There are men who never dream of great work, who never realise to themselves the need of work so great as to demand a lifetime, but who themselves never fail in accomplishing those second-class tasks with which they satisfy their own energies. Men these are who to the world are very useful. Some few there are, who seeing the beauty of a great work and believing in its accomplishment3 within the years allotted4 to man, are contented5 to struggle for success, and struggling, fail. Here and there comes one who struggles and succeeds. But the men are many who see the beauty, who adopt the task, who promise themselves the triumph, and then never struggle at all. The task is never abandoned; but days go by and weeks; and then months and years,—and nothing is done. The dream of youth becomes the doubt of middle life, and then the despair of age. In building a summer-house it is so easy to plant the first stick, but one does not know where to touch the sod when one begins to erect6 a castle. So it had been with Sir Thomas Underwood and his life of Bacon. It would not suffice to him to scrape together a few facts, to indulge in some fiction, to tell a few anecdotes7, and then to call his book a biography. Here was a man who had risen higher and was reported to have fallen lower,—perhaps than any other son of Adam. With the finest intellect ever given to a man, with the purest philanthropy and the most enduring energy, he had become a by-word for greed and injustice8. Sir Thomas had resolved that he would tell the tale as it had never yet been told, that he would unravel9 facts that had never seen the light, that he would let the world know of what nature really had been this man,—and that he would write a book that should live. He had never abandoned his purpose; and now at sixty years of age, his purpose remained with him, but not one line of his book was written.
And yet the task had divorced him in a measure from the world. He had not been an unsuccessful man in life. He had made money, and had risen nearly to the top of his profession. He had been in Parliament, and was even now a member. But yet he had been divorced from the world, and Bacon had done it. By Bacon he had justified10 to himself,—or rather had failed to justify11 to himself,—a seclusion12 from his family and from the world which had been intended for strenuous13 work, but had been devoted to dilettante14 idleness. And he had fallen into those mistakes which such habits and such pursuits are sure to engender15. He thought much, but he thought nothing out, and was consequently at sixty still in doubt about almost everything. Whether Christ did or did not die to save sinners was a question with him so painfully obscure that he had been driven to obtain what comfort he might from not thinking of it. The assurance of belief certainly was not his to enjoy;—nor yet that absence from fear which may come from assured unbelief. And yet none who knew him could say that he was a bad man. He robbed no one. He never lied. He was not self-indulgent. He was affectionate. But he had spent his life in an intention to write the life of Lord Verulam, and not having done it, had missed the comfort of self-respect. He had intended to settle for himself a belief on subjects which are, of all, to all men the most important; and, having still postponed16 the work of inquiry17, had never attained18 the security of a faith. He was for ever doubting, for ever intending, and for ever despising himself for his doubts and unaccomplished intentions. Now, at the age of sixty, he had thought to lessen19 these inward disturbances20 by returning to public life, and his most unsatisfactory alliance with Mr. Griffenbottom had been the result.
They who know the agonies of an ambitious, indolent, doubting, self-accusing man,—of a man who has a skeleton in his cupboard as to which he can ask for sympathy from no one,—will understand what feelings were at work within the bosom21 of Sir Thomas when his Percycross friends left him alone in his chamber22. The moment that he knew that he was alone he turned the lock of the door, and took from out a standing23 desk a whole heap of loose papers. These were the latest of his notes on the great Bacon subject. For though no line of the book had ever been written,—nor had his work even yet taken such form as to enable him to write a line,—nevertheless, he always had by him a large assemblage of documents, notes, queries24, extracts innumerable, and references which in the course of years had become almost unintelligible25 to himself, upon which from time to time he would set himself to work. Whenever he was most wretched he would fly at his papers. When the qualms26 of his conscience became very severe, he would copy some passage from a dusty book, hardly in the belief that it might prove to be useful, but with half a hope that he might cheat himself into so believing. Now, in his misery27, he declared that he would bind28 himself to his work and never leave it. There, if anywhere, might consolation29 be found.
