Chapter 16 Chapter 15 The Accuser

When Syme strode out into the corridor, he found the secretary standing on the landing at the top of the huge staircase.He has never been so noble.He was wearing a black robe without stars, and a pure white belt hung from top to bottom in the center of the robe, like an independent ray of light.The whole garment looked like a very serious priest's vestment.Syme didn't have to search memory or look up the Bible to remember that the first day of Genesis marked the coming of the light, and the vestment itself was the symbol.At the same time, Syme felt that this pure white and black pattern perfectly represented the pale and ascetic secretary's soul, and that he had a superhuman honesty and ruthless madness, which enabled him to easily fight the anarchists. , and could easily be mistaken for one of the Anarchists.In this comfortable and hospitable new environment, Syme noticed, the man's eyes remained stern.Neither the taste of ale nor the orchard could keep the secretary from asking a rational question.

If Syme could see himself clearly, he would realize that for the first time he too was himself and not someone else.If the Secretary represents the philosopher who loves the original chaotic light, Syme is the poet who seeks to give light a special shape, to differentiate it into suns and stars.Philosophers sometimes love the infinite world; but poets always love the finite world.For him, the great moment was not the creation of the light, but the creation of the sun and the moon. Together they descended the wide staircase and caught up with Ratcliffe, who looked like a hunter in spring-green clothes patterned with green groves.He represents the third day of Genesis, the day the earth and greenery were created, and his square, sane face, along with his well-meaning cynicism, matches the clothes.

They were led out of another wide and low doorway into a very large old English garden with many torches lit. Dance.It seemed to Syme that these queer garments imitated every shape in nature.There's a man dressed up like a windmill with giant leaves, a man dressed up as an elephant, a man dressed up like a balloon, and the last two seem to be keeping clues of their zany adventures together.With a strange thrill, Syme even saw a dancer dressed as a gigantic hornbill with a beak twice his own size - and when he ran out of the park, the strange bird was like A question froze in his imagination.And a thousand other objects.There are dancing lampposts, dancing apple trees, and dancing boats.One can't help thinking that the wild melodies of some mad musician set all these commonplace objects in the fields and streets in a perpetual jig.Much later, when Syme was middle-aged and out of the way, he no longer saw those particular objects—lampposts, apple trees, or windmills—nor did it occur to him that a pleasure-seeker never Lost in the madness of the masquerade.

On one side of the meadow, accompanied by the dancers, is a steep green slope, like a terrace in an old-fashioned garden. Along this steep slope, placed in the shape of a crescent, are seven huge chairs, which belong to the thrones of the seven heavens.Gogol and Dr. Bull are already sitting in chairs, and the professor is about to take his seat.The simplicity of Gogol, or Tuesday, is admirably symbolized by a garment designed as a pattern divided by bodies of water, forked from his forehead to his feet, gray and silver like a shower.The professor represents the day birds and fish - the lower forms of life - were created.He wears a lavender dress adorned with bulging-eyed fish and startling tropical birds, both of which symbolize the unfathomable union of imagination and doubt.Doctor Bull represents the last day of Genesis, wearing a suit decorated with red and gold heraldry and a crown of his head adorned with a leaping man in a pounce.Leaning on his chair with a smile on his face, he is a very characteristic optimist.

One by one the rovers ascended the slope and settled into their peculiar seats.As they sat down in turn, there was an enthusiastic cheer from the carnival crowd, like a crowd welcoming a king.People clink glasses, shake torches, and throw feathered hats into the air.Those who hold these thrones are crowned with special laurels.But the chair in the center was empty. Syme was to the left of this chair, the secretary to the right.The secretary glanced at Syme from the vacant throne, and then said with tight lips, "We don't know if he died in the field yet." As Syme heard these words, he saw a startling and perfect change in the face before him, as if the sky had split behind his head.Sunday came forward silently like a shadow and sat in the center seat.His clothes were simple and frighteningly pure white, and his hair was like a silver flame on his forehead.

