Sooner or later I too may passively take the print Of the golden age—why not? I have neither hope nor trust;
May make my heart as a millstone, set my face as a flint,
Cheat and be cheated, and die: who knows? we are ashes and dust.
—tennyson, Maud (1855)
When Charles at last found himself on the broad steps of the Freeman town mansion1, it was already dusk, gas-lamped and crisp. There was a faint mist, compounding the scent2 of the spring verdure from the Park across the street and the old familiar soot3. Charles breathed it in, acrid4 and essential London, and decided5 to walk. The hansom that had been called for him was dismissed.
He walked with no very clear purpose, in the general direction of his club in St. James; at first beside the railings of Hyde Park, those heavy railings whose fall before a mob (and under the horrified6 eyes of his recent interlocutor) only three weeks later was to precipitate7 the passing of the great Reform Bill. He turned then down Park Lane. But the press of traffic there was disagreeable. Mid-Victorian traffic jams were quite as bad as modern ones—and a good deal noisier, since every carriage wheel had an iron tire to grate on the granite8 setts. So taking what he imagined would prove a shortcut9, he plunged10 into the heart of Mayfair. The mist thickened, not so much as to obscure all, but sufficiently11 to give what he passed a slightly dreamlike quality; as if he was a visitor from another world, a Candide who could see nothing but obvious explanations, a man suddenly deprived of his sense of irony12.
To be without such a fundamental aspect of his psyche13 was almost to be naked; and this perhaps best describes what Charles felt. He did not now really know what had driven him to Ernestina’s father; the whole matter could have been dealt with by letter. If his scrupulous-ness now seemed ab-surd, so did all this talk of poverty, of having to regulate one’s income. In those days, and especially on such a fog-threatening evening, the better-off traveled by carriage; pedestrians14 must be poor. Thus almost all those Charles met were of the humbler classes; servants from the great Mayfair houses, clerks, shop-people, beggars, street sweepers (a much commoner profession when the horse reigned), hucksters, urchins15, a prostitute or two. To all of them, he knew, a hundred pounds a year would have been a fortune; and he had just been commiserated16 with for having to scrape by on twenty-five times that sum.
Charles was no early socialist17. He did not feel the moral enormity of his privileged economic position, because he felt himself so far from privileged in other ways. The proof was all around him. By and large the passers and passed did not seem unhappy with their lots, unless it was the beggars, and they had to look miserable18 to succeed. But he was unhappy; alien and unhappy; he felt that the enormous apparatus19 rank required a gentleman to erect20 around himself was like the massive armor that had been the death warrant of so many ancient saurian species. His step slowed at this image of a superseded21 monster. He actually stopped, poor living fossil, as the brisker and fitter forms of life jostled busily before him, like pond amoeba under a microscope, along a small row of shops that he had come upon.
Two barrel-organists competed with one another, and a banjo-man with both. Mashed-potato men, trotter-sellers (“Penny a trotter, you won’t find ‘otter”), hot chestnuts22. An old woman hawking23 fusees; another with a basket of daffodils. Watermen, turncocks, dustmen with their backlap caps, mechanics in their square pillboxes; and a plague of small ragamuffins sitting on doorsteps, on curbs24, leaning against the carriage posts, like small vultures. One such lad interrupted his warming jog—like most of the others, he was barefooted—to whistle shrill25 warning to an image-boy, who ran, brandishing26 his sheaf of colored prints, up to Charles as he stood in the wings of this animated27 stage.
Charles turned hastily away and sought a darker street. A harsh little voice sped after him, chanting derisive28 lines from a vulgar ballad29 of the year:
“Why don’cher come ‘ome, Lord Marmaduke, An’ ‘ave an ‘ot supper wiv me?
An’ when we’ve bottomed a jug30 o’ good stout31
We’ll riddle-dee-ro-di-dee, ooooh,
We’ll riddle-dee-ro-di-ree.”
