the new machiavelli-第15章

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column　by　Topham　in　faultless　stereotyped　English　in　depreciation　of　

some　fancied　evil　called　Utilitarian　Studies　and　ending　with　that　

noble　old　quotation：





〃To　the　glory　that　was　Greece　and　the　grandeur　that　was　Rome。〃





And　Flack　crowded　us　out　of　number　two　with　a　bright　little　paper　on　

the　〃Humours　of　Cricket；〃　and　the　Head　himself　was　profusely　

thoughtful　all　over　the　editorial　under　the　heading　of　〃The　School　

Chapel；　and　How　it　Seems　to　an　Old　Boy。〃



Britten　and　I　found　it　difficult　to　express　to　each　other　with　any　

grace　or　precision　what　we　felt　about　that　magazine。







CHAPTER　THE　FOURTH



ADOLESCENCE





1



I　find　it　very　difficult　to　trace　how　form　was　added　to　form　and　

interpretation　followed　interpretation　in　my　ever…spreading；　ever…

deepening；　ever…multiplying　and　enriching　vision　of　this　world　into　

which　I　had　been　born。　　Every　day　added　its　impressions；　its　hints；　

its　subtle　explications　to　the　growing　understanding。　　Day　after　day　

the　living　interlacing　threads　of　a　mind　weave　together。　　Every　

morning　now　for　three　weeks　and　more　（for　to…day　is　Thursday　and　I　

started　on　a　Tuesday）　I　have　been　trying　to　convey　some　idea　of　the　

factors　and　early　influences　by　which　my　particular　scrap　of　

subjective　tapestry　was　shaped；　to　show　the　child　playing　on　the　

nursery　floor；　the　son　perplexed　by　his　mother；　gazing　aghast　at　his　

dead　father；　exploring　interminable　suburbs；　touched　by　first　

intimations　of　the　sexual　mystery；　coming　in　with　a　sort　of　confused　

avidity　towards　the　centres　of　the　life　of　London。　　It　is　only　by　

such　an　effort　to　write　it　down　that　one　realises　how　marvellously　

crowded；　how　marvellously　analytical　and　synthetic　those　ears　must　

be。　　One　begins　with　the　little　child　to　whom　the　sky　is　a　roof　of　

blue；　the　world　a　screen　of　opaque　and　disconnected　facts；　the　home　

a　thing　eternal；　and　〃being　good〃　just　simple　obedience　to　

unquestioned　authority；　and　one　comes　at　last　to　the　vast　world　of　

one's　adult　perception；　pierced　deep　by　flaring　searchlights　of　

partial　understanding；　here　masked　by　mists；　here　refracted　and　

distorted　through　half　translucent　veils；　here　showing　broad　

prospects　and　limitless　vistas　and　here　impenetrably　dark。



I　recall　phases　of　deep　speculation；　doubts　and　even　prayers　by　

night；　and　strange　occasions　when　by　a　sort　of　hypnotic　

contemplation　of　nothingness　I　sought　to　pierce　the　web　of　

appearances　about　me。　　It　is　hard　to　measure　these　things　in　

receding　perspective；　and　now　I　cannot　trace；　so　closely　has　mood　

succeeded　and　overlaid　and　obliterated　mood；　the　phases　by　which　an　

utter　horror　of　death　was　replaced　by　the　growing　realisation　of　its　

necessity　and　dignity。　　Difficulty　of　the　imagination　with　infinite　

space；　infinite　time；　entangled　my　mind；　and　moral　distress　for　the　

pain　and　suffering　of　bygone　ages　that　made　all　thought　of　

reformation　in　the　future　seem　but　the　grimmest　irony　upon　now　

irreparable　wrongs。　　Many　an　intricate　perplexity　of　these　

broadening　years　did　not　so　much　get　settled　as　cease　to　matter。　　

Life　crowded　me　away　from　it。



I　have　confessed　myself　a　temerarious　theologian；　and　in　that　

passage　from　boyhood　to　manhood　I　ranged　widely　in　my　search　for　

some　permanently　satisfying　Truth。　　That；　too；　ceased　after　a　time　

to　be　urgently　interesting。　　I　came　at　last　into　a　phase　that　

endures　to　this　day；　of　absolute　tranquillity；　of　absolute　

confidence　in　whatever　that　Incomprehensible　Comprehensive　which　

must　needs　be　the　substratum　of　all　things；　may　be。　　Feeling　OF　IT；　

