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(单词翻译:双击或拖选)
It Can't Happen Here
by Sinclair Lewis
Chapter 4
All this June week, Doremus was waiting for 2 P.M. on Saturday, the divinely appointed hour of the weekly prophetic broadcast by Bishop1 Paul Peter Prang.
Now, six weeks before the 1936 national conventions, it was probable that neither Franklin Roosevelt, Herbert Hoover, Senator Vandenberg, Ogden Mills, General Hugh Johnson, Colonel Frank Knox, nor Senator Borah would be nominated for President by either party, and that the Republican standard-bearer — meaning the one man who never has to lug3 a large, bothersome, and somewhat ridiculous standard — would be that loyal yet strangely honest old-line Senator, Walt Trowbridge, a man with a touch of Lincoln in him, dashes of Will Rogers and George W. Norris, a suspected trace of Jim Farley, but all the rest plain, bulky, placidly4 defiant5 Walt Trowbridge.
Few men doubted that the Democratic candidate would be that sky-rocket, Senator Berzelius Windrip — that is to say, Windrip as the mask and bellowing6 voice, with his satanic secretary, Lee Sarason, as the brain behind.
Senator Windrip’s father was a small-town Western druggist, equally ambitious and unsuccessful, and had named him Berzelius after the Swedish chemist. Usually he was known as “Buzz.” He had worked his way through a Southern Baptist college, of approximately the same academic standing8 as a Jersey9 City business college, and through a Chicago law school, and settled down to practice in his native state and to enliven local politics. He was a tireless traveler, a boisterous10 and humorous speaker, an inspired guesser at what political doctrines11 the people would like, a warm handshaker, and willing to lend money. He drank Coca–Cola with the Methodists, beer with the Lutherans, California white wine with the Jewish village merchants — and, when they were safe from observation, white-mule corn whisky with all of them.
Within twenty years he was as absolute a ruler of his state as ever a sultan was of Turkey.
He was never governor; he had shrewdly seen that his reputation for research among planters-punch recipes, varieties of poker12, and the psychology13 of girl stenographers might cause his defeat by the church people, so he had contented14 himself with coaxing15 to the gubernatorial shearing16 a trained baa-lamb of a country schoolmaster whom he had gayly led on a wide blue ribbon. The state was certain that he had “given it a good administration,” and they knew that it was Buzz Windrip who was responsible, not the Governor.
Windrip caused the building of impressive highroads and of consolidated17 country schools; he made the state buy tractors and combines and lend them to the farmers at cost. He was certain that some day America would have vast business dealings with the Russians and, though he detested18 all Slavs, he made the State University put in the first course in the Russian language that had been known in all that part of the West. His most original invention was quadrupling the state militia19 and rewarding the best soldiers in it with training in agriculture, aviation, and radio and automobile20 engineering.
The militiamen considered him their general and their god, and when the state attorney general announced that he was going to have Windrip indicted21 for having grafted22 $200,000 of tax money, the militia rose to Buzz Windrip’s orders as though they were his private army and, occupying the legislative23 chambers24 and all the state offices, and covering the streets leading to the Capitol with machine guns, they herded25 Buzz’s enemies out of town.
He took the United States Senatorship as though it were his manorial26 right, and for six years, his only rival as the most bouncing and feverish27 man in the Senate had been the late Huey Long of Louisiana.
He preached the comforting gospel of so redistributing wealth that every person in the country would have several thousand dollars a year (monthly Buzz changed his prediction as to how many thousand), while all the rich men were nevertheless to be allowed enough to get along, on a maximum of $500,000 a year. So everybody was happy in the prospect28 of Windrip’s becoming president.
The Reverend Dr. Egerton Schlemil, dean of St. Agnes Cathedral, San Antonio, Texas, stated (once in a sermon, once in the slightly variant29 mimeographed press handout30 on the sermon, and seven times in interviews) that Buzz’s coming into power would be “like the Heaven-blest fall of revivifying rain upon a parched31 and thirsty land.” Dr. Schlemil did not say anything about what happened when the blest rain came and kept falling steadily32 for four years.
No one, even among the Washington correspondents, seemed to know precisely33 how much of a part in Senator Windrip’s career was taken by his secretary, Lee Sarason. When Windrip had first seized power in his state, Sarason had been managing editor of the most widely circulated paper in all that part of the country. Sarason’s genesis was and remained a mystery.
