按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！
pictures for ten years before I would honestly admit to myself that they
merely bored me。 Since then I have given up all attempts to take a
holiday。 I go on cultivating my old stale daily self in the resigned spirit
with which a bank clerk performs from ten till six his daily task。 A
holiday； indeed！ I'm sorry for you； Gombauld； if you still look forward to
having a holiday。〃
Gombauld shrugged his shoulders。 〃Perhaps；〃 he said； 〃my standards
143
… Page 144…
CROME YELLOW
aren't as elevated as yours。 But personally I found the war quite as
thorough a holiday from all the ordinary decencies and sanities； all the
common emotions and preoccupations； as I ever want to have。〃
〃Yes；〃 Mr。 Scogan thoughtfully agreed。 〃Yes； the war was certainly
something of a holiday。 It was a step beyond Southend； it was Weston…
super…Mare； it was almost Ilfracombe。〃
144
… Page 145…
CROME YELLOW
CHAPTER XXVI。
A little canvas village of tents and booths had sprung up； just beyond
the boundaries of the garden； in the green expanse of the park。 A crowd
thronged its streets； the men dressed mostly in blackholiday best； funeral
bestthe women in pale muslins。 Here and there tricolour bunting hung
inert。 In the midst of the canvas town； scarlet and gold and crystal； the
merry…go…round glittered in the sun。 The balloon…man walked among the
crowd； and above his head； like a huge； inverted bunch of many…coloured
grapes； the balloons strained upwards。 With a scythe…like motion the
boat…swings reaped the air； and from the funnel of the engine which
worked the roundabout rose a thin； scarcely wavering column of black
smoke。
Denis had climbed to the top of one of Sir Ferdinando's towers； and
there； standing on the sun…baked leads； his elbows resting on the parapet；
he surveyed the scene。 The steam…organ sent up prodigious music。 The
clashing of automatic cymbals beat out with inexorable precision the
rhythm of piercingly sounded melodies。 The harmonies were like a
musical shattering of glass and brass。 Far down in the bass the Last
Trump was hugely blowing； and with such persistence； such resonance；
that its alternate tonic and dominant detached themselves from the rest of
the music and made a tune of their own； a loud； monotonous see… saw。
Denis leaned over the gulf of swirling noise。 If he threw himself over
the parapet； the noise would surely buoy him up； keep him suspended；
bobbing； as a fountain balances a ball on its breaking crest。 Another
fancy came to him； this time in metrical form。
〃My soul is a thin white sheet of parchment stretched Over a bubbling
cauldron。〃
Bad； bad。 But he liked the idea of something thin and distended
being blown up from underneath。
〃My soul is a thin tent of gut。。。〃
or better
〃My soul is a pale； tenuous membrane。。。〃
That was pleasing： a thin； tenuous membrane。 It had the right
145
… Page 146…
CROME YELLOW
anatomical quality。 Tight blown； quivering in the blast of noisy life。 It
was time for him to descend from the serene empyrean of words into the
actual vortex。 He went down slowly。 〃My soul is a thin； tenuous
membrane。。。〃
On the terrace stood a knot of distinguished visitors。 There was old
Lord Moleyn； like a caricature of an English milord in a French comic
paper： a long man； with a long nose and long； drooping moustaches and
long teeth of old ivory； and lower down； absurdly； a short covert coat； and
below that long； long legs cased in pearl…grey trouserslegs that bent
unsteadily at the knee and gave a kind of sideways wobble as he walked。
Beside him； short and thick…set； stood Mr。 Callamay； the venerable
conservative statesman； with a face like a Roman bust； and short white
hair。 Young girls didn't much like going for motor drives alone with Mr。
Callamay； and of old Lord Moleyn one wondered why he wasn't living in
gilded exile on the island of Capri among the other distinguished persons
who； for one reason or another； find it impossible to live in England。
They were talking to Anne； laughing； the one profoundly； the other
hootingly。
A black silk balloon towing a black…and…white striped parachute
proved to be old Mrs。 Budge from the big house on the other side of the
valley。 She stood low on the ground； and the spikes of her black…and…
white sunshade menaced the eyes of Priscilla Wimbush； who towered over
hera massive figure dressed in purple and topped with a queenly toque
on which the nodding black plumes recalled the splendours of a first…class
Parisian funeral。
Denis peeped at them discreetly from the window of the morning…
room。 His eyes were suddenly become innocent； childlike； unprejudiced。
They seemed； these people； inconceivably fantastic。 And yet they really
existed； they functioned by themselves； they were conscious； they had
minds。 Moreover； he was like them。 Could one believe it？ But the
evidence of the red notebook was conclusive。
It would have been polite to go and say； 〃How d'you do？〃 But at the
moment Denis did not want to talk； could not have talked。 His soul was a
tenuous； tremulous； pale membrane。 He would keep its sensibility intact
146
… Page 147…
CROME YELLOW
and virgin as long as he could。 Cautiously he crept out by a side door and
made his way down towards the park。 His soul fluttered as he
approached the noise and movement of the fair。 He paused for a moment
on the brink； then stepped in and was engulfed。
Hundreds of people； each with his own private face and all of them
real； separate； alive： the thought was disquieting。 He paid twopence
and saw the Tatooed Woman； twopence more； the Largest Rat in the World。
From the home of the Rat he emerged just in time to see a hydrogen…filled
balloon break loose for home。 A child howled up after it； but calmly； a
perfect sphere of flushed opal； it mounted； mounted。 Denis followed it
with his eyes until it became lost in the blinding sunlight。 If he could but
send his soul to follow it！。。。
He sighed； stuck his steward's rosette in his buttonhole； and started to
push his way； aimlessly but officially； through the crowd。
147
… Page 148…
CROME YELLOW
CHAPTER XXVII。
Mr。 Scogan had been accommodated in a little canvas hut。 Dressed
in a black skirt and a red bodice； with a yellow…and…red bandana
handkerchief tied round his black wig； he lookedsharp…nosed； brown；
and wrinkledlike the Bohemian Hag of Frith's Derby Day。 A placard
pinned to the curtain of the doorway announced the presence within the
tent of 〃Sesostris； the Sorceress of Ecbatana。〃 Seated at a table； Mr。
Scogan received his clients in mysterious silence； indicating with a
movement of the finger that they were to sit down opposite him and to
extend their hands for his inspection。 He then examined the palm that
was presented him； using a magnifying glass and a pair of horn spectacles。
He had a terrifying way of shaking his head； frowning and clicking with
his tongue as he looked at the lines。 Sometimes he would whisper； as
though to himself； 〃Terrible； terrible！〃 or 〃God preserve us！〃 sketching out
the sign of the cross as he uttered the words。 The cli