His conversation with the man who kept the shop of curiosities had begun encouragingly. The man who kept the shop of curiosities had, indeed, enchanted7 him with a phrase. He was standing8 drearily9 at the door of his shop, a wrinkled man with a grey pointed10 beard, evidently a gentleman who had come down in the world.
“And how does your commerce go, you strange guardian11 of the past?” said Wayne, affably.
“Well, sir, not very well,” replied the man, with that patient voice of his class which is one of the most heart-breaking things in the world. “Things are terribly quiet.”
Wayne’s eyes shone suddenly.
“A great saying,” he said, “worthy of a man whose merchandise is human history. Terribly quiet; that is in two words the spirit of this age, as I have felt it from my cradle. I sometimes wondered how many other people felt the oppression of this union between quietude and terror. I see blank well-ordered streets and men in black moving about inoffensively, sullenly12. It goes on day after day, day after day, and nothing happens; but to me it is like a dream from which I might wake screaming. To me the straightness of our life is the straightness of a thin cord stretched tight. Its stillness is terrible. It might snap with a noise like thunder. And you who sit, amid the débris of the great wars, you who sit, as it were, upon a battlefield, you know that war was less terrible than this evil peace; you know that the idle lads who carried those swords under Francis or Elizabeth, the rude Squire13 or Baron14 who swung that mace15 about in Picardy or Northumberland battles, may have been terribly noisy, but were not like us, terribly quiet.”
Whether it was a faint embarrassment16 of conscience as to the original source and date of the weapons referred to, or merely an engrained depression, the guardian of the past looked, if anything, a little more worried.
“But I do not think,” continued Wayne, “that this horrible silence of modernity will last, though I think for the present it will increase. What a farce18 is this modern liberality! Freedom of speech means practically, in our modern civilisation19, that we must only talk about unimportant things. We must not talk about religion, for that is illiberal20; we must not talk about bread and cheese, for that is talking shop; we must not talk about death, for that is depressing; we must not talk about birth, for that is indelicate. It cannot last. Something must break this strange indifference21, this strange dreamy egoism, this strange loneliness of millions in a crowd. Something must break it. Why should it not be you and I? Can you do nothing else but guard relics22?”
The shopman wore a gradually clearing expression, which would have led those unsympathetic with the cause of the Red Lion to think that the last sentence was the only one to which he had attached any meaning.
“I am rather old to go into a new business,” he said, “and I don’t quite know what to be, either.”
“Why not,” said Wayne, gently having reached the crisis of his delicate persuasion23 —“why not be a colonel?”
It was at this point, in all probability, that the interview began to yield more disappointing results. The man appeared inclined at first to regard the suggestion of becoming a colonel as outside the sphere of immediate24 and relevant discussion. A long exposition of the inevitable25 war of independence, coupled with the purchase of a doubtful sixteenth-century sword for an exaggerated price, seemed to resettle matters. Wayne left the shop, however, somewhat infected with the melancholy27 of its owner.
That melancholy was completed at the barber’s .
“Shaving, sir?” inquired that artist from inside his shop.
“War!” replied Wayne, standing on the threshold.
“I beg your pardon,” said the other, sharply.
“War!” said Wayne, warmly. “But not for anything inconsistent with the beautiful and the civilised arts. War for beauty. War for society. War for peace. A great chance is offered you of repelling28 that slander29 which, in defiance30 of the lives of so many artists, attributes poltroonery31 to those who beautify and polish the surface of our lives. Why should not hairdressers be heroes? Why should not —”
“Now, you get out,” said the barber, irascibly. “We don’t want any of your sort here. You get out.”
And he came forward with the desperate annoyance32 of a mild person when enraged33.
Adam Wayne laid his hand for a moment on the sword, then dropped it.
“Notting Hill,” he said, “will need her bolder sons;” and he turned gloomily to the toy-shop.
It was one of those queer little shops so constantly seen in the side streets of London, which must be called toy-shops only because toys upon the whole predominate; for the remainder of goods seem to consist of almost everything else in the world — tobacco, exercise-books, sweet-stuff, novelettes, halfpenny paper clips, halfpenny pencil sharpeners, bootlaces, and cheap fireworks. It also sold newspapers, and a row of dirty-looking posters hung along the front of it.