It was said that he had been born in Georgia, in Minnesota, on the East Side of New York, in Syria; that he was pure Yankee, Jewish, Charleston Huguenot. It was known that he had been a singularly reckless lieutenant34 of machine-gunners as a youngster during the Great War, and that he had stayed over, ambling35 about Europe, for three or four years; that he had worked on the Paris edition of the New York Herald36; nibbled37 at painting and at Black Magic in Florence and Munich; had a few sociological months at the London School of Economics; associated with decidedly curious people in arty Berlin night restaurants. Returned home, Sarason had become decidedly the “hard-boiled reporter” of the shirt-sleeved tradition, who asserted that he would rather be called a prostitute than anything so sissified as “journalist.” But it was suspected that nevertheless he still retained the ability to read.
He had been variously a Socialist39 and an anarchist40. Even in 1936 there were rich people who asserted that Sarason was “too radical,” but actually he had lost his trust (if any) in the masses during the hoggish41 nationalism after the war; and he believed now only in resolute42 control by a small oligarchy43. In this he was a Hitler, a Mussolini.
Sarason was lanky44 and drooping45, with thin flaxen hair, and thick lips in a bony face. His eyes were sparks at the bottoms of two dark wells. In his long hands there was bloodless strength. He used to surprise persons who were about to shake hands with him by suddenly bending their fingers back till they almost broke. Most people didn’t much like it. As a newspaperman he was an expert of the highest grade. He could smell out a husband-murder, the grafting46 of a politician — that is to say, of a politician belonging to a gang opposed by his paper — the torture of animals or children, and this last sort of story he liked to write himself, rather than hand it to a reporter, and when he did write it, you saw the moldy47 cellar, heard the whip, felt the slimy blood.
Compared with Lee Sarason as a newspaperman, little Doremus Jessup of Fort Beulah was like a village parson compared with the twenty-thousand-dollar minister of a twenty-story New York institutional tabernacle with radio affiliations48.
Senator Windrip had made Sarason, officially, his secretary, but he was known to be much more — bodyguard49, ghost-writer, press-agent, economic adviser50; and in Washington, Lee Sarason became the man most consulted and least liked by newspaper correspondents in the whole Senate Office Building.
Though he probably based it on notes dictated52 by Windrip — himself no fool in the matter of fictional53 imagination — Sarason had certainly done the actual writing of Windrip’s lone2 book, the Bible of his followers54, part biography, part economic program, and part plain exhibitionistic boasting, called Zero Hour — Over the Top.
It was a salty book and contained more suggestions for remolding the world than the three volumes of Karl Marx and all the novels of H. G. Wells put together.
Perhaps the most familiar, most quoted paragraph of Zero Hour, beloved by the provincial55 press because of its simple earthiness (as written by an initiate56 in Rosicrucian lore38, named Sarason) was:
“When I was a little shaver back in the corn fields, we kids used to just wear one-strap suspenders on our pants, and we called them the Galluses on our Britches, but they held them up and saved our modesty58 just as much as if we had put on a high-toned Limey accent and talked about Braces59 and Trousers. That’s how the whole world of what they call ‘scientific economics’ is like. The Marxians think that by writing of Galluses as Braces, they’ve got something that knocks the stuffings out of the old-fashioned ideas of Washington and Jefferson and Alexander Hamilton. Well and all, I sure believe in using every new economic discovery, like they have been worked out in the so-called Fascist60 countries, like Italy and Germany and Hungary and Poland — yes, by thunder, and even in Japan — we probably will have to lick those Little Yellow Men some day, to keep them from pinching our vested and rightful interests in China, but don’t let that keep us from grabbing off any smart ideas that those cute little beggars have worked out!
“I want to stand up on my hind7 legs and not just admit but frankly61 holler right out that we’ve got to change our system a lot, maybe even change the whole Constitution (but change it legally, and not by violence) to bring it up from the horseback-and-corduroy-road epoch62 to the automobile-and-cement-highway period of today. The Executive has got to have a freer hand and be able to move quick in an emergency, and not be tied down by a lot of dumb shyster-lawyer congressmen taking months to shoot off their mouths in debates. BUT— and it’s a But as big as Deacon Checkerboard’s hay-barn back home — these new economic changes are only a means to an End, and that End is and must be, fundamentally, the same principles of Liberty, Equality, and Justice that were advocated by the Founding Fathers of this great land back in 1776!”
The most confusing thing about the whole campaign of 1936 was the relationship of the two leading parties. Old–Guard Republicans complained that their proud party was begging for office, hat in hand; veteran Democrats63 that their traditional Covered Wagons64 were jammed with college professors, city slickers, and yachtsmen.
