said, cheerily coming down two or three steps from a da?s, and striking his hands lightly together, “I am glad to see you. Never mind, never mind. Ceremony is not everything.”
“I don’t understand your Majesty59,” said the Provost, stolidly60.
“Never mind, never mind,” said the King, gaily61. “A knowledge of Courts is by no means an unmixed merit; you will do it next time, no doubt.”
The man of business looked at him sulkily from under his black brows and said again without show of civility —
“I don’t follow you.”
“Well, well,” replied the King, good-naturedly, “if you ask me I don’t mind telling you, not because I myself attach any importance to these forms in comparison with the Honest Heart. But it is usual — it is usual — that is all, for a man when entering the presence of Royalty62 to lie down on his back on the floor and elevating his feet towards heaven (as the source of Royal power) to say three times ‘Monarchical institutions improve the manners.’ But there, there — such pomp is far less truly dignified63 than your simple kindliness64.”
The Provost’s face was red with anger, and he maintained silence.
“And now,” said the King, lightly, and with the exasperating65 air of a man softening66 a snub; “what delightful67 weather we are having! You must find your official robes warm, my Lord. I designed them for your own snow-bound land.”
“They’re as hot as hell,” said Buck, briefly68. “I came here on business.”
“Right,” said the King, nodding a great number of times with quite unmeaning solemnity; “right, right, right. Business, as the sad glad old Persian said, is business. Be punctual. Rise early. Point the pen to the shoulder. Point the pen to the shoulder, for you know not whence you come nor why. Point the pen to the shoulder, for you know not when you go nor where.”
The Provost pulled a number of papers from his pocket and savagely69 flapped them open.
“Your Majesty may have heard,” he began, sarcastically70, “of Hammersmith and a thing called a road. We have been at work ten years buying property and getting compulsory71 powers and fixing compensation and squaring vested interests, and now at the very end, the thing is stopped by a fool. Old Prout, who was Provost of Notting Hill, was a business man, and we dealt with him quite satisfactorily. But he’s dead, and the cursed lot has fallen on a young man named Wayne, who’s up to some game that’s perfectly72 incomprehensible to me. We offer him a better price than any one ever dreamt of, but he won’t let the road go through. And his Council seems to be backing him up. It’s midsummer madness.”
The King, who was rather inattentively engaged in drawing the Provost’s nose with his finger on the window-pane, heard the last two words.
“What a perfect phrase that is!” he said. “‘Midsummer madness’!”
“The chief point is,” continued Buck, doggedly73, “that the only part that is really in question is one dirty little street — Pump Street — a street with nothing in it but a public-house and a penny toy-shop, and that sort of thing. All the respectable people of Notting Hill have accepted our compensation. But the ineffable74 Wayne sticks out over Pump Street. Says he’s Provost of Notting Hill. He’s only Provost of Pump Street.”
“A good thought,” replied Auberon. “I like the idea of a Provost of Pump Street. Why not let him alone?”
“And drop the whole scheme!” cried out Buck, with a burst of brutal75 spirit. “I’ll be damned if we do. No. I’m for sending in workmen to pull down without more ado.”
“Strike for the purple Eagle!” cried the King, hot with historical associations.
“I’ll tell you what it is,” said Buck, losing his temper altogether. “If your Majesty would spend less time in insulting respectable people with your silly coats-of-arms, and more time over the business of the nation —”
The King’s brow wrinkled thoughtfully.
“The situation is not bad,” he said; “the haughty76 burgher defying the King in his own Palace. The burgher’s head should be thrown back and the right arm extended; the left may be lifted towards Heaven, but that I leave to your private religious sentiment. I have sunk back in this chair, stricken with baffled fury. Now again, please.”
Buck’s mouth opened like a dog’s, but before he could speak another herald appeared at the door.
“The Lord High Provost of Bayswater,” he said, “desires an audience.”
“Admit him,” said Auberon. “This is a jolly day.”
