when the sleeper wakes-第51节

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old　faiths　have　faded　and　changed；　the　new　faith。

Is　there　a　new　faith？　〃



Things　that　he　had　long　wished　to　believe；　he　found

that　he　believed。　He　plunged　at　belief　and　seized　it；

and　clung　for　a　time　at　her　level。　He　spoke　gustily；

in　broken　incomplete　sentences；　but　with　all　his　heart

and　strength；　of　this　new　faith　within　him。　He　spoke

of　the　greatness　of　self…abnegation；　of　his　belief　in　an

immortal　life　of　Humanity　in　which　we　live　and　move

and　have　our　being。　His　voice　rose　and　fell；　and　the

recording　appliances　hummed　their　hurried　applause；

dim　attendants　watched　him　out　of　the　shadow。

Through　all　those　doubtful　places　his　sense　of　that

silent　spectator　beside　him　sustained　his　sincerity。

For　a　few　glorious　moments　he　was　carried　away；　he

felt　no　doubt　of　his　heroic　quality；　no　doubt　of　his

heroic　words；　he　had　it　all　straight　and　plain。　His

eloquence　limped　no　longer。　And　at　last　he　made　an

end　to　speaking。　〃Here　and　now；〃　he　cried；　〃I　make

my　will。　All　that　is　mine　in　the　world　I　give　to　the

people　of　the　world。　All　that　is　mine　in　the　world　I

give　to　the　people　of　the　world。　I　give　it　to　you；　and

myself　I　give　to　you。　And　as　God　wills；　I　will　live　for

you；　or　I　will　die。〃



He　ended　with　a　florid　gesture　and　turned　about。

He　found　the　light　of　his　present　exaltation　reflected

in　the　face　of　the　girl。　Their　eyes　met；　her　eyes　were

swimming　with　tears　of　enthusiasm。　They　seemed　to

be　urged　towards　each　other。　They　clasped　hands

and　stood　gripped；　facing　one　another；　in　an　eloquent

silence。　She　whispered。　〃I　knew；〃　she　whispered。

〃I　knew。〃　He　could　not　speak；　he　crushed　her　hand

in　his。　His　mind　was　the　theatre　of　gigantic　passions。



The　man　in　yellow　was　beside　them。　Neither　had

noted　his　coming。　He　was　saying　that　the　south…west

wards　were　marching。　〃I　never　expected　it　so　soon；〃

he　cried。　〃They　have　done　wonders。　You　must　send

them　a　word　to　help　them　on　their　way。〃



Graham　dropped　Helen's　hand　and　stared　at　him

absent…mindedly。　Then　with　a　start　he　returned　to

his　previous　preoccupation　about　the　flying　stages。



〃Yes；〃　he　said。　〃That　is　good；　that　is　good。〃　He

weighed　a　message。　〃Tell　them；well　done　South

West。〃



He　turned　his　eyes　to　Helen　Wotton　again。　His

face　expressed　his　struggle　between　conflicting　ideas。

〃We　must　capture　the　flying　stages；〃　he　explained。

〃Unless　we　can　do　that　they　will　land　negroes。　At　all

costs　we　must　prevent　that。〃



He　felt　even　as　he　spoke　that　this　was　not　what　had

been　in　his　mind　before　the　interruption。　He　saw　a

touch　of　surprise　in　her　eyes。　She　seemed　about　to

speak　and　a　shrill　bell　drowned　her　voice。



It　occurred　to　Graham　that　she　expected　him　to　lead

these　marching　people；　that　that　was　the　thing　he　had

to　do。　He　made　the　offer　abruptly。　He　addressed

the　man　in　yellow；　but　he　spoke　to　her。　He　saw　her

face　respond。　〃Here　I　am　doing　nothing；〃　he　said。



〃It　is　impossible；〃　protested　the　man　in　yellow。



〃It　is　a　fight　in　a　warren。　Your　place　is　here。〃



He　explained　elaborately。　He　motioned　towards

the　room　where　Graham　must　wait；　he　insisted　no　other

course　was　possible。　〃We　must　know　where　you

are；〃　he　said。　〃At　any　moment　a　crisis　may　arise　

needing　your　presence　and　decision。　〃The　room　was　

a　luxurious　little　apartment　with　news　machines　and

a　broken　mirror　that　had　once　been　en　__rapport__　with　the

crow's　nest　specula。　It　seemed　a　matter　of　course　to

Graham　that　Helen　should　stop　with　him。



A　picture　had　drifted　through　his　mind　of　such　a

vast　dramatic　struggle　as　the　masses　in　the　ruins　had

suggested。　But　here　was　no　spectacular　battle…field

such　as　he　imagined。　Instead　was　seclusionand　suspense。　

It　was　only　as　the　afternoon　wore　on　that

he　pieced　together　a　truer　picture　of　the　fight　that

was　raging；　inaudibly　and　invisibly；　within　four

miles　of　him；　beneath　the　Roehampton　stage。　A

strange　and　unprecedented　contest　it　was；　a　battle

that　was　a　hundred　thousand　little　battles；　a　battle

in　a　sponge　of　ways　and　channels；　fought　out

of　sight　of　sky　or　sun　under　the　electric　glare；

fought　out　in　a　vast　confusion　by　multitudes　untrained　

in　arms；　led　chiefly　by　acclamation；　multitudes　

dulled　by　mindless　labour　and　enervated　by　the

tradition　of　two　hundred　years　of　servile　security

against　multitudes　demolised　by　lives　of　venial　privilege　

and　sensual　indulgence。　They　had　no　artillery；

