the research magnificent-第20章

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ped。　　He　must　get　away；　he　must　get　free；　he　must　get　clean。　　In　the　extravagance　of　his　reaction　Benham　felt　that　he　could　endure　nothing　but　solitary　places　and　to　sleep　under　the　open　sky。　He　wanted　to　get　right　away　from　London　and　everybody　and　lie　in　the　quiet　darkness　and　stare　up　at　the　stars。　His　plans　grew　so　definite　that　presently　he　was　in　his　dressing…　gown　and　turning　out　the　maps　in　the　lower　drawer　of　his　study　bureau。　　He　would　go　down　into　Surrey　with　a　knapsack；　wander　along　the　North　Downs　until　the　Guildford　gap　was　reached；　strike　across　the　Weald　country　to　the　South　Downs　and　then　beat　eastward。　　The　very　thought　of　it　brought　a　coolness　to　his　mind。　　He　knew　that　over　those　southern　hills　one　could　be　as　lonely　as　in　the　wilderness　and　as　free　to　talk　to　God。　　And　there　he　would　settle　something。　　He　would　make　a　plan　for　his　life　and　end　this　torment。　When　Merkle　came　in　to　him　in　the　morning　he　was　fast　asleep。　The　familiar　curtain　rings　awakened　Benham。　　He　turned　his　head　over；　stared　for　a　moment　and　then　remembered。　〃Merkle；〃　he　said；　〃I　am　going　for　a　walking　tour。　　I　am　going　off　this　morning。　　Haven't　I　a　rucksack？〃　〃You　‘ave　a　sort　of　canvas　bag；　sir；　with　pockets　to　it；〃　said　Merkle。　　〃Will　you　be　needing　the　VERY　‘eavy　boots　with　‘obnails　Swiss；　I　fancy；　siror　your　ordinary　shooting　boots？〃　〃And　when　may　I　expect　you　back；　sir？〃　asked　Merkle　as　the　moment　for　departure　drew　near。　〃God　knows；〃　said　Benham；　〃I　don't。〃　〃Then　will　there　be　any　address　for　forwarding　letters；　sir？〃　Benham　hadn't　thought　of　that。　　For　a　moment　he　regarded　Merkle's　scrupulous　respect　with　a　transient　perplexity。　　〃I'll　let　you　know；　Merkle；〃　he　said。　　〃I'll　let　you　know。〃　For　some　days　at　least；　notes；　telephone　messages；　engagements；　all　this　fuss　and　clamour　about　nothing；　should　clamour　for　him　in　vain。　。　。　。

11

〃But　how　closely；〃　cried　White；　in　a　mood　of　cultivated　enthusiasm；　〃how　closely　must　all　the　poor　little　stories　that　we　tell　to…day　follow　in　the　footsteps　of　the　Great　Exemplars！　　A　little　while　ago　and　the　springtime　freshness　of　Tobias　irradiated　the　page。　　Now　see！　it　is　Christian。〃　Indeed　it　looked　extremely　like　Christian　as　Benham　went　up　across　the　springy　turf　from　Epsom　Downs　station　towards　the　crest　of　the　hill。　　Was　he　not　also　fleeing　in　the　morning　sunlight　from　the　City　of　Destruction？　　Was　he　not　also　seeking　that　better　city　whose　name　is　Peace？　　And　there　was　a　bundle　on　his　back。　　It　was　the　bundle；　I　think；　that　seized　most　firmly　upon　the　too　literary　imagination　of　White。　But　the　analogy　of　the　bundle　was　a　superficial　one。　　Benham　had　not　the　slightest　desire　to　lose　it　from　his　shoulders。　　It　would　have　inconvenienced　him　very　greatly　if　he　had　done　so。　　It　did　not　contain　his　sins。　　Our　sins　nowadays　are　not　so　easily　separated。　It　contained　a　light；　warm　cape…coat　he　had　bought　in　Switzerland　and　which　he　intended　to　wrap　about　him　when　he　slept　under　the　stars；　and　in　addition　Merkle　had　packed　it　with　his　silk　pyjamas；　an　extra　pair　of　stockings；　tooth…brush；　brush　and　comb；　a　safety　razor。　。　。　。　　And　there　were　several　sheets　of　the　Ordnance　map。