“I am afraid,” said Wayne, as he entered, “that I am not getting on with these tradesmen as I should. Is it that I have neglected to rise to the full meaning of their work? Is there some secret buried in each of these shops which no mere17 poet can discover?”
He stepped to the counter with a depression which he rapidly conquered as he addressed the man on the other side of it — a man of short stature34, and hair prematurely35 white, and the look of a large baby.
“Sir,” said Wayne, “I am going from house to house in this street of ours, seeking to stir up some sense of the danger which now threatens our city. Nowhere have I felt my duty so difficult as here. For the toy-shop keeper has to do with all that remains36 to us of Eden before the first wars began. You sit here meditating37 continually upon the wants of that wonderful time when every staircase leads to the stars, and every garden-path to the other end of nowhere. Is it thoughtlessly, do you think, that I strike the dark old drum of peril38 in the paradise of children? But consider a moment; do not condemn39 me hastily. Even that paradise itself contains the rumour40 or beginning of that danger, just as the Eden that was made for perfection contained the terrible tree. For judge childhood, even by your own arsenal41 of its pleasures. You keep bricks; you make yourself thus, doubtless, the witness of the constructive42 instinct older than the destructive. You keep dolls; you make yourself the priest of that divine idolatry. You keep Noah’s Arks; you perpetuate43 the memory of the salvation44 of all life as a precious, an irreplaceable thing. But do you keep only, sir, the symbols of this prehistoric45 sanity46, this childish rationality of the earth? Do you not keep more terrible things? What are those boxes, seemingly of lead soldiers, that I see in that glass case? Are they not witnesses to that terror and beauty, that desire for a lovely death, which could not be excluded even from the immortality47 of Eden? Do not despise the lead soldiers, Mr. Turnbull.”
“I don’t,” said Mr. Turnbull, of the toy-shop, shortly, but with great emphasis.
“I am glad to hear it,” replied Wayne. “I confess that I feared for my military schemes the awful innocence48 of your profession. How, I thought to myself, will this man, used only to the wooden swords that give pleasure, think of the steel swords that give pain? But I am at least partly reassured49. Your tone suggests to me that I have at least the entry of a gate of your fairyland — the gate through which the soldiers enter, for it cannot be denied — I ought, sir, no longer to deny, that it is of soldiers that I come to speak. Let your gentle employment make you merciful towards the troubles of the world. Let your own silvery experience tone down our sanguine50 sorrows. For there is war in Notting Hill.”
The little toy-shop keeper sprang up suddenly, slapping his fat hands like two fans on the counter.
“War?” he cried. “Not really, sir? Is it true? Oh, what a joke! Oh, what a sight for sore eyes!”
Wayne was almost taken aback by this outburst.
“I am delighted,” he stammered51. “I had no notion —”
He sprang out of the way just in time to avoid Mr. Turnbull, who took a flying leap over the counter and dashed to the front of the shop.
“You look here, sir,” he said; “you just look here.”
He came back with two of the torn posters in his hand which were flapping outside his shop.
“Look at those, sir,” he said, and flung them down on the counter.
Wayne bent52 over them, and read on one —
“LAST FIGHTING.
REDUCTION OF THE CENTRAL DERVISH CITY.
REMARKABLE53, ETC.”
On the other he read —
“LAST SMALL REPUBLIC ANNEXED54.
NICARAGUAN CAPITAL SURRENDERS AFTER A MONTH’S FIGHTING.
GREAT SLAUGHTER55.”
Wayne bent over them again, evidently puzzled; then he looked at the dates. They were both dated in August fifteen years before.
“Why do you keep these old things?” he said, startled entirely56 out of his absurd tact57 of mysticism. “Why do you hang them outside your shop?”
“Because,” said the other, simply, “they are the records of the last war. You mentioned war just now. It happens to be my hobby.”
Wayne lifted his large blue eyes with an infantile wonder.
“Come with me,” said Turnbull, shortly, and led him into a parlour at the back of the shop.
