the new machiavelli-第43节

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that　sees　or　the　mood　that　colours。　　Here　is　something　that　may　fill　

the　skies　and　every　waking　hour　or　be　almost　completely　banished　

from　a　life。　　It　may　be　everything　on　Monday　and　less　than　nothing　

on　Saturday。　　And　we　make　our　laws　and　rules　as　though　in　these　

matters　all　men　and　women　were　commensurable　one　with　another；　with　

an　equal　steadfast　passion　and　an　equal　constant　duty。　。　。　。



I　don't　know　what　dreams　Altiora　may　have　had　in　her　schoolroom　

days；　I　always　suspected　her　of　suppressed　and　forgotten　phases；　but　

certainly　her　general　effect　now　was　of　an　entirely　passionless　

worldliness　in　these　matters。　　Indeed　so　far　as　I　could　get　at　her；　

she　regarded　sexual　passion　as　being　hardly　more　legitimate　in　a　

civilised　person　thanlet　us　sayhomicidal　mania。　　She　must　have　

forgottenand　Bailey　too。　　I　suspect　she　forgot　before　she　married　

him。　　I　don't　suppose　either　of　them　had　the　slightest　intimation　of　

the　dimensions　sexual　love　can　take　in　the　thoughts　of　the　great　

majority　of　people　with　whom　they　come　in　contact。　　They　loved　in　

their　wayan　intellectual　way　it　was　and　a　fond　waybut　it　had　no　

relation　to　beauty　and　physical　sensationexcept　that　there　seemed　

a　decree　of　exile　against　these　things。　　They　got　their　glow　in　high　

moments　of　altruistic　ambitionand　in　moments　of　vivid　worldly　

success。　　They　sat　at　opposite　ends　of　their　dinner　table　with　so　

and　so　〃captured；〃　and　so　and　so；　flushed　with　a　mutual　approval。　　

They　saw　people　in　love　forgetful　and　distraught　about　them；　and　

just　put　it　down　to　forgetfulness　and　distraction。　　At　any　rate　

Altiora　manifestly　viewed　my　situation　and　Margaret's　with　an　

abnormal　and　entirely　misleading　simplicity。　　There　was　the　girl；　

rich；　with　an　acceptable　claim　to　be　beautiful；　shiningly　virtuous；　

quite　capable　of　political　interests；　and　there　was　I；　talented；　

ambitious　and　full　of　political　and　social　passion；　in　need　of　just　

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　e