12

The　urgency　of　getting　away　from　something　dominated　Benham　to　the　exclusion　of　any　thought　of　what　he　might　be　getting　to。　　That　muddle　of　his　London　life　had　to　be　left　behind。　　First；　escape。　。　。　。　Over　the　downs　great　numbers　of　larks　were　singing。　　It　was　warm　April　that　year　and　early。　　All　the　cloud　stuff　in　the　sky　was　gathered　into　great　towering　slow…sailing　masses；　and　the　rest　was　blue　of　the　intensest。　　The　air　was　so　clean　that　Benham　felt　it　clean　in　the　substance　of　his　body。　　The　chestnuts　down　the　hill　to　the　right　were　flowering；　the　beeches　were　luminously　green；　and　the　oaks　in　the　valley　foaming　gold。　　And　sometimes　it　was　one　lark　filled　his　ears；　and　sometimes　he　seemed　to　be　hearing　all　the　larks　for　miles　about　him。　　Presently　over　the　crest　he　would　be　out　of　sight　of　the　grand　stand　and　the　men　exercising　horses；　and　that　brace　of　red…jacketed　golfers。　。　。　。　What　was　he　to　do？　For　a　time　he　could　think　of　nothing　to　do　except　to　keep　up　and　out　of　the　valley。　　His　whole　being　seemed　to　have　come　to　his　surfaces　to　look　out　at　the　budding　of　the　year　and　hear　the　noise　of　the　birds。　　And　then　he　got　into　a　long　road　from　which　he　had　to　escape；　and　trespassing　southward　through　plantations　he　reached　the　steep　edge　of　the　hills　and　sat　down　over　above　a　great　chalk　pit　somewhere　near　Dorking　and　surveyed　all　the　tumbled　wooded　spaces　of　the　Weald。　。　。　。　　It　is　after　all　not　so　great　a　country　this　Sussex；　nor　so　hilly；　from　deepest　valley　to　highest　crest　is　not　six　hundred　feet；　yet　what　a　greatness　of　effect　it　can　achieve！　There　is　something　in　those　downland　views　which；　like　sea　views；　lifts　a　mind　out　to　the　skies。　　All　England　it　seemed　was　there　to　Benham's　vision；　and　the　purpose　of　the　English；　and　his　own　purpose　in　the　world。　　For　a　long　time　he　surveyed　the　large　delicacy　of　the　detail　before　him；　the　crests；　the　tree…protected　houses；　the　fields　and　farmsteads；　the　distant　gleams　of　water。　　And　then　he　became　interested　in　the　men　who　were　working　in　the　chalk　pit　down　below。　They　at　any　rate　were　not　troubled　with　the　problem　of　what　to　do　with　their　lives。

