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the new machiavelli-第81章

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people had been to the Pagoda that day。  I've a curious impression 

of greenish colour; hot; moist air and huge palm fronds about very 

much of our talk; as though we were nearly all the time in the 

Tropical House。  But I also remember very vividly looking at certain 

orange and red spray…like flowers from Patagonia; which could not 

have been there。  It is a curious thing that I do not remember we 

made any profession of passionate love for one another; we talked as 

though the fact of our intense love for each other had always been 

patent between us。  There was so long and frank an intimacy between 

us that we talked far more like brother and sister or husband and 

wife than two people engaged in the war of the sexes。  We wanted to 

know what we were going to do; and whatever we did we meant to do in 

the most perfect concert。  We both felt an extraordinary accession 

of friendship and tenderness then; and; what again is curious; very 

little passion。  But there was also; in spite of the perplexities we 

faced; an immense satisfaction about that day。  It was as if we had 

taken off something that had hindered our view of each other; like 

people who unvizard to talk more easily at a masked ball。



I've had since to view our relations from the standpoint of the 

ordinary observer。  I find that vision in the most preposterous 

contrast with all that really went on between us。  I suppose there I 

should figure as a wicked seducer; while an unprotected girl 

succumbed to my fascinations。  As a matter of fact; it didn't occur 

to us that there was any personal inequality between us。  I knew her 

for my equal mentally; in so many things she was beyond comparison 

cleverer than I; her courage outwent mine。  The quick leap of her 

mind evoked a flash of joy in mine like the response of an induction 

wire; her way of thinking was like watching sunlight reflected from 

little waves upon the side of a boat; it was so bright; so mobile; 

so variously and easily true to its law。  In the back of our minds 

we both had a very definite belief that making love is full of 

joyous; splendid; tender; and exciting possibilities; and we had to 

discuss why we shouldn't be to the last degree lovers。



Now; what I should like to print here; if it were possible; in all 

the screaming emphasis of red ink; is this: that the circumstances 

of my upbringing and the circumstances of Isabel's upbringing had 

left not a shadow of belief or feeling that the utmost passionate 

love between us was in itself intrinsically WRONG。  I've told with 

the fullest particularity just all that I was taught or found out 

for myself in these matters; and Isabel's reading and thinking; and 

the fierce silences of her governesses and the breathless warnings 

of teachers; and all the social and religious influences that had 

been brought to bear upon her; had worked out to the same void of 

conviction。  The code had failed with us altogether。  We didn't for 

a moment consider anything but the expediency of what we both; for 

all our quiet faces and steady eyes; wanted most passionately to do。



Well; here you have the state of mind of whole brigades of people; 

and particularly of young people; nowadays。  The current morality 

hasn't gripped them; they don't really believe in it at all。  They 

may render it lip…service; but that is quite another thing。  There 

are scarcely any tolerable novels to justify its prohibitions; its 

prohibitions do; in fact; remain unjustified amongst these ugly 

suppressions。  You may; if you choose; silence the admission of this 

in literature and current discussion; you will not prevent it 

working out in lives。  People come up to the great moments of 

passion crudely unaware; astoundingly unprepared as no really 

civilised and intelligently planned community would let any one be 

unprepared。  They find themselves hedged about with customs that 

have no organic hold upon them; and mere discretions all generous 

spirits are disposed to despise。



Consider the infinite absurdities of it!  Multitudes of us are 

trying to run this complex modern community on a basis of 〃Hush〃 

without explaining to our children or discussing with them anything 

about love and marriage at all。  Doubt and knowledge creep about in 

enforced darknesses and silences。  We are living upon an ancient 

tradition which everybody doubts and nobody has ever analysed。  We 

affect a tremendous and cultivated shyness and delicacy about 

imperatives of the most arbitrary appearance。  What ensues?  What 

did ensue with us; for example?  On the one hand was a great desire; 

robbed of any appearance of shame and grossness by the power of 

love; and on the other hand; the possible jealousy of so and so; the 

disapproval of so and so; material risks and dangers。  It is only in 

the retrospect that we have been able to grasp something of the 

effectual case against us。  The social prohibition lit by the 

intense glow of our passion; presented itself as preposterous; 

irrational; arbitrary; and ugly; a monster fit only for mockery。  We 

might be ruined!  Well; there is a phase in every love affair; a 

sort of heroic hysteria; when death and ruin are agreeable additions 

to the prospect。  It gives the business a gravity; a solemnity。  

Timid people may hesitate and draw back with a vague instinctive 

terror of the immensity of the oppositions they challenge; but 

neither Isabel nor I are timid people。



We weighed what was against us。  We decided just exactly as scores 

of thousands of people have decided in this very matter; that if it 

were possible to keep this thing to ourselves; there was nothing 

against it。  And so we took our first step。  With the hunger of love 

in us; it was easy to conclude we might be lovers; and still keep 

everything to ourselves。  That cleared our minds of the one 

persistent obstacle that mattered to usthe haunting presence of 

Margaret。



And then we found; as all those scores of thousands of people 

scattered about us have found; that we could not keep it to 

ourselves。  Love will out。  All the rest of this story is the 

chronicle of that。  Love with sustained secrecy cannot be love。  It 

is just exactly the point people do not understand。







5





But before things came to that pass; some months and many phases and 

a sudden journey to America intervened。



〃This thing spells disaster;〃 I said。  〃You are too big and I am too 

big to attempt this secrecy。  Think of the intolerable possibility 

of being found out!  At any cost we have to stopeven at the cost 

of parting。〃



〃Just because we may be found out!〃



〃Just because we may be found out。〃



〃Master; I shouldn't in the least mind being found out with you。  

I'm afraidI'd be proud。〃



〃Wait till it happens。〃



There followed a struggle of immense insincerity between us。  It is 

hard to tell who urged and who resisted。



She came to me one night to the editorial room of the BLUE WEEKLY; 

and argued and kissed me with wet salt lips; and wept in my arms; 

she told me that now passionate longing for me and my intimate life 

possessed her; so that she could not work; could not think; could 

not endure other people for the love of me。 。 。 。



I fled absurdly。  That is the secret of the futile journey to 

America that puzzled all my friends。



I ran away from Isabel。  I took hold of the situation with all my 

strength; put in Britten with sketchy; hasty instructions to edit 

the paper; and started headlong and with luggage; from which; among 

other things; my shaving things were omitted; upon a tour round the 

world。



Preposterous flight that was!  I remember as a thing almost farcical 

my explanations to Margaret; and how frantically anxious I was to 

prevent the remote possibility of her coming with me; and how I 

crossed in the TUSCAN; a bad; wet boat; and mixed seasickness with 

ungovernable sorrow。  I wepttears。  It was inexpressibly queer and 

ridiculousand; good God! how I hated my fellow…passengers!



New York inflamed and excited me for a time; and when things 

slackened; I whirled westward to Chicagoeating and drinking; I 

remember; in the train from shoals of little dishes; with a sort of 

desperate voracity。  I did the queerest things to distract myself

no novelist would dare to invent my mental and emotional muddle。  

Chicago also held me at first; amazing lapse from civilisation that 

the place is! and then abruptly; with hosts expecting me; and 

everything settled for some days in Denver; I found myself at the 

end of my renunciations; and turned and came back headlong to 

London。



Let me confess it wasn't any sense of perfect and incurable trust 

and confidence that brought me back; or any idea that now I had 

strength to refrain。  It was a sudden realisation that after all the 

separation might succeed; some careless phrasing in one o
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