the new machiavelli-第88章

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friendship；　and　not　quite　unwittingly　so。



In　writing　this；　moreover；　there　is　a　very　great　difficulty　in　

steering　my　way　between　two　equally　undesirable　tones　in　the　

telling。　　In　the　first　place　I　do　not　want　to　seem　to　confess　my　

sins　with　a　penitence　I　am　very　doubtful　if　I　feel。　　Now　that　I　have　

got　Isabel　we　can　no　doubt　count　the　cost　of　it　and　feel　

unquenchable　regrets；　but　I　am　not　sure　whether；　if　we　could　be　put　

back　now　into　such　circumstances　as　we　were　in　a　year　ago；　or　two　

years　ago；　whether　with　my　eyes　fully　open　I　should　not　do　over　

again　very　much　as　I　did。　　And　on　the　other　hand　I　do　not　want　to　

justify　the　things　we　have　done。　　We　are　two　bad　peopleif　there　is　

to　be　any　classification　of　good　and　bad　at　all；　we　have　acted　

badly；　and　quite　apart　from　any　other　considerations　we've　largely　

wasted　our　own　very　great　possibilities。　　But　it　is　part　of　a　queer　

humour　that　underlies　all　this；　that　I　find　myself　slipping　again　

and　again　into　a　sentimental　treatment　of　our　case　that　is　as　

unpremeditated　as　it　is　insincere。　　When　I　am　a　little　tired　after　a　

morning's　writing　I　find　the　faint　suggestion　getting　into　every　

other　sentence　that　our　blunders　and　misdeeds　embodied；　after　the　

fashion　of　the　prophet　Hosea；　profound　moral　truths。　　Indeed；　I　feel　

so　little　confidence　in　my　ability　to　keep　this　altogether　out　of　my　

book　that　I　warn　the　reader　here　that　in　spite　of　anything　he　may　

read　elsewhere　in　the　story；　intimating　however　shyly　an　esoteric　

and　exalted　virtue　in　our　proceedings；　the　plain　truth　of　this　

business　is　that　Isabel　and　I　wanted　each　other　with　a　want　entirely　

formless；　inconsiderate；　and　overwhelming。　　And　though　I　could　tell　

you　countless　delightful　and　beautiful　things　about　Isabel；　were　

this　a　book　in　her　praise；　I　cannot　either　analyse　that　want　or　

account　for　its　extreme　intensity。



I　will　confess　that　deep　in　my　mind　there　is　a　belief　in　a　sort　of　

wild　rightness　about　any　love　that　is　fraught　with　beauty；　but　that　

eludes　me　and　vanishes　again；　and　is　not；　I　feel；　to　be　put　with　the　

real　veracities　and　righteousnesses　and　virtues　in　the　paddocks　and　

menageries　of　human　reason。　。　。　。



We　have　already　a　child；　and　Margaret　was　childless；　and　I　find　

myself　prone　to　insist　upon　that；　as　if　it　was　a　justification。　　

But；　indeed；　when　we　became　lovers　there　was　small　thought　of　

Eugenics　between　us。　　Ours　was　a　mutual　and　not　a　philoprogenitive　

passion。　　Old　Nature　behind　us　may　have　had　such　purposes　with　us；　

but　it　is　not　for　us　to　annex　her　intentions　by　a　moralising　

afterthought。　　There　isn't；　in　fact；　any　decent　justification　for　us　

whateverat　that　the　story　must　stand。



But　if　there　is　no　justification　there　is　at　least　a　very　effective　

excuse　in　the　mental　confusedness　of　our　time。　　The　evasion　of　that　

passionately　thorough　exposition　of　belief　and　of　the　grounds　of　

morality；　which　is　the　outcome　of　the　mercenary　religious　

compromises　of　the　late　Vatican　period；　the　stupid　suppression　of　

anything　but　the　most　timid　discussion　of　sexual　morality　in　our　

literature　and　drama；　the　pervading　cultivated　and　protected　muddle…

headedness；　leaves　mentally　vigorous　people　with　relatively　enormous　

possibilities　of　destruction　and　little　effective　help。　　They　find　

themselves　confronted　by　the　habits　and　prejudices　of　manifestly　

commonplace　people；　and　by　that　extraordinary　patched…up　

Christianity；　the　cult　of　a　〃Bromsteadised〃　deity；　diffused；　

scattered；　and　aimless；　which　hides　from　examination　and　any　

possibility　of　faith　behind　the　plea　of　good　taste。　　A　god　about　

whom　there　is　delicacy　is　far　worse　than　no　god　at　all。　　We　are　

FORCED　to　be　laws　unto　ourselves　and　to　live　experimentally。　　It　is　

inevitable　that　a　considerable　fraction　of　just　that　bolder；　more　

initiatory　section　of　the　intellectual　community；　the　section　that　

