章节正文
that Graham remained in the little room. He watched
the lips of the man in black and gathered that he was
making some clumsy explanation.
He stared stupidly for some moments at these things
and then stood up abruptly; he grasped the arm of this
shouting person.
"Tell me !" he cried. " Who am I? Who am I?"
The others came nearer to hear his words. "Who
am I?" His eyes searched their faces.
"They have told him nothing!" cried the girl.
"Tell me, tell me !" cried Graham.
"You are the Master of the Earth. You are owner
of half the world."
He did not believe he heard aright. He resisted
the persuasion. He pretended not to understand, not
to hear. He lifted his voice again. "I have been
awake three days--a prisoner three days. I judge
there is some struggle between a number of people in
this city--it is London?"
"Yes," said the younger man.
"And those who meet in the great hall with the
white Atlas? How does it concern me? In some
way it has to do with me. Why, I don't know.
Drugs? It seems to me that while I have slept the
world has gone mad. I have gone mad."
"Who are those Councillors under the Atlas? Why
should they try to drug me?"
"To keep you insensible," said the man in yellow.
"To prevent your interference."
" But _why?__"
"Because __you__ are the Atlas, Sire," said the man in
yellow. "The world is on your shoulders. They
rule it in your name."
The sounds from the hall had died into a silence
threaded by one monotonous voice. Now suddenly,
trampling on these last words, came a deafening
tumult, a roaring and thundering, cheer crowded on
cheer, voices hoarse and shrill, beating, overlapping,
and while it lasted the people in the little room could
not hear each other shout.
Graham stood, his intelligence clinging helplessly
to the thing he had just heard. "The Council," he
repeated blankly, and then snatched at a name that
had struck him. "But who is Ostrog?" he said.
"He is the organiser--the organiser of the revolt.
Our Leader--in your name."
"In my name?-- And you? Why is he not
here?"
"He--has deputed us. I am his brother--his
half-brother, Lincoln. He wants you to show yourself
to these people and then come on to him. That is
why he has sent. He is at the wind-vane offices
directing. The people are marching."
"In your name," shouted the younger man. "They
have ruled, crushed, tyrannised. At last even--"
"In my name! My name! Master?"
The younger man suddenly became audible in a
pause of the outer thunder, indignant and vociferous,
a high penetrating voice under his red aquiline nose
and bushy moustache. "No one expected you to
wake. No one expected you to wake. They were
cunning. Damned tyrants! But they were taken by
surprise. They did not know whether to drug you,
hypnotise you, kill you."
Again the hall dominated everything.
"Ostrog is at the wind-vane offices ready--. Even
now there is a rumour of fighting beginning."
The man who had called himself Lincoln came close
to him. "Ostrog has it planned. Trust him. We
have our organisations ready. We shall seize the
flying stages--. Even now he may be doing that.
Then--"
"This public theatre," bawled the man in yellow,
"is only a contingent. We have five myriads of
drilled men--"
"We have arms," cried Lincoln. "We have plans.
A leader. Their police have gone from the streets
and are massed in the--" (inaudible)." It is now or
never. The Council is rocking-- They cannot trust
even their drilled men--"
"Hear the people calling to you!"
Graham's mind was like a night of moon and swift
clouds, now dark and hopeless, now clear and ghastly.
He was Master of the Earth, he was a man sodden
with thawing snow. Of all his fluctuating impressions
the dominant ones presented an antagonism; on the
one hand was the White Council, powerful, disciplined,
few, the White Council from which he had just
escaped; and on the other, monstrous crowds, packed
masses of indistinguishable people clamouring his
name, hailing him Master. The other side had
imprisoned him, debated his death. These shouting
thousands beyond the little doorway had rescued him.
But why these things should be so he could not
understand.
The door opened, Lincoln's voice was swept away
and drowned, and a rush of people followed on the
heels of the tumult. These intruders came towards
him and Lincoln gesticulating. The voices without
explained their soundless lips. "Show us the Sleeper,
show us the Sleeper!" was the burden of the uproar
Men were bawling for "Order! Silence!"
