the new machiavelli-第105章

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along；　and　that　it　did　not　really　matter　in　the　slightest　degree。　　I　

had　worked　it　all　out　long　ago　in　other　terms；　when　I　had　seen　how　

all　parties　stood　for　interests　inevitably；　and　how　the　purpose　in　

life　achieves　itself；　if　it　achieves　itself　at　all；　as　a　bye　product　

of　the　war　of　individuals　and　classes。　　Hadn't　I　always　known　that　

science　and　philosophy　elaborate　themselves　in　spite　of　all　the　

passion　and　narrowness　of　men；　in　spite　of　the　vanities　and　weakness　

of　their　servants；　in　spite　of　all　the　heated　disorder　of　

contemporary　things？　　Wasn't　it　my　own　phrase　to　speak　of　〃that　

greater　mind　in　men；　in　which　we　are　but　moments　and　transitorily　

lit　cells？〃　　Hadn't　I　known　that　the　spirit　of　man　still　speaks　like　

a　thing　that　struggles　out　of　mud　and　slime；　and　that　the　mere　

effort　to　speak　means　choking　and　disaster？　　Hadn't　I　known　that　we　

who　think　without　fear　and　speak　without　discretion　will　not　come　to　

our　own　for　the　next　two　thousand　years？



It　was　the　last　was　most　forgotten　of　all　that　faith　mislaid。　　

Before　mankind；　in　my　vision　that　night；　stretched　new　centuries　of　

confusion；　vast　stupid　wars；　hastily　conceived　laws；　foolish　

temporary　triumphs　of　order；　lapses；　set…backs；　despairs；　

catastrophes；　new　beginnings；　a　multitudinous　wilderness　of　time；　a　

nigh　plotless　drama　of　wrong…headed　energies。　　In　order　to　assuage　

my　parting　from　Isabel　we　had　set　ourselves　to　imagine　great　rewards　

for　our　separation；　great　personal　rewards；　we　had　promised　

ourselves　success　visible　and　shining　in　our　lives。　　To　console　

ourselves　in　our　separation　we　had　made　out　of　the　BLUE　WEEKLY　and　

our　young　Tory　movement　preposterously　enormous　things…as　though　

those　poor　fertilising　touches　at　the　soil　were　indeed　the　

germinating　seeds　of　the　millennium；　as　though　a　million　lives　such　

as　ours　had　not　to　contribute　before　the　beginning　of　the　beginning。　　

That　poor　pretence　had　failed。　　That　magnificent　proposition　

shrivelled　to　nothing　in　the　black　loneliness　of　that　night。



I　saw　that　there　were　to　be　no　such　compensations。　　So　far　as　my　

real　services　to　mankind　were　concerned　I　had　to　live　an　

unrecognised　and　unrewarded　life。　　If　I　made　successes　it　would　be　

by　the　way。　　Our　separation　would　alter　nothing　of　that。　　My　scandal　

would　cling　to　me　now　for　all　my　life；　a　thing　affecting　

relationships；　embarrassing　and　hampering　my　spirit。　　I　should　

follow　the　common　lot　of　those　who　live　by　the　imagination；　and　

follow　it　now　in　infinite　loneliness　of　soul；　the　one　good　

comforter；　the　one　effectual　familiar；　was　lost　to　me　for　ever；　I　

should　do　good　and　evil　together；　no　one　caring　to　understand；　I　

should　produce　much　weary　work；　much　bad…spirited　work；　much　

absolute　evil；　the　good　in　me　would　be　too　often　ill…expressed　and　

missed　or　misinterpreted。　　In　the　end　I　might　leave　one　gleaming　

flake　or　so　amidst　the　slag　heaps　for　a　moment　of　postmortem　

sympathy。　　I　was　afraid　beyond　measure　of　my　derelict　self。　　Because　

I　believed　with　all　my　soul　in　love　and　fine　thinking　that　did　not　

mean　that　I　should　necessarily　either　love　steadfastly　or　think　

finely。　　I　remember　how　I　fell　talking　to　GodI　think　I　talked　out　

loud。　　〃Why　do　I　care　for　these　things？〃　I　cried；　〃when　I　can　do　so　

little！　　Why　am　I　apart　from　the　jolly　thoughtless　fighting　life　of　

men？　　These　dreams　fade　to　nothingness；　and　leave　me　bare！〃



I　scolded。　　〃Why　don't　you　speak　to　a　man；　show　yourself？　　I　thought　

I　had　a　gleam　of　you　in　Isabel；and　then　you　take　her　away。　　Do　you　

really　think　I　can　carry　on　this　game　alone；　doing　your　work　in　

darkness　and　silence；　living　in　muddled　conflict；　half　living；　half　

dying？〃



Grotesque　analogies　arose　in　my　mind。　　I　discovered　a　strange　

parallelism　between　my　now　tattered　phrase　of　〃Love　and　fine　

thinking〃　and　the　〃Love　and　the　Word〃　of　Christian　thought。　　Was　it　

