They carried a yellow banner with a great red lion, named by the King as the Notting Hill emblem7, after a small public-house in the neighbourhood, which he once frequented.
Between the two lines of his followers8 there advanced towards the King a tall, red-haired young man, with high features and bold blue eyes. He would have been called handsome, but that a certain indefinable air of his nose being too big for his face, and his feet for his legs, gave him a look of awkwardness and extreme youth. His robes were red, according to the King’s heraldry, and, alone among the Provosts, he was girt with a great sword. This was Adam Wayne, the intractable Provost of Notting Hill.
The King flung himself back in his chair, and rubbed his hands.
“What a day, what a day!” he said to himself. “Now there’ll be a row. I’d no idea it would be such fun as it is. These Provosts are so very indignant, so very reasonable, so very right. This fellow, by the look in his eyes, is even more indignant than the rest. No sign in those large blue eyes, at any rate, of ever having heard of a joke. He’ll remonstrate9 with the others, and they’ll remonstrate with him, and they’ll all make themselves sumptuously10 happy remonstrating11 with me.”
“Welcome, my Lord,” he said aloud. “What news from the Hill of a Hundred Legends? What have you for the ear of your King? I know that troubles have arisen between you and these others, our cousins, but these troubles it shall be our pride to compose. And I doubt not, and cannot doubt, that your love for me is not less tender, no less ardent12, than theirs.”
Mr. Buck13 made a bitter face, and James Barker’s nostrils14 curled; Wilson began to giggle15 faintly, and the Provost of West Kensington followed in a smothered16 way. But the big blue eyes of Adam Wayne never changed, and he called out in an odd, boyish voice down the hall —
“I bring homage17 to my King. I bring him the only thing I have — my sword.”
And with a great gesture he flung it down on the ground, and knelt on one knee behind it.
There was a dead silence.
“I beg your pardon,” said the King, blankly.
“You speak well, sire,” said Adam Wayne, “as you ever speak, when you say that my love is not less than the love of these. Small would it be if it were not more. For I am the heir of your scheme — the child of the great Charter. I stand here for the rights the Charter gave me, and I swear, by your sacred crown, that where I stand, I stand fast.”
I BRING HOMAGE TO MY KING.
"I bring homage to my King."
The eyes of all five men stood out of their heads.
Then Buck said, in his jolly, jarring voice: “Is the whole world mad?”
The King sprang to his feet, and his eyes blazed.
“Yes,” he cried, in a voice of exultation18, “the whole world is mad, but Adam Wayne and me. It is true as death what I told you long ago, James Barker, seriousness sends men mad. You are mad, because you care for politics, as mad as a man who collects tram tickets. Buck is mad, because he cares for money, as mad as a man who lives on opium19. Wilson is mad, because he thinks himself right, as mad as a man who thinks himself God Almighty20. The Provost of West Kensington is mad, because he thinks he is respectable, as mad as a man who thinks he is a chicken. All men are mad but the humorist, who cares for nothing and possesses everything. I thought that there was only one humorist in England. Fools! — dolts21! — open your cows’ eyes; there are two! In Notting Hill — in that unpromising elevation22 — there has been born an artist! You thought to spoil my joke, and bully23 me out of it, by becoming more and more modern, more and more practical, more and more bustling24 and rational. Oh, what a feast it was to answer you by becoming more and more august, more and more gracious, more and more ancient and mellow25! But this lad has seen how to bowl me out. He has answered me back, vaunt for vaunt, rhetoric26 for rhetoric. He has lifted the only shield I cannot break, the shield of an impenetrable pomposity27. Listen to him. You have come, my Lord, about Pump Street?”
“About the city of Notting Hill,” answered Wayne, proudly, “of which Pump Street is a living and rejoicing part.”
“Not a very large part,” said Barker, contemptuously.
“That which is large enough for the rich to covet,” said Wayne, drawing up his head, “is large enough for the poor to defend.”
The King slapped both his legs, and waved his feet for a second in the air.
“Every respectable person in Notting Hill,” cut in Buck, with his cold, coarse voice, “is for us and against you. I have plenty of friends in Notting Hill.”
