the new machiavelli-第33部分

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that　she　had　no　doubt　she　was　a　socialist。



〃And　wearing　a　gold　chain！〃　said　Gertrude；　〃And　drinking　out　of　

eggshell！　　I　like　that！〃



I　came　to　Margaret's　rescue。　　〃It　doesn't　follow　that　because　one's　

a　socialist　one　ought　to　dress　in　sackcloth　and　ashes。〃



The　initial　coloured　deeply；　and　having　secured　my　attention　by　

prodding　me　slightly　with　the　wrist　of　the　hand　that　held　his　

teacup；　cleared　his　throat　and　suggested　that　〃one　ought　to　be　

consistent。〃



I　perceived　we　were　embarked　upon　a　discussion　of　the　elements。　　We　

began　an　interesting　little　wrangle　one　of　those　crude　discussions　

of　general　ideas　that　are　dear　to　the　heart　of　youth。　　I　and　

Margaret　supported　one　another　as　socialists；　Gertrude　and　Sybil　and　

the　initial　maintained　an　anti…socialist　position；　the　curate　

attempted　a　cross…bench　position　with　an　air　of　intending　to　come　

down　upon　us　presently　with　a　casting　vote。　　He　reminded　us　of　a　

number　of　useful　principles　too　often　overlooked　in　argument；　that　

in　a　big　question　like　this　there　was　much　to　be　said　on　both　sides；　

that　if　every　one　did　his　or　her　duty　to　every　one　about　them　there　

would　be　no　difficulty　with　social　problems　at　all；　that　over　and　

above　all　enactments　we　needed　moral　changes　in　people　themselves。　　

My　cousin　Gertrude　was　a　difficult　controversialist　to　manage；　being　

unconscious　of　inconsistency　in　statement　and　absolutely　impervious　

to　reply。　　Her　standpoint　was　essentially　materialistic；　she　didn't　

see　why　she　shouldn't　have　a　good　time　because　other　people　didn't；　

they　would　have　a　good　time；　she　was　sure；　if　she　didn't。　　She　said　

that　if　we　did　give　up　everything　we　had　to　other　people；　they　

wouldn't　very　likely　know　what　to　do　with　it。　　She　asked　if　we　were　

so　fond　of　work…people；　why　we　didn't　go　and　live　among　them；　and　

expressed　the　inflexible　persuasion　that　if　we　HAD　socialism；　

everything　would　be　just　the　same　again　in　ten　years'　time。　　She　

also　threw　upon　us　the　imputation　of　ingratitude　for　a　beautiful　

world　by　saying　that　so　far　as　she　was　concerned　she　didn't　want　to　

upset　everything。　　She　was　contented　with　things　as　they　were；　thank　

you。



The　discussion　led　in　some　way　that　I　don't　in　the　least　recall　now；　

and　possibly　by　abrupt　transitions；　to　a　croquet　foursome　in　which　

Margaret　involved　the　curate　without　involving　herself；　and　then　

stood　beside　me　on　the　edge　of　the　lawn　while　the　others　played。　　We　

watched　silently　for　a　moment。



〃I　HATE　that　sort　of　view；〃　she　said　suddenly　in　a　confidential　

undertone；　with　her　delicate　pink　flush　returning。



〃It's　want　of　imagination；〃　I　said。



〃To　think　we　are　just　to　enjoy　ourselves；〃　she　went　on；　〃just　to　go　

on　dressing　and　playing　and　having　meals　and　spending　money！〃　　She　

seemed　to　be　referring　not　simply　to　my　cousins；　but　to　the　whole　

world　of　industry　and　property　about　us。　　〃But　what　is　one　to　do？〃　

she　asked。　　〃I　do　wish　I　had　not　had　to　come　down。　　It's　all　so　

pointless　here。　　There　seems　to　be　nothing　going　forward；　no　ideas；　

no　dreams。　　No　one　here　seems　to　feel　quite　what　I　feel；　the　sort　of　

need　there　is　for　MEANING　in　things。　　I　hate　things　without　

meaning。〃



〃Don't　you　dolocal　work？〃