13

Benham　found　his　mind　was　now　running　clear；　and　so　abundantly　that　he　could　scarcely；　he　felt；　keep　pace　with　it。　　As　he　thought　his　flow　of　ideas　was　tinged　with　a　fear　that　he　might　forget　what　he　was　thinking。　　In　an　instant；　for　the　first　time　in　his　mental　existence；　he　could　have　imagined　he　had　discovered　Labour　and　seen　it　plain。　　A　little　while　ago　and　he　had　seemed　a　lonely　man　among　the　hills；　but　indeed　he　was　not　lonely；　these　men　had　been　with　him　all　the　time；　and　he　was　free　to　wander；　to　sit　here；　to　think　and　choose　simply　because　those　men　down　there　were　not　free。　　HE　WAS　SPENDING　THEIR　LEISURE。　。　。　。　　Not　once　but　many　times　with　Prothero　had　he　used　the　phrase　RICHESSE　OBLIGE。　　Now　he　remembered　it。　　He　began　to　remember　a　mass　of　ideas　that　had　been　overlaid　and　stifling　within　him。　　This　was　what　Merkle　and　the　club　servants　and　the　entertainments　and　engagements　and　his　mother　and　the　artistic　touts　and　the　theatrical　touts　and　the　hunting　and　the　elaboration　of　games　andMrs。　Skelmersdale　and　all　that　had　clustered　thickly　round　him　in　London　had　been　hiding　from　him。　　Those　men　below　there　had　not　been　trusted　to　choose　their　work；　they　had　been　given　it。　And　he　had　been　trusted。　。　。　。　And　now　to　grapple　with　it！　　Now　to　get　it　clear！　　What　work　was　he　going　to　do？　　That　settled；　he　would　deal　with　his　distractions　readily　enough。　　Until　that　was　settled　he　was　lax　and　exposed　to　every　passing　breeze　of　invitation。　〃What　work　am　I　going　to　do？　　What　work　am　I　going　to　do？〃　　He　repeated　it。　It　is　the　only　question　for　the　aristocrat。　　What　amusement？　　That　for　a　footman　on　holiday。　　That　for　a　silly　child；　for　any　creature　that　is　kept　or　led　or　driven。　　That　perhaps　for　a　tired　invalid；　for　a　toiler　worked　to　a　rag。　　But　able…bodied　amusement！　　The　arms　of　Mrs。　Skelmersdale　were　no　worse　than　the　solemn　aimlessness　of　hunting；　and　an　evening　of　dalliance　not　an　atom　more　reprehensible　than　an　evening　of　chatter。　　It　was　the　waste　of　him　that　made　the　sin。　　His　life　in　London　had　been　of　a　piece　together。　　It　was　well　that　his　intrigue　had　set　a　light　on　it；　put　a　point　to　it；　given　him　this　saving　crisis　of　the　nerves。　　That；　indeed；　is　the　chief　superiority　of　idle　love…making　over　other　more　prevalent　forms　of　idleness　and　self…indulgence；　it　does　at　least　bear　its　proper　label。　　It　is　reprehensible。　　It　brings　your　careless　honour　to　the　challenge　of　concealment　and　shabby　evasions　and　lies。　。　。　。　But　in　this　pellucid　air　things　took　their　proper　proportions　again。　And　now　what　was　he　to　do？　〃Politics；〃　he　said　aloud　to　the　turf　and　the　sky。　Is　there　any　other　work　for　an　aristocratic　man？　。　。　。　　Science？　One　could　admit　science　in　that　larger　sense　that　sweeps　in　History；　or　Philosophy。　　Beyond　that　whatever　work　there　is　is　work　for　which　men　are　paid。　　Art？　　Art　is　nothing　aristocratic　except　when　it　is　a　means　of　scientific　or　philosophical　expression。　　Art　that　does　not　argue　nor　demonstrate　nor　discover　is　merely　the　craftsman's　impudence。　He　pulled　up　at　this　and　reflected　for　a　time　with　some　distinguished　instances　in　his　mind。　　They　were　so　distinguished；　so　dignified；　they　took　their　various　arts　with　so　admirable　a　gravity　that　the　soul　of　this　young　man　recoiled　from　the　verdicts　to　which　his　reasoning　drove　him。　　〃It's　not　for　me　to　judge　them；〃　he　decided；　〃except　in　relation　to　myself。　　For　them　there　may　be　tremendous　significances　in　Art。　　But　if　these　do　not　appear　to　me；　then　so　far　as　I　am　concerned　they　do　not　exist　for　me。　　They　are　not　in　my　world。　　So　far　as　they　attempt　to　invade　me　and　control　my　attitudes　or　my　outlook；　or　to　judge　me　in　any　way；　there　is　no　question　of　their　impudence。　　Impudence　is　the　word　for　it。　　My　world　is　real。　　I　want　to　be　really　aristocratic；　really　brave；　really　paying　for　the　privilege　of　not　being　a　driven　worker。　　The　things　the　artist　makes　are　like　the　things　my　private　dream…artist　makes；　relaxing；　distracting。　　What　can　Art　at　its　greatest　be；　pure　Art　that　is；　but　a　more　splendid；　more　permanent；　transmissible　reverie！　　The　very　essence　of　what　I　am　after　is　NOT　to　be　an　artist。　。　。　。〃　After　a　large　and　serious　movement　through　his　mind　he　came　back　to　Science；　Philosophy　or　Politics　as　the　sole　three　justifications　for　the　usurpation　of　leisure。　So　far　as　devotion　to　science　went；　he　knew　he　had　no　specific　aptitude　for　any　departmentalized　subject；　and　equally　he　felt　no　natural　call　to　philosophy。　　He　was　left　with　politics。　。　。　。　〃Or　else；　why　shouldn't　I　go　down　there　and　pick　up　a　shovel　and　set　to　work？　　To　make　leisure　for　my　betters。　。　。　。〃　And　now　it　was　that　he　could　take　up　the　real　trouble　that　more　than　anything　else　had　been　keeping　him　ineffective　and　the　prey　of　every　chance　demand　and　temptation　during　the　last　ten　months。　　He　had　not　been　able　to　get　himself　into　politics；　and　the　reason　why　he　had　not　been　able　to　do　so　was　that　he　could　not　induce　himself　to　fit　in。　　Statecraft　was　a　remote　and　faded　thing　in　the　political　life　of　the　time；　politics　was　a　choice　of　two　sides　in　a　game；　and　either　side　he　found　equally　unattractive。　　Since　he　had　come　down　from　Cambridge　the　Tariff　Reform　people　had　gone　far　to　capture　the　Conservative　party。　　There　was　little　chance　of　a　candidature　for　him　without　an　adhesion　to　that。　　And　he　could　find　nothing　he　could　imagine　himself　working　for　in　the　declarations　of　the　Tariff　Reform　people。　　He　distrusted　them；　he　disliked　them。　　They　took　all　the　light　and　pride　out　of　imperialism；　they　reduced　it　to　a　shabby　conspiracy　of　the　British　and　their　colonies　against　foreign　industrialism。　　They　were　violent　for　armaments　and　hostile　to　education。　　They　could　give　him　no　assurance　of　any　scheme　of　growth　and　unification；　and　no　guarantees　against　the　manifest　dangers　of　economic　disturbance　and　political　corruption　a　tariff　involves。　Imperialism　without　noble　imaginations；　it　seemed　to　him；　was　simply　nationalism　with　megalomania。　　It　was　swaggering；　it　was　greed；　it　was　German；