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That second time I took the oath I was not one of a crowd of new
members； but salient； an event； a symbol of profound changes and new
purposes in the national life。
Here it is my political book comes to an end； and in a sense my book
ends altogether。 For the rest is but to tell how I was swept out of
this great world of political possibilities。 I close this Third
Book as I opened it； with an admission of difficulties and
complexities； but now with a pile of manuscript before me I have to
confess them unsurmounted and still entangled。
Yet my aim was a final simplicity。 I have sought to show my growing
realisation that the essential quality of all political and social
effort is the development of a great race mind behind the interplay
of individual lives。 That is the collective human reality； the
basis of morality； the purpose of devotion。 To that our lives must
be given； from that will come the perpetual fresh release and
further ennoblement of individual lives。 。 。 。
I have wanted to make that idea of a collective mind play in this
book the part United Italy plays in Machiavelli's PRINCE。 I have
called it the hinterland of reality； shown it accumulating a
dominating truth and rightness which must force men's now sporadic
motives more and more into a disciplined and understanding relation
to a plan。 And I have tried to indicate how I sought to serve this
great clarification of our confusions。 。 。 。
Now I come back to personality and the story of my self…betrayal；
and how it is I have had to leave all that far…reaching scheme of
mine； a mere project and beginning for other men to take or leave as
it pleases them。
BOOK THE FOURTH
ISABEL
CHAPTER THE FIRST
LOVE AND SUCCESS
1
I come to the most evasive and difficult part of my story； which is
to tell how Isabel and I have made a common wreck of our joint
lives。
It is not the telling of one simple disastrous accident。 There was
a vein in our natures that led to this collapse； gradually and at
this point and that it crept to the surface。 One may indeed see our
destructionfor indeed politically we could not be more extinct if
we had been shot deadin the form of a catastrophe as disconnected
and conclusive as a meteoric stone falling out of heaven upon two
friends and crushing them both。 But I do not think that is true to
our situation or ourselves。 We were not taken by surprise。 The
thing was in us and not from without； it was akin to our way of
thinking and our habitual attitudes； it had； for all its impulsive
effect； a certain necessity。 We might have escaped no doubt； as two
men at a hundred yards may shoot at each other with pistols for a
considerable time and escape。 But it isn't particularly reasonable
to talk of the contrariety of fate if they both get hit。
Isabel and I were dangerous to each other for several years of
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 s