“Your friends are those who have taken your gold for other men’s hearthstones, my Lord Buck,” said Provost Wayne. “I can well believe they are your friends.”
“They’ve never sold dirty toys, anyhow,” said Buck, laughing shortly.
“They’ve sold dirtier things,” said Wayne, calmly: “they have sold themselves.”
“It’s no good, my Buckling,” said the King, rolling about on his chair. “You can’t cope with this chivalrous28 eloquence29. You can’t cope with an artist. You can’t cope with the humorist of Notting Hill. Oh, Nunc dimittis — that I have lived to see this day! Provost Wayne, you stand firm?”
“Let them wait and see,” said Wayne. “If I stood firm before, do you think I shall weaken now that I have seen the face of the King? For I fight for something greater, if greater there can be, than the hearthstones of my people and the Lordship of the Lion. I fight for your royal vision, for the great dream you dreamt of the League of the Free Cities. You have given me this liberty. If I had been a beggar and you had flung me a coin, if I had been a peasant in a dance and you had flung me a favour, do you think I would have let it be taken by any ruffians on the road? This leadership and liberty of Notting Hill is a gift from your Majesty30, and if it is taken from me, by God! it shall be taken in battle, and the noise of that battle shall be heard in the flats of Chelsea and in the studios of St. John’s Wood.”
“It is too much — it is too much,” said the King. “Nature is weak. I must speak to you, brother artist, without further disguise. Let me ask you a solemn question. Adam Wayne, Lord High Provost of Notting Hill, don’t you think it splendid?”
“Splendid!” cried Adam Wayne. “It has the splendour of God.”
“Bowled out again,” said the King. “You will keep up the pose. Funnily, of course, it is serious. But seriously, isn’t it funny?”
“What?” asked Wayne, with the eyes of a baby.
“Hang it all, don’t play any more. The whole business — the Charter of the Cities. Isn’t it immense?”
“Immense is no unworthy word for that glorious design.”
“Oh, hang you! But, of course, I see. You want me to clear the room of these reasonable sows. You want the two humorists alone together. Leave us, gentlemen.”
Buck threw a sour look at Barker, and at a sullen32 signal the whole pageant33 of blue and green, of red, gold, and purple, rolled out of the room, leaving only two in the great hall, the King sitting in his seat on the da?s, and the red-clad figure still kneeling on the floor before his fallen sword.
The King bounded down the steps and smacked34 Provost Wayne on the back.
“Before the stars were made,” he cried, “we were made for each other. It is too beautiful. Think of the valiant35 independence of Pump Street. That is the real thing. It is the deification of the ludicrous.”
The kneeling figure sprang to his feet with a fierce stagger.
“Ludicrous!” he cried, with a fiery36 face.
“Oh, come, come,” said the King, impatiently, “you needn’t keep it up with me. The augurs37 must wink38 sometimes from sheer fatigue39 of the eyelids40. Let us enjoy this for half an hour, not as actors, but as dramatic critics. Isn’t it a joke?”
Adam Wayne looked down like a boy, and answered in a constrained41 voice —
“I do not understand your Majesty. I cannot believe that while I fight for your royal charter your Majesty deserts me for these dogs of the gold hunt.”
“Oh, damn your — But what’s this? What the devil’s this?”
The King stared into the young Provost’s face, and in the twilight42 of the room began to see that his face was quite white and his lip shaking.
“What in God’s name is the matter?” cried Auberon, holding his wrist.
Wayne flung back his face, and the tears were shining on it.
“I am only a boy,” he said, “but it’s true. I would paint the Red Lion on my shield if I had only my blood.”
King Auberon dropped the hand and stood without stirring, thunderstruck.
“My God in Heaven!” he said; “is it possible that there is within the four seas of Britain a man who takes Notting Hill seriously?”
“And my God in Heaven!” said Wayne passionately43; “is it possible that there is within the four seas of Britain a man who does not take it seriously?”
The King said nothing, but merely went back up the steps of the da?s, like a man dazed. He fell back in his chair again and kicked his heels.
