the new machiavelli-第54节

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motor　bicycle；　and　presently；　on　the　Albert　Embankment；　every　seat　

has　its　one　or　two　outcasts　huddled　together　and　slumbering。



〃These　things　come；　these　things　go；〃　a　whispering　voice　urged　upon　

me；　〃as　once　those　vast　unmeaning　Saurians　whose　bones　encumber　

museums　came　and　went　rejoicing　noisily　in　fruitless　lives。〃　。　。　。



Fruitless　lives！was　that　the　truth　of　it　all？　。　。　。



Later　I　stood　within　sight　of　the　Houses　of　Parliament　in　front　of　

the　colonnades　of　St　Thomas's　Hospital。　　I　leant　on　the　parapet　

close　by　a　lamp…stand　of　twisted　dolphinsand　I　prayed！



I　remember　the　swirl　of　the　tide　upon　the　water；　and　how　a　string　of　

barges　presently　came　swinging　and　bumping　round　as　high…water　

turned　to　ebb。　　That　sudden　change　of　position　and　my　brief　

perplexity　at　it；　sticks　like　a　paper　pin　through　the　substance　of　

my　thoughts。　　It　was　then　I　was　moved　to　prayer。　　I　prayed　that　

night　that　life　might　not　be　in　vain；　that　in　particular　I　might　not　

live　in　vain。　　I　prayed　for　strength　and　faith；　that　the　monstrous　

blundering　forces　in　life　might　not　overwhelm　me；　might　not　beat　me　

back　to　futility　and　a　meaningless　acquiescence　in　existent　things。　　

I　knew　myself　for　the　weakling　I　was；　I　knew　that　nevertheless　it　

was　set　for　me　to　make　such　order　as　I　could　out　of　these　disorders；　

and　my　task　cowed　me；　gave　me　at　the　thought　of　it　a　sense　of　

yielding　feebleness。



〃Break　me；　O　God；〃　I　prayed　at　last；　〃disgrace　me；　torment　me；　

destroy　me　as　you　will；　but　save　me　from　self…complacency　and　little　

interests　and　little　successes　and　the　life　that　passes　like　the　

shadow　of　a　dream。〃







BOOK　THE　THIRD



THE　HEART　OF　POLITICS







CHAPTER　THE　FIRST



THE　RIDDLE　FOR　THE　STATESMAN







1





I　have　been　planning　and　replanning；　writing　and　rewriting；　this　

next　portion　of　my　book　for　many　days。　　I　perceive　I　must　leave　it　

raw　edged　and　ill　joined。　　I　have　learnt　something　of　the　

impossibility　of　History。　　For　all　I　have　had　to　tell　is　the　story　

of　one　man's　convictions　and　aims　and　how　they　reacted　upon　his　

life；　and　I　find　it　too　subtle　and　involved　and　intricate　for　the　

doing。　　I　find　it　taxes　all　my　powers　to　convey　even　the　main　forms　

and　forces　in　that　development。　　It　is　like　looking　through　moving　

media　of　changing　hue　and　variable　refraction　at　something　vitally　

unstable。　　Broad　theories　and　generalisations　are　mingled　with　

personal　influences；　with　prevalent　prejudices；　and　not　only　

coloured　but　altered　by　phases　of　hopefulness　and　moods　of　

depression。　　The　web　is　made　up　of　the　most　diverse　elements；　beyond　

treatment　multitudinous。　。　。　。　　For　a　week　or　so　I　desisted　

altogether；　and　walked　over　the　mountains　and　returned　to　sit　

through　the　warm　soft　mornings　among　the　shaded　rocks　above　this　

little　perched…up　house　of　ours；　discussing　my　difficulties　with　

Isabel　and　I　think　on　the　whole　complicating　them　further　in　the　

effort　to　simplify　them　to　manageable　and　stateable　elements。



Let　me；　nevertheless；　attempt　a　rough　preliminary　analysis　of　this　

confused　process。　　A　main　strand　is　quite　easily　traceable。　　This　

main　strand　is　the　story　of　my　obvious　life；　my　life　as　it　must　have　

looked　to　most　of　my　acquaintances。　　It　presents　you　with　a　young　

couple；　bright；　hopeful；　and　energetic；　starting　out　under　Altiora's　

auspices　to　make　a　career。　　You　figure　us　well　dressed　and　active；　

running　about　in　motor…cars；　visiting　in　great　people's　houses；　

dining　amidst　brilliant　companies；　going　to　the　theatre；　meeting　in　

the　lobby。　　Margaret　wore　hundreds　of　beautiful　dresses。　　We　must　

have　had　an　air　of　succeeding　meritoriously　during　that　time。



We　did　very　continually　and　faithfully　serve　our　joint　career。　　I　

thought　about　it　a　great　deal；　and　did　and　refrained　from　doing　ten　

thousand　things　for　the　sake　of　it。　　I　kept　up　a　solicitude　for　it；　

as　it　were　by　inertia；　long　after　things　had　happened　and　changes　

occurred　in　me　that　rendered　its　completion　impossible。　　Under　

certain　very　artless　pretences；　we　wanted　steadfastly　to　make　a　

handsome　position　in　the　world；　achieve　respect；　SUCCEED。　　Enormous　

unseen　changes　had　been　in　progress　for　years　in　my　mind　and　the　

realities　of　my　life；　before　our　general　circle　could　have　had　any　

inkling　of　their　existence；　or　suspected　the　appearances　of　our　

life。　　Then　suddenly　our　proceedings　began　to　be　deflected；　our　