Graham glanced towards the open doorway, and
saw a tall, oblong picture of the hall beyond, a
waving, incessantconfusion of crowded, shouting faces,
men and women together, waving pale blue garments,
extended hands. Many were standing, one man in
rags of dark brown, a gaunt figure, stood on the seat
and waved a black cloth. He met the wonder and
expectation of the girl's eyes. What did these people
expect from him. He was dimly aware that the
tumult outside had changed its character, was in some
way beating, marching. His own mind, too, changed.
for a space he did not recognise the influence that
was transforming him. But a moment that was near
to panic passed. He tried to make audible inquiries
of what was required of him.
Lincoln was shouting in his ear, but Graham was
deafened to that. All the others save the woman
gesticulated towards the hall. He perceived what had
happened to the uproar. The whole mass of people
was chanting together. It was not simply a song, the
voices were gathered together and upborne by a torrent
of instrumental music, music like the music of
an organ, a woven texture of sounds, full of trumpets,
full of flaunting banners, full of the march and
pageantry of opening war. And the feet of the people
were beating time--tramp, tramp.
He was urged towards the door. He obeyed
mechanically. The strength of that chant took hold
of him, stirred him, emboldened him. The hall opened
to him, a vast welter of fluttering colour swaying to
the music.
"Wave your arm to them," said Lincoln. "Wave
your arm to them."
"This," said a voice on the other side," he must
have this. "Arms were about his neck detaining him
in the doorway, and a black subtly-folding mantle
hung from his shoulders. He threw his arm free of this
and followed Lincoln. He perceived the girl in grey
close to him, her face lit, her gestureonward. For
the instant she became to him, flushed and eager as
she was, an embodiment of the song. He emerged
in the alcove again. Incontinently the mounting waves
of the song broke upon his appearing, and flashed up
into a foam of shouting. Guided by Lincoln's hand
he marched obliquely across the centre of the stage
facing the people.
The hall was a vast and intricate space--galleries,
balconies, broad spaces of amphitheatral steps, and
great archways. Far away, high up, seemed the
mouth of a huge passage full of struggling humanity.
The whole multitude was swaying in congested masses.
Individual figures sprang out of the tumult, impressed
him momentarily, and lost definition again. Close to
the platform swayed a beautiful fair woman, carried
by three men, her hair across her face and brandishing
a green staff. Next this group an old careworn man
in blue canvas maintained his place in the crush with
difficulty, and behind shouted a hairless face, a great
cavity of toothless mouth. A voice called that
enigmatical word "Ostrog." All his impressions were
vague save the massiveemotion of that trampling
song. The multitude were beating time with their
feet--marking time, tramp, tramp, tramp, tramp.
The green weapons waved, flashed and slanted. Then
he saw those nearest to him on a level space before
the stage were marching in front of him, passing
towards a great archway, shouting " To the Council! "
Tramp, tramp, tramp, tramp. He raised his arm, and
the roaring was redoubled. He remembered he had
to shout " March! " His mouth shaped inaudible
heroic words. He waved his arm again and pointed
to the archway, shouting " Onward! " They were no
longer marking time, they were marching; tramp,
tramp, tramp, tramp. In that host were bearded men,
old men, youths, fluttering robed bare-armed women,
girls. Men and women of the new age! Rich robes,
grey rags fluttered together in the whirl of their
movement amidst the dominant blue. A monstrous black
banner jerked its way to the right. He perceived a
blue-clad negro, a shrivelled woman in yellow, then a
group of tall fair-haired, white-faced, blue-clad men
pushed theatrically past him. He noted two Chinamen.
A tall, sallow, dark-haired, shining-eyed youth,
white clad from top to toe, clambered up towards the
platform shouting loyally, and sprang down again and
receded, looking backward. Heads, shoulders, hands
clutching weapons, all were swinging with those
marching cadences.
Faces came out of the confusion to him as he stood
there, eyes met his and passed and vanished. Men
gesticulated to him, shouted inaudible personal things.
Most of the faces were flushed, but many were ghastly
white. And disease was there, and many a hand that
waved to him was gaunt and lean. Men and women
of the new age! Strange and incredible meeting! As
the broad stream passed before him to the right,
tributary gangways from the remote uplands of the hall
thrust downward in an incessant replacement of people;
tramp, tramp, tramp, tramp. The unison of the
the lips of the man in black and gathered that he was
making some clumsy explanation.