“If this sort of thing is to go on,” he said weakly, “I shall begin to doubt the superiority of art to life. In Heaven’s name, do not play with me. Do you really mean that you are — God help me! — a Notting Hill patriot44; that you are —?”
Wayne made a violent gesture, and the King soothed45 him wildly.
“All right — all right — I see you are; but let me take it in. You do really propose to fight these modern improvers with their boards and inspectors46 and surveyors and all the rest of it?”
“Are they so terrible?” asked Wayne, scornfully.
The King continued to stare at him as if he were a human curiosity.
“And I suppose,” he said, “that you think that the dentists and small tradesmen and maiden47 ladies who inhabit Notting Hill, will rally with war-hymns to your standard?”
“If they have blood they will,” said the Provost.
“And I suppose,” said the King, with his head back among the cushions, “that it never crossed your mind that”— his voice seemed to lose itself luxuriantly —“never crossed your mind that any one ever thought that the idea of a Notting Hill idealism was — er — slightly — slightly ridiculous?”
“Of course they think so,” said Wayne. “What was the meaning of mocking the prophets?”
“Where,” asked the King, leaning forward —“where in Heaven’s name did you get this miraculously48 inane49 idea?”
“You have been my tutor, Sire,” said the Provost, “in all that is high and honourable50.”
“Eh?” said the King.
“It was your Majesty who first stirred my dim patriotism51 into flame. Ten years ago, when I was a boy (I am only nineteen), I was playing on the slope of Pump Street, with a wooden sword and a paper helmet, dreaming of great wars. In an angry trance I struck out with my sword, and stood petrified52, for I saw that I had struck you, Sire, my King, as you wandered in a noble secrecy53, watching over your people’s welfare. But I need have had no fear. Then was I taught to understand Kingliness. You neither shrank nor frowned. You summoned no guards. You invoked54 no punishments. But in august and burning words, which are written in my soul, never to be erased55, you told me ever to turn my sword against the enemies of my inviolate56 city. Like a priest pointing to the altar, you pointed57 to the hill of Notting. ‘So long,’ you said, ‘as you are ready to die for the sacred mountain, even if it were ringed with all the armies of Bayswater.’ I have not forgotten the words, and I have reason now to remember them, for the hour is come and the crown of your prophecy. The sacred hill is ringed with the armies of Bayswater, and I am ready to die.”
The King was lying back in his chair, a kind of wreck58.
“Oh, Lord, Lord, Lord,” he murmured, “what a life! what a life! All my work! I seem to have done it all. So you’re the red-haired boy that hit me in the waistcoat. What have I done? God, what have I done? I thought I would have a joke, and I have created a passion. I tried to compose a burlesque59, and it seems to be turning halfway60 through into an epic61. What is to be done with such a world? In the Lord’s name, wasn’t the joke broad and bold enough? I abandoned my subtle humour to amuse you, and I seem to have brought tears to your eyes. What’s to be done with people when you write a pantomime for them — call the sausages classic festoons, and the policeman cut in two a tragedy of public duty? But why am I talking? Why am I asking questions of a nice young gentleman who is totally mad? What is the good of it? What is the good of anything? Oh, Lord! Oh, Lord!”
Suddenly he pulled himself upright.
“Don’t you really think the sacred Notting Hill at all absurd?”
“Absurd?” asked Wayne, blankly. “Why should I?”
The King stared back equally blankly.
“I beg your pardon,” he said.
“Notting Hill,” said the Provost, simply, “is a rise or high ground of the common earth, on which men have built houses to live, in which they are born, fall in love, pray, marry, and die. Why should I think it absurd?”
The King smiled.
“Because, my Leonidas —” he began, then suddenly, he knew not how, found his mind was a total blank. After all, why was it absurd? Why was it absurd? He felt as if the floor of his mind had given way. He felt as all men feel when their first principles are hit hard with a question. Barker always felt so when the King said, “Why trouble about politics?”
The King’s thoughts were in a kind of rout62; he could not collect them.
“It is generally felt to be a little funny,” he said vaguely63.
“I suppose,” said Adam, turning on him with a fierce suddenness —“I suppose you fancy crucifixion was a serious affair?”
