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Prester John-Part17_John Buchan(1875-1940)_English Literature(文学名著)-第2页

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water, above all, the figures of Laputa and the Keeper of the

Snake, who seemed to have stepped out of an antique world.



Laputa stripped off his leopard skin till he stood stark, a

noble form of a man. Then the priest sprinkled some herbs on



the fire, and a thin smoke rose to the roof. The smell was that

I had smelled on the Kirkcaple shore, sweet, sharp, and



strange enough to chill the marrow. And round the fire went

the priest in widening and contracting circles, just as on that



Sabbath evening in spring.

Once more we were sitting on the ground, all except Laputa



and the Keeper. Henriques was squatting in the front row, a

tiny creature among so many burly savages. Laputa stood with



bent head in the centre.

Then a song began, a wild incantation in which all joined.



The old priest would speak some words, and the reply came in

barbaric music. The words meant nothing to me; they must



have been in some tongue long since dead. But the music told

its own tale. It spoke of old kings and great battles, of splendid



palaces and strong battlements, of queens white as ivory, of

death and life, love and hate, joy and sorrow. It spoke, too, of



desperate things, mysteries of horror long shut to the world.

No Kaffir ever forged that ritual. It must have come straight



from Prester John or Sheba's queen, or whoever ruled in

Africa when time was young.



I was horribly impressed. Devouring curiosity and a lurking

nameless fear filled my mind. My old dread had gone. I was



not afraid now of Kaffir guns, but of the black magic of which

Laputa had the key.



The incantation died away, but still herbs were flung on the

fire, till the smoke rose in a great cloud, through which the



priest loomed misty and huge. Out of the smoke-wreaths his

voice came high and strange. It was as if some treble stop had



been opened in a great organ, as against the bass drone of

the cataract.



He was asking Laputa questions, to which came answers in

that rich voice which on board the liner had preached the



gospel of Christ. The tongue I did not know, and I doubt if

my neighbours were in better case. It must have been some



old sacred language - Phoenician, Sabaean, I know not what -

which had survived in the rite of the Snake.



Then came silence while the fire died down and the smoke

eddied away in wreaths towards the river. The priest's lips



moved as if in prayer: of Laputa I saw only the back, and his

head was bowed.



Suddenly a rapt cry broke from the Keeper. 'God has

spoken,' he cried. 'The path is clear. The Snake returns to the



House of its Birth.'

An attendant led forward a black goat, which bleated feebly.



With a huge antique knife the old man slit its throat, catching

the blood in a stone ewer. Some was flung on the fire, which



had burned small and low.

'Even so,' cried the priest, 'will the king quench in blood the



hearth-fires of his foes.'

Then on Laputa's forehead and bare breast he drew a bloody cross.



'I seal thee,' said the voice, 'priest and king of God's people.'

The ewer was carried round the assembly, and each dipped



his finger in it and marked his forehead. I got a dab to add to

the other marks on my face.



'Priest and king of God's people,' said the voice again, 'I call

thee to the inheritance of John. Priest and king was he, king of



kings, lord of hosts, master of the earth. When he ascended on

high he left to his son the sacred Snake, the ark of his valour,



to be God's dower and pledge to the people whom He has chosen.'

I could not make out what followed. It seemed to be a long



roll of the kings who had borne the Snake. None of them I

knew, but at the end I thought I caught the name of Tchaka



the Terrible, and I remembered Arcoll's tale.

The Keeper held in his arms a box of curiouslywrought ivory,



about two feet long and one broad. He was standing beyond

the ashes, from which, in spite of the blood, thin streams of



smoke still ascended. He opened it, and drew out something

which swung from his hand like a cascade of red fire.



'Behold the Snake,' cried the Keeper, and every man in the

assembly, excepting Laputa and including me, bowed his head



to the ground and cried 'Ow.'

'Ye who have seen the Snake,' came the voice, on you is the






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