Such were the opening phases of the friendship of Mr. Parham and Sir Bussy Woodcock. It was destined1 to last nearly six years. The two men attracted and repelled2 each other in about equal measure, and in that perhaps lay the sustaining interest of their association. In its more general form in Mr. Parham’s mind, the relationship was a struggle to subdue3 this mysteriously able, lucky adventurer to the Parham conception of the universe, to involve him in political affairs and advise and direct him when these affairs became perplexing, to build him up into a great and central figure (with a twin star) in the story of the Empire and the world. In its more special aspect the relationship was to be one of financial support for Mr. Parham and the group of writers and university teachers he would gather round him, to steer5 the world — as it had always been steered6. When the history of the next half century came to be written people would say, “There was the finger of Parham,” or, “He was one of Parham’s Young Men.” But how difficult it was to lead this financial rhinoceros7, as Mr. Parham, in the secrecy8 of his own thoughts, would sometimes style his friend, towards any definite conception of a r?le and a policy outside the now almost automatic process of buying up everything and selling it for more.
At times the creature seemed quite haphazard9, a reckless spendthrift who could gain more than he spent. He would say, “Gaw! I’m going to have a lark,” and one had either to drop out of the world about him or hang on to him into the oddest and strangest of places.
There were phases of passionate10 resentment11 in Mr. Parham’s experience, but then again there were phases of clear and reasonable hope. Sir Bussy would suddenly talk about political parties with a knowledge, a shrewdness that amazed his friend. “Fun to push ’em all over,” he would say. And once or twice he talked of Rothermere, Beaverbrook, Burnham, Riddel, with curiosity and something like envy. Late at night on each occasion it was, other people, people one suspected, were present, and Mr. Parham could not bring him to the point of a proposal.
Then off went everything like dead leaves before a gale12, a vast hired yacht to the Baltic, to Maine, Newfoundland, and the Saint Lawrence River, and the strangest people packed aboard. Or Mr. Parham found himself surveying the Mediterranean13 from a Nice hotel of which Sir Bussy had taken a floor for Christmas. Once or twice he would come most unexpectedly to his Mentor14, so full of purpose in his eyes, that Mr. Parham felt the moment had come. Once he took him suddenly just they two, to see Stravinsky’s Noces at Monte Carlo and once in London a similar humility15 of approach preluded16 a visit to hear the Lener Quartette.
“Pleasant,” said Sir Bussy, coming away. “Pleasant sounds. It cleans and soothes17. And more. It’s —” his poor untrained mind, all destitute18 of classical precedents19, sought for an image —“it’s like putting your head down a rabbit hole and hearing a fairy world going on. A world neither here nor there. Is there anything more to it than that?”
“Oh!” said Mr. Parham, as though he cried to God; “windows upon heaven!”
“Gaw!”
“We went there — we went there SAILCLOTH. It turned us to silk.”
“Well — DID it? It sounds as if it was telling you something, but does it tell you anything? This music. It gets excited and joyous20, for no reason, just as you get excited and joyous in dreams; it’s sad and tender — about nothing. They’re burying a dead beetle21 in fairyland. It stirs up appropriate memories. Your mind runs along according to the rhythm. But all to no effect. It doesn’t give you anything real. It doesn’t let you out. Just a finer sort of smoking,” said Sir Bussy.
Mr. Parham shrugged22 his shoulders. No good to get this savage23 books on “How to Listen to Music.” He did listen, and this was what he made of it.
But one sentence lingered in Mr. Parham’s mind: “It doesn’t,” said Sir Bussy, “LET YOU OUT.”
Did he want to be let out of this gracious splendid world of ours, built foursquare on the pillars of history, with its honours, its precedences, its mighty24 traditions? Could he mean that?
Mr. Parham was reminded of another scene when Sir Bussy had betrayed very much that same thought. They were recrossing the Atlantic to the Azores after visiting Newfoundland. The night was gloriously calm and warm. Before turning in Mr. Parham, who had been flirting25 rather audaciously with one of the pretty young women who adorned26 Sir Bussy’s parties so abundantly, came out on the promenade27 deck to cool his nerves and recall some lines of Horace that had somehow got bent28 in his memory and would return to him only in a queerly distorted form. He had had a moment of daring, and the young thing had pretended fright and gone to bed. Fun — and essentially29 innocent.
At the rail Mr. Parham discovered his host, black and exceedingly little against the enormous deep-blue sky.
“Phosphorescence?” asked Mr. Parham in an encouraging tenor30.
Sir Bussy did not seem to hear. His hands were deep in his trouser-pockets. “Gaw,” he said. “Look at all this wet — under that GHASTLY moon!”
At times his attitudes took Mr. Parham’s breath away. One might think the moon had just appeared, that it had no established position, that it was not Diana and Astarte, Isis and a thousand sweet and lovely things.
“Curious,” this strange creature went on. “We’re half outside the world here. We are. We’re actually on a bulge31, Parham. That way you go down a curve to America, and THAT way you go down a curve to your old Europe — and all that frowsty old art and history of yours.”
