波波小说

第13部分（第1页）

sandals；　and　by　his　side……I　could　scarcely　believe　my　eyes！……walked　a

modest　nun　counting　her　beads。　At　a　little　distance　were　seen　three

dancers　arm…in…arm；　a　lean；　starved　platitude；　a　rosy；　dimpled　joke；　and

a　steel…ribbed　sermon　on　predestination。　Close　upon　them　came　a　whole

string　of　Nights　with　wind…blown　hair　and　Days　with　faggots　on　their

backs。　All　at　once　I　saw　the　ample　figure　of　Life　rise　above　the

whirling　mass　holding　a　naked　child　in　one　hand　and　in　the　other　a

gleaming　sword。　A　bear　crouched　at　her　feet；　and　all　about　her　swirled

and　glowed　a　multitudinous　host　of　tiny　atoms　which　sang　all　together；

〃We　are　the　will　of　God。〃　Atom　wedded　atom；　and　chemical　married

chemical；　and　the　cosmic　dance　went　on　in　changing；　changeless　measure；

until　my　head　sang　like　a　buzz…saw。

Just　as　I　was　thinking　I　would　leave　this　scene　of　phantoms　and　take　a

stroll　in　the　quiet　groves　of　Slumber　I　noticed　a　motion　near　one　of

the　entrances　to　my　enchanted　palace。　It　was　evident　from　the　whispering

and　buzzing　that　went　round　that　more　celebrities　had　arrived。　The　first

personage　I　saw　was　Homer；　blind　no　more；　leading　by　a　golden　chain　the

white…beaked　ships　of　the　Achaians　bobbing　their　heads　and　squawking

like　so　many　white　swans。　Plato　and　Mother　Goose　with　the　numerous

children　of　the　shoe　came　next。　Simple　Simon；　Jill；　and　Jack　who　had　had

his　head　mended；　and　the　cat　that　fell　into　the　cream……all　these　danced

in　a　giddy　reel；　while　Plato　solemnly　discoursed　on　the　laws　of

Topsyturvy　Land。　Then　followed　grim…visaged　Calvin　and　〃violet…crowned；

sweet…smiling　Sappho〃　who　danced　a　Schottische。　Aristophanes　and　Moliere

joined　for　a　measure；　both　talking　at　once；　Moliere　in　Greek　and

Aristophanes　in　German。　I　thought　this　odd；　because　it　occurred　to　me

that　German　was　a　dead　language　before　Aristophanes　was　born。

Bright…eyed　Shelley　brought　in　a　fluttering　lark　which　burst　into　the

song　of　Chaucers　chanticleer。　Henry　Esmond　gave　his　hand　in　a　stately

minuet　to　Diana　of　the　Crossways。　He　evidently　did　not　understand　her

nieenth　century　wit；　for　he　did　not　laugh。　Perhaps　he　had　lost　his

taste　for　clever　women。　Anon　Dante　and　Swedenborg　came　together

conversing　earnestly　about　things　remote　and　mystical。　Swedenborg　said

it　was　very　warm。　Dante　replied　that　it　might　rain　in　the　night。

Suddenly　there　was　a　great　clamour；　and　I　found　that　〃The　Battle　of　the

Books〃　had　begun　raging　anew。　Two　figures　entered　in　lively　dispute。　One

was　dressed　in　plain　homespun　and　the　other　wore　a　scholars　gown　over　a

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