With rapid hands he moved about the papers, and tried to fix his eyes upon the words. But how was he to fix his thoughts? He could not even begin not to think of those scoundrels who had so misused30 him. It was not a week since they had taken ￡50 from him for the poor of Percycross, and now they came to him with a simple statement that he was absolutely to be thrown over! He had already paid ￡900 for his election, and was well aware that the account was not closed. And he was a man who could not bear to speak about money, or to make any complaint as to money. Even though he was being so abominably31 misused, still he must pay any further claim that might be made on him in respect of the election that was past. Yes;—he must pay for those very purchased votes, for that bribery32, as to which he had so loudly expressed his abhorrence33, and by reason of which he was now to lose his seat with ignominy.
But the money was not the worst of it. There was a heavier sorrow than that arising from the loss of his money. He alone had been just throughout the contest at Percycross; he alone had been truthful34, and he alone straightforward35! And yet he alone must suffer! He began to believe that Griffenbottom would keep his seat. That he would certainly lose his own, he was quite convinced. He might lose it by undergoing an adverse36 petition, and paying ever so much more money,—or he might lose it in the manner that Mr. Trigger had so kindly37 suggested. In either way there would be disgrace, and contumely, and hours of the agony of self-reproach in store for him!
What excuse had he for placing himself in contact with such filth38? Of what childishness had he not been the victim when he allowed himself to dream that he, a pure and scrupulous39 man, could go among such impurity40 as he had found at Percycross, and come out, still clean and yet triumphant41? Then he thought of Griffenbottom as a member of Parliament, and of that Legislation and that Constitution to which Griffenbottoms were thought to be essentially42 necessary. That there are always many such men in the House he had always known. He had sat there and had seen them. He had stood shoulder to shoulder with them through many a division, and had thought about them,—acknowledging their use. But now that he was brought into personal contact with such an one, his very soul was aghast. The Griffenbottoms never do anything in politics. They are men of whom in the lump it may be surmised43 that they take up this or that side in politics, not from any instructed conviction, not from faith in measures or even in men, nor from adherence44 either through reason or prejudice to this or that set of political theories,—but simply because on this side or on that there is an opening. That gradually they do grow into some shape of conviction from the moulds in which they are made to live, must be believed of them; but these convictions are convictions as to divisions, convictions as to patronage45, convictions as to success, convictions as to Parliamentary management; but not convictions as to the political needs of the people. So said Sir Thomas to himself as he sat thinking of the Griffenbottoms. In former days he had told himself that a pudding cannot be made without suet or dough46, and that Griffenbottoms were necessary if only for the due adherence of the plums. Whatever most health-bestowing drug the patient may take would bestow47 anything but health were it taken undiluted. It was thus in former days Sir Thomas had apologised to himself for the Griffenbottoms in the House;—but no such apology satisfied him now. This log of a man, this lump of suet, this diluting48 quantity of most impure49 water,—'twas thus that Mr. Griffenbottom was spoken of by Sir Thomas to himself as he sat there with all the Bacon documents before him,—this politician, whose only real political feeling consisted in a positive love of corruption50 for itself, had not only absolutely got the better of him, who regarded himself at any rate as a man of mind and thought, but had used him as a puppet, and had compelled him to do dirty work. Oh,—that he should have been so lost to his own self-respect as to have allowed himself to be dragged through the dirt of Percycross!
But he must do something;—he must take some step. Mr. Griffenbottom had declared that he would put himself to no expense in defending the seat. Of course he, Sir Thomas, could do the same. He believed that it might be practicable for him to acknowledge the justice of the petition, to declare his belief that his own agents had betrayed him, and to acknowledge that his seat was indefensible. But, as he thought of it, he found that he was actually ignorant of the law in the matter. That he would make no such bargain as that suggested to him by Mr. Trigger,—of so much he thought that he was sure. At any rate he would do nothing that he himself knew to be dishonourable. He must consult his own attorney. That was the end of his self-deliberation,—that, and a conviction that under no circumstances could he retain his seat.