For a long time—it seemed hours—the huge masquerade crowd swayed and stomped before them to the marching and upbeat music.Each couple is unique: a fairy might dance with a post box, or a farm girl with the moon; each pair is as absurd as Alice's Adventures in Wonderland but as serious as a love story And gentle.Finally, the crowded crowd began to dissipate.Couples headed down the garden path, or started toward the back of the house, where some steaming mixture of stale beer or wine was steaming in a cauldron like a fish-boiler.Above these, on the black iron trestle of the roof, a great bonfire roared in iron baskets, and it lit the fields for miles around.It cast a homely firelight over the great gray-brown forest, and filled the empty night sky with warmth.However, after a while, the bonfire naturally became weaker.The shadowy crowd gradually gathered around several cauldrons, or walked into the inner passage of the old house with laughter and noise.Soon there were only ten loafers left in the garden, and then only four.Finally, the last lost pleasure-seeker called out to his companions and ran into the old house.The light of the fire gradually dimmed, and the bright stars came out slowly.These seven weird people stayed like seven stone statues sitting on stone chairs.They said nothing.

None of them was in a hurry to speak, listening in silence to the buzzing of insects and the distant chirping of birds.Then Sunday spoke, but in a dreamy tone that gave the impression that he was resuming the conversation rather than opening it. "We'll drink and eat later," he said, "let's be together for a while, we loved each other so deeply and fought so long. I seem to remember the great wars of the centuries, in which you all Heroes—Epic after epic, Iliad after Iliad, and you are always brothers arm in arm. Either lately (for time counts for nothing) or the very beginning of the world, I send you to battle. I Sitting in the dark, where there is nothing created, to you I am but a voice commanding your bravery and an unnatural virtue. You heard the voice in the dark, but you never heard it again. The sun of heaven denies it, the earth and sky denies it, all human intelligence denies it. I myself deny it when I meet you in the daytime."

Syme shifted annoyedly in his seat, and after a moment of silence the inconceivable sound continued. "But you are men. You have not forgotten your secret glory, though the grinding machines of the universe have set in motion to take it away from you. I know how close you were to hell. I know how you, Thursday, wrestled with Satan, And how you, Wednesday, abused me in your despair." There was silence in the starlit garden, and then the sullen, unforgiving secretary turned toward Sunday and said in a piercing voice, "Who are you and what do you do?" "I am the Sabbath," said the other without moving, "I am the peace of God."

The secretary stood up, ruffling his expensive robes with his hands. "I understand what you mean," he cried, "and I cannot forgive you for that very reason. I understand that you are content, optimistic, as they say, that you are the final reconciliation. But I do not want reconciliation. If you The man in the dark room, why are you still Sunday, the man who offended the sun? If you were our father and friend from the beginning, why are you still our worst enemy? We cried, we ran in fear, steel pierced our souls—and you are the peace of God! Oh, I can forgive God for his wrath, though it has destroyed many nations, but not his peace."

Sunday didn't answer, but he turned his stone face towards Syme slowly, as if asking a question. "No," said Syme, "I don't feel that much. I want to thank you, not only for the wine and hospitality I've had here, but for the many good chases and free fights. But I want to know .My soul and heart are at this moment as happy and peaceful as this ancient garden, but still my reason cries. I want to know." Visiting Ratcliffe again on Sunday, Ratcliffe made it clear: "You're on both sides of the fight and you're fighting yourself, it's stupid."