Which reminded Charles, when at last he was safely es-caped from the voice and its accompanying jeers32, of that other constituent33 of London air—not as physical, but as unmistakable as the soot—the perfume of sin. It was less the miserable streetwomen he saw now and then, women who watched him pass without soliciting34 him (he had too obvious-ly the air of a gentleman and they were after lesser35 prey) than the general anonymity36 of the great city; the sense that all could be hidden here, all go unobserved.
Lyme was a town of sharp eyes; and this was a city of the blind. No one turned and looked at him. He was almost invisible, he did not exist, and this gave him a sense of freedom, but a terrible sense, for he had in reality lost it—it was like Winsyatt, in short. All in his life was lost; and all reminded him that it was lost.
A man and a woman who hurried past spoke37 French; were French. And then Charles found himself wishing he were in Paris—from that, that he were abroad ... traveling. Again! If I could only escape, if I could only escape ... he mur-mured the words to himself a dozen times; then metaphori-cally shook himself for being so impractical38, so romantic, so dutiless.
He passed a mews, not then a fashionable row of bijou “maisonettes” but noisily in pursuit of its original function: horses being curried39 and groomed40, equipages being drawn41 out, hooves clacking as they were backed between shafts42, a coachman whistling noisily as he washed the sides of his carriage, all in preparation for the evening’s work. An as-tounding theory crossed Charles’s mind: the lower orders were secretly happier than the upper. They were not, as the radicals43 would have one believe, the suffering infrastructure44 groaning45 under the opulent follies46 of the rich; but much more like happy parasites47. He remembered having come, a few months before, on a hedgehog in the gardens of Winsyatt. He had tapped it with his stick and made it roll up; and between its erect spines48 he had seen a swarm49 of disturbed fleas50. He had been sufficiently the biologist to be more fascinated than revolted by this interrelation of worlds; as he was now sufficiently depressed51 to see who was the hedgehog: an ani-mal whose only means of defense52 was to lie as if dead and erect its prickles, its aristocratic sensibilities.
A little later he came to an ironmonger’s, and stood outside staring through the windows at the counter, at the ironmonger in his bowler53 and cotton apron54, counting candles to a ten-year-old girl who stared up at him, her red fingers already holding high the penny to be taken.
Trade. Commerce. And he flushed, remembering what had been offered. He saw now it was an insult, a contempt for his class, that had prompted the suggestion. Freeman must know he could never go into business, play the shopkeeper. He should have rejected the suggestion icily at its very first mention; but how could he, when all his wealth was to come from that very source? And here we come near the real germ of Charles’s discontent: this feeling that he was now the bought husband, his in-law’s puppet. Never mind that such marriages were traditional in his class; the tradition had sprung from an age when polite marriage was a publicly accepted business contract that neither husband nor wife was expected to honor much beyond its terms: money for rank. But marriage now was a chaste55 and sacred union, a Christian56 ceremony for the creation of pure love, not pure convenience. Even if he had been cynic enough to attempt it, he knew Ernestina would never allow such love to become a secondary principle in their marriage. Her constant test would be that he loved her, and only her. From that would follow the other necessities: his gratitude57 for her money, this being morally blackmailed58 into a partnership59 ...
And as if by some fatal magic he came to a corner. Filling the end of a dark side street was a tall lit facade60. He had thought by now to be near Piccadilly; but this golden palace at the end of a sepia chasm61 was to his north, and he realized that he had lost his sense of direction and come out upon Oxford62 Street .. . and yes, fatal coincidence, upon that pre-cise Oxford Street occupied by Mr. Freeman’s great store. As if magnetized he walked down the side street towards it, out into Oxford Street, so that he could see the whole length of the yellow-tiered giant (its windows had been lately changed to the new plate glass), with its crowded arrays of cottons, laces, gowns, rolls of cloths. Some of the cylinders63 and curlicues of new aniline color seemed almost to stain the air around them, so intense, so nouveau riche were they. On each article stood the white ticket that announced its price. The store was still open, and people passed through its doors. Charles tried to imagine himself passing through them, and failed totally. He would rather have been the beggar crouched64 in the doorway65 beside him.
