按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！
our own for the next two thousand years？
It was the last was most forgotten of all that faith mislaid。
Before mankind； in my vision that night； stretched new centuries of
confusion； vast stupid wars； hastily conceived laws； foolish
temporary triumphs of order； lapses； set…backs； despairs；
catastrophes； new beginnings； a multitudinous wilderness of time； a
nigh plotless drama of wrong…headed energies。 In order to assuage
my parting from Isabel we had set ourselves to imagine great rewards
for our separation； great personal rewards； we had promised
ourselves success visible and shining in our lives。 To console
ourselves in our separation we had made out of the BLUE WEEKLY and
our young Tory movement preposterously enormous things…as though
those poor fertilising touches at the soil were indeed the
germinating seeds of the millennium； as though a million lives such
as ours had not to contribute before the beginning of the beginning。
That poor pretence had failed。 That magnificent proposition
shrivelled to nothing in the black loneliness of that night。
I saw that there were to be no such compensations。 So far as my
real services to mankind were concerned I had to live an
unrecognised and unrewarded life。 If I made successes it would be
by the way。 Our separation would alter nothing of that。 My scandal
would cling to me now for all my life； a thing affecting
relationships； embarrassing and hampering my spirit。 I should
follow the common lot of those who live by the imagination； and
follow it now in infinite loneliness of soul； the one good
comforter； the one effectual familiar； was lost to me for ever； I
should do good and evil together； no one caring to understand； I
should produce much weary work； much bad…spirited work； much
absolute evil； the good in me would be too often ill…expressed and
missed or misinterpreted。 In the end I might leave one gleaming
flake or so amidst the slag heaps for a moment of postmortem
sympathy。 I was afraid beyond measure of my derelict self。 Because
I believed with all my soul in love and fine thinking that did not
mean that I should necessarily either love steadfastly or think
finely。 I remember how I fell talking to GodI think I talked out
loud。 〃Why do I care for these things？〃 I cried； 〃when I can do so
little！ Why am I apart from the jolly thoughtless fighting life of
men？ These dreams fade to nothingness； and leave me bare！〃
I scolded。 〃Why don't you speak to a man； show yourself？ I thought
I had a gleam of you in Isabel；and then you take her away。 Do you
really think I can carry on this game alone； doing your work in
darkness and silence； living in muddled conflict； half living； half
dying？〃
Grotesque analogies arose in my mind。 I discovered a strange
parallelism between my now tattered phrase of 〃Love and fine
thinking〃 and the 〃Love and the Word〃 of Christian thought。 Was it
possible the Christian propaganda had at the outset meant just that
system of attitudes I had been feeling my way towards from the very
beginning of my life？ Had I spent a lifetime making my way back to
Christ？ It mocks humanity to think how Christ has been overlaid。 I
went along now； recalling long…neglected phrases and sentences； I
had a new vision of that great central figure preaching love with
hate and coarse thinking even in the disciples about Him； rising to
a tidal wave at last in that clamour for Barabbas； and the public
satisfaction in His fate。 。 。 。
It's curious to think that hopeless love and a noisy disordered
dinner should lead a man to these speculations； but they did。 〃He
DID mean that！〃 I said； and suddenly thought of what a bludgeon
they'd made of His Christianity。 Athwart that perplexing； patient
enigma sitting inaudibly among publicans and sinners； danced and
gibbered a long procession of the champions of orthodoxy。 〃He
wasn't human；〃 I said； and remembered that last despairing cry； 〃My
God！ My God！ why hast Thou forsaken Me？〃
〃Oh； HE forsakes every one；〃 I said； flying out as a tired mind
will； with an obvious repartee。 。 。 。
I passed at a bound from such monstrous theology to a towering rage
against the Baileys。 In an instant and with no sense of absurdity I
wantedin the intervals of love and fine thinkingto fling about
that strenuously virtuous couple； I wanted to kick Keyhole of the
PEEPSHOW into the gutter and make a common massacre of all the
prosperous rascaldom that makes a trade and rule of virtue。 I can
still feel that transition。 In a moment I had reached that phase of
weakly decisive anger which is for people of my temperament the
concomitant of exhaustion。
〃I will have her；〃 I cried。 〃By Heaven！ I WILL have her！ Life
mocks me and cheats me。 Nothing can be made good to me again。 。 。 。
Why shouldn't I save what I can？ I can't save myself without
her。 。 。 。〃
I remember myselfas a sort of anti…climax to thatrather
tediously asking my way home。 I was somewhere in the neighbourhood
of Holland Park。 。 。 。
It was then between one and two。 I felt that I could go home now
without any risk of meeting Margaret。 It had been the thought of
returning to Margaret that had sent me wandering that night。 It is
one of the ugliest facts I recall about that time of crisis； the
intense aversion I felt for Margaret。 No sense of her goodness； her
injury and nobility； and the enormous generosity of her forgiveness；
sufficed to mitigate that。 I hope now that in this book I am able
to give something of her silvery splendour； but all through this
crisis I felt nothing of that。 There was a triumphant kindliness
about her that I found intolerable。 She meant to be so kind to me；
to offer unstinted consolation； to meet my needs； to supply just all
she imagined Isabel had given me。
When I left Tarvrille's； I felt I could anticipate exactly how she
would meet my homecoming。 She would be perplexed by my crumpled
shirt front； on which I had spilt some drops of wine； she would
overlook that by an effort； explain it sentimentally； resolve it
should make no difference to her。 She would want to know who had
been present； what we had talked about； show the alertest interest
in whatever it wasit didn't matter what。 。 。 。 No； I couldn't
face her。
So I did not reach my study until two o'clock。
There； I remember； stood the new and very beautiful old silver
candlesticks that she had set there two days since to please methe
foolish kindliness of it！ But in her search for expression；
Margaret heaped presents upon me。 She had fitted these candlesticks
with electric lights； and I must； I suppose； have lit them to write
my note to Isabel。 〃Give me a wordthe world aches without you；〃
was all I scrawled； though I fully meant that she should come to me。
I knew； though I ought not to have known； that now she had left her