In the centre of the parlour stood a large deal table. On it were set rows and rows of the tin and lead soldiers which were part of the shopkeeper’s stock. The visitor would have thought nothing of it if it had not been for a certain odd grouping of them, which did not seem either entirely commercial or entirely haphazard58.
“You are acquainted, no doubt,” said Turnbull, turning his big eyes upon Wayne —“you are acquainted, no doubt, with the arrangement of the American and Nicaraguan troops in the last battle;” and he waved his hand towards the table.
“I am afraid not,” said Wayne. “I—”
“Ah! you were at that time occupied too much, perhaps, with the Dervish affair. You will find it in this corner.” And he pointed to a part of the floor where there was another arrangement of children’s soldiers grouped here and there.
“You seem,” said Wayne, “to be interested in military matters.”
“I am interested in nothing else,” answered the toy-shop keeper, simply.
Wayne appeared convulsed with a singular, suppressed excitement.
“In that case,” he said, “I may approach you with an unusual degree of confidence. Touching59 the matter of the defence of Notting Hill, I—”
“Defence of Notting Hill? Yes, sir. This way, sir,” said Turnbull, with great perturbation. “Just step into this side room;” and he led Wayne into another apartment, in which the table was entirely covered with an arrangement of children’s bricks. A second glance at it told Wayne that the bricks were arranged in the form of a precise and perfect plan of Notting Hill. “Sir,” said Turnbull, impressively, “you have, by a kind of accident, hit upon the whole secret of my life. As a boy, I grew up among the last wars of the world, when Nicaragua was taken and the dervishes wiped out. And I adopted it as a hobby, sir, as you might adopt astronomy or bird-stuffing. I had no ill-will to any one, but I was interested in war as a science, as a game. And suddenly I was bowled out. The big Powers of the world, having swallowed up all the small ones, came to that confounded agreement, and there was no more war. There was nothing more for me to do but to do what I do now — to read the old campaigns in dirty old newspapers, and to work them out with tin soldiers. One other thing had occurred to me. I thought it an amusing fancy to make a plan of how this district or ours ought to be defended if it were ever attacked. It seems to interest you too.”
“If it were ever attacked,” repeated Wayne, awed60 into an almost mechanical enunciation61. “Mr. Turnbull, it is attacked. Thank Heaven, I am bringing to at least one human being the news that is at bottom the only good news to any son of Adam. Your life has not been useless. Your work has not been play. Now, when the hair is already grey on your head, Turnbull, you shall have your youth. God has not destroyed, He has only deferred62 it. Let us sit down here, and you shall explain to me this military map of Notting Hill. For you and I have to defend Notting Hill together.”
Mr. Turnbull looked at the other for a moment, then hesitated, and then sat down beside the bricks and the stranger. He did not rise again for seven hours, when the dawn broke.
The headquarters of Provost Adam Wayne and his Commander-in-Chief consisted of a small and somewhat unsuccessful milk-shop at the corner of Pump Street. The blank white morning had only just begun to break over the blank London buildings when Wayne and Turnbull were to be found seated in the cheerless and unswept shop. Wayne had something feminine in his character; he belonged to that class of persons who forget their meals when anything interesting is in hand. He had had nothing for sixteen hours but hurried glasses of milk, and, with a glass standing empty beside him, he was writing and sketching63 and dotting and crossing out with inconceivable rapidity with a pencil and a piece of paper. Turnbull was of that more masculine type in which a sense of responsibility increases the appetite, and with his sketch-map beside him he was dealing64 strenuously65 with a pile of sandwiches in a paper packet, and a tankard of ale from the tavern66 opposite, whose shutters67 had just been taken down. Neither of them spoke68, and there was no sound in the living stillness except the scratching of Wayne’s pencil and the squealing69 of an aimless-looking cat. At length Wayne broke the silence by saying —
“Seventeen pounds eight shillings and ninepence.”
Turnbull nodded and put his head in the tankard.
“That,” said Wayne, “is not counting the five pounds you took yesterday. What did you do with it?”