possible　the　Christian　propaganda　had　at　the　outset　meant　just　that　

system　of　attitudes　I　had　been　feeling　my　way　towards　from　the　very　

beginning　of　my　life？　　Had　I　spent　a　lifetime　making　my　way　back　to　

Christ？　　It　mocks　humanity　to　think　how　Christ　has　been　overlaid。　　I　

went　along　now；　recalling　long…neglected　phrases　and　sentences；　I　

had　a　new　vision　of　that　great　central　figure　preaching　love　with　

hate　and　coarse　thinking　even　in　the　disciples　about　Him；　rising　to　

a　tidal　wave　at　last　in　that　clamour　for　Barabbas；　and　the　public　

satisfaction　in　His　fate。　。　。　。



It's　curious　to　think　that　hopeless　love　and　a　noisy　disordered　

dinner　should　lead　a　man　to　these　speculations；　but　they　did。　　〃He　

DID　mean　that！〃　I　said；　and　suddenly　thought　of　what　a　bludgeon　

they'd　made　of　His　Christianity。　　Athwart　that　perplexing；　patient　

enigma　sitting　inaudibly　among　publicans　and　sinners；　danced　and　

gibbered　a　long　procession　of　the　champions　of　orthodoxy。　　〃He　

wasn't　human；〃　I　said；　and　remembered　that　last　despairing　cry；　〃My　

God！　　My　God！　why　hast　Thou　forsaken　Me？〃



〃Oh；　HE　forsakes　every　one；〃　I　said；　flying　out　as　a　tired　mind　

will；　with　an　obvious　repartee。　。　。　。



I　passed　at　a　bound　from　such　monstrous　theology　to　a　towering　rage　

against　the　Baileys。　　In　an　instant　and　with　no　sense　of　absurdity　I　

wantedin　the　intervals　of　love　and　fine　thinkingto　fling　about　

that　strenuously　virtuous　couple；　I　wanted　to　kick　Keyhole　of　the　

PEEPSHOW　into　the　gutter　and　make　a　common　massacre　of　all　the　

prosperous　rascaldom　that　makes　a　trade　and　rule　of　virtue。　　I　can　

still　feel　that　transition。　　In　a　moment　I　had　reached　that　phase　of　

weakly　decisive　anger　which　is　for　people　of　my　temperament　the　

concomitant　of　exhaustion。



〃I　will　have　her；〃　I　cried。　　〃By　Heaven！　　I　WILL　have　her！　　Life　

mocks　me　and　cheats　me。　　Nothing　can　be　made　good　to　me　again。　。　。　。　　

Why　shouldn't　I　save　what　I　can？　　I　can't　save　myself　without　

her。　。　。　。〃



I　remember　myselfas　a　sort　of　anti…climax　to　thatrather　

tediously　asking　my　way　home。　　I　was　somewhere　in　the　neighbourhood　

of　Holland　Park。　。　。　。



It　was　then　between　one　and　two。　　I　felt　that　I　could　go　home　now　

without　any　risk　of　meeting　Margaret。　　It　had　been　the　thought　of　

returning　to　Margaret　that　had　sent　me　wandering　that　night。　　It　is　

one　of　the　ugliest　facts　I　recall　about　that　time　of　crisis；　the　

intense　aversion　I　felt　for　Margaret。　　No　sense　of　her　goodness；　her　

injury　and　nobility；　and　the　enormous　generosity　of　her　forgiveness；　

sufficed　to　mitigate　that。　　I　hope　now　that　in　this　book　I　am　able　

to　give　something　of　her　silvery　splendour；　but　all　through　this　

crisis　I　felt　nothing　of　that。　　There　was　a　triumphant　kindliness　

about　her　that　I　found　intolerable。　　She　meant　to　be　so　kind　to　me；　

to　offer　unstinted　consolation；　to　meet　my　needs；　to　supply　just　all　

she　imagined　Isabel　had　given　me。



When　I　left　Tarvrille's；　I　felt　I　could　anticipate　exactly　how　she　

would　meet　my　homecoming。　　She　would　be　perplexed　by　my　crumpled　

shirt　front；　on　which　I　had　spilt　some　drops　of　wine；　she　would　

overlook　that　by　an　effort；　explain　it　sentimentally；　resolve　it　

should　make　no　difference　to　her。　　She　would　want　to　know　who　had　

been　present；　what　we　had　talked　about；　show　the　alertest　interest　

in　whatever　it　wasit　didn't　matter　what。　。　。　。　　No；　I　couldn't　

face　her。



So　I　did　not　reach　my　study　until　two　o'clock。



There；　I　remember；　stood　the　new　and　very　beautiful　old　silver　

candlesticks　that　she　had　set　there　two　days　since　to　please　methe　

foolish　kindliness　of　it！　　But　in　her　search　for　expression；　

Margaret　heaped　presents　upon　me。　　She　had　fitted　these　candlesticks　

with　electric　lights；　and　I　must；　I　suppose；　have　lit　them　to　write　

my　note　to　Isabel。　　〃Give　me　a　wordthe　world　aches　without　you；〃　

was　all　I　scrawled；　though　I　fully　meant　that　she　should　come　to　me。　　

I　knew；　though　I　ought　not　to　have　known；　that　now　she　had　left　her　

flat；　she　was　with　the　Balfesshe　was　to