A Diversity of Creatures. Rudyard KiplingЧитать онлайн книгу.
contrived to extract and secrete so much bitter poison and unrest out of the good life God gives us. They raged, they stormed, they palpitated, flushed and exhausted their poor, torn nerves, panted themselves into silence, and renewed the senseless, shameless attacks.
'But can't you understand,' said Pirolo pathetically to a shrieking woman, 'that if we'd left you in Chicago you'd have been killed?'
'No, we shouldn't. You were bound to save us from being murdered.'
'Then we should have had to kill a lot of other people.'
'That doesn't matter. We were preaching the Truth. You can't stop us. We shall go on preaching in London; and then you'll see!'
'You can see now,' said Pirolo, and opened a lower shutter.
We were closing on the Little Village, with her three million people spread out at ease inside her ring of girdling Main-Traffic lights-those eight fixed beams at Chatham, Tonbridge, Redhill, Dorking, Woking, St. Albans, Chipping Ongar, and Southend.
Leopold Vincent's new company looked, with small pale faces, at the silence, the size, and the separated houses.
Then some began to weep aloud, shamelessly-always without shame.
MACDONOUGH'S SONG
Whether the State can loose and bind
In Heaven as well as on Earth:
If it be wiser to kill mankind
Before or after the birth-
These are matters of high concern
Where State-kept schoolmen are;
But Holy State (we have lived to learn)
Endeth in Holy War.
Whether The People be led by the Lord,
Or lured by the loudest throat:
If it be quicker to die by the sword
Or cheaper to die by vote-
These are the things we have dealt with once,
(And they will not rise from their grave)
For Holy People, however it runs,
Endeth in wholly Slave.
Whatsoever, for any cause,
Seeketh to take or give,
Power above or beyond the Laws,
Suffer it not to live!
Holy State or Holy King-
Or Holy People's Will-
Have no truck with the senseless thing.
Order the guns and kill!
Saying-after-me: -
Once there was The People-Terror gave it birth;
Once there was The People and it made a Hell of Earth.
Earth arose and crushed it. Listen, O ye slain!
Once there was The People-it shall never be again!
Friendly Brook
The valley was so choked with fog that one could scarcely see a cow's length across a field. Every blade, twig, bracken-frond, and hoof-print carried water, and the air was filled with the noise of rushing ditches and field-drains, all delivering to the brook below. A week's November rain on water-logged land had gorged her to full flood, and she proclaimed it aloud.
Two men in sackcloth aprons were considering an untrimmed hedge that ran down the hillside and disappeared into mist beside those roarings. They stood back and took stock of the neglected growth, tapped an elbow of hedge-oak here, a mossed beech-stub there, swayed a stooled ash back and forth, and looked at each other.
'I reckon she's about two rod thick,' said Jabez the younger, 'an' she hasn't felt iron since-when has she, Jesse?'
'Call it twenty-five year, Jabez, an' you won't be far out.'
'Umm!' Jabez rubbed his wet handbill on his wetter coat-sleeve. 'She ain't a hedge. She's all manner o' trees. We'll just about have to-' He paused, as professional etiquette required.
'Just about have to side her up an' see what she'll bear. But hadn't we best-?' Jesse paused in his turn, both men being artists and equals.
'Get some kind o' line to go by.' Jabez ranged up and down till he found a thinner place, and with clean snicks of the handbill revealed the original face of the fence. Jesse took over the dripping stuff as it fell forward, and, with a grasp and a kick, made it to lie orderly on the bank till it should be faggoted.
By noon a length of unclean jungle had turned itself into a cattle-proof barrier, tufted here and there with little plumes of the sacred holly which no woodman touches without orders.
'Now we've a witness-board to go by!' said Jesse at last.
'She won't be as easy as this all along,' Jabez answered. 'She'll need plenty stakes and binders when we come to the brook.'
'Well, ain't we plenty?' Jesse pointed to the ragged perspective ahead of them that plunged downhill into the fog. 'I lay there's a cord an' a half o' firewood, let alone faggots, 'fore we get anywheres anigh the brook.'
'The brook's got up a piece since morning,' said Jabez. 'Sounds like's if she was over Wickenden's door-stones.'
Jesse listened, too. There was a growl in the brook's roar as though she worried something hard.
'Yes. She's over Wickenden's door-stones,' he replied. 'Now she'll flood acrost Alder Bay an' that'll ease her.'
'She won't ease Jim Wickenden's hay none if she do,' Jabez grunted. 'I told Jim he'd set that liddle hay-stack o' his too low down in the medder. I told him so when he was drawin' the bottom for it.'
'I told him so, too,' said Jesse. 'I told him 'fore ever you did. I told him when the County Council tarred the roads up along.' He pointed uphill, where unseen automobiles and road-engines droned past continually. 'A tarred road, she shoots every drop o' water into a valley same's a slate roof. 'Tisn't as 'twas in the old days, when the waters soaked in and soaked out in the way o' nature. It rooshes off they tarred roads all of a lump, and naturally every drop is bound to descend into the valley. And there's tar roads both two sides this valley for ten mile. That's what I told Jim Wickenden when they tarred the roads last year. But he's a valley-man. He don't hardly ever journey uphill.'
'What did he say when you told him that?' Jabez demanded, with a little change of voice.
'Why? What did he say to you when you told him?' was the answer.
'What he said to you, I reckon, Jesse.'
'Then, you don't need me to say it over again, Jabez.'
'Well, let be how 'twill, what was he gettin' after when he said what he said to me?' Jabez insisted.
'I dunno; unless you tell me what manner o' words he said to you.'
Jabez drew back from the hedge-all hedges are nests of treachery and eavesdropping-and moved to an open cattle-lodge in the centre of the field.
'No need to go ferretin' around,' said Jesse. 'None can't see us here 'fore we see them.'
'What was Jim Wickenden gettin' at when I said he'd set his stack too near anigh the brook?' Jabez dropped his voice. 'He was in his mind.'
'He ain't never been out of it yet to my knowledge,' Jesse drawled, and uncorked his tea-bottle.
'But then Jim says: "I ain't goin' to shift my stack a yard," he says. "The Brook's been good friends to me, and if she be minded," he says, "to take a snatch at my hay, I ain't settin' out to withstand her." That's what Jim Wickenden says to me last-last June-end 'twas,' said Jabez.
'Nor he hasn't shifted his stack, neither,' Jesse replied. 'An' if there's more rain, the brook she'll shift it for him.'
'No need tell me! But I want to know what Jim was gettin' at?'
Jabez