〃I　suppose　I　shall。　　I　suppose　I　must　find　something。　　Do　you　think

if　one　were　to　attempt　some　sort　of　propaganda？〃



〃Could　you？〃　I　began　a　little　doubtfully。



〃I　suppose　I　couldn't；〃　she　answered；　after　a　thoughtful　moment。　　〃I　

suppose　it　would　come　to　nothing。　　And　yet　I　feel　there　is　so　much　

to　be　done　for　the　world；　so　much　one　ought　to　be　doing。　。　。　。　　I　

want　to　do　something　for　the　world。〃



I　can　see　her　now　as　she　stood　there　with　her　brows　nearly　frowning；　

her　blue　eyes　looking　before　her；　her　mouth　almost　petulant。　　〃One　

feels　that　there　are　so　many　things　going　onout　of　one's　reach；〃　

she　said。



I　went　back　in　the　motor…car　with　my　mind　full　of　her；　the　quality　

of　delicate　discontent；　the　suggestion　of　exile。　　Even　a　kind　of　

weakness　in　her　was　sympathetic。　　She　told　tremendously　against　her　

background。　　She　was；　I　say；　like　a　protesting　blue　flower　upon　a　

cinder　heap。　　It　is　curious；　too；　how　she　connects　and　mingles　with　

the　furious　quarrel　I　had　with　my　uncle　that　very　evening。　　That　

came　absurdly。　　Indirectly　Margaret　was　responsible。　　My　mind　was　

running　on　ideas　she　had　revived　and　questions　she　had　set　

clamouring；　and　quite　inadvertently　in　my　attempt　to　find　solutions　

I　talked　so　as　to　outrage　his　profoundest　feelings。　。　。　。







7





What　a　preposterous　shindy　that　was！



I　sat　with　him　in　the　smoking…room；　propounding　what　I　considered　to　

be　the　most　indisputable　and　non…contentious　propositions　

conceivableuntil；　to　my　infinite　amazement；　he　exploded　and　called　

me　a　〃damned　young　puppy。〃



It　was　seismic。



〃Tremendously　interesting　time；〃　I　said；　〃just　in　the　beginning　of　

making　a　civilisation。〃



〃Ah！〃　he　said；　with　an　averted　face；　and　nodded；　leaning　forward　

over　his　cigar。



I　had　not　the　remotest　thought　of　annoying　him。



〃Monstrous　muddle　of　things　we　have　got；〃　I　said；　〃jumbled　streets；　

ugly　population；　ugly　factories〃



〃You'd　do　a　sight　better　if　you　had　to　do　with　it；〃　said　my　uncle；　

regarding　me　askance。



〃Not　me。　　But　a　world　that　had　a　collective　plan　and　knew　where　it　

meant　to　be　going　would　do　a　sight　better；　anyhow。　　We're　all　

swimming　in　a　flood　of　ill…calculated　chances〃



〃You'll　be　making　out　I　organised　that　business　down　thereby　

chancenext；〃　said　my　uncle；　his　voice　thick　with　challenge。



I　went　on　as　though　I　was　back　in　Trinity。



〃There's　a　lot　of　chance　in　the　making　of　all　great　businesses；〃　I　

said。



My　uncle　remarked　that　that　showed　how　much　I　knew　about　businesses。　　　

If　chance　made　businesses；　why　was　it　that　he　always　succeeded　and　

grew　while　those　fools　Ackroyd　and　Sons　always　took　second　place？　　

He　showed　a　disposition　to　tell　the　glorious　history　of　how　once　

Ackroyd's　overshadowed　him；　and　how　now　he　could　buy　up　Ackroyd's　

three　times　over。　　But　I　wanted　to　get　out　what　was　in　my　mind。



〃Oh！〃　I　said；　〃as　between　man　and　man　and　business　and　business；　

some　of　course　get　the　pull　by　this　quality　or　thatbut　it's　forces　

quite　outside　the　individual　case　that　make　the　big　part　of　any　

success　under　modern　conditions。　　YOU　never　invented　pottery；　nor　

any　process　in　pottery　that　matters　a　rap　in　your　works；　it　wasn't　

YOUR　foresight　that　joined　all　England　up　with　railways　and　made　it　