“It was ‘frowsty old Europe,’ as you call it, sent this yacht up here.”
“No fear! it got away.”
“It can’t stay here. It has to go back.”
“This time,” said Sir Bussy after a pause.
He stared for a moment or so at the moon with, if anything, an increasing distaste, made a gesture of his hand as if to dismiss it, and then, slowly and meditatively32, went below, taking no further notice of Mr. Parham.
But Mr. Parham remained.
What was it this extravagant33 little monster wanted, in this quite admirable world? Why trouble one’s mind about a man who could show ingratitude34 for that gracious orb35 of pale caressing36 light? It fell upon the world like the silver and gossamer37 robes of an Indian harem. It caressed38 and provoked the luminosities that flashed and flickered39 in the water. It stirred with an infinite gentleness. It incited40 to delicately sensuous41 adventure.
Mr. Parham pushed his yachting cap back from his forehead in a very doggish manner, thrust his hands into the pockets of his immaculate ducks and paced the deck, half hoping to hear a rustle42 or a giggle43 that would have confessed that earlier retreat insincere. But she really had turned in, and it was only when Mr. Parham had done likewise that he began to think over Sir Bussy and his ocean of “wet — under that GHASTLY moon.” . . .
But this work, it is well to remind ourselves and the reader, is the story of a metapsychic séance and its stupendous consequences, and our interest in these two contrasted characters must not let it become a chronicle of the travels and excursions of Sir Bussy and Mr. Parham. They went once in a multitudinous party to Henley, and twice they visited Oxford44 together to get the flavour. How Mr. Parham’s fellow dons fell over each other to get on good terms with Sir Bussy, and how Mr. Parham despised them! But bringing Sir Bussy down made a real difference to Mr. Parham’s standing45 at Oxford. For a time Sir Bussy trifled with the Turf. The large strange parties he assembled at the Hangar and at Buntingcombe and Carfex House perpetually renewed Mr. Parham’s amazement46 that he should know so many different sorts of people and such queer people and be at such pains to entertain them and so tolerant of some of the things they did. They got up to all sorts of things, and he let them. It seemed to Mr. Parham he was chiefly curious to know what they got out of what they got up to. Several times they discussed it together.
“Not a horse on the Turf,” said Sir Bussy, “is being run absolutely straight.”
“But surely —!”
“Honourable men there, certainly. They keep the rules because there’d be no fun in it if they didn’t. It would just go to pieces, and nobody wants it to go to pieces. But do you think they run a horse all out to win every time? Nobody dreams of such a thing.”
“You mean that every horse is pulled?”
“No. No. NO. But it isn’t allowed to strain itself unduly47 at the beginning. That’s quite a different thing.”
Mr. Parham’s face expressed his comprehension of the point. Poor human nature!
“Why do you bother about it?”
“My father the cab driver used to drive broken-down race horses he said, and was always backing Certs. It interfered48 with my education. I’ve always wanted to see this end of it. And I inherit an immense instinct for human weakness from my mother.”
“Not a bit of it,” said Sir Bussy, with a sigh. “I seem always to see what they are up to. Before they see I see it. I make money on the Turf. I ALWAYS make money.”
His face seemed to accuse the universe, and Mr. Parham made a sympathetic noise.
When Mr. Parham went to Newmarket or a race meeting with Sir Bussy he saw to it that his own costume was exactly right. At Ascot he would be in a silky gray morning coat and white spatterdashes and a gray top hat with a black band; the most sporting figure there he was; and when they went to Henley he was in perfect flannels50 and an Old Arvonian blazer, not a new one but one a little faded and grubby and with one patch of tar4. He was a perfect yachtsman on yachts, and at Cannes he never failed to have that just-left-the-tennis-round-the-corner touch, which is the proper touch for Cannes. His was one of those rare figures that could wear plus-fours with distinction. His sweaters were chosen with care, for even a chameleon51 can be correct. Never did he disfigure a party; often, indeed, he would pull one together and define its place and purpose.
The yachtsman ensemble52 was the hardest to preserve because Mr. Parham had more than an average disposition53 towards seasickness54. There he differed from Sir Bussy, who was the better pleased the rougher the water and the smaller the boat. “I can’t help it,” said Sir Bussy. “It’s the law of my nature. What I get I keep.”
But if Mr. Parham’s reactions were prompt they were cheerful. “Nelson,” he would say, after his time of crisis. “He would be sick for two or three days every time he went to sea. That consoles me. The spirit indeed is unwilling55 but the flesh is weak.”
Sir Bussy seemed to appreciate that.
By thus falling into line with things, by refusing to be that social misfit, the intractable and untidy don, Mr. Parham avoided any appearance of parasitism56 in his relations with Sir Bussy and kept his own self-respect unimpaired. He was “RIGHT THERE”; he was not an intrusion. He had never dressed well before, though he had often wanted to do so, and this care for his costume made rather serious inroads upon his modest capital, but he kept his aim steadily57 in view. If one is to edit a weekly that will sway the world one must surely look man of the world enough to do it. And there came a phase in his relations with Sir Bussy when he had to play the r?le of a man of the world all he knew how.