It was not simply that the store no longer seemed what it had been before to him—a wry66 joke, a goldmine in Austral-ia, a place that hardly existed in reality. It now showed itself full of power; a great engine, a behemoth that stood waiting to suck in and grind all that came near it. To so many men, even then, to have stood and known that that huge building, and others like it, and its gold, its power, all lay easily in his grasp, must have seemed a heaven on earth. Yet Charles stood on the pavement opposite and closed his eyes, as if he hoped he might obliterate67 it forever.
To be sure there was something base in his rejection68—a mere69 snobbism70, a letting himself be judged and swayed by an audience of ancestors. There was something lazy in it; a fear of work, of routine, of concentration on detail. There was something cowardly in it, as well—for Charles, as you have probably noticed, was frightened by other human beings and especially by those below his own class. The idea of being in contact with all those silhouetted71 shadows he saw thronging72 before the windows and passing in and out of the doors across the street—it gave him a nausea73. It was an impossibil-ity.
But there was one noble element in his rejection: a sense that the pursuit of money was an insufficient74 purpose in life. He would never be a Darwin or a Dickens, a great artist or scientist; he would at worst be a dilettante75, a drone, a what-you-will that lets others work and contributes nothing. But he gained a queer sort of momentary76 self-respect in his nothingness, a sense that choosing to be nothing—to have nothing but prickles—was the last saving grace of a gentle-man; his last freedom, almost. It came to him very clearly: If I ever set foot in that place I am done for.
This dilemma77 may seem a very historical one to you; and I hold no particular brief for the Gentleman, in 1969 far more of a dying species than even Charles’s pessimistic imagination might have foreseen on that long-ago April evening. Death is not in the nature of things; it is the nature of things. But what dies is the form. The matter is immortal78. There runs through this succession of superseded forms we call existence a certain kind of afterlife. We can trace the Victorian gentle-man’s best qualities back to the parfit knights79 and preux chevaliers of the Middle Ages; and trace them forward into the modern gentleman, that breed we call scientists, since that is where the river has undoubtedly80 run. In other words, every culture, however undemocratic, or however egalitarian, needs a kind of self-questioning, ethical81 elite82, and one that is bound by certain rules of conduct, some of which may be very unethical, and so account for the eventual83 death of the form, though their hidden purpose is good: to brace84 or act as structure for the better effects of their function in history.
Perhaps you see very little link between the Charles of 1267 with all his newfangled French notions of chastity and chasing after Holy Grails, the Charles of 1867 with his loathing85 of trade, and the Charles of today, a computer scientist deaf to the screams of the tender humanists who begin to discern their own redundancy. But there is a link: they all rejected or reject the notion of possession as the purpose of life, whether it be of a woman’s body, or of high profit at all costs, or of the right to dictate86 the speed of progress. The scientist is but one more form; and will be superseded.
Now all this is the great and timeless relevance87 of the New Testament88 myth of the Temptation in the Wilderness89. All who have insight and education have automatically their own wilderness; and at some point in their life they will have their temptation. Their rejection may be foolish; but it is never evil. You have just turned down a tempting90 offer in commer-cial applied91 science in order to continue your academic teaching? Your last exhibition did not sell as well as the previous one, but you are determined92 to keep to your new style? You have just made some decision in which your personal benefit, your chance of possession, has not been allowed to interfere93? Then do not dismiss Charles’s state of mind as a mere conditioning of futile94 snobbery95. See him for what he is: a man struggling to overcome history. And even though he does not realize it.
There pressed on Charles more than the common human instinct to preserve personal identity; there lay behind him all those years of thought, speculation96, self-knowledge. His whole past, the best of his past self, seemed the price he was asked to pay; he could not believe that all he had wanted to be was worthless, however much he might have failed to match reality to the dream. He had pursued the meaning of life, more than that, he believed—poor clown—that at times he had glimpsed it. Was it his fault that he lacked the talent to communicate those glimpses to other men? That to an outside observer he seemed a dilettante, a hopeless amateur? At least he had gamed the knowledge that the meaning of life was not to be found in Freeman’s store.