"I don't get it at all, but I'm happy. I'm sleepy, actually," Bull said. "I'm not happy," said the professor, putting his head in his hands, "because I don't understand. You've got me lost too close to hell." Then Gogol says, with the utter simplicity of a child: "I wish I knew why I was hurt so much." But Sunday still didn't say a word. He sat with his strong chin in his hand and stared into the distance.Finally he said, "I heard all your complaints. I think there's another guy coming to complain. Let's hear what he has to say." The great dying bonfire cast its last gleam on the dim grass.Against this burning light band, walking in the dark night is a man dressed in black.He appeared to be wearing a well-fitting suit and knee-length shorts, the same as the servants of the old house, except that instead of blue, he was dressed in black.Like the servant here, he also wears a sword at his side.It was only when he approached the seven men and looked up at them that Syme was surprised to find that this broad, ape-like face was that of his old friend, Gregory, with a thick blush on it. Hair and an insulting smile. "Gregory!" Syme gasped, almost rising from his chair. "Hey, it's a real anarchist!" "Yes," said Gregory, with great and dangerous restraint, "I am a real anarchist." "One day," murmured Bull, who seemed to be really falling asleep, "the sons of God were before him, and Satan was among them." "That's right," said Gregory, looking around. "I'm a destroyer. I'd destroy the world if I could." A feeling of pity from the depths of the earth surged up in Syme's heart, and he said intermittently and messily, "Oh, the most miserable person." He cried, "Be happy! Your red hair is like your sister." "My red hair is like a red flame that will burn the whole world," Gregory said. "I think I hate everything more than all the common people hate, but I find that I hate everything less than My hatred for you!" "I never hated you," said Syme sadly. Then, the inexplicable guy yelled one last time. "You!" he cried, "you never hated because you never lived. I know what you all do, from the beginning to the end - you are the ones in power! You are the police - fat, smiling Fantastic people in blue double breasted uniforms! You are the law and no one has ever violated you. Just because no one has ever violated you, is there any living free soul who would not want to violate you? We rebels talk about this of the government , that crime, indeed, is undeniable folly. These are follies! The only crime of government is that it rules. The unforgivable crime of supreme power is that it is supreme power. I do not curse you for your cruelty You, nor did I curse you for your kindness (although I could). I cursed you for being too safe! You sat in stone chairs and never came down. You are the seven angels of heaven, and you have no troubles. Oh , I could forgive you all, you rulers of men, if I could once feel that you, too, endured for a moment the real pain I suffered—” Syme jumped to his feet, shaking from head to toe. "I understand everything," he cried, "everything that exists. Why is everything on earth against each other? Why is every little thing in the world against the world itself? Why is a fly against the whole universe? Dandelion against the whole universe? For the same reason, I am alone in that terrible Supreme Council. So, all things that obey the law have glory, and isolate the anarchists. So, everyone who fights for order will Brave and persistent like a bomb assassin. So satan's true lies are thrown back in the face of this blasphemer. So we shed tears and endure torture to have the right to say to this man, 'You lied!' We endure great pain to say to this accuser, 'We have suffered too.'" "If no one has ever disobeyed us, it's not. We've had our lives in danger. It's not true that we've never come down from these thrones. We've come down and gone to hell. Right here The moment man rudely comes in and accuses us of our joy, we're still complaining of haunting pain. I'm against slander; we're not happy. I can defend every great guardian of the law he's accused of. At least—" He turned his head and suddenly saw a strange smile on Sunday's big face. "You," he cried in a terrible voice, "have you suffered too?" As he gazed, the large face grew so unnaturally large that it surpassed Memnon's giant mask, and it made him scream like a child.The face got bigger and bigger, filling the sky, and then everything turned black.Just before he lost his mind and fell into darkness, he seemed to hear a voice in the distance recounting a common saying he had heard before - "Can you have a drink like me?" When characters awaken from their hallucinations, they often find themselves in the places they used to fall asleep: they yawn in chairs, or lift themselves off the ground on injured limbs.If there is something unreal in Syme's adventures in the mundane sense, his experience is psychologically bizarre.Although he remembered later that he passed out before Sunday, he could not remember ever waking up.He only remembered that he gradually and naturally knew that he was walking a country road with an easy-going and talkative companion.That companion, a character in one of his latest plays, is the red-haired poet Gregory.They walked like old friends, chatting excitedly about some little thing.But Syme only felt that his body was extremely relaxed, and his heart was transparent and simple. This physical and mental comfort was more valuable than everything he said and did.He felt that he had received some unbelievably good news, which made everything else admirable trifles. Dawn came and tinted everything with a clear and timid tint, as if nature had first made the yellow and also the rose.There came a fresh and sweet breeze that one could not imagine coming from the sky, from some hollow in the sky.Syme was amazed when he saw the strange buildings of Sevron Manor rising around him on both sides of the road.He hadn't thought he was so close to London.He was walking on a white road where the early birds hopped and sang, and found himself outside a fenced garden.There he saw Gregory's sister, a girl with reddish blond hair, who was trimming lilacs before breakfast with the unconscious earnestness of a girl.

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