Then he struggled hard for an hour to keep his mind fixed51 on the subject of his great work. He had found an unknown memoir52 respecting Bacon, written by a German pen in the Latin language, published at Leipzig shortly after the date of Bacon's fall. He could translate that. It is always easiest for the mind to work in such emergencies, on some matter as to which no creative struggles are demanded from it.
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1
devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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chancellor
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| n.(英)大臣；法官；(德、奥)总理；大学校长 | |
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accomplishment
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| n.完成，成就，（pl.）造诣，技能 | |
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allotted
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| 分配，拨给，摊派( allot的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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contented
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| adj.满意的，安心的，知足的 | |
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erect
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| n./v.树立，建立，使竖立；adj.直立的，垂直的 | |
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7
anecdotes
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| n.掌故，趣闻，轶事( anecdote的名词复数 ) | |
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8
injustice
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| n.非正义，不公正，不公平，侵犯（别人的）权利 | |
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9
unravel
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| v.弄清楚（秘密）；拆开，解开，松开 | |
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10
justified
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| a.正当的，有理的 | |
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justify
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| vt.证明…正当(或有理)，为…辩护 | |
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12
seclusion
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| n.隐遁，隔离 | |
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13
strenuous
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| adj.奋发的，使劲的；紧张的；热烈的，狂热的 | |
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14
dilettante
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| n.半瓶醋，业余爱好者 | |
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engender
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| v.产生，引起 | |
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postponed
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| vt.& vi.延期，缓办，（使）延迟vt.把…放在次要地位；[语]把…放在后面（或句尾）vi.（疟疾等）延缓发作（或复发） | |
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17
inquiry
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| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
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18
attained
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| （通常经过努力）实现( attain的过去式和过去分词 )； 达到； 获得； 达到（某年龄、水平、状况） | |
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lessen
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| vt.减少，减轻；缩小 | |
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20
disturbances
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| n.骚乱( disturbance的名词复数 )；打扰；困扰；障碍 | |
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21
bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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23
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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24
queries
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| n.问题( query的名词复数 )；疑问；询问；问号v.质疑，对…表示疑问( query的第三人称单数 )；询问 | |
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25
unintelligible
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| adj.无法了解的，难解的，莫明其妙的 | |
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qualms
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| n.不安；内疚 | |
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misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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28
bind
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| vt.捆，包扎；装订；约束；使凝固；vi.变硬 | |
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29
consolation
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| n.安慰，慰问 | |
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30
misused
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| v.使用…不当( misuse的过去式和过去分词 )；把…派作不正当的用途；虐待；滥用 | |
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31
abominably
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| adv. 可恶地，可恨地，恶劣地 | |
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32
bribery
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| n.贿络行为，行贿，受贿 | |
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33
abhorrence
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| n.憎恶；可憎恶的事 | |
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34
truthful
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| adj.真实的，说实话的，诚实的 | |
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35
straightforward
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| adj.正直的，坦率的；易懂的，简单的 | |
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36
adverse
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| adj.不利的；有害的；敌对的，不友好的 | |
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37
kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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38
filth
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| n.肮脏，污物，污秽；淫猥 | |
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39
scrupulous
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| adj.审慎的，小心翼翼的，完全的，纯粹的 | |
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40
impurity
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| n.不洁，不纯，杂质 | |
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41
triumphant
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| adj.胜利的，成功的；狂欢的，喜悦的 | |
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42
essentially
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| adv.本质上，实质上，基本上 | |
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43
surmised
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| v.臆测，推断( surmise的过去式和过去分词 )；揣测；猜想 | |
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44
adherence
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| n.信奉，依附，坚持，固着 | |
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45
patronage
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| n.赞助，支援，援助；光顾，捧场 | |
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46
dough
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| n.生面团；钱，现款 | |
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47
bestow
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| v.把…赠与，把…授予；花费 | |
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48
diluting
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| 稀释，冲淡( dilute的现在分词 )； 削弱，使降低效果 | |
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49
impure
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| adj.不纯净的，不洁的；不道德的，下流的 | |
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50
corruption
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| n.腐败，堕落，贪污 | |
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51
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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52
memoir
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| n.[pl.]回忆录，自传；记事录 | |
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