the new machiavelli-第8章

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borrowed　one　from　the　plumber　who　mixed　his　paintand　he　had　in　his　

own　happy…go…lucky　way　contrived　a　combination　of　the　garden　fruit　

ladder　with　a　battered　kitchen　table　that　served　all　sorts　of　odd　

purposes　in　an　outhouse。　　He　had　stayed　up　this　arrangement　by　means　

of　the　garden　roller；　and　the　roller　had　at　the　critical　moment

rolled。　　He　was　lying　close　by　the　garden　door　with　his　head　queerly　

bent　back　against　a　broken　and　twisted　rainwater　pipe；　an　expression　

of　pacific　contentment　on　his　face；　a　bamboo　curtain　rod　with　a　

tableknife　tied　to　end　of　it；　still　gripped　in　his　hand。　　We　had　

been　rapping　for　some　time　at　the　front　door　unable　to　make　him　

hear；　and　then　we　came　round　by　the　door　in　the　side　trellis　into　

the　garden　and　so　discovered　him。



〃Arthur！〃　　I　remember　my　mother　crying　with　the　strangest　break　in　

her　voice；　〃What　are　you　doing　there？　　Arthur！　　AndSUNDAY！〃



I　was　coming　behind　her；　musing　remotely；　when　the　quality　of　her　

voice　roused　me。　　She　stood　as　if　she　could　not　go　near　him。　　He　had　

always　puzzled　her　so；　he　and　his　ways；　and　this　seemed　only　another　

enigma。　　Then　the　truth　dawned　on　her；　she　shrieked　as　if　afraid　of　

him；　ran　a　dozen　steps　back　towards　the　trellis　door　and　stopped　and　

clasped　her　ineffectual　gloved　hands；　leaving　me　staring　blankly；　

too　astonished　for　feeling；　at　the　carelessly　flung　limbs。



The　same　idea　came　to　me　also。　　I　ran　to　her。　　〃Mother！〃　I　cried；　

pale　to　the　depths　of　my　spirit；　〃IS　HE　DEAD？〃



I　had　been　thinking　two　minutes　before　of　the　cold　fruit　pie　that　

glorified　our　Sunday　dinner…table；　and　how　I　might　perhaps　get　into　

the　tree　at　the　end　of　the　garden　to　read　in　the　afternoon。　　Now　an　

immense　fact　had　come　down　like　a　curtain　and　blotted　out　all　my　

childish　world。　　My　father　was　lying　dead　before　my　eyes。　。　。　。　　　I　

perceived　that　my　mother　was　helpless　and　that　things　must　he　done。



〃Mother！〃　I　said；　〃we　must　get　Doctor　Beaseley；and　carry　him　

indoors。〃







CHAPTER　THE　THIRD



SCHOLASTIC





1



My　formal　education　began　in　a　small　preparatory　school　in　

Bromstead。　　I　went　there　as　a　day　boy。　　The　charge　for　my　

instruction　was　mainly　set　off　by　the　periodic　visits　of　my　father　

with　a　large　bag　of　battered　fossils　to　lecture　to　us　upon　geology。　　

I　was　one　of　those　fortunate　youngsters　who　take　readily　to　school　

work；　I　had　a　good　memory；　versatile　interests　and　a　considerable　

appetite　for　commendation；　and　when　I　was　barely　twelve　I　got　a　

scholarship　at　the　City　Merchants　School　and　was　entrusted　with　a　

scholar's　railway　season　ticket　to　Victoria。　　After　my　father's　

death　a　large　and　very　animated　and　solidly　built　uncle　in　tweeds　

from　Staffordshire；　Uncle　Minter；　my　mother's　sister's　husband；　with　

a　remarkable　accent　and　remarkable　vowel　sounds；　who　had　plunged　

into　the　Bromstead　home　once　or　twice　for　the　night　but　who　was　

otherwise　unknown　to　me；　came　on　the　scene；　sold　off　the　three　gaunt　

houses　with　the　utmost　gusto；　invested　the　proceeds　and　my　father's　

life　insurance　money；　and　got　us　into　a　small　villa　at　Penge　within　

sight　of　that　immense　facade　of　glass　and　iron；　the　Crystal　Palace。　　

Then　he　retired　in　a　mood　of　good…natured　contempt　to　his　native　

habitat　again。　　We　stayed　at　Penge　until　my　mother's　death。



School　became　a　large　part　of　the　world　to　me；　absorbing　my　time　and　

interest；　and　I　never　acquired　that　detailed　and　intimate　knowledge　

of　Penge　and　the　hilly　villadom　round　about；　that　I　have　of　the　town　

and　outskirts　of　Bromstead。