“Ah, that is rather interesting!” replied Turnbull, with his mouth full. “I used that five pounds in a kindly70 and philanthropic act.”
Wayne was gazing with mystification in his queer and innocent eyes.
“I used that five pounds,” continued the other, “in giving no less than forty little London boys rides in hansom cabs.”
“Are you insane?” asked the Provost.
“It is only my light touch,” returned Turnbull. “These hansom-cab rides will raise the tone — raise the tone, my dear fellow — of our London youths, widen their horizon, brace71 their nervous system, make them acquainted with the various public monuments of our great city. Education, Wayne, education. How many excellent thinkers have pointed out that political reform is useless until we produce a cultured populace. So that twenty years hence, when these boys are grown up —”
“Mad!” said Wayne, laying down his pencil; “and five pounds gone!”
“You are in error,” explained Turnbull. “You grave creatures can never be brought to understand how much quicker work really goes with the assistance of nonsense and good meals. Stripped of its decorative72 beauties, my statement was strictly73 accurate. Last night I gave forty half-crowns to forty little boys, and sent them all over London to take hansom cabs. I told them in every case to tell the cabman to bring them to this spot. In half an hour from now the declaration of war will be posted up. At the same time the cabs will have begun to come in, you will have ordered out the guard, the little boys will drive up in state, we shall commandeer the horses for cavalry74, use the cabs for barricade75, and give the men the choice between serving in our ranks and detention76 in our basements and cellars. The little boys we can use as scouts77. The main thing is that we start the war with an advantage unknown in all the other armies — horses. And now,” he said, finishing his beer, “I will go and drill the troops.”
And he walked out of the milk-shop, leaving the Provost staring.
A minute or two afterwards, the Provost laughed. He only laughed once or twice in his life, and then he did it in a queer way as if it were an art he had not mastered. Even he saw something funny in the preposterous78 coup26 of the half-crowns and the little boys. He did not see the monstrous79 absurdity80 of the whole policy and the whole war. He enjoyed it seriously as a crusade, that is, he enjoyed it far more than any joke can be enjoyed. Turnbull enjoyed it partly as a joke, even more perhaps as a reversion from the things he hated — modernity and monotony and civilisation. To break up the vast machinery81 of modern life and use the fragments as engines of war, to make the barricade of omnibuses and points of vantage of chimney-pots, was to him a game worth infinite risk and trouble. He had that rational and deliberate preference which will always to the end trouble the peace of the world, the rational and deliberate preference for a short life and a merry one.
点击
收听单词发音
收听单词发音 |
1
diplomacy
|
|
| n.外交；外交手腕，交际手腕 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
vaguely
|
|
| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
wane
|
|
| n.衰微，亏缺，变弱；v.变小，亏缺，呈下弦 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
peculiar
|
|
| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
resentment
|
|
| n.怨愤，忿恨 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
conjecture
|
|
| n./v.推测，猜测 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
enchanted
|
|
| adj. 被施魔法的，陶醉的，入迷的 动词enchant的过去式和过去分词 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
standing
|
|
| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
drearily
|
|
| 沉寂地，厌倦地，可怕地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
pointed
|
|
| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
guardian
|
|
| n.监护人；守卫者，保护者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
sullenly
|
|
| 不高兴地，绷着脸，忧郁地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
squire
|
|
| n.护卫, 侍从, 乡绅 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
baron
|
|
| n.男爵；(商业界等)巨头，大王 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
mace
|
|
| n.狼牙棒，豆蔻干皮 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
embarrassment
|
|
| n.尴尬；使人为难的人(事物)；障碍；窘迫 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
mere
|
|
| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
farce
|
|
| n.闹剧，笑剧，滑稽戏；胡闹 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
civilisation
|
|
| n.文明，文化，开化，教化 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
illiberal
|
|
| adj.气量狭小的，吝啬的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
indifference
|
|
| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
relics
|
|
| [pl.］n.遗物，遗迹，遗产；遗体，尸骸 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
persuasion
|
|
| n.劝说；说服；持有某种信仰的宗派 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
immediate
|
|
| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
inevitable