“Well, I—” began Auberon —“I admit I have generally thought it had its graver side.”
“Then you are wrong,” said Wayne, with incredible violence. “Crucifixion is comic. It is exquisitely64 diverting. It was an absurd and obscene kind of impaling65 reserved for people who were made to be laughed at — for slaves and provincials66, for dentists and small tradesmen, as you would say. I have seen the grotesque67 gallows-shape, which the little Roman gutter-boys scribbled68 on walls as a vulgar joke, blazing on the pinnacles69 of the temples of the world. And shall I turn back?”
The King made no answer.
Adam went on, his voice ringing in the roof.
“This laughter with which men tyrannise is not the great power you think it. Peter was crucified, and crucified head downwards70. What could be funnier than the idea of a respectable old Apostle upside down? What could be more in the style of your modern humour? But what was the good of it? Upside down or right side up, Peter was Peter to mankind. Upside down he stills hangs over Europe, and millions move and breathe only in the life of his Church.”
King Auberon got up absently.
“There is something in what you say,” he said. “You seem to have been thinking, young man.”
“Only feeling, sire,” answered the Provost. “I was born, like other men, in a spot of the earth which I loved because I had played boys’ games there, and fallen in love, and talked with my friends through nights that were nights of the gods. And I feel the riddle71. These little gardens where we told our loves. These streets where we brought out our dead. Why should they be commonplace? Why should they be absurd? Why should it be grotesque to say that a pillar-box is poetic72 when for a year I could not see a red pillar-box against the yellow evening in a certain street without being wracked with something of which God keeps the secret, but which is stronger than sorrow or joy? Why should any one be able to raise a laugh by saying ‘the Cause of Notting Hill’? — Notting Hill where thousands of immortal73 spirits blaze with alternate hope and fear.”
Auberon was flicking74 dust off his sleeve with quite a new seriousness on his face, distinct from the owlish solemnity which was the pose of his humour.
“It is very difficult,” he said at last. “It is a damned difficult thing. I see what you mean; I agree with you even up to a point — or I should like to agree with you, if I were young enough to be a prophet and poet. I feel a truth in everything you say until you come to the words ‘Notting Hill.’ And then I regret to say that the old Adam awakes roaring with laughter and makes short work of the new Adam, whose name is Wayne.”
For the first time Provost Wayne was silent, and stood gazing dreamily at the floor. Evening was closing in, and the room had grown darker.
“I know,” he said, in a strange, almost sleepy voice, “there is truth in what you say, too. It is hard not to laugh at the common names — I only say we should not. I have thought of a remedy; but such thoughts are rather terrible.”
“What thoughts?” asked Auberon.
The Provost of Notting Hill seemed to have fallen into a kind of trance; in his eyes was an elvish light.
“I know of a magic wand, but it is a wand that only one or two may rightly use, and only seldom. It is a fairy wand of great fear, stronger than those who use it — often frightful75, often wicked to use. But whatever is touched with it is never again wholly common; whatever is touched with it takes a magic from outside the world. If I touch, with this fairy wand, the railways and the roads of Notting Hill, men will love them, and be afraid of them for ever.”
“What the devil are you talking about?” asked the King.
“It has made mean landscapes magnificent, and hovels outlast76 cathedrals,” went on the madman. “Why should it not make lamp-posts fairer than Greek lamps; and an omnibus-ride like a painted ship? The touch of it is the finger of a strange perfection.”
“What is your wand?” cried the King, impatiently.
“There it is,” said Wayne; and pointed to the floor, where his sword lay flat and shining.
“The sword!” cried the King; and sprang up straight on the da?s.
“Yes, yes,” cried Wayne, hoarsely77. “The things touched by that are not vulgar; the things touched by that —”
King Auberon made a gesture of horror.