But underlying97 all, at least in Charles, was the doctrine98 of the survival of the fittest, and most especially an aspect of it he had discussed—and it had been a discussion bathed in optimism—with Grogan that night in Lyme: that a human being cannot but see his power of self-analysis as a very special privilege in the struggle to adapt. Both men had seen proof there that man’s free will was not in danger. If one had to change to survive—as even the Freemans conceded—then at least one was granted a choice of methods. So much for the theory—the practice, it now flooded in on Charles, was something other.
He was trapped. He could not be, but he was.
He stood for a moment against the vast pressures of his age; then felt cold, chilled to his innermost marrow99 by an icy rage against Mr. Freeman and Freemanism.
He raised his stick to a passing hansom. Inside he sank back into the musty leather seat and closed his eyes; and in his mind there appeared a consoling image. Hope? Courage? Determination? I am afraid not. He saw a bowl of milk punch and a pint100 of champagne101.
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mansion
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| n.大厦，大楼；宅第 | |
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scent
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| n.气味，香味，香水，线索，嗅觉；v.嗅，发觉 | |
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soot
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| n.煤烟，烟尘；vt.熏以煤烟 | |
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acrid
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| adj.辛辣的，尖刻的，刻薄的 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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horrified
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| a.(表现出)恐惧的 | |
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precipitate
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| adj.突如其来的；vt.使突然发生；n.沉淀物 | |
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granite
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| adj.花岗岩，花岗石 | |
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shortcut
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| n.近路，捷径 | |
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plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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irony
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| n.反语，冷嘲；具有讽刺意味的事，嘲弄 | |
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psyche
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| n.精神；灵魂 | |
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pedestrians
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| n.步行者( pedestrian的名词复数 ) | |
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urchins
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| n.顽童( urchin的名词复数 )；淘气鬼；猬；海胆 | |
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commiserated
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| v.怜悯，同情( commiserate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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socialist
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| n.社会主义者；adj.社会主义的 | |
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miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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apparatus
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| n.装置，器械；器具，设备 | |
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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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superseded
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| [医]被代替的，废弃的 | |
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chestnuts
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| n.栗子( chestnut的名词复数 )；栗色；栗树；栗色马 | |
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hawking
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| 利用鹰行猎 | |
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curbs
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| v.限制，克制，抑制( curb的第三人称单数 ) | |
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shrill
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| adj.尖声的；刺耳的；v尖叫 | |
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brandishing
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| v.挥舞( brandish的现在分词 )；炫耀 | |
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animated
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| adj.生气勃勃的，活跃的，愉快的 | |
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derisive
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| adj.嘲弄的 | |
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ballad
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| n.歌谣，民谣，流行爱情歌曲 | |
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jug
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| n.(有柄，小口，可盛水等的)大壶，罐，盂 | |
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jeers
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| n.操纵帆桁下部（使其上下的）索具；嘲讽( jeer的名词复数 )v.嘲笑( jeer的第三人称单数 ) | |
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constituent
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| n.选民；成分，组分；adj.组成的，构成的 | |
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soliciting
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| v.恳求( solicit的现在分词 )；（指娼妇）拉客；索求；征求 | |
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lesser
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| adj.次要的，较小的；adv.较小地，较少地 | |
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anonymity
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| n.the condition of being anonymous | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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impractical
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| adj.不现实的，不实用的，不切实际的 | |
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curried
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| adj.加了咖喱（或咖喱粉的），用咖哩粉调理的 | |
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groomed
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| v.照料或梳洗（马等）( groom的过去式和过去分词 )；使做好准备；训练；（给动物）擦洗 | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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shafts
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| n.轴( shaft的名词复数 )；（箭、高尔夫球棒等的）杆；通风井；一阵（疼痛、害怕等） | |
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radicals
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| n.激进分子( radical的名词复数 )；根基；基本原理；[数学]根数 | |
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infrastructure
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| n.下部构造，下部组织，基础结构，基础设施 | |
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groaning
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| adj. 呜咽的, 呻吟的 动词groan的现在分词形式 | |
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follies
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| 罪恶，时事讽刺剧； 愚蠢，蠢笨，愚蠢的行为、思想或做法( folly的名词复数 ) | |
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parasites