The halberdiers of Bayswater wore a prevailing77 uniform of green, and the banner which was borne after them was emblazoned with a green bay-wreath on a silver ground, which the King, in the course of his researches into a bottle of champagne78, had discovered to be the quaint old punning cognisance of the city of Bayswater.
“It is a fit symbol,” said the King, “your immortal bay-wreath. Fulham may seek for wealth, and Kensington for art, but when did the men of Bayswater care for anything but glory?”
Immediately behind the banner, and almost completely hidden by it, came the Provost of the city, clad in splendid robes of green and silver with white fur and crowned with bay. He was an anxious little man with red whiskers, originally the owner of a small sweet-stuff shop.
“Our cousin of Bayswater,” said the King, with delight; “what can we get for you?” The King was heard also distinctly to mutter, “Cold beef, cold ‘am, cold chicken,” his voice dying into silence.
“I came to see your Majesty,” said the Provost of Bayswater, whose name was Wilson, “about that Pump Street affair.”
“I have just been explaining the situation to his Majesty,” said Buck, curtly79, but recovering his civility. “I am not sure, however, whether his Majesty knows how much the matter affects you also.”
“It affects both of us, yer see, yer Majesty, as this scheme was started for the benefit of the ‘ole neighbourhood. So Mr. Buck and me we put our ‘eads together —”
The King clasped his hands.
“Perfect!” he cried in ecstacy. “Your heads together! I can see it! Can’t you do it now? Oh, do do it now!”
A smothered80 sound of amusement appeared to come from the halberdiers, but Mr. Wilson looked merely bewildered, and Mr. Buck merely diabolical81.
“I suppose,” he began bitterly, but the King stopped him with a gesture of listening.
“Hush,” he said, “I think I hear some one else coming. I seem to hear another herald, a herald whose boots creak.”
As he spoke82 another voice cried from the doorway83 —
“The Lord High Provost of South Kensington desires an audience.”
“The Lord High Provost of South Kensington!” cried the King. “Why, that is my old friend James Barker! What does he want, I wonder? If the tender memories of friendship have not grown misty84, I fancy he wants something for himself, probably money. How are you, James?”
Mr. James Barker, whose guard was attired85 in a splendid blue, and whose blue banner bore three gold birds singing, rushed, in his blue and gold robes, into the room. Despite the absurdity86 of all the dresses, it was worth noticing that he carried his better than the rest, though he loathed87 it as much as any of them. He was a gentleman, and a very handsome man, and could not help unconsciously wearing even his preposterous88 robe as it should be worn. He spoke quickly, but with the slight initial hesitation89 he always showed in addressing the King, due to suppressing an impulse to address his old acquaintance in the old way.
“Your Majesty — pray forgive my intrusion. It is about this man in Pump Street. I see you have Buck here, so you have probably heard what is necessary. I—”
The King swept his eyes anxiously round the room, which now blazed with the trappings of three cities.
“There is one thing necessary,” he said.
“Yes, your Majesty,” said Mr. Wilson of Bayswater, a little eagerly. “What does yer Majesty think necessary?”
“A little yellow,” said the King, firmly. “Send for the Provost of West Kensington.”
Amid some materialistic90 protests he was sent for, and arrived with his yellow halberdiers in his saffron robes, wiping his forehead with a handkerchief. After all, placed as he was, he had a good deal to say on the matter.
“Welcome, West Kensington,” said the King. “I have long wished to see you touching91 that matter of the Hammersmith land to the south of the Rowton House. Will you hold it feudally92 from the Provost of Hammersmith? You have only to do him homage93 by putting his left arm in his overcoat and then marching home in state.”
“No, your Majesty; I’d rather not,” said the Provost of West Kensington, who was a pale young man with a fair moustache and whiskers, who kept a successful dairy.
The King struck him heartily94 on the shoulder.
“The fierce old West Kensington blood,” he said; “they are not wise who ask it to do homage.”