“You will shed blood for that!” he cried. “For a cursed point of view —”
“Oh, you kings, you kings!” cried out Adam, in a burst of scorn. “How humane78 you are, how tender, how considerate! You will make war for a frontier, or the imports of a foreign harbour; you will shed blood for the precise duty on lace, or the salute79 to an admiral. But for the things that make life itself worthy31 or miserable80 — how humane you are! I say here, and I know well what I speak of, there were never any necessary wars but the religious wars. There were never any just wars but the religious wars. There were never any humane wars but the religious wars. For these men were fighting for something that claimed, at least, to be the happiness of a man, the virtue81 of a man. A Crusader thought, at least, that Islam hurt the soul of every man, king or tinker, that it could really capture. I think Buck and Barker and these rich vultures hurt the soul of every man, hurt every inch of the ground, hurt every brick of the houses, that they can really capture. Do you think I have no right to fight for Notting Hill, you whose English Government has so often fought for tomfooleries? If, as your rich friends say, there are no gods, and the skies are dark above us, what should a man fight for, but the place where he had the Eden of childhood and the short heaven of first love? If no temples and no scriptures82 are sacred, what is sacred if a man’s own youth is not sacred?”
The King walked a little restlessly up and down the da?s.
“It is hard,” he said, biting his lips, “to assent83 to a view so desperate — so responsible. . . . ”
As he spoke84, the door of the audience chamber85 fell ajar, and through the aperture86 came, like the sudden chatter87 of a bird, the high, nasal, but well-bred voice of Barker.
“I said to him quite plainly — the public interests —”
Auberon turned on Wayne with violence.
“What the devil is all this? What am I saying? What are you saying? Have you hypnotised me? Curse your uncanny blue eyes! Let me go. Give me back my sense of humour. Give it me back — give it me back, I say!”
“I solemnly assure you,” said Wayne, uneasily, with a gesture, as if feeling all over himself, “that I haven’t got it.”
The King fell back in his chair, and went into a roar of Rabelaisian laughter.
“I don’t think you have,” he cried.
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收听单词发音
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1
favourable
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| adj.赞成的，称赞的，有利的，良好的，顺利的 | |
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inexplicable
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| adj.无法解释的，难理解的 | |
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arrogance
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| n.傲慢，自大 | |
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meek
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| adj.温顺的，逆来顺受的 | |
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misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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6
tunics
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| n.（动植物的）膜皮( tunic的名词复数 )；束腰宽松外衣；一套制服的短上衣；（天主教主教等穿的）短祭袍 | |
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7
emblem
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| n.象征，标志；徽章 | |
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8
followers
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| 追随者( follower的名词复数 )； 用户； 契据的附面； 从动件 | |
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9
remonstrate
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| v.抗议，规劝 | |
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10
sumptuously
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| 奢侈地，豪华地 | |
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remonstrating
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| v.抗议( remonstrate的现在分词 )；告诫 | |
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ardent
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，强烈的，烈性的 | |
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13
buck
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| n.雄鹿，雄兔；v.马离地跳跃 | |
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14
nostrils
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| 鼻孔( nostril的名词复数 ) | |
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giggle
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| n.痴笑，咯咯地笑；v.咯咯地笑着说 | |
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16
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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homage
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| n.尊敬，敬意，崇敬 | |
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exultation
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| n.狂喜，得意 | |
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opium
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| n.鸦片；adj.鸦片的 | |
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almighty
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| adj.全能的，万能的；很大的，很强的 | |
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dolts
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| n.笨蛋，傻瓜( dolt的名词复数 ) | |
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elevation
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| n.高度；海拔；高地；上升；提高 | |
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bully
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| n.恃强欺弱者，小流氓；vt.威胁，欺侮 | |
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bustling
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| adj.喧闹的 | |
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mellow
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| adj.柔和的；熟透的；v.变柔和；(使)成熟 | |
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rhetoric
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| n.修辞学，浮夸之言语 | |
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pomposity
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| n.浮华；虚夸；炫耀；自负 | |
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28
chivalrous
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| adj.武士精神的；对女人彬彬有礼的 | |
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eloquence
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| n.雄辩；口才，修辞 | |
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30
majesty
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| n.雄伟，壮丽，庄严，威严；最高权威，王权 | |
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worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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sullen
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| adj.愠怒的，闷闷不乐的，(天气等)阴沉的 | |
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pageant
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| n.壮观的游行；露天历史剧 | |
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smacked
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| 拍，打，掴( smack的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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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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fiery
