the research magnificent-第1节

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The　Research　Magnificent
by　H。　G。　Wells


CONTENTS

THE　PRELUDE
ON　FEAR　AND　ARISTOCRACY

THE　STORY
　　I。　　THE　BOY　GROWS　UP
　II。　　THE　YOUNG　MAN　ABOUT　TOWN
III。　　AMANDA
　IV。　　THE　SPIRITED　HONEYMOON
　　V。　　THE　ASSIZE　OF　JEALOUSY
　VI。　　THE　NEW　HAROUN　AL　RASCHID


THE　RESEARCH　MAGNIFICENT


THE　PRELUDE

ON　FEAR　AND　ARISTOCRACY

1　The　story　of　William　Porphyry　Benham　is　the　story　of　a　man　who　was　led　into　adventure　by　an　idea。　　It　was　an　idea　that　took　possession　of　his　imagination　quite　early　in　life；　it　grew　with　him　and　changed　with　him；　it　interwove　at　last　completely　with　his　being。　　His　story　is　its　story。　　It　was　traceably　germinating　in　the　schoolboy；　it　was　manifestly　present　in　his　mind　at　the　very　last　moment　of　his　adventurous　life。　　He　belonged　to　that　fortunate　minority　who　are　independent　of　daily　necessities；　so　that　he　was　free　to　go　about　the　world　under　its　direction。　　It　led　him　far。　　It　led　him　into　situations　that　bordered　upon　the　fantastic；　it　made　him　ridiculous；　it　came　near　to　making　him　sublime。　　And　this　idea　of　his　was　of　such　a　nature　that　in　several　aspects　he　could　document　it。　　Its　logic　forced　him　to　introspection　and　to　the　making　of　a　record。　An　idea　that　can　play　so　large　a　part　in　a　life　must　necessarily　have　something　of　the　complication　and　protean　quality　of　life　itself。　　It　is　not　to　be　stated　justly　in　any　formula；　it　is　not　to　be　rendered　by　an　epigram。　　As　well　one　might　show　a　man's　skeleton　for　his　portrait。　　Yet；　essentially；　Benham's　idea　was　simple。　　He　had　an　incurable；　an　almost　innate　persuasion　that　he　had　to　live　life　nobly　and　thoroughly。　　His　commoner　expression　for　that　thorough　living　is　〃the　aristocratic　life。〃　　But　by　〃aristocratic〃　he　meant　something　very　different　from　the　quality　of　a　Russian　prince；　let　us　say；　or　an　English　peer。　　He　meant　an　intensity；　a　clearness。　。　。　。　　Nobility　for　him　was　to　get　something　out　of　his　individual　existence；　a　flame；　a　jewel；　a　splendourit　is　a　thing　easier　to　understand　than　to　say。　One　might　hesitate　to　call　this　idea　〃innate；〃　and　yet　it　comes　soon　into　a　life　when　it　comes　at　all。　　In　Benham's　case　we　might　trace　it　back　to　the　Day　Nursery　at　Seagate；　we　might　detect　it　stirring　already　at　the　petticoat　stage；　in　various　private　struttings　and　valiant　dreamings　with　a　helmet　of　pasteboard　and　a　white…metal　sword。　　We　have　most　of　us　been　at　least　as　far　as　that　with　Benham。　And　we　have　died　like　Horatius；　slaying　our　thousands　for　our　country；　or　we　have　perished　at　the　stake　or　faced　the　levelled　muskets　of　the　firing　party〃No；　do　not　bandage　my　eyes〃because　we　would　not　betray　the　secret　path　that　meant　destruction　to　our　city。　　But　with　Benham　the　vein　was　stronger；　and　it　increased　instead　of　fading　out　as　he　grew　to　manhood。　　It　was　less　obscured　by　those　earthy　acquiescences；　those　discretions；　that　saving　sense　of　proportion；　which　have　made　most　of　us　so　satisfactorily　what　we　are。　　〃Porphyry；〃　his　mother　had　discovered　before　he　was　seventeen；　〃is　an　excellent　boy；　a　brilliant　boy；　but；　I　begin　to　see；　just　a　little　unbalanced。〃　The　interest　of　him；　the　absurdity　of　him；　the　story　of　him；　is　that。　Most　of　us　arebalanced；　in　spite　of　occasional　reveries　we　do　come　to　terms　with　the　limitations　of　life；　with　those　desires　and　dreams　and　discretions　that；　to　say　the　least　of　it；　qualify　our　nobility；　we　take　refuge　in　our　sense　of　humour　and　congratulate　ourselves　on　a　certain　amiable　freedom　from　priggishness　or　presumption；　but　for　Benham　that　easy　declension　to　a　humorous　acceptance　of　life　as　it　is　did　not　occur。　　He　found　his　limitations　soon　enough；　he　was　perpetually　rediscovering　them；　but　out　of　these　interments　of　the　spirit　he　rose　againremarkably。　　