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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 evidently not understanding a word of
what I was striving to say。
8
I find it extraordinarily difficult to recall the phases by which I
passed from my first admiration of Margaret's earnestness and
unconscious daintiness to an intimate acquaintance。 The earlier
encounters stand out clear and hard； but then the impressions become
crowded and mingle not only with each other but with all the
subsequent developments of relationship； the enormous evolutions of
interpretation and comprehension between husband and wife。 Dipping
into my memories is like dipping into a ragbag； one brings out this
memory or that； with no intimation of how they came in time or what
led to them and joined them together。 And they are all mixed up
with subsequent associations； with sympathies and discords； habits
of intercourse； surprises and disappointments and discovered
misunderstandings。 I know only that always my feelings for Margaret
were complicatel feelings； woven of many and various strands。
It is one of the curious neglected aspects of life how at the same
time and in relation to the same reality we can have in our minds
streams of thought at quite different levels。 We can be at the same
time idealising a person and seeing and criticising that person
quite coldly and clearly； and we slip unconsciously from level to
level and produce all sorts of inconsistent acts。 In a sense I had
no illusions about Margaret； in a sense my conception of Margaret
was entirely poetic illusion。 I don't think I was ever blind to
certain defects of hers； and quite as certainly they didn't seem to
matter in the slightest degree。 Her mind had a curious want of
vigour； 〃flatness〃 is the only word； she never seemed to escape from
her phrase； her way of thinking； her way of doing was indecisive；
she remained in her attitude； it did not flow out to easy；
confirmatory action。
I saw this quite clearly； and when we walked and talked together I
seemed always trying for animation in her and never finding it。 I
would state my ideas。 〃I know；〃 she would say； 〃I know。〃
I talked about myself and she listened wonderfully； but she made no
answering revelations。 I talked politics； and she remarked with her
blue eyes wide and earnest： 〃Every WORD you say seems so just。〃
I admired her appearance tremendously butI can only express it by
saying I didn't want to touch her。 Her fair hair was always
delectably done。 It flowed beautifully over her pretty small ears；
and she would tie its fair coilings with fillets of black or blue
velvet that carried pretty buckles of silver and paste。 The light；
the faint down on her brow and cheek was delightful。 And it was
clear to me that I made her happy。
My sense of her deficiencies didn't stand in the way of my falling
at last very deeply in love with her。 Her very shortcomings seemed
to offer me something。 。 。 。
She stood in my mind for goodnessand for things from which it
seemed to me my hold was slipping。
She seemed to promise a way of escape from the deepening opposition
in me between physical passions and the constructive career； the
career of wide aims and human service； upon which I had embarked。
All the time that I was seeing her as a beautiful； fragile； rather
ineffective girl； I was also seeing her just as consciously as a
shining slender figure； a radiant reconciliation； coming into my
darkling disorders of lust and impulse。 I could understand clearly
that she was incapable of the most necessary subtleties of political
thought； and yet I could contemplate praying to her and putting all
the intricate troubles of my life at her feet。
Before the reappearance of Margaret in my world at all an unwonted
disgust with the consequences and quality of my passions had arisen
in my mind。 Among other things that moment with the Lettish girl
haunted me persistently。 I would see myself again and again sitting
amidst those sluttish surroundings； collar and tie in hand； while
her heavy German words grouped themselves to a slowly apprehended
meaning。 I would feel again with a fresh stab of remorse； that this
was not a flash of adventure； this was not seeing life in any
permissible sense； but a dip into tragedy； dishonour； hideous
degradation； and the pitiless cruelty of a world as yet uncontrolled
by any ordered will。
〃Good God！〃 I put it to myself； 〃that I should finish the work those
Cossacks had begun！ I who want order and justice before everything！
There's no way out of it； no decent excuse！ If I didn't think； I
ought to have thought！〃 。 。 。
How did I get to it？〃 。 。 。 I would ransack the phases of my
development from the first shy unveiling of a hidden wonder to the
last extremity as a man will go through muddled account books to
find some disorganising error。 。 。 。