It has to be told, though for some reasons it would be pleasanter to omit it. But it is necessary to illuminate58 the factors of antagonism59 and strife60 within this strange association with its mutual61 scrutiny62, its masked and hidden criticisms.
Perhaps — if the reader is young . . .
Yet even the young reader may want to know.
Let us admit that this next section, though illuminating63, is not absolutely essential to the understanding of the story. It is not improper64, it is not coarse, but frankly65 — it envisages66 something — shall we call it “Eighteenth Century”?— in Mr. Parham’s morals. If it is not an essential part of the story it is at any rate very necessary to our portrait of Mr. Parham.
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1
destined
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| adj.命中注定的；(for)以…为目的地的 | |
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repelled
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| v.击退( repel的过去式和过去分词 )；使厌恶；排斥；推开 | |
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subdue
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| vt.制服，使顺从，征服；抑制，克制 | |
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tar
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| n.柏油，焦油；vt.涂或浇柏油/焦油于 | |
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steer
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| vt.驾驶，为…操舵；引导；vi.驾驶 | |
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steered
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| v.驾驶( steer的过去式和过去分词 )；操纵；控制；引导 | |
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7
rhinoceros
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| n.犀牛 | |
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secrecy
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| n.秘密，保密，隐蔽 | |
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haphazard
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| adj.无计划的，随意的，杂乱无章的 | |
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passionate
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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resentment
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| n.怨愤，忿恨 | |
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gale
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| n.大风，强风，一阵闹声（尤指笑声等） | |
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Mediterranean
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| adj.地中海的；地中海沿岸的 | |
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mentor
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| n.指导者，良师益友；v.指导 | |
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humility
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| n.谦逊，谦恭 | |
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preluded
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| v.为…作序，开头（prelude的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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soothes
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| v.安慰( soothe的第三人称单数 )；抚慰；使舒服；减轻痛苦 | |
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destitute
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| adj.缺乏的；穷困的 | |
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precedents
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| 引用单元； 范例( precedent的名词复数 )； 先前出现的事例； 前例； 先例 | |
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joyous
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| adj.充满快乐的；令人高兴的 | |
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beetle
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| n.甲虫，近视眼的人 | |
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shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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flirting
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| v.调情，打情骂俏( flirt的现在分词 ) | |
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adorned
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| [计]被修饰的 | |
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promenade
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| n./v.散步 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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essentially
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| adv.本质上，实质上，基本上 | |
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tenor
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| n.男高音（歌手），次中音（乐器），要旨，大意 | |
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bulge
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| n.突出，膨胀，激增；vt.突出，膨胀 | |
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32
meditatively
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| adv.冥想地 | |
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33
extravagant
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| adj.奢侈的；过分的；(言行等)放肆的 | |
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ingratitude
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| n.忘恩负义 | |
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orb
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| n.太阳；星球；v.弄圆；成球形 | |
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caressing
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| 爱抚的，表现爱情的，亲切的 | |
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gossamer
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| n.薄纱，游丝 | |
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caressed
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| 爱抚或抚摸…( caress的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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flickered
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| （通常指灯光）闪烁，摇曳( flicker的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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incited
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| 刺激，激励，煽动( incite的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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sensuous
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| adj.激发美感的；感官的，感觉上的 | |
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rustle
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| v.沙沙作响；偷盗(牛、马等)；n.沙沙声声 | |
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giggle
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| n.痴笑，咯咯地笑；v.咯咯地笑着说 | |
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Oxford
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| n.牛津（英国城市） | |
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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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amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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unduly
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| adv.过度地，不适当地 | |
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interfered
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| v.干预( interfere的过去式和过去分词 )；调停；妨碍；干涉 | |
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costly
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| adj.昂贵的，价值高的，豪华的 | |
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50
flannels
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| 法兰绒男裤； 法兰绒( flannel的名词复数 ) | |
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chameleon
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| n.变色龙，蜥蜴；善变之人 | |
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ensemble
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| n.合奏(唱)组；全套服装；整体，总效果 | |
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disposition
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| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
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54
seasickness
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| n.晕船 | |
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55
unwilling
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| adj.不情愿的 | |
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parasitism
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| n.寄生状态，寄生病；寄生性 | |
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steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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illuminate
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| vt.照亮，照明；用灯光装饰；说明，阐释 | |
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antagonism
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| n.对抗，敌对，对立 | |
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strife
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| n.争吵，冲突，倾轧，竞争 | |
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mutual
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| adj.相互的，彼此的；共同的，共有的 | |
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scrutiny
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| n.详细检查，仔细观察 | |
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illuminating
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| a.富于启发性的，有助阐明的 | |
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improper
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| adj.不适当的，不合适的，不正确的，不合礼仪的 | |
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frankly
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| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
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envisages
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| 想像，设想( envisage的第三人称单数 ) | |
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