The rival to Senator Windrip in public reverence65 was a political titan who seemed to have no itch57 for office — the Reverend Paul Peter Prang, of Persepolis, Indiana, Bishop of the Methodist Episcopal Church, a man perhaps ten years older than Windrip. His weekly radio address, at 2 P.M. every Saturday, was to millions the very oracle66 of God. So supernatural was this voice from the air that for it men delayed their golf, and women even postponed67 their Saturday afternoon contract bridge.
It was Father Charles Coughlin, of Detroit, who had first thought out the device of freeing himself from any censorship of his political sermons on the Mount by “buying his own time on the air”— it being only in the twentieth century that mankind has been able to buy Time as it buys soap and gasoline. This invention was almost equal, in its effect on all American life and thought, to Henry Ford68’s early conception of selling cars cheap to millions of people, instead of selling a few as luxuries.
But to the pioneer Father Coughlin, Bishop Paul Peter Prang was as the Ford V-8 to the Model A.
Prang was more sentimental69 than Coughlin; he shouted more; he agonized70 more; he reviled71 more enemies by name, and rather scandalously; he told more funny stories, and ever so many more tragic72 stories about the repentant73 deathbeds of bankers, atheists, and Communists. His voice was more nasally native, and he was pure Middle West, with a New England Protestant Scotch–English ancestry74, where Coughlin was always a little suspect, in the Sears–Roebuck regions, as a Roman Catholic with an agreeable Irish accent.
No man in history has ever had such an audience as Bishop Prang, nor so much apparent power. When he demanded that his auditors75 telegraph their congressmen to vote on a bill as he, Prang, ex cathedra and alone, without any college of cardinals76, had been inspired to believe they ought to vote, then fifty thousand people would telephone, or drive through back-hill mud, to the nearest telegraph office and in His name give their commands to the government. Thus, by the magic of electricity, Prang made the position of any king in history look a little absurd and tinseled.
To millions of League members he sent mimeographed letters with facsimile signature, and with the salutation so craftily77 typed in that they rejoiced in a personal greeting from the Founder78.
Doremus Jessup, up in the provincial hills, could never quite figure out just what political gospel it was that Bishop Prang thundered from his Sinai which, with its microphone and typed revelations timed to the split-second, was so much more snappy and efficient than the original Sinai. In detail, he preached nationalization of the banks, mines, waterpower, and transportation; limitation of incomes; increased wages, strengthening of the labor79 unions, more fluid distribution of consumer goods. But everybody was nibbling80 at those noble doctrines now, from Virginia Senators to Minnesota Farmer–Laborites, with no one being so credulous81 as to expect any of them to be carried out.
There was a theory around some place that Prang was only the humble82 voice of his vast organization, “The League of Forgotten Men.” It was universally believed to have (though no firm of chartered accountants had yet examined its rolls) twenty-seven million members, along with proper assortments83 of national officers and state officers, and town officers and hordes84 of committees with stately names like “National Committee on the Compilation85 of Statistics on Unemployment and Normal Employability in the Soy–Bean Industry.” Hither and yon, Bishop Prang, not as the still small voice of God but in lofty person, addressed audiences of twenty thousand persons at a time, in the larger cities all over the country, speaking in huge halls meant for prize-fighting, in cinema palaces, in armories86, in baseball parks, in circus tents, while after the meetings his brisk assistants accepted membership applications and dues for the League of Forgotten Men. When his timid detractors hinted that this was all very romantic, very jolly and picturesque87, but not particularly dignified88, and Bishop Prang answered, “My Master delighted to speak in whatever vulgar assembly would listen to Him,” no one dared answer him, “But you aren’t your Master — not yet.”
With all the flourish of the League and its mass meetings, there had never been a pretense89 that any tenet of the League, any pressure on Congress and the President to pass any particular bill, originated with anybody save Prang himself, with no collaboration90 from the committees or officers of the League. All that the Prang who so often crooned about the Humility91 and Modesty of the Saviour92 wanted was for one hundred and thirty million people to obey him, their Priest–King, implicitly93 in everything concerning their private morals, their public asseverations, how they might earn their livings, and what relationships they might have to other wage-earners.