It　was　a　district　of　very　much　the　same　character；　but　it　was　more　

completely　urbanised　and　nearer　to　the　centre　of　things；　there　were　

the　same　unfinished　roads；　the　same　occasional　disconcerted　hedges　

and　trees；　the　same　butcher's　horse　grazing　under　a　builder's　

notice…board；　the　same　incidental　lapses　into　slum。　　The　Crystal　

Palace　grounds　cut　off　a　large　part　of　my　walking　radius　to　the　west　

with　impassable　fences　and　forbiddingly　expensive　turnstiles；　but　it　

added　to　the　ordinary　spectacle　of　meteorology　a　great　variety　of　

gratuitous　fireworks　which　banged　and　flared　away　of　a　night　after　

supper　and　drew　me　abroad　to　see　them　better。　　Such　walks　as　I　took；　

to　Croydon；　Wembledon；　West　Wickham　and　Greenwich；　impressed　upon　me　

the　interminable　extent　of　London's　residential　suburbs；　mile　after　

mile　one　went；　between　houses；　villas；　rows　of　cottages；　streets　of　

shops；　under　railway　arches；　over　railway　bridges。　　I　have　forgotten　

the　detailed　local　characteristicsif　there　were　anyof　much　of　

that　region　altogether。　　I　was　only　there　two　years；　and　half　my　

perambulations　occurred　at　dusk　or　after　dark。　　But　with　Penge　I　

associate　my　first　realisations　of　the　wonder　and　beauty　of　twilight　

and　night；　the　effect　of　dark　walls　reflecting　lamplight；　and　the　

mystery　of　blue　haze…veiled　hillsides　of　houses；　the　glare　of　shops　

by　night；　the　glowing　steam　and　streaming　sparks　of　railway　trains　

and　railway　signals　lit　up　in　the　darkness。　　My　first　rambles　in　the　

evening　occurred　at　PengeI　was　becoming　a　big　and　independent…

spirited　boyand　I　began　my　experience　of　smoking　during　these　

twilight　prowls　with　the　threepenny　packets　of　American　cigarettes　

then　just　appearing　in　the　world。



My　life　centred　upon　the　City　Merchants　School。　　Usually　I　caught　

the　eight…eighteen　for　Victoria；　I　had　a　midday　meal　and　tea；　four　

nights　a　week　I　stayed　for　preparation；　and　often　I　was　not　back　

home　again　until　within　an　hour　of　my　bedtime。　　I　spent　my　half　

holidays　at　school　in　order　to　play　cricket　and　football。　　This；　and　

a　pretty　voracious　appetite　for　miscellaneous　reading　which　was　

fostered　by　the　Penge　Middleton　Library；　did　not　leave　me　much　

leisure　for　local　topography。　　On　Sundays　also　I　sang　in　the　choir　

at　St。　Martin's　Church；　and　my　mother　did　not　like　me　to　walk　out　

alone　on　the　Sabbath　afternoon；　she　herself　slumbered；　so　that　I　

wrote　or　read　at　home。　　I　must　confess　I　was　at　home　as　little　as　I　

could　contrive。



Home；　after　my　father's　death；　had　become　a　very　quiet　and　

uneventful　place　indeed。　　My　mother　had　either　an　unimaginative　

temperament　or　her　mind　was　greatly　occupied　with　private　religious　

solicitudes；　and　I　remember　her　talking　to　me　but　little；　and　that　

usually　upon　topics　I　was　anxious　to　evade。　　I　had　developed　my　own　

view　about　low…Church　theology　long　before　my　father's　death；　and　my　

meditation　upon　that　event　had　finished　my　secret　estrangement　from　

my　mother's　faith。　　My　reason　would　not　permit　even　a　remote　chance　

of　his　being　in　hell；　he　was　so　manifestly　not　evil；　and　this　

religion　would　not　permit　him　a　remote　chance　of　being　out　yet。　　

When　I　was　a　little　boy　my　mother　had　taught　me　to　read　and　write　

and　pray　and　had　done　many　things　for　me；　indeed　she　persisted　in　

washing　me　and　even　in　making　my　clothes　until　I　rebelled　against　

these　things　as　indignities。　　But　our　minds　parted　very　soon。　　She　

never　began　to　understand　the　mental　processes　of　my　play；　she　never　

interested　herself　in　my　school　life　and　work；　she　could　not　

understand　things　I　said；　and　she　came；　I　think；　quite　insensibly　to　

regard　me　with　something　of　the　same　hopeless　perplexity　she　had　