When　we　others　have　decided　that；　to　be　plain　about　it；　we　are　not　going　to　lead　the　noble　life　at　all；　that　the　thing　is　too　ambitious　and　expensive　even　to　attempt；　we　have　done　so　because　there　were　other　conceptions　of　existence　that　were　good　enough　for　us；　we　decided　that　instead　of　that　glorious　impossible　being　of　ourselves；　we　would　figure　in　our　own　eyes　as　jolly　fellows；　or　sly　dogs；　or　sane；　sound；　capable　men　or　brilliant　successes；　and　so　forthpracticable　things。　　For　Benham；　exceptionally；　there　were　not　these　practicable　things。　　He　blundered；　he　fell　short　of　himself；　he　hadas　you　will　be　told　some　astonishing　rebuffs；　but　they　never　turned　him　aside　for　long。　He　went　by　nature　for　this　preposterous　idea　of　nobility　as　a　linnet　hatched　in　a　cage　will　try　to　fly。　And　when　he　discoveredand　in　this　he　was　assisted　not　a　little　by　his　friend　at　his　elbowwhen　he　discovered　that　Nobility　was　not　the　simple　thing　he　had　at　first　supposed　it　to　be；　he　set　himself　in　a　mood　only　slightly　disconcerted　to　the　discovery　of　Nobility。　When　it　dawned　upon　him；　as　it　did；　that　one　cannot　be　noble；　so　to　speak；　IN　VACUO；　he　set　himself　to　discover　a　Noble　Society。　　He　began　with　simple　beliefs　and　fine　attitudes　and　ended　in　a　conscious　research。　　If　he　could　not　get　through　by　a　stride；　then　it　followed　that　he　must　get　through　by　a　climb。　　He　spent　the　greater　part　of　his　life　studying　and　experimenting　in　the　noble　possibilities　of　man。　　He　never　lost　his　absurd　faith　in　that　conceivable　splendour。　　At　first　it　was　always　just　round　the　corner　or　just　through　the　wood；　to　the　last　it　seemed　still　but　a　little　way　beyond　the　distant　mountains。　For　this　reason　this　story　has　been　called　THE　RESEARCH　MAGNIFICENT。　It　was　a　real　research；　it　was　documented。　　In　the　rooms　in　Westhaven　Street　that　at　last　were　as　much　as　one　could　call　his　home；　he　had　accumulated　material　forone　hesitates　to　call　it　a　booklet　us　say　it　was　an　analysis　of；　a　guide　to　the　noble　life。　There　after　his　tragic　death　came　his　old　friend　White；　the　journalist　and　novelist；　under　a　promise；　and　found　these　papers；　he　found　them　to　the　extent　of　a　crammed　bureau；　half　a　score　of　patent　files　quite　distended　and　a　writing…table　drawer…full；　and　he　was　greatly　exercised　to　find　them。　　They　were；　White　declares；　they　are　still　after　much　experienced　handling；　an　indigestible　aggregation。　On　this　point　White　is　very　assured。　　When　Benham　thought　he　was　gathering　together　a　book　he　was　dreaming；　White　says。　　There　is　no　book　in　it。　。　。　。　Perhaps　too；　one　might　hazard；　Benham　was　dreaming　when　he　thought　the　noble　life　a　human　possibility。　　Perhaps　man；　like　the　ape　and　the　hyaena　and　the　tapeworm　and　many　other　of　God's　necessary　but　less　attractive　creatures；　is　not　for　such　exalted　ends。　　That　doubt　never　seems　to　have　got　a　lodgment　in　Benham's　skull；　though　at　times　one　might　suppose　it　the　basis　of　White's　thought。　　You　will　find　in　all　Benham's　story；　if　only　it　can　be　properly　told；　now　subdued；　now　loud　and　amazed　and　distressed；　but　always　traceable；　this　startled；　protesting　question；　〃BUT　WHY　THE　DEVIL　AREN'T　WE？〃　As　though　necessarily　we　ought　to　be。　　He　never　faltered　in　his　persuasion　that　behind　the　dingy　face　of　this　world；　the　earthy　stubbornness；　the　baseness　and　dulness　of　himself　and　all　of　us；　lurked　the　living　jewels　of　heaven；　the　light　of　glory；　things　unspeakable。　　At　first　it　seemed　to　him　that　one　had　only　just　to　hammer　and　will；　and　at　the　end；　after　a　life　of　willing　and　hammering；　he　was　still　convinced　there　was　something；　something　in　the　nature　of　an　Open　Sesame；　perhaps　a　little　more　intricate　than　one　had　supposed　at　first；　a　little　more　difficult　to　secure；　but　still　in　that　nature；　which　would　suddenly　roll　open　for　mankind　the　magic　cave　of　the　universe；　that　precious　cave　at　the　heart　of　all　things；　in　which　one　must　believe。　And　then　lifelife　would　be　the　wonder　it　so　perplexingly　just　isn't。　。　。　。