“And that,” Doremus Jessup grumbled94, relishing95 the shocked piety96 of his wife Emma, “makes Brother Prang a worse tyrant97 than Caligula — a worse Fascist than Napoleon. Mind you, I don’t REALLY believe all these rumors98 about Prang’s grafting on membership dues and the sale of pamphlets and donations to pay for the radio. It’s much worse than that. I’m afraid he’s an honest fanatic99! That’s why he’s such a real Fascist menace — he’s so confoundedly humanitarian100, in fact so Noble, that a majority of people are willing to let him boss everything, and with a country this size, that’s quite a job — quite a job, my beloved — even for a Methodist Bishop who gets enough gifts so that he can actually ‘buy Time’!”
All the while, Walt Trowbridge, possible Republican candidate for President, suffering from the deficiency of being honest and disinclined to promise that he could work miracles, was insisting that we live in the United States of America and not on a golden highway to Utopia.
There was nothing exhilarating in such realism, so all this rainy week in June, with the apple blossoms and the lilacs fading, Doremus Jessup was awaiting the next encyclical of Pope Paul Peter Prang.
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1
bishop
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| n.主教，（国际象棋）象 | |
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lone
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| adj.孤寂的，单独的；唯一的 | |
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lug
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| n.柄，突出部，螺帽；(英）耳朵；（俚）笨蛋；vt.拖，拉，用力拖动 | |
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placidly
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| adv.平稳地，平静地 | |
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defiant
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| adj.无礼的，挑战的 | |
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bellowing
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| v.发出吼叫声，咆哮（尤指因痛苦）( bellow的现在分词 )；（愤怒地）说出（某事），大叫 | |
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hind
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| adj.后面的，后部的 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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jersey
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| n.运动衫 | |
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boisterous
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| adj.喧闹的，欢闹的 | |
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doctrines
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| n.教条( doctrine的名词复数 )；教义；学说；（政府政策的）正式声明 | |
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12
poker
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| n.扑克；vt.烙制 | |
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psychology
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| n.心理，心理学，心理状态 | |
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contented
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| adj.满意的，安心的，知足的 | |
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coaxing
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| v.哄，用好话劝说( coax的现在分词 )；巧言骗取；哄劝，劝诱；“锻炼”效应 | |
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16
shearing
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| n.剪羊毛，剪取的羊毛v.剪羊毛( shear的现在分词 )；切断；剪切 | |
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consolidated
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| a.联合的 | |
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detested
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| v.憎恶，嫌恶，痛恨( detest的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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militia
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| n.民兵，民兵组织 | |
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automobile
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| n.汽车，机动车 | |
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indicted
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| 控告，起诉( indict的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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grafted
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| 移植( graft的过去式和过去分词 )； 嫁接； 使（思想、制度等）成为（…的一部份）； 植根 | |
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legislative
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| n.立法机构，立法权；adj.立法的，有立法权的 | |
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chambers
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| n.房间( chamber的名词复数 )；（议会的）议院；卧室；会议厅 | |
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herded
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| 群集，纠结( herd的过去式和过去分词 )； 放牧； （使）向…移动 | |
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manorial
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| adj.庄园的 | |
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feverish
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| adj.发烧的，狂热的，兴奋的 | |
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prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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variant
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| adj.不同的，变异的；n.变体，异体 | |
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handout
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| n.散发的文字材料；救济品 | |
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parched
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| adj.焦干的；极渴的；v.（使）焦干 | |
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steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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lieutenant
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| n.陆军中尉，海军上尉；代理官员，副职官员 | |
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ambling
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| v.（马）缓行( amble的现在分词 )；从容地走，漫步 | |
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herald
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| vt.预示...的来临，预告，宣布，欢迎 | |
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nibbled
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| v.啃，一点一点地咬（吃）( nibble的过去式和过去分词 )；啃出（洞），一点一点咬出（洞）；慢慢减少；小口咬 | |
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lore
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| n.传说；学问，经验，知识 | |
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socialist
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| n.社会主义者；adj.社会主义的 | |
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anarchist
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| n.无政府主义者 | |
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hoggish
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| adj.贪婪的 | |
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resolute
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| adj.坚决的，果敢的 | |
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oligarchy
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| n.寡头政治 | |
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lanky
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| adj.瘦长的 | |
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drooping
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| adj. 下垂的，无力的 动词droop的现在分词 | |
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grafting
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| 嫁接法，移植法 | |
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moldy
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| adj.发霉的 | |
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affiliations
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| n.联系( affiliation的名词复数 )；附属机构；亲和性；接纳 | |