outward　unanimity　visibly　strained　and　marred　by　the　insurgence　of　

these　so　long…hidden　developments。



That　career　had　its　own　hidden　side；　of　course；　but　when　I　write　of　

these　unseen　factors　I　do　not　mean　that　but　something　altogether　

broader。　　I　do　not　mean　the　everyday　pettinesses　which　gave　the　

cynical　observer　scope　and　told　of　a　narrower；　baser　aspect　of　the　

fair　but　limited　ambitions　of　my　ostensible　self。　　This　〃sub…

careerist〃　element　noted　little　things　that　affected　the　career；　

made　me　suspicious　of　the　rivalry　of　so…and…so；　propitiatory　to　so…

and…so；　whom；　as　a　matter　of　fact；　I　didn't　respect　or　feel　in　the　

least　sympathetic　towards；　guarded　with　that　man；　who　for　all　his　

charm　and　interest　wasn't　helpful；　and　a　little　touchy　at　the　

appearance　of　neglect　from　that。　　No；　I　mean　something　greater　and　

not　something　smaller　when　I　write　of　a　hidden　life。



In　the　ostensible　self　who　glowed　under　the　approbation　of　Altiora　

Bailey；　and　was　envied　and　discussed；　praised　and　depreciated；　in　

the　House　and　in　smoking…room　gossip；　you　really　have　as　much　of　a　

man　as　usually　figures　in　a　novel　or　an　obituary　notice。　　But　I　am　

tremendously　impressed　now　in　the　retrospect　by　the　realisation　of　

how　little　that　frontage　represented　me；　and　just　how　little　such　

frontages　do　represent　the　complexities　of　the　intelligent　

contemporary。　　Behind　it；　yet　struggling　to　disorganise　and　alter　

it；　altogether；　was　a　far　more　essential　reality；　a　self　less　

personal；　less　individualised；　and　broader　in　its　references。　　Its　

aims　were　never　simply　to　get　on；　it　had　an　altogether　different　

system　of　demands　and　satisfactions。　　It　was　critical；　curious；　more　

than　a　little　unfeelingand　relentlessly　illuminating。



It　is　just　the　existence　and　development　of　this　more　generalised　

self…behind…the…frontage　that　is　making　modern　life　so　much　more　

subtle　and　intricate　to　render；　and　so　much　more　hopeful　in　its　

relations　to　the　perplexities　of　the　universe。　　I　see　this　mental　

and　spiritual　hinterland　vary　enormously　in　the　people　about　me；　

from　a　type　which　seems　to　keep；　as　people　say；　all　its　goods　in　the　

window；　to　others　who；　like　myself；　come　to　regard　the　ostensible　

existence　more　and　more　as　a　mere　experimental　feeder　and　agent　for　

that　greater　personality　behind。　　And　this　back…self　has　its　history　

of　phases；　its　crises　and　happy　accidents　and　irrevocable　

conclusions；　more　or　less　distinct　from　the　adventures　and　

achievements　of　the　ostensible　self。　　It　meets　persons　and　phrases；　

it　assimilates　the　spirit　of　a　book；　it　is　startled　into　new　

realisations　by　some　accident　that　seems　altogether　irrelevant　to　

the　general　tenor　of　one's　life。　　Its　increasing　independence　of　the　

ostensible　career　makes　it　the　organ　of　corrective　criticism；　it　

accumulates　disturbing　energy。　　Then　it　breaks　our　overt　promises　

and　repudiates　our　pledges；　coming　down　at　last　like　an　overbearing　

mentor　upon　the　small　engagements　of　the　pupil。



In　the　life　of　the　individual　it　takes　the　role　that　the　growth　of　

philosophy；　science；　and　creative　literature　may　play　in　the　

development　of　mankind。







2





It　is　curious　to　recall　how　Britten　helped　shatter　that　obvious；　

lucidly　explicable　presentation　of　myself　upon　which　I　had　embarked　

with　Margaret。　　He　returned　to　revive　a　memory　of　adolescent　dreams　

and　a　habit　of　adolescent　frankness；　he　reached　through　my　shallow　

frontage　as　no　one　else　seemed　capable　of　doing；　and　dragged　that　

back…self　into　relation　with　it。



I　remember　very　distinctly　a　dinner　and　a　subsequent　walk　with　him　

which　presents　itself　now　as　altogether　typical　of　the　quality　of　

his　influence。



I　had　come　upon　him　one　day　while　lunching　with　Somers　and　Sutton　at　

the　Playwrights'　Club；　and　had　asked　him　to　dinner　on　the　spur　of　

the　moment。　　He　was　oddly　the　same　curly…headed；　red…faced　

ventriloquist；　and　oddly　different；　rather　seedy　as　well　as　untidy；　

and　at　first　a　little　inclined　to　make　comparisons　with　my　sleek　

successfulness。　　But　that　disposition　presently　evaporated；　and　his　

talk　was　good　and　fresh　and　provocative。　　And　something　that　had　

long　been　straining　at　its　checks　in　my　mind　flapped　over；　and　he　

and　I　found　ourselves　of　one　accord。



Altiora　wasn't　at　this　dinner。　　When　she　came　matters　were　apt　to　

become　confusedly　strenuous。　　There　was　always　a　slight　and　

ineffectual　struggle　at　the　end　on　the　part　of　Margaret