Then he glanced again round the room. It was full of a roaring sunset of colour, and he enjoyed the sight, possible to so few artists — the sight of his own dreams moving and blazing before him. In the foreground the yellow of the West Kensington liveries outlined itself against the dark blue draperies of South Kensington. The crests95 of these again brightened suddenly into green as the almost woodland colours of Bayswater rose behind them. And over and behind all, the great purple plumes of North Kensington showed almost funereal96 and black.
“There is something lacking,” said the King —“something lacking. What can — Ah, there it is! there it is!”
In the doorway had appeared a new figure, a herald in flaming red. He cried in a loud but unemotional voice —
“The Lord High Provost of Notting Hill desires an audience.”
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1
buck
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| n.雄鹿，雄兔；v.马离地跳跃 | |
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poetical
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| adj.似诗人的；诗一般的；韵文的；富有诗意的 | |
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reverently
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| adv.虔诚地 | |
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fragrant
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| adj.芬香的，馥郁的，愉快的 | |
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poignancy
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| n.辛酸事，尖锐 | |
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nostrils
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| 鼻孔( nostril的名词复数 ) | |
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incense
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| v.激怒；n.香，焚香时的烟，香气 | |
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plumes
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| 羽毛( plume的名词复数 )； 羽毛饰； 羽毛状物； 升上空中的羽状物 | |
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junction
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| n.连接，接合；交叉点，接合处，枢纽站 | |
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distressing
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| a.使人痛苦的 | |
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vein
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| n.血管，静脉；叶脉，纹理；情绪；vt.使成脉络 | |
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sketches
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| n.草图( sketch的名词复数 )；素描；速写；梗概 | |
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darts
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| n.掷飞镖游戏；飞镖( dart的名词复数 )；急驰，飞奔v.投掷，投射( dart的第三人称单数 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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chaos
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| n.混乱，无秩序 | |
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babble
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| v.含糊不清地说，胡言乱语地说，儿语 | |
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precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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rotation
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| n.旋转；循环，轮流 | |
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rosy
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| adj.美好的，乐观的，玫瑰色的 | |
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Flared
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| adj. 端部张开的, 爆发的, 加宽的, 漏斗式的 动词flare的过去式和过去分词 | |
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unity
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| n.团结，联合，统一；和睦，协调 | |
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override
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| vt.不顾，不理睬，否决；压倒，优先于 | |
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justified
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| a.正当的，有理的 | |
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animated
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| adj.生气勃勃的，活跃的，愉快的 | |
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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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contemplating
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| 深思，细想，仔细考虑( contemplate的现在分词 )； 注视，凝视； 考虑接受（发生某事的可能性）； 深思熟虑，沉思，苦思冥想 | |
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groom
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| vt.给（马、狗等）梳毛，照料，使...整洁 | |
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bowler
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| n.打保龄球的人，（板球的）投（球）手 | |
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positively
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| adv.明确地，断然，坚决地；实在，确实 | |
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remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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appreciation
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| n.评价；欣赏；感谢；领会，理解；价格上涨 | |
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quaint
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| adj.古雅的，离奇有趣的，奇怪的 | |
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immortal
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| adj.不朽的；永生的，不死的；神的 | |
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grotesque
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| adj.怪诞的，丑陋的；n.怪诞的图案，怪人（物） | |
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valiant
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| adj.勇敢的，英勇的；n.勇士，勇敢的人 | |
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herald
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| vt.预示...的来临，预告，宣布，欢迎 | |
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heralds
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| n.使者( herald的名词复数 )；预报者；预兆；传令官v.预示( herald的第三人称单数 )；宣布（好或重要） | |
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trumpet
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| n.喇叭，喇叭声；v.吹喇叭，吹嘘 | |
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curt
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| adj.简短的，草率的 | |
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grievances
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| n.委屈( grievance的名词复数 )；苦衷；不满；牢骚 | |
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lenient
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| adj.宽大的，仁慈的 | |
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trumpets
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| 喇叭( trumpet的名词复数 )； 小号； 喇叭形物； （尤指）绽开的水仙花 | |
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42
resolute
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| adj.坚决的，果敢的 | |
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abrupt
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| adj.突然的，意外的；唐突的，鲁莽的 | |
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speculative
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| adj.思索性的，暝想性的，推理的 | |
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45
grove