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bodyguard
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| n.护卫，保镖 | |
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adviser
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| n.劝告者，顾问 | |
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aged
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| adj.年老的，陈年的 | |
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dictated
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| v.大声讲或读( dictate的过去式和过去分词 )；口授；支配；摆布 | |
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fictional
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| adj.小说的，虚构的 | |
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followers
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| 追随者( follower的名词复数 )； 用户； 契据的附面； 从动件 | |
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provincial
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| adj.省的，地方的；n．外省人，乡下人 | |
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initiate
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| vt.开始，创始，发动；启蒙，使入门；引入 | |
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itch
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| n.痒，渴望，疥癣；vi.发痒，渴望 | |
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modesty
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| n.谦逊，虚心，端庄，稳重，羞怯，朴素 | |
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braces
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| n.吊带，背带；托架( brace的名词复数 )；箍子；括弧；（儿童）牙箍v.支住( brace的第三人称单数 )；撑牢；使自己站稳；振作起来 | |
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fascist
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| adj.法西斯主义的；法西斯党的；n.法西斯主义者，法西斯分子 | |
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frankly
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| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
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epoch
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| n.(新)时代；历元 | |
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democrats
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| n.民主主义者，民主人士( democrat的名词复数 ) | |
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wagons
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| n.四轮的运货马车( wagon的名词复数 )；铁路货车；小手推车 | |
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reverence
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| n.敬畏，尊敬，尊严；Reverence:对某些基督教神职人员的尊称；v.尊敬，敬畏，崇敬 | |
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oracle
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| n.神谕，神谕处，预言 | |
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postponed
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| vt.& vi.延期，缓办，（使）延迟vt.把…放在次要地位；[语]把…放在后面（或句尾）vi.（疟疾等）延缓发作（或复发） | |
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68
Ford
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| n.浅滩，水浅可涉处；v.涉水，涉过 | |
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69
sentimental
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| adj.多愁善感的，感伤的 | |
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70
agonized
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| v.使（极度）痛苦，折磨( agonize的过去式和过去分词 )；苦斗；苦苦思索；感到极度痛苦 | |
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71
reviled
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| v.辱骂，痛斥( revile的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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72
tragic
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| adj.悲剧的，悲剧性的，悲惨的 | |
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73
repentant
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| adj.对…感到悔恨的 | |
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74
ancestry
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| n.祖先，家世 | |
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75
auditors
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| n.审计员，稽核员( auditor的名词复数 )；（大学课程的）旁听生 | |
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76
cardinals
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| 红衣主教( cardinal的名词复数 )； 红衣凤头鸟（见于北美，雄鸟为鲜红色）； 基数 | |
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77
craftily
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| 狡猾地，狡诈地 | |
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78
Founder
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| n.创始者，缔造者 | |
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79
labor
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| n.劳动，努力，工作，劳工；分娩；vi.劳动，努力，苦干；vt.详细分析；麻烦 | |
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80
nibbling
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| v.啃，一点一点地咬（吃）( nibble的现在分词 )；啃出（洞），一点一点咬出（洞）；慢慢减少；小口咬 | |
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81
credulous
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| adj.轻信的，易信的 | |
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82
humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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83
assortments
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| 分类，各类物品或同类各种物品的聚集，混合物( assortment的名词复数 ) | |
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84
hordes
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| n.移动着的一大群( horde的名词复数 )；部落 | |
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85
compilation
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| n.编译，编辑 | |
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86
armories
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| n.纹章( armory的名词复数 )；纹章学；兵工厂；军械库 | |
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87
picturesque
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| adj.美丽如画的，（语言）生动的，绘声绘色的 | |
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88
dignified
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| a.可敬的，高贵的 | |
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89
pretense
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| n.矫饰，做作，借口 | |
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90
collaboration
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| n.合作，协作；勾结 | |
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91
humility
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| n.谦逊，谦恭 | |
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92
saviour
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| n.拯救者，救星 | |
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93
implicitly
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| adv. 含蓄地, 暗中地, 毫不保留地 | |
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94
grumbled
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| 抱怨( grumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 发牢骚； 咕哝； 发哼声 | |
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95
relishing
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| v.欣赏( relish的现在分词 )；从…获得乐趣；渴望 | |
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96
piety
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| n.虔诚，虔敬 | |
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97
tyrant
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| n.暴君，专制的君主，残暴的人 | |
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98
rumors
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| n.传闻( rumor的名词复数 )；[古]名誉；咕哝；[古]喧嚷v.传闻( rumor的第三人称单数 )；[古]名誉；咕哝；[古]喧嚷 | |
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99
fanatic
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| n.狂热者，入迷者；adj.狂热入迷的 | |
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100
humanitarian
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| n.人道主义者，博爱者，基督凡人论者 | |
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