can　least　be　spared　from　the　collective　life　in　a　period　of　trial　

and　change；　will　drift　into　such　emotional　crises　and　such　disaster　

as　overtook　us。　　Most　perhaps　will　escape；　but　many　will　go　down；　

many　more　than　the　world　can　spare。　　It　is　the　unwritten　law　of　all　

our　public　life；　and　the　same　holds　true　of　America；　that　an　honest　

open　scandal　ends　a　career。　　England　in　the　last　quarter　of　a　

century　has　wasted　half　a　dozen　statesmen　on　this　score；　she　would；　

I　believe；　reject　Nelson　now　if　he　sought　to　serve　her。　　Is　it　

wonderful　that　to　us　fretting　here　in　exile　this　should　seem　the　

cruellest　as　well　as　the　most　foolish　elimination　of　a　necessary　

social　element？　　It　destroys　no　vice；　for　vice　hides　by　nature。　　It　

not　only　rewards　dullness　as　if　it　were　positive　virtue；　but　sets　an　

enormous　premium　upon　hypocrisy。　　That　is　my　case；　and　that　is　why　I　

am　telling　this　side　of　my　story　with　so　much　explicitness。







2





Ever　since　the　Kinghamstead　election　I　had　maintained　what　seemed　a　

desultory　friendship　with　Isabel。　　At　first　it　was　rather　Isabel　

kept　it　up　than　I。　　Whenever　Margaret　and　I　went　down　to　that　villa；　

with　its　three　or　four　acres　of　garden　and　shrubbery　about　it；　which　

fulfilled　our　election　promise　to　live　at　Kinghamstead；　Isabel　would　

turn　up　in　a　state　of　frank　cheerfulness；　rejoicing　at　us；　and　talk　

all　she　was　reading　and　thinking　to　me；　and　stay　for　all　the　rest　of　

the　day。　　In　her　shameless　liking　for　me　she　was　as　natural　as　a　

savage。　　She　would　exercise　me　vigorously　at　tennis；　while　Margaret　

lay　and　rested　her　back　in　the　afternoon；　or　guide　me　for　some　long　

ramble　that　dodged　the　suburban　and　congested　patches　of　the　

constituency　with　amazing　skill。　　She　took　possession　of　me　in　that　

unabashed；　straight…minded　way　a　girl　will　sometimes　adopt　with　a　

man；　chose　my　path　or　criticised　my　game　with　a　motherly　solicitude　

for　my　welfare　that　was　absurd　and　delightful。　　And　we　talked。　　We　

discussed　and　criticised　the　stories　of　novels；　scraps　of　history；　

pictures；　social　questions；　socialism；　the　policy　of　the　Government。　　

She　was　young　and　most　unevenly　informed；　but　she　was　amazingly　

sharp　and　quick　and　good。　　Never　before　in　my　life　had　I　known　a　

girl　of　her　age；　or　a　woman　of　her　quality。　　I　had　never　dreamt　

there　was　such　talk　in　the　world。　　Kinghamstead　became　a　lightless　

place　when　she　went　to　Oxford。　　Heaven　knows　how　much　that　may　not　

have　precipitated　my　abandonment　of　the　seat！



She　went　to　Ridout　College；　Oxford；　and　that　certainly　weighed　with　

me　when　presently　after　my　breach　with　the　Liberals　various　little　

undergraduate　societies　began　to　ask　for　lectures　and　discussions。　　

I　favoured　Oxford。　　I　declared　openly　I　did　so　because　of　her。　　At　

that　time　I　think　we　neither　of　us　suspected　the　possibility　of　

passion　that　lay　like　a　coiled　snake　in　the　path　before　us。　　It　

seemed　to　us　that　we　had　the　quaintest；　most　delightful　friendship　

in　the　world；　she　was　my　pupil；　and　I　was　her　guide；　philosopher；　

and　friend。　　People　smiled　indulgentlyeven　Margaret　smiled　

indulgentlyat　our　attraction　for　one　another。



Such　friendships　are　not　uncommon　nowadaysamong　easy…going；　

liberal…minded　people。　　For　the　most　part；　there's　no　sort　of　harm；　

as　people　say；　in　them。　　The　two　persons　concerned　are　never　

supposed　to　think　of　the　passionate　love　that　hovers　so　close　to　the　

friendship；　or　if　they　do；　then　they　banish　the　thought。　　I　think　we　

kept　the　thought　as　permanently　in　exile　as　any　one　could　do。　　If　it　

did　in　odd　moments　come　into　our　heads　we　pretended　elaborately　it　

wasn't　there。



Only　we　were　both　very　easily　jealous　of　each　other's　attention；　and　

tremendously　insistent　upon　each　other's　preference。



I　remember　once　during　the　Oxford　days　an　intimation　that　should　

have　set　me　thinking；　and　I　suppose　discreetly　disentangling　myself。　　

It　was　one　Sunday　afternoon；　and　it　must　have　been　about　May；　for　

the　trees　and　shrubs　of　Ridout　College　were　gay　with　blossom；　and