He stared stupidly for some moments at these things
and then stood up abruptly; he grasped the arm of this
shouting person.
"Tell me !" he cried. " Who am I? Who am I?"
The others came nearer to hear his words. "Who
am I?" His eyes searched their faces.
"They have told him nothing!" cried the girl.
"Tell me, tell me !" cried Graham.
"You are the Master of the Earth. You are owner
of half the world."
He did not believe he heard aright. He resisted
the persuasion. He pretended not to understand, not
to hear. He lifted his voice again. "I have been
awake three days--a prisoner three days. I judge
there is some struggle between a number of people in
this city--it is London?"
"Yes," said the younger man.
"And those who meet in the great hall with the
white Atlas? How does it concern me? In some
way it has to do with me. Why, I don't know.
Drugs? It seems to me that while I have slept the
world has gone mad. I have gone mad."
"Who are those Councillors under the Atlas? Why
should they try to drug me?"
"To keep you insensible," said the man in yellow.
"To prevent your interference."
" But _why?__"
"Because __you__ are the Atlas, Sire," said the man in
yellow. "The world is on your shoulders. They
rule it in your name."
The sounds from the hall had died into a silence
threaded by one monotonous voice. Now suddenly,
trampling on these last words, came a deafening
tumult, a roaring and thundering, cheer crowded on
cheer, voices hoarse and shrill, beating, overlapping,
and while it lasted the people in the little room could
not hear each other shout.
Graham stood, his intelligence clinging helplessly
to the thing he had just heard. "The Council," he
repeated blankly, and then snatched at a name that
had struck him. "But who is Ostrog?" he said.
"He is the organiser--the organiser of the revolt.
Our Leader--in your name."
"In my name?-- And you? Why is he not
here?"
"He--has deputed us. I am his brother--his
half-brother, Lincoln. He wants you to show yourself
to these people and then come on to him. That is
why he has sent. He is at the wind-vane offices
directing. The people are marching."
"In your name," shouted the younger man. "They
have ruled, crushed, tyrannised. At last even--"
"In my name! My name! Master?"
The younger man suddenly became audible in a
pause of the outer thunder, indignant and vociferous,
a high penetrating voice under his red aquiline nose
and bushy moustache. "No one expected you to
wake. No one expected you to wake. They were
cunning. Damned tyrants! But they were taken by
surprise. They did not know whether to drug you,
hypnotise you, kill you."
Again the hall dominated everything.
"Ostrog is at the wind-vane offices ready--. Even
now there is a rumour of fighting beginning."
The man who had called himself Lincoln came close
to him. "Ostrog has it planned. Trust him. We
have our organisations ready. We shall seize the
flying stages--. Even now he may be doing that.
Then--"
"This public theatre," bawled the man in yellow,
"is only a contingent. We have five myriads of
drilled men--"
"We have arms," cried Lincoln. "We have plans.
A leader. Their police have gone from the streets
and are massed in the--" (inaudible)." It is now or
never. The Council is rocking-- They cannot trust
even their drilled men--"
"Hear the people calling to you!"
Graham's mind was like a night of moon and swift
clouds, now dark and hopeless, now clear and ghastly.
He was Master of the Earth, he was a man sodden
with thawing snow. Of all his fluctuating impressions
the dominant ones presented an antagonism; on the
one hand was the White Council, powerful, disciplined,
few, the White Council from which he had just
escaped; and on the other, monstrous crowds, packed
masses of indistinguishable people clamouring his
name, hailing him Master. The other side had
imprisoned him, debated his death. These shouting
thousands beyond the little doorway had rescued him.
But why these things should be so he could not
understand.
The door opened, Lincoln's voice was swept away
and drowned, and a rush of people followed on the
heels of the tumult. These intruders came towards
him and Lincoln gesticulating. The voices without
explained their soundless lips. "Show us the Sleeper,
show us the Sleeper!" was the burden of the uproar
Men were bawling for "Order! Silence!"