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| 寄生物( parasite的名词复数 )； 靠他人为生的人； 诸虫 | |
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spines
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| n.脊柱( spine的名词复数 )；脊椎；（动植物的）刺；书脊 | |
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swarm
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| n.(昆虫)等一大群；vi.成群飞舞；蜂拥而入 | |
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fleas
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| n.跳蚤( flea的名词复数 )；爱财如命；没好气地（拒绝某人的要求） | |
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depressed
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| adj.沮丧的，抑郁的，不景气的，萧条的 | |
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defense
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| n.防御，保卫；[pl.]防务工事；辩护，答辩 | |
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bowler
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| n.打保龄球的人，（板球的）投（球）手 | |
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apron
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| n.围裙；工作裙 | |
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chaste
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| adj.贞洁的；有道德的；善良的；简朴的 | |
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Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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blackmailed
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| 胁迫，尤指以透露他人不体面行为相威胁以勒索钱财( blackmail的过去式 ) | |
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partnership
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| n.合作关系，伙伴关系 | |
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facade
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| n.(建筑物的)正面，临街正面；外表 | |
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chasm
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| n.深坑，断层，裂口，大分岐，利害冲突 | |
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Oxford
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| n.牛津（英国城市） | |
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cylinders
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| n.圆筒( cylinder的名词复数 )；圆柱；汽缸；（尤指用作容器的）圆筒状物 | |
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crouched
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| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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wry
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| adj.讽刺的；扭曲的 | |
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obliterate
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| v.擦去，涂抹，去掉...痕迹，消失，除去 | |
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rejection
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| n.拒绝，被拒，抛弃，被弃 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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snobbism
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| 势利 | |
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silhouetted
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| 显出轮廓的，显示影像的 | |
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thronging
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| v.成群，挤满( throng的现在分词 ) | |
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nausea
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| n.作呕，恶心；极端的憎恶(或厌恶) | |
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insufficient
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| adj.(for，of)不足的，不够的 | |
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dilettante
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| n.半瓶醋，业余爱好者 | |
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momentary
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| adj.片刻的，瞬息的；短暂的 | |
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dilemma
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| n.困境，进退两难的局面 | |
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immortal
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| adj.不朽的；永生的，不死的；神的 | |
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knights
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| 骑士； （中古时代的）武士( knight的名词复数 )； 骑士； 爵士； （国际象棋中）马 | |
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undoubtedly
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| adv.确实地，无疑地 | |
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ethical
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| adj.伦理的，道德的，合乎道德的 | |
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elite
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| n.精英阶层；实力集团；adj.杰出的，卓越的 | |
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eventual
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| adj.最后的，结局的，最终的 | |
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brace
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| n. 支柱,曲柄,大括号; v. 绷紧,顶住,(为困难或坏事)做准备 | |
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loathing
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| n.厌恶，憎恨v.憎恨，厌恶( loathe的现在分词)；极不喜欢 | |
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dictate
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| v.口授；(使)听写；指令，指示，命令 | |
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relevance
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| n.中肯，适当，关联，相关性 | |
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testament
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| n.遗嘱；证明 | |
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wilderness
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| n.杳无人烟的一片陆地、水等，荒漠 | |
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tempting
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| a.诱人的, 吸引人的 | |
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applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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interfere
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| v.(in)干涉，干预；(with)妨碍，打扰 | |
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futile
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| adj.无效的，无用的，无希望的 | |
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snobbery
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| n. 充绅士气派, 俗不可耐的性格 | |
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speculation
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| n.思索，沉思；猜测；投机 | |
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underlying
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| adj.在下面的，含蓄的，潜在的 | |
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doctrine
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| n.教义；主义；学说 | |
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marrow
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| n.骨髓；精华；活力 | |
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pint
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| n.品脱 | |
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champagne
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| n.香槟酒；微黄色 | |
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