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| n.林子，小树林，园林 | |
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46
boroughs
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| （尤指大伦敦的）行政区( borough的名词复数 )； 议会中有代表的市镇 | |
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negotiations
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| 协商( negotiation的名词复数 )； 谈判； 完成（难事）； 通过 | |
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bullying
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| v.恐吓，威逼( bully的现在分词 )；豪；跋扈 | |
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49
bribing
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| 贿赂 | |
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diplomacy
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| n.外交；外交手腕，交际手腕 | |
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impatience
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| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
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demolishing
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| v.摧毁( demolish的现在分词 )；推翻；拆毁（尤指大建筑物）；吃光 | |
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speck
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| n.微粒，小污点，小斑点 | |
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grit
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| n.沙粒，决心，勇气；v.下定决心，咬紧牙关 | |
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symbolic
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| adj.象征性的，符号的，象征主义的 | |
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hoods
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| n.兜帽( hood的名词复数 )；头巾；（汽车、童车等的）折合式车篷；汽车发动机罩v.兜帽( hood的第三人称单数 )；头巾；（汽车、童车等的）折合式车篷；汽车发动机罩 | |
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commonwealth
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| n.共和国，联邦，共同体 | |
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braced
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| adj.拉牢的v.支住( brace的过去式和过去分词 )；撑牢；使自己站稳；振作起来 | |
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majesty
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| n.雄伟，壮丽，庄严，威严；最高权威，王权 | |
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stolidly
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| adv.迟钝地，神经麻木地 | |
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gaily
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| adv.欢乐地，高兴地 | |
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royalty
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| n.皇家，皇族 | |
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dignified
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| a.可敬的，高贵的 | |
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kindliness
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| n.厚道，亲切，友好的行为 | |
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exasperating
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| adj. 激怒的 动词exasperate的现在分词形式 | |
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softening
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| 变软，软化 | |
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delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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briefly
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| adv.简单地，简短地 | |
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savagely
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| adv. 野蛮地，残酷地 | |
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sarcastically
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| adv.挖苦地，讽刺地 | |
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compulsory
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| n.强制的，必修的；规定的，义务的 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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doggedly
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| adv.顽强地，固执地 | |
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ineffable
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| adj.无法表达的，不可言喻的 | |
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brutal
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| adj.残忍的，野蛮的，不讲理的 | |
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haughty
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| adj.傲慢的，高傲的 | |
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prevailing
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| adj.盛行的；占优势的；主要的 | |
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champagne
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| n.香槟酒；微黄色 | |
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curtly
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| adv.简短地 | |
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smothered
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| （使）窒息， （使）透不过气( smother的过去式和过去分词 )； 覆盖； 忍住； 抑制 | |
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diabolical
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| adj.恶魔似的，凶暴的 | |
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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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doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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misty
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| adj.雾蒙蒙的，有雾的 | |
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attired
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| adj.穿着整齐的v.使穿上衣服，使穿上盛装( attire的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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absurdity
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| n.荒谬，愚蠢；谬论 | |
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loathed
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| v.憎恨，厌恶( loathe的过去式和过去分词 )；极不喜欢 | |
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preposterous
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| adj.荒谬的，可笑的 | |
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hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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materialistic
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| a.唯物主义的，物质享乐主义的 | |
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touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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feudally
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| adv.如封建地 | |
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homage
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| n.尊敬，敬意，崇敬 | |
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heartily
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| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
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crests
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| v.到达山顶（或浪峰）( crest的第三人称单数 )；到达洪峰，达到顶点 | |
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funereal
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| adj.悲哀的；送葬的 | |
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