2

Benham　did　not　go　about　the　world　telling　people　of　this　consuming　research。　　He　was　not　the　prophet　or　preacher　of　his　idea。　　It　was　too　living　and　intricate　and　uncertain　a　part　of　him　to　speak　freely　about。　　It　was　his　secret　self；　to　expose　it　casually　would　have　shamed　him。　　He　drew　all　sorts　of　reserves　about　him；　he　wore　his　manifest　imperfections　turned　up　about　him　like　an　overcoat　in　bitter　wind。　　He　was　content　to　be　inexplicable。　　His　thoughts　led　him　to　the　conviction　that　this　magnificent　research　could　not　be；　any　more　than　any　other　research　can　be；　a　solitary　enterprise；　but　he　delayed　expression；　in　a　mighty　writing　and　stowing　away　of　these　papers　he　found　a　relief　from　the　unpleasant　urgency　to　confess　and　explain　himself　prematurely。　　So　that　White；　though　he　knew　Benham　with　the　intimacy　of　an　old　schoolfellow　who　had　renewed　his　friendship；　and　had　shared　his　last　days　and　been　a　witness　of　his　death；　read　the　sheets　of　manuscript　often　with　surprise　and　with　a　sense　of　added　elucidation。　And；　being　also　a　trained　maker　of　books；　White　as　he　read　was　more　and　more　distressed　that　an　accumulation　so　interesting　should　be　so　entirely　unshaped　for　publication。　　〃But　this　will　never　make　a　book；〃　said　White　with　a　note　of　personal　grievance。　　His　hasty　promise　in　their　last　moments　together　had　bound　him；　it　seemed；　to　a　task　he　now　found　impossible。　　He　would　have　to　work　upon　it　tremendously；　and　even　then　he　did　not　see　how　it　could　be　done。　This　collection　of　papers　was　not　a　story；　not　an　essay；　not　a　confession；　not　a　dia