|
|
| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
coup
|
|
| n.政变；突然而成功的行动 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
melancholy
|
|
| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
repelling
|
|
| v.击退( repel的现在分词 )；使厌恶；排斥；推开 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
slander
|
|
| n./v.诽谤，污蔑 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
defiance
|
|
| n.挑战，挑衅，蔑视，违抗 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
poltroonery
|
|
| n.怯懦，胆小 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
|
32
annoyance
|
|
| n.恼怒，生气，烦恼 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
enraged
|
|
| 使暴怒( enrage的过去式和过去分词 )； 歜； 激愤 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
stature
|
|
| n.（高度）水平，（高度）境界，身高，身材 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
prematurely
|
|
| adv.过早地，贸然地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
remains
|
|
| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
meditating
|
|
| a.沉思的，冥想的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
peril
|
|
| n.(严重的)危险；危险的事物 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
condemn
|
|
| vt.谴责，指责；宣判(罪犯)，判刑 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
rumour
|
|
| n.谣言，谣传，传闻 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
arsenal
|
|
| n.兵工厂，军械库 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
constructive
|
|
| adj.建设的，建设性的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
perpetuate
|
|
| v.使永存，使永记不忘 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
salvation
|
|
| n.（尤指基督）救世，超度，拯救，解困 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
prehistoric
|
|
| adj.（有记载的）历史以前的，史前的，古老的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
sanity
|
|
| n.心智健全，神智正常，判断正确 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
immortality
|
|
| n.不死，不朽 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
innocence
|
|
| n.无罪；天真；无害 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
reassured
|
|
| adj.使消除疑虑的；使放心的v.再保证，恢复信心( reassure的过去式和过去分词) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
sanguine
|
|
| adj.充满希望的，乐观的，血红色的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
51
stammered
|
|
| v.结巴地说出( stammer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
52
bent
|
|
| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
53
remarkable
|
|
| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
54
annexed
|
|
| [法] 附加的，附属的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
55
slaughter
|
|
| n.屠杀，屠宰；vt.屠杀，宰杀 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
56
entirely
|
|
| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
57
tact
|
|
| n.机敏，圆滑，得体 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
58
haphazard
|
|
| adj.无计划的，随意的，杂乱无章的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
59
touching
|
|
| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
60
awed
|
|
| adj.充满敬畏的，表示敬畏的v.使敬畏，使惊惧( awe的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
61
enunciation
|
|
| n.清晰的发音；表明，宣言；口齿 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
62
deferred
|
|
| adj.延期的，缓召的v.拖延，延缓，推迟( defer的过去式和过去分词 )；服从某人的意愿，遵从 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
63
sketching
|
|
| n.草图 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
64
dealing
|
|
| n.经商方法，待人态度 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
65
strenuously
|
|
| adv.奋发地，费力地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
66
tavern
|
|
| n.小旅馆，客栈；小酒店 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
67
shutters
|
|
| 百叶窗( shutter的名词复数 )； （照相机的）快门 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
68
spoke
|
|
| 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 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
69
squealing
|
|
| v.长声尖叫，用长而尖锐的声音说( squeal的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
70
kindly
|
|
| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
71
brace
|
|
| n. 支柱,曲柄,大括号; v. 绷紧,顶住,(为困难或坏事)做准备 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
72
decorative
|
|
| adj.装饰的，可作装饰的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
73
strictly
|
|
| adv.严厉地，严格地；严密地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
74
cavalry
|
|
| n.骑兵；轻装甲部队 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
75
barricade
|
|
| n.路障，栅栏，障碍；vt.设路障挡住 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
76
detention
|
|
| n.滞留，停留；拘留，扣留；(教育)留下 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
77
scouts
|
|
| 侦察员[机，舰]( scout的名词复数 )； 童子军； 搜索； 童子军成员 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
78
preposterous
|
|
| adj.荒谬的，可笑的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
79
monstrous
|
|
| adj.巨大的；恐怖的；可耻的，丢脸的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
80
absurdity
|
|
| n.荒谬，愚蠢；谬论 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
81
machinery
|
|
| n.(总称)机械，机器；机构 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |