the new machiavelli-第39部分

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the　money；　devotion　and　regularisation　Margaret　could　provide。　　We　

were　both　unmarriedwhite　sheets　of　uninscribed　paper。　　Was　there　

ever　a　simpler　situation？　　What　more　could　we　possibly　want？



She　was　even　a　little　offended　at　the　inconclusiveness　that　did　not　

settle　things　at　Pangbourne。　　I　seemed　to　her；　I　suspect；　to　reflect　

upon　her　judgment　and　good　intentions。







7





I　didn't　see　things　with　Altiora's　simplicity。



I　admired　Margaret　very　much；　I　was　fully　aware　of　all　that　she　and　

I　might　give　each　other；　indeed　so　far　as　Altiora　went　we　were　quite　

in　agreement。　　But　what　seemed　solid　ground　to　Altiora　and　the　

ultimate　footing　of　her　emasculated　world；　was　to　me　just　the　

superficial　covering　of　a　gulfoh！　abysses　of　vague　and　dim；　and　

yet　stupendously　significant　things。



I　couldn't　dismiss　the　interests　and　the　passion　of　sex　as　Altiora　

did。　　Work；　I　agreed；　was　important；　career　and　success；　but　deep　

unanalysable　instincts　told　me　this　preoccupation　was　a　thing　quite　

as　important；　dangerous；　interfering；　destructive　indeed；　but　none　

the　less　a　dominating　interest　in　life。　　I　have　told　how　flittingly　

and　uninvited　it　came　like　a　moth　from　the　outer　twilight　into　my　

life；　how　it　grew　in　me　with　my　manhood；　how　it　found　its　way　to　

speech　and　grew　daring；　and　led　me　at　last　to　experience。　　After　

that　adventure　at　Locarno　sex　and　the　interests　and　desires　of　sex　

never　left　me　for　long　at　peace。　　I　went　on　with　my　work　and　my　

career；　and　all　the　time　it　was　likelike　someone　talking　ever　and　

again　in　a　room　while　one　tries　to　write。



There　were　times　when　I　could　have　wished　the　world　a　world　all　of　

men；　so　greatly　did　this　unassimilated　series　of　motives　and　

curiosities　hamper　me；　and　times　when　I　could　have　wished　the　world　

all　of　women。　　I　seemed　always　to　be　seeking　something　in　women；　in　

girls；　and　I　was　never　clear　what　it　was　I　was　seeking。　　But　never

even　at　my　coarsestwas　I　moved　by　physical　desire　alone。　　Was　I　

seeking　help　and　fellowship？　　Was　I　seeking　some　intimacy　with　

beauty？　　It　was　a　thing　too　formless　to　state；　that　I　seemed　always　

desiring　to　attain　and　never　attaining。　　Waves　of　gross　sensuousness　

arose　out　of　this　preoccupation；　carried　me　to　a　crisis　of　

gratification　or　disappointment　that　was　clearly　not　the　needed　

thing；　they　passed　and　left　my　mind　free　again　for　a　time　to　get　on　

with　the　permanent　pursuits　of　my　life。　　And　then　presently　this　

solicitude　would　have　me　again；　an　irrelevance　as　it　seemed；　and　yet　

a　constantly　recurring　demand。



I　don't　want　particularly　to　dwell　upon　things　that　are　disagreeable　

for　others　to　read；　but　I　cannot　leave　them　out　of　my　story　and　get　

the　right　proportions　of　the　forces　I　am　balancing。　　I　was　no　

abnormal　man；　and　that　world　of　order　we　desire　to　make　must　be　

built　of　such　stuff　as　I　was　and　am　and　can　beget。　　You　cannot　have　

a　world　of　Baileys；　it　would　end　in　one　orderly　generation。　　

Humanity　is　begotten　in　Desire；　lives　by　Desire。





　　　　　〃Love　which　is　lust；　is　the　Lamp　in　the　Tomb；

　　　　　　Love　which　is　lust；　is　the　Call　from　the　Gloom。〃





I　echo　Henley。



I　suppose　the　life　of　celibacy　which　the　active；　well…fed；　well…

exercised　and　imaginatively　stirred　young　man　of　the　educated　

classes　is　supposed　to　lead　from　the　age　of　nineteen　or　twenty；　when　

Nature　certainly　meant　him　to　marry；　to　thirty　or　more；　when　

civilisation　permits　him　to　do　so；　is　the　most　impossible　thing　in　

the　world。　　We　deal　here　with　facts　that　are　kept　secret　and　

obscure；　but　I　doubt　for　my　own　part　if　more　than　one　man　out　of　

five　in　our　class　satisfies　that　ideal　demand。　　The　rest　are　even　as　

I　was；　and　Hatherleigh　and　Esmeer　and　all　the　men　I　knew。　　I　draw　no　

lessons　and　offer　no　panacea；　I　have　to　tell　the　quality　of　life；　

and　this　is　how　it　is。　　This　is　how　it　will　remain　until　men　and　

women　have　the　courage　to　face　the　facts　of　life。



I　was　no　systematic　libertine；　you　must　understand；　things　happened　

to　me　and　desire　drove　me。　　Any　young　man　would　have　served　for　that　

Locarno　adventure；　and　after　that　what　had　been　a　mystic　and　

wonderful　thing　passed　rapidly　into　a　gross；　manifestly　misdirected　

and　complicating　one。　　I　can　count　a　meagre　tale　of　five　illicit　

loves　in　the　days　of　my　youth；　to　include　that　first　experience；　and　

of　them　all　only　two　were　sustained　relationships。　　Besides　these　

five　〃affairs；〃　on　one　or　two　occasions　I　dipped　so　low　as　the　inky　

dismal　sensuality　of　the　streets；　and　made　one　of　those　pairs　of　

correlated　figures；　the　woman　in　her　squalid　finery　sailing　

homeward；　the　man　modestly　aloof　and　behind；　that　every　night　in　the　

London　year　flit　by　the　score　of　thousands　across　the　sight　of　the　

observant。　。　。　。



How　ugly　it　is　to　recall；　ugly　and　shameful　now　without　

qualification！　　Yet　at　the　time　there　was　surely　something　not　

altogether　ugly　in　itsomething　that　has　vanished；　some　fine　thing　

mortally　ailing。



One　such　occasion　I　recall　as　if　it　were　a　vision　deep　down　in　a　

pit；　as　if　it　had　happened　in　another　state　of　existence　to　someone　

else。　　And　yet　it　is　the　sort　of　thing　that　has　happened；　once　or　

twice　at　least；　to　half　the　men　in　London　who　have　been　in　a　

position　to　make　it　possible。　　Let　me　try　and　give　you　its　peculiar　

effect。　　Man　or　woman；　you　ought　to　know　of　it。



Figure　to　yourself　a　dingy　room；　somewhere　in　that　network　of　

streets　that　lies　about　Tottenham　Court　Road；　a　dingy　bedroom　lit　by　

a　solitary　candle　and　carpeted　with　scraps　and　patches；　with　

curtains　of　cretonne　closing　the　window；　and　a　tawdry　ornament　of　

paper　in　the　grate。　　I　sit　on　a　bed　beside　a　weary…eyed；　fair…

haired；　sturdy　young　woman；　half　undressed；　who　is　telling　me　in　

broken　German　something　that　my　knowledge　of　German　is　at　first　

inadequate　to　understand。　。　。　。



I　thought　she　was　boasting　about　her　family；　and　then　slowly　the　

meaning　came　to　me。　　She　was　a　Lett　from　near　Libau　in　Courland；　and　

she　was　telling　mejust　as　one　tells　something　too　strange　for　

comment　or　emotionhow　her　father　had　been　shot　and　her　sister　

outraged　and　murdered　before　her　eyes。



It　was　as　if　one　had　dipped　into　something　primordial　and　stupendous　

beneath　the　smooth　and　trivial　surfaces　of　life。　　There　was　I；　you　

know；　the　promising　young　don　from　Cambridge；　who　wrote　quite　

brilliantly　about　politics　and　might　presently　get　into　Parliament；　

with　my　collar　and　tie　in　my　hand；　and　a　certain　sense　of　shameful　

adventure　fading　out　of　my　mind。



〃Ach　Gott！〃　she　sighed　by　way　of　comment；　and　mused　deeply　for　a　

moment　before　she　turned　her　face　to　me；　as　to　something　forgotten　

and　remembered；　and　assumed　the　half…hearted　meretricious　smile。



〃Bin　ich　eine　hubsche？〃　she　asked　like　one　who　repeats　a　lesson。



I　was　moved　to　crave　her　pardon　and　come　away。



〃Bin　ich　eine　hubsche？〃　she　asked　a　little　anxiously；　laying　a　

detaining　hand　upon　me；　and　evidently　not　understanding　a　word　of　

what　I　was　striving　to　say。







8





I　find　it　extraordinarily　difficult　to　recall　the　phases　by　which　I　

passed　from　my　first　admiration　of　Margaret's　earnestness　and　

unconscious　daintiness　to　an　intimate　acquaintance。　　The　earlier　

encounters　stand　out　clear　and　hard；　but　then　the　impressions　become　

crowded　and　mingle　not　only　with　each　other　but　with　all　the　

subsequent　developments　of　relationship；　the　enormous　evolutions　of　

interpretation　and　comprehension　between　husband　and　wife。　　Dipping　

into　my　memories　is　like　dipping　into　a　ragbag；　one　brings　out　this　

memory　or　that；　with　no　intimation　of　how　they　came　in　time　or　what　

led　to　them　and　joined　them　together。　　And　they　are　all　mixed　up　

with　subsequent　associations；　with　sympathies　and　discords；　habits　

of　intercourse；　surprises　and　disappointments　and　discovered　

misunderstandings。　　I　know　only　that　always　my　feelings　for　Margaret　

were　complicatel　feelings；　woven　of　many　and　various　strands。



It　is　one　of　the　curious　neglected　aspects　of　life　how　at　the　same　

time　and　in　relation　to　the　same　reality　we　can　have　in　our　minds　

streams　of　thought　at　quite　different　levels。　　We　can　be　at　the　same　

time　idealising　a　person　and　seeing　and　criticising　that　person　

quite　coldly　and　clearly；　and　we　slip　unconsciously　from　level　to　

level　and　produce　all　sorts　of　inconsistent　acts。　　In　a　sense　I　had　

no　illusions　about　Margaret；　in　a　sense　my　conception　of　Margaret　

was　entirely　poetic　illusion。　　I　don't　think　I　was　ever　blind　to　

certain　defects　of　hers；　and　quite　as　certainly　they　didn't　seem　to　

matter　in　the　slightest　degree。　　Her　mind　had　a　curious　want　of　

vigour；　〃flatness〃　is　the　only　word；　she　never　seemed　to　escape　from　

her　phrase；　her　way　of　thinking；　her　way　of　doing　was　indecisive；　

she　remained　in　her　attitude；　it　did　not　flow　out　to　easy；　

confirmatory　action。



I　saw　this　quite　clearly；　and　when　we　walked　and　talked　together　I　

seemed　always　trying　for　animation　in　her　and　never　finding　it。　　I　

would　state　my　ideas。　　〃I　know；〃　she　would　say；　〃I　know。〃



I　talked　about　myself　and　she　listened　wonderfully；　but　she　made　no　

answering　revelations。　　I　talked　politics；　and　she　remarked　with　her　

blue　eyes　wide　and　earnest：　〃Every　WORD　you　say　seems　so　just。〃



I　admired　her　appearance　tremendously　butI　can　only　express　it　by　

saying　I　didn't　want　to　touch　her。　　Her　fair　hair　was　always　

delectably　done。　　It　flowed　beautifully　over　her　pretty　small　ears；　

and　she　would　tie　its　fair　coilings　with　fillets　of　black　or　blue　

velvet　that　carried　pretty　buckles　of　silver　and　paste。　　The　light；　

the　faint　down　on　her　brow　and　cheek　was　delightful。　　And　it　was　

clear　to　me　that　I　made　her　happy。



My　sense　of　her　deficiencies　didn't　stand　in　the　way　of　my　falling　

at　last　very　deeply　in　love　with　her。　　Her　very　shortcomings　seemed　

to　offer