possible　to　organise　production　on　an　altogether　different　scale。　　

You　really　at　the　utmost　can't　take　credit　for　much　more　than　being　

the　sort　of　man　who　happened　to　fit　what　happened　to　be　the　

requirements　of　the　time；　and　who　happened　to　be　in　a　position　to　

take　advantage　of　them〃



It　was　then　my　uncle　cried　out　and　called　me　a　damned　young　puppy；　

and　became　involved　in　some　unexpected　trouble　of　his　own。



I　woke　up　as　it　were　from　my　analysis　of　the　situation　to　discover　

him　bent　over　a　splendid　spittoon；　cursing　incoherently；　retching　a　

little；　and　spitting　out　the　end　of　his　cigar　which　he　had　bitten　

off　in　his　last　attempt　at　self…control；　and　withal　fully　prepared　

as　soon　as　he　had　cleared　for　action　to　give　me　just　all　that　he　

considered　to　be　the　contents　of　his　mind　upon　the　condition　of　

mine。



Well；　why　shouldn't　I　talk　my　mind　to　him？　　He'd　never　had　an　

outside　view　of　himself　for　years；　and　I　resolved　to　stand　up　to　

him。　　We　went　at　it　hammer　and　tongs！　　It　became　clear　that　he　

supposed　me　to　be　a　Socialist；　a　zealous；　embittered　hater　of　all　

ownershipand　also　an　educated　man　of　the　vilest；　most　

pretentiously　superior　description。　　　His　principal　grievance　was　

that　I　thought　I　knew　everything；　to　that　he　recurred　again　and　

again。　。　。　。



We　had　been　maintaining　an　armed　truce　with　each　other　since　my　

resolve　to　go　up　to　Cambridge；　and　now　we　had　out　all　that　had　

accumulated　between　us。　　There　had　been　stupendous　accumulations。　。　。　。



The　particular　things　we　said　and　did　in　that　bawlmg　encounter　

matter　nothing　at　all　in　this　story。　　I　can't　now　estimate　how　near　

we　came　to　fisticuffs。　　It　ended　with　my　saying；　after　a　pungent　

reminder　of　benefits　conferred　and　remembered；　that　I　didn't　want　to　

stay　another　hour　in　his　house。　　I　went　upstairs；　in　a　state　of　

puerile　fury；　to　pack　and　go　off　to　the　Railway　Hotel；　while　he；　

with　ironical　civility；　telephoned　for　a　cab。



〃Good　riddance！〃　shouted　my　uncle；　seeing　me　off　into　the　night。



On　the　face　of　it　our　row　was　preposterous；　but　the　underlying　

reality　of　our　quarrel　was　the　essential　antagonism；　it　seemed　to　

me；　in　all　human　affairs；　the　antagonism　between　ideas　and　the　

established　method；　that　is　to　say；　between　ideas　and　the　rule　of　

thumb。　　The　world　I　hate　is　the　rule…of…thumb　world；　the　thing　I　and　

my　kind　of　people　exist　for　primarily　is　to　battle　with　that；　to　

annoy　it；　disarrange　it；　reconstruct　it。　　We　question　everything；　

disturb　anything　that　cannot　give　a　clear　justification　to　our　

questioning；　because　we　believe　inherently　that　our　sense　of　

disorder　implies　the　possibility　of　a　better　order。　　Of　course　we　

are　detestable。　　My　uncle　was　of　that　other　vaster　mass　who　accept　

everything　for　the　thing　it　seems　to　be；　hate　enquiry　and　analysis　

as　a　tramp　hates　washing；　dread　and　resist　change；　oppose　

experiment；　despise　science。　　The　world　is　our　battleground；　and　all　

history；　all　literature　that　matters；　all　science；　deals　with　this　

conflict　of　the　thing　that　is　and　the　speculative　〃if〃　that　will　

destroy　it。



But　that　is　why　I　did　not　see　Margaret　Seddon　again　for　five　years。







CHAPTER　THE　SECOND



MARGARET　IN　LONDON







1





I　was　twenty…seven　when　I　met　Margaret　again；　and　the　intervening　

five　years　had　been　years　of