feeling　BY　IT；　I　cannot　feel　afraid　of　it。　　I　think　I　had　got　quite　

clearly　and　finally　to　that　adjustment　long　before　my　Cambridge　days　

were　done。　　I　am　sure　that　the　evil　in　life　is　transitory　and　finite　

like　an　accident　or　distress　in　the　nursery；　that　God　is　my　Father　

and　that　I　may　trust　Him；　even　though　life　hurts　so　that　one　must　

needs　cry　out　at　it；　even　though　it　shows　no　consequence　but　

failure；　no　promise　but　pain。　。　。　。



But　while　I　was　fearless　of　theology　I　must　confess　it　was　

comparatively　late　before　I　faced　and　dared　to　probe　the　secrecies　

of　sex。　　I　was　afraid　of　sex。　　I　had　an　instinctive　perception　that　

it　would　be　a　large　and　difficult　thing　in　my　life；　but　my　early　

training　was　all　in　the　direction　of　regarding　it　as　an　irrelevant　

thing；　as　something　disconnected　from　all　the　broad　significances　of　

life；　as　hostile　and　disgraceful　in　its　quality。　　The　world　was　

never　so　emasculated　in　thought；　I　suppose；　as　it　was　in　the　

Victorian　time。　。　。　。



I　was　afraid　to　think　either　of　sex　or　（what　I　have　always　found　

inseparable　from　a　kind　of　sexual　emotion）　beauty。　　Even　as　a　boy　I　

knew　the　thing　as　a　haunting　and　alluring　mystery　that　I　tried　to　

keep　away　from。　　Its　dim　presence　obsessed　me　none　the　less　for　

all　the　extravagant　decency；　the　stimulating　silences　of　my　

upbringing。　。　。　。



The　plaster　Venuses　and　Apollos　that　used　to　adorn　the　vast　aisle　

and　huge　grey　terraces　of　the　Crystal　Palace　were　the　first　

intimations　of　the　beauty　of　the　body　that　ever　came　into　my　life。　　

As　I　write　of　it　I　feel　again　the　shameful　attraction　of　those　

gracious　forms。　　I　used　to　look　at　them　not　simply；　but　curiously　

and　askance。　　Once　at　least　in　my　later　days　at　Penge；　I　spent　a　

shilling　in　admission　chiefly　for　the　sake　of　them。　。　。　。



The　strangest　thing　of　all　my　odd　and　solitary　upbringing　seems　to　

me　now　that　swathing　up　of　all　the　splendours　of　the　flesh；　that　

strange　combination　of　fanatical　terrorism　and　shyness　that　fenced　

me　about　with　prohibitions。　　It　caused　me　to　grow　up；　I　will　not　say　

blankly　ignorant；　but　with　an　ignorance　blurred　and　dishonoured　by　

shame；　by　enigmatical　warnings；　by　cultivated　aversions；　an　

ignorance　in　which　a　fascinated　curiosity　and　desire　struggled　like　

a　thing　in　a　net。　　I　knew　so　little　and　I　felt　so　much。　　There　was　

indeed　no　Aphrodite　at　all　in　my　youthful　Pantheon；　but　instead　

there　was　a　mysterious　and　minatory　gap。　　I　have　told　how　at　last　a　

new　Venus　was　born　in　my　imagination　out　of　gas　lamps　and　the　

twilight；　a　Venus　with　a　cockney　accent　and　dark　eyes　shining　out　of　

the　dusk；　a　Venus　who　was　a　warm；　passion…stirring　atmosphere　rather　

than　incarnate　in　a　body。　　And　I　have　told；　too；　how　I　bought　a　

picture。



All　this　was　a　thing　apart　from　the　rest　of　my　life；　a　locked　

avoided　chamber。　。　。　。



It　was　not　until　my　last　year　at　Trinity　that　I　really　broke　down　

the　barriers　of　this　unwholesome　silence　and　brought　my　secret　

broodings　to　the　light　of　day。　　Then　a　little　set　of　us　plunged　

suddenly　into　what　we　called　at　first　sociological　discussion。　　I　

can　still　recall　even　the　physical　feeling　of　those　first　tentative　

talks。　　I　remember　them　mostly　as　occurring　in　the　rooms　of　Ted　

Hatherleigh；　who　kept　at　the　corner　by　the　Trinity　great　gate；　but　

we　also　used　to　talk　a　good　deal　at　a　man's　in　King's；　a　man　named；　

if　I　remember　rightly；　Redmayne。　　The　atmosphere　of　Hatherleigh's　

rooms　was　a　haze　of　tobacco　smoke　against　a　background　brown　and　

deep。　　He　professed　himself　a　socialist　with　anarchistic　leanings

he　had　suffered　the　martyrdom　of　ducking　for　itand　a　huge　French　