Graham glanced towards the open doorway, and
saw a tall, oblong picture of the hall beyond, a
waving, incessantconfusion of crowded, shouting faces,
men and women together, waving pale blue garments,
extended hands. Many were standing, one man in
rags of dark brown, a gaunt figure, stood on the seat
and waved a black cloth. He met the wonder and
expectation of the girl's eyes. What did these people
expect from him. He was dimly aware that the
tumult outside had changed its character, was in some
way beating, marching. His own mind, too, changed.
for a space he did not recognise the influence that
was transforming him. But a moment that was near
to panic passed. He tried to make audible inquiries
of what was required of him.
Lincoln was shouting in his ear, but Graham was
deafened to that. All the others save the woman
gesticulated towards the hall. He perceived what had
happened to the uproar. The whole mass of people
was chanting together. It was not simply a song, the
voices were gathered together and upborne by a torrent
of instrumental music, music like the music of
an organ, a woven texture of sounds, full of trumpets,
full of flaunting banners, full of the march and
pageantry of opening war. And the feet of the people
were beating time--tramp, tramp.
He was urged towards the door. He obeyed
mechanically. The strength of that chant took hold
of him, stirred him, emboldened him. The hall opened
to him, a vast welter of fluttering colour swaying to
the music.
"Wave your arm to them," said Lincoln. "Wave
your arm to them."
"This," said a voice on the other side," he must
have this. "Arms were about his neck detaining him
in the doorway, and a black subtly-folding mantle
hung from his shoulders. He threw his arm free of this
and followed Lincoln. He perceived the girl in grey
close to him, her face lit, her gestureonward. For
the instant she became to him, flushed and eager as
she was, an embodiment of the song. He emerged
in the alcove again. Incontinently the mounting waves
of the song broke upon his appearing, and flashed up
into a foam of shouting. Guided by Lincoln's hand
he marched obliquely across the centre of the stage
facing the people.
The hall was a vast and intricate space--galleries,
balconies, broad spaces of amphitheatral steps, and
great archways. Far away, high up, seemed the
mouth of a huge passage full of struggling humanity.
The whole multitude was swaying in congested masses.
Individual figures sprang out of the tumult, impressed
him momentarily, and lost definition again. Close to
the platform swayed a beautiful fair woman, carried
by three men, her hair across her face and brandishing
a green staff. Next this group an old careworn man
in blue canvas maintained his place in the crush with
difficulty, and behind shouted a hairless face, a great
cavity of toothless mouth. A voice called that
enigmatical word "Ostrog." All his impressions were
vague save the massiveemotion of that trampling
song. The multitude were beating time with their
feet--marking time, tramp, tramp, tramp, tramp.
The green weapons waved, flashed and slanted. Then
he saw those nearest to him on a level space before
the stage were marching in front of him, passing
towards a great archway, shouting " To the Council! "
Tramp, tramp, tramp, tramp. He raised his arm, and
the roaring was redoubled. He remembered he had
to shout " March! " His mouth shaped inaudible
heroic words. He waved his arm again and pointed
to the archway, shouting " Onward! " They were no
longer marking time, they were marching; tramp,
tramp, tramp, tramp. In that host were bearded men,
old men, youths, fluttering robed bare-armed women,
girls. Men and women of the new age! Rich robes,
grey rags fluttered together in the whirl of their
movement amidst the dominant blue. A monstrous black
banner jerked its way to the right. He perceived a
blue-clad negro, a shrivelled woman in yellow, then a
group of tall fair-haired, white-faced, blue-clad men
pushed theatrically past him. He noted two Chinamen.
A tall, sallow, dark-haired, shining-eyed youth,
white clad from top to toe, clambered up towards the
platform shouting loyally, and sprang down again and
receded, looking backward. Heads, shoulders, hands
clutching weapons, all were swinging with those
marching cadences.
Faces came out of the confusion to him as he stood
there, eyes met his and passed and vanished. Men
gesticulated to him, shouted inaudible personal things.