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| adj.燃烧着的，火红的；暴躁的；激烈的 | |
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37
augurs
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| n.（古罗马的）占兆官( augur的名词复数 )；占卜师，预言者v.预示，预兆，预言( augur的第三人称单数 )；成为预兆；占卜 | |
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38
wink
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| n.眨眼，使眼色，瞬间；v.眨眼，使眼色，闪烁 | |
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39
fatigue
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| n.疲劳，劳累 | |
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40
eyelids
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| n.眼睑( eyelid的名词复数 )；眼睛也不眨一下；不露声色；面不改色 | |
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41
constrained
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| adj.束缚的,节制的 | |
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42
twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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43
passionately
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| ad.热烈地，激烈地 | |
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44
patriot
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| n.爱国者，爱国主义者 | |
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45
soothed
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| v.安慰( soothe的过去式和过去分词 )；抚慰；使舒服；减轻痛苦 | |
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46
inspectors
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| n.检查员( inspector的名词复数 )；（英国公共汽车或火车上的）查票员；（警察）巡官；检阅官 | |
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maiden
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| n.少女，处女；adj.未婚的，纯洁的，无经验的 | |
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miraculously
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| ad.奇迹般地 | |
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inane
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| adj.空虚的，愚蠢的，空洞的 | |
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honourable
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| adj.可敬的；荣誉的，光荣的 | |
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51
patriotism
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| n.爱国精神，爱国心，爱国主义 | |
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52
petrified
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| adj.惊呆的；目瞪口呆的v.使吓呆，使惊呆；变僵硬；使石化(petrify的过去式和过去分词) | |
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53
secrecy
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| n.秘密，保密，隐蔽 | |
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54
invoked
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| v.援引( invoke的过去式和过去分词 )；行使（权利等）；祈求救助；恳求 | |
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erased
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| v.擦掉( erase的过去式和过去分词 )；抹去；清除 | |
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inviolate
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| adj.未亵渎的，未受侵犯的 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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58
wreck
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| n.失事，遇难；沉船；vt.(船等)失事，遇难 | |
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59
burlesque
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| v.嘲弄，戏仿；n.嘲弄，取笑，滑稽模仿 | |
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halfway
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| adj.中途的，不彻底的，部分的；adv.半路地，在中途，在半途 | |
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61
epic
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| n.史诗，叙事诗；adj.史诗般的，壮丽的 | |
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62
rout
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| n.溃退，溃败；v.击溃，打垮 | |
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vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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exquisitely
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| adv.精致地；强烈地；剧烈地；异常地 | |
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impaling
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| 钉在尖桩上( impale的现在分词 ) | |
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provincials
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| n.首都以外的人，地区居民( provincial的名词复数 ) | |
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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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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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69
pinnacles
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| 顶峰( pinnacle的名词复数 )； 顶点； 尖顶； 小尖塔 | |
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downwards
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| adj./adv.向下的（地），下行的（地） | |
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71
riddle
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| n.谜，谜语，粗筛；vt.解谜，给…出谜，筛，检查，鉴定，非难，充满于；vi.出谜 | |
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poetic
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| adj.富有诗意的，有诗人气质的，善于抒情的 | |
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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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flicking
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| （尤指用手指或手快速地）轻击( flick的现在分词 )； （用…）轻挥； （快速地）按开关； 向…笑了一下（或瞥了一眼等） | |
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frightful
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| adj.可怕的；讨厌的 | |
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outlast
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| v.较…耐久 | |
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hoarsely
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| adv.嘶哑地 | |
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humane
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| adj.人道的，富有同情心的 | |
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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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miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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virtue
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| n.德行，美德；贞操；优点；功效，效力 | |
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82
scriptures
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| 经文，圣典( scripture的名词复数 )； 经典 | |
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83
assent
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| v.批准，认可；n.批准，认可 | |
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84
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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85
chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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aperture
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| n.孔，隙，窄的缺口 | |
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87
chatter
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| vi.／n.喋喋不休；短促尖叫；(牙齿)打战 | |
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