May…day　poster　displaying　a　splendid　proletarian　in　red　and　black　on　

a　barricade　against　a　flaring　orange　sky；　dominated　his　decorations。　　

Hatherleigh　affected　a　fine　untidiness；　and　all　the　place；　even　the　

floor；　was　littered　with　books；　for　the　most　part　open　and　face　

downward；　deeper　darknesses　were　supplied　by　a　discarded　gown　and　

our　caps；　all　conscientiously　battered；　Hatherleigh's　flopped　like　

an　elephant's　ear　and　inserted　quill　pens　supported　the　corners　of　

mine；　the　highlights　of　the　picture　came　chiefly　as　reflections　from　

his　chequered　blue　mugs　full　of　audit　ale。　　We　sat　on　oak　chairs；　

except　the　four　or　five　who　crowded　on　a　capacious　settle；　we　drank　

a　lot　of　beer　and　were　often　fuddled；　and　occasionally　quite　drunk；　

and　we　all　smoked　reckless…looking　pipes；there　was　a　transient　

fashion　among　us　for　corn　cobs　for　which　Mark　Twain；　I　think；　was　

responsible。　　Our　little　excesses　with　liquor　were　due　far　more　to　

conscience　than　appetite；　indicated　chiefly　a　resolve　to　break　away　

from　restraints　that　we　suspected　were　keeping　us　off　the　

instructive　knife…edges　of　life。　　Hatherleigh　was　a　good　Englishman　

of　the　premature　type　with　a　red　face；　a　lot　of　hair；　a　deep　voice　

and　an　explosive　plunging　manner；　and　it　was　he　who　said　one　

eveningHeaven　knows　how　we　got　to　it〃　Look　here；　you　know；　it's　

all　Rot；　this　Shutting　Up　about　Women。　　We　OUGHT　to　talk　about　them。　　

What　are　we　going　to　do　about　them？　　It's　got　to　come。　　We're　all　

festering　inside　about　it。　　Let's　out　with　it。　　There's　too　much　

Decency　altogether　about　this　Infernal　University！〃



We　rose　to　his　challenge　a　little　awkwardly　and　our　first　talk　was　

clumsy；　there　were　flushed　faces　and　red　ears；　and　I　remember　

Hatherleigh　broke　out　into　a　monologue　on　decency。　　〃Modesty　and　

Decency；〃　said　Hatherleigh；　〃are　Oriental　vices。　　The　Jews　brought　

them　to　Europe。　　They're　Semitic；　just　like　our　monasticism　here　and　

the　seclusion　of　women　and　mutilating　the　dead　on　a　battlefield。　　

And　all　that　sort　of　thing。〃



Hatherleigh's　mind　progressed　by　huge　leaps；　leaps　that　were　usually　

wildly　inaccurate；　and　for　a　time　we　engaged　hotly　upon　the　topic　of　

those　alleged　mutilations　and　the　Semitic　responsibility　for　

decency。　　Hatherleigh　tried　hard　to　saddle　the　Semitic　race　with　the　

less　elegant　war　customs　of　the　Soudan　and　the　northwest　frontier　of　

India；　and　quoted　Doughty；　at　that　time　a　little…known　author；　and　

Cunninghame　Graham　to　show　that　the　Arab　was　worse　than　a　county…

town　spinster　in　his　regard　for　respectability。　　But　his　case　was　

too　preposterous；　and　Esmeer；　with　his　shrill　penetrating　voice　and　

his　way　of　pointing　with　all　four　long　fingers　flat　together；　

carried　the　point　against　him。　　He　quoted　Cato　and　Roman　law　and　the　

monasteries　of　Thibet。



〃Well；　anyway；〃　said　Hatherleigh；　escaping　from　our　hands　like　an　

intellectual　frog；　〃Semitic　or　not；　I've　got　no　use　for　decency。〃



We　argued　points　and　Hatherleigh　professed　an　unusually　balanced　and　

tolerating　attitude。　　〃I　don't　mind　a　certain　refinement　and　

dignity；〃　he　admitted　generously。　　〃What　I　object　to　is　this　

spreading　out　of　decency　until　it　darkens　the　whole　sky；　until　it　

makes　a　man's　father　afraid　to　speak　of　the　most　important　things；　

until　it　makes　a　man　afraid　to　look　a　frank　book　in　the　face　or　

thinkeven　think！　until　it　leads　to　our　coming　toto　the　business　

at　last　with　nothing　but　a　few　prohibitions；　a　few　hints；　a　lot　of　

dirty　jokes　and；　and　〃he　waved　a　hand　and　seemed　to　seek　and　catch　

his　image　in　the　air〃　oh；　a　confounded　buttered　slide　of　

sentiment；