felt　towards　my　father。



Him　she　must　have　wedded　under　considerable　delusions。　　I　do　not　

think　he　deceived　her；　indeed；　nor　do　I　suspect　him　of　mercenariness　

in　their　union；　but　no　doubt　he　played　up　to　her　requirements　in　the　

half　ingenuous　way　that　was　and　still　is　the　quality　of　most　wooing；　

and　presented　himself　as　a　very　brisk　and　orthodox　young　man。　　I　

wonder　why　nearly　all　lovemaking　has　to　be　fraudulent。　　Afterwards　

he　must　have　disappointed　her　cruelly　by　letting　one　aspect　after　

another　of　his　careless；　sceptical；　experimental　temperament　appear。　　

Her　mind　was　fixed　and　definite；　she　embodied　all　that　confidence　in　

church　and　decorum　and　the　assurances　of　the　pulpit　which　was　

characteristic　of　the　large　mass　of　the　English　peoplefor　after　

all；　the　rather　low…Church　section　WAS　the　largest　single　massin　

early　Victorian　times。　　She　had　dreams；　I　suspect；　of　going　to　

church　with　him　side　by　side；　she　in　a　little　poke　bonnet　and　a　

large　flounced　crinoline；　all　mauve　and　magenta　and　starched　under　a　

little　lace…trimmed　parasol；　and　he　in　a　tall　silk　hat　and　peg…top　

trousers　and　a　roll…collar　coat；　and　looking　rather　like　the　Prince　

Consort；white　angels　almost　visibly　raining　benedictions　on　their　

amiable　progress。　　Perhaps　she　dreamt　gently　of　much…belaced　babies　

and　an　interestingly　pious　（but　not　too　dissenting　or　fanatical）　

little　girl　or　boy　or　so；　also　angel…haunted。　　And　I　think；　too；　she　

must　have　seen　herself　ruling　a　seemly　〃home　of　taste；〃　with　a　

vivarium　in　the　conservatory　that　opened　out　of　the　drawing…room；　or　

again；　making　preserves　in　the　kitchen。　　My　father's　science…

teaching；　his　diagrams　of　disembowelled　humanity；　his　pictures　of　

prehistoric　beasts　that　contradicted　the　Flood；　his　disposition　

towards　soft　shirts　and　loose　tweed　suits；　his　inability　to　use　a　

clothes　brush；　his　spasmodic　reading　fits　and　his　bulldog　pipes；　

must　have　jarred　cruelly　with　her　rather　unintelligent　

anticipations。　　His　wild　moments　of　violent　temper　when　he　would　

swear　and　smash　things；　absurd　almost　lovable　storms　that　passed　

like　summer　thunder；　must　have　been　starkly　dreadful　to　her。　　She　

was　constitutionally　inadaptable；　and　certainly　made　no　attempt　to　

understand　or　tolerate　these　outbreaks。　　She　tried　them　by　her　

standards；　and　by　her　standards　they　were　wrong。　　Her　standards　hid　

him　from　her。　　The　blazing　things　he　said　rankled　in　her　mind　

unforgettably。



As　I　remember　them　together　they　chafed　constantly。　　Her　attitude　to　

nearly　all　his　moods　and　all　his　enterprises　was　a　sceptical　

disapproval。　　She　treated　him　as　something　that　belonged　to　me　and　

not　to　her。　　〃YOUR　father；〃　she　used　to　call　him；　as　though　I　had　

got　him　for　her。



She　had　married　late　and　she　had；　I　think；　become　mentally　self…

subsisting　before　her　marriage。　　Even　in　those　Herne　Hill　days　I　

used　to　wonder　what　was　going　on　in　her　mind；　and　I　find　that　old　

speculative　curiosity　return　as　I　write　this。　　She　took　a　

considerable　interest　in　the　housework　that　our　generally　

servantless　condition　put　upon　hershe　used　to　have　a　charwoman　in　

two　or　three　times　a　weekbut　she　did　not　do　it　with　any　great　

skill。　　She　covered　most　of　our　furniture　with　flouncey　ill…fitting　

covers；　and　she　cooked　plainly　and　without　very　much　judgment。　　The　

Penge　house；　as　it　contained　nearly　all　our　Bromstead　things；　was　

crowded　with　furniture；　and　is　chiefly　associated　in　my　mind　with　

the　smell　of　turpentine；　a　condiment　she　used　very　freely　upon　the　

veneered　mahogany　pieces。　　My　mother　had　an　equal　dread　of　〃blacks〃　

by　day　and　the　〃night　ai