no　differentiation　into　this　force　or　that；　the　only

weapon　on　either　side　was　the　little　green　metal　

carbine；　whose　secret　manufacture　and　sudden　

distribution　in　enormous　quantities　had　been　one　of　Ostrog's

culminating　moves　against　the　Council。　Few　had　had

any　experience　with　this　weapon；　many　had　never

discharged　one；　many　who　carried　it　came　unprovided

with　ammunition；　never　was　wilder　firing　in　the　

history　of　warfare。　It　was　a　battle　of　amateurs；　a　

hideous　experimental　warfare；　armed　rioters　fighting

armed　rioters；　armed　rioters　swept　forward　by　the

words　and　fury　of　a　song；　by　the　tramping　sympathy

of　their　numbers；　pouring　in　countless　myriads

towards　the　smaller　ways；　the　disabled　lifts；　the　

galleries　slippery　with　blood；　the　halls　and　passages

choked　with　smoke；　beneath　the　flying　stages；　to　learn

there　when　retreat　was　hopeless　the　ancient　mysteries

of　warfare。　And　overhead　save　for　a　few　sharpshooters　

upon　the　roof　spaces　and　for　a　few　bands　and

threads　of　vapour　that　multiplied　and　darkened　towards

the　evening；　the　day　was　a　clear　serenity。　Ostrog　it

seems　had　no　bombs　at　command　and　in　all　the　earlier

phases　of　the　battle　the　aeropiles　played　no　part。　Not

the　smallest　cloud　was　there　to　break　the　empty　

brilliance　of　the　sky。　It　seemed　as　though　it　held　itself

vacant　until　the　aeroplanes　should　come。



Ever　and　again　there　was　news　of　these；　drawing

nearer；　from　this　Mediterranean　port　and　then　that；

and　presently　from　the　south　of　France。　But　of　the

new　guns　that　Ostrog　had　made　and　which　were　known

to　be　in　the　city　came　no　news　in　spite　of　Graham's

urgency；　nor　any　report　of　successes　from　the　dense

felt　of　fighting　strands　about　the　flying　stages。　

Section　after　section　of　the　Labour　Societies　reported　itself

assembled；　reported　itself　marching；　and　vanished　from

knowledge　into　the　labyrinth　of　that　warfare　What

was　happening　there？　Even　the　busy　ward　leaders　did

not　know。　In　spite　of　the　opening　and　closing　of

doors；　the　hasty　messengers；　the　ringing　of　bells　and

the　perpetual　clitter…clack　of　recording　implements；

Graham　felt　isolated；　strangely　inactive；　inoperative。



Their　isolation　seemed　at　times　the　strangest；　the

most　unexpected　of　all　the　things　that　had　happened

since　his　awakening。　It　had　something　of　the　quality

of　that　inactivity　that　comes　in　dreams。　A　tumult；　the

stupendous　realisation　of　a　world　struggle　between

Ostrog　and　himself；　and　then　this　confined　quiet　little

room　with　its　mouthpieces　and　bells　and　broken

mirror！



Now　the　door　would　be　closed　and　they　were　alone

together；　they　seemed　sharply　marked　off　then　from　all

the　unprecedented　world　storm　that　rushed　together

without；　vividly　aware　of　one　another；　only　concerned

with　one　another。　Then　the　door　would　open　again；

messengers　would　enter；　or　a　sharp　bell　would　stab

their　quiet　privacy；　and　it　was　like　a　window　in　a　well

built　brightly　lit　house　flung　open　suddenly　to　a　hurricane。　

The　dark　hurry　and　tumult；　the　stress　and

vehemence　of　the　battle　rushed　in　and　overwhelmed

them。　They　were　no　longer　persons　but　mere　spectators；　

mere　impressions　of　a　tremendous　convulsion。

They　became　unreal　even　to　themselves；　miniatures　of

personality；　indescribably　small；　and　the　two　antagonistic　

realities；　the　only　realities　in　being　were　first　the

city；　that　throbbed　and　roared　yonder　in　a　belated

frenzy　of　defence　and　secondly　the　aeroplanes　hurling

inexorably　towards　them　over　the　round　shoulder　of

the　world。



At　first　their　mood　had　been　one　of　exalted　confidence；　

a　great　pride　had　possessed　them；　a　pride　in

one　another　for　the　greatness　of　the　issues　they　had


challenged。　At　first　he　had　walked　the　room　eloquent

with　a　transitory　persuasion　of　his　tremendous　destiny。　

But　slowly　uneasy　intimations　of　their　coming

defeat　touched　his　spirit。　There　came　a　long　period　in

which　they　were　alone。　He　changed　his　theme；

became　egotistical；　spoke　of　the　wonder　of　his　sleep；　of

the　little　life　of　his　memories；　remote　yet　minute　and

clear；　like　something　seen　through　an　inverted　opera…

glass；　and　all　the　brief　play　of　desires　and　errors　that

had　made　his　former　life。　She　said　little；　but　the　emotion　

in　her　face　followed　the　tones　in　his　voice；　and　it

seemed　to　him　he　had　at　last　a　perfect　understanding。

He　reverted　from　pure　reminiscence　to　that　sense　of

greatness　she　imposed　upon　him。　〃And　through　it

all；　this　destiny　was　before　me；〃　he　said；　〃this　vast

inheritance　of　whi