Most of the faces were flushed, but many were ghastly
white. And disease was there, and many a hand that
waved to him was gaunt and lean. Men and women
of the new age! Strange and incredible meeting! As
the broad stream passed before him to the right,
tributary gangways from the remote uplands of the hall
thrust downward in an incessant replacement of people;
tramp, tramp, tramp, tramp. The unison of the
- abruptly [ə´brʌptli]
ad.突然地；粗鲁地 (初中英语单词) - persuasion [pə´sweiʒən] n.说服(力)；劝说；见解 (初中英语单词)
- intelligence [in´telidʒəns] n.智力；消息 (初中英语单词)
- thunder [´θʌndə] n.雷 vi.打雷 vt.吼出 (初中英语单词)
- doorway [´dɔ:wei] n.门口 (初中英语单词)
- confusion [kən´fju:ʒən] n.混乱(状态)；骚乱 (初中英语单词)
- standing [´stændiŋ] n.持续 a.直立的 (初中英语单词)
- character [´kæriktə] n.特性；性质；人物；字 (初中英语单词)
- opening [´əupəniŋ] n.开放；开端 a.开始的 (初中英语单词)
- gesture [´dʒestʃə] n.手势 v.打手势 (初中英语单词)
- instant [´instənt] a.立即的 n.紧迫；瞬间 (初中英语单词)
- multitude [´mʌltitju:d] n.大群(批)；众多 (初中英语单词)
- sprang [spræŋ] spring 的过去式 (初中英语单词)
- platform [´plætfɔ:m] n.(平)台；讲台；站台 (初中英语单词)
- canvas [´kænvəs] n.帆布；油画(布) (初中英语单词)
- emotion [i´məuʃən] n.感情；情绪；激动 (初中英语单词)
- backward [´bækwəd] ad.向后 a.向后的 (初中英语单词)
- stream [stri:m] n.河 vi.流出；飘扬 (初中英语单词)
- remote [ri´məut] a.遥远的；偏僻的 (初中英语单词)
- clumsy [´klʌmzi] a.笨拙的；粗俗的 (高中英语单词)
- crowded [´kraudid] a.充(拥)满了的 (高中英语单词)
- shrill [ʃril] a.(声音)尖锐的 (高中英语单词)
- damned [dæmd] a.该死的 ad.非常，极 (高中英语单词)
- hopeless [´həupləs] a.无望的，无可救药的 (高中英语单词)
- monstrous [´mɔnstrəs] a.怪异的；庞大的 (高中英语单词)
- tumult [´tju:mʌlt, ´tu:-] n.喧哗；激昂；烦乱 (高中英语单词)
- instrumental [,instru´mentəl] a.有帮助的 (高中英语单词)
- onward [´ɔnwəd] ad.&a.向前(的) (高中英语单词)
- massive [´mæsiv] a.厚实的；魁伟的 (高中英语单词)
- incredible [in´kredəbəl] a.不能相信的；惊人的 (高中英语单词)
- downward [´daunwəd] a.下降的，向下的 (高中英语单词)
- graham [´greiəm] a.&n.用全麦粉做的 (英语四级单词)
- monotonous [mə´nɔtənəs] a.单(音)调的 (英语四级单词)
- hoarse [hɔ:s] a.嘶哑的；嗓门粗哑的 (英语四级单词)
- lincoln [´liŋkən] n.林肯 (英语四级单词)
- audible [´ɔ:dibəl] a.听得见的 (英语四级单词)
- indignant [in´dignənt] a.义愤的，愤慨的 (英语四级单词)
- dominant [´dɔminənt] a.统治的；占优势的 (英语四级单词)
- uproar [´ʌprɔ:] n.喧嚣；骚动；轰鸣，轰动 (英语四级单词)
- texture [´tekstʃə] n.(织物等的)质地 (英语四级单词)
- intricate [´intrikit] a.错综复杂的；难懂的 (英语四级单词)
- definition [,defi´niʃən] n.限定；定义；明确 (英语四级单词)
- amidst [ə´midst] prep.=amid (英语四级单词)
- beating [´bi:tiŋ] n.敲；搅打；失败 (英语六级单词)
- calling [´kɔ:liŋ] n.点名；职业；欲望 (英语六级单词)
- incessant [in´sesənt] a.不断的，不停的 (英语六级单词)
- unison [´ju:nisən] n.协调，一致；齐唱 (英语六级单词)
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章节正文
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