This mutual1 frequentation of Sir Bussy and Mr. Parham necessarily had intermissions, because of Mr. Parham’s duty to his university and his influence upon the rising generation, and because also of perceptible fluctuations2 in Sir Bussy’s need of him. And as time went on and the two men came to understand each other more acutely, clashes of opinion had to be recognized. Imperceptibly Sir Bussy passed from a monosyllabic reception of Mr. Parham’s expositions of the state of the world and the life of man to more definitely skeptical3 comments. And at times Mr. Parham, because he had so strong a sense of the necessity of dominating Sir Bussy and subduing4 his untrained ignorance to intelligible5 purposes, became, it may be, a little authoritative6 in his argument and a trifle overbearing in his manner. And then Sir Bussy would seem almost not to like him for a time and would say, “Gaw,” and turn away.
For a few weeks, or even it might be for a month or so, Mr. Parham would have no more abnormal social adventures, and then quite abruptly7 and apropos8 of any old thing Sir Bussy would manifest a disposition9 to scrutinize10 Mr. Parham’s point of view again, and the excursions and expeditions would be renewed.
A hopeful friendship it was throughout on Mr. Parham’s side, but at no time was it a completely harmonious11 one. He found Sir Bussy’s choice of associates generally bad and often lamentable12. He was constantly meeting people who crossed and irritated him beyond measure. With them he would dispute, even acrimoniously13. Through them it was possible to say all sorts of things at Sir Bussy that it might have been undesirable14 to say directly to him.
There were times when it seemed almost as if Sir Bussy invited people merely to annoy Mr. Parham, underbred contradictory16 people with accents and the most preposterous17 views. There was a crazy eclecticism18 about his hospitality. He would bring in strange Americans with notions rather than ideas about subjects like currency and instalment buying, subjects really more impossible than indecency, wrong sorts of Americans, carping and aggressive, or he would invite Scandinavian ideologists, or people in a state of fresh disillusionment or fresh enthusiasm from Russia, even actual Bolsheviks, Mr. Bernard Shaw and worse, self-made authors, a most unpleasant type, wild talkers like Mr. J. B. S. Haldane, saying the most extravagant19 things. Once there was a Chinaman who said at the end of a patient, clear exposition of the British conception of self-government and the part played by social and intellectual influence in our affairs, “I see England at least is still looled by mandolins,” whatever that might mean. He nodded his gold spectacles towards Mr. Parham, so probably he imagined it did mean something. Most subtly and insidiously21 Sir Bussy would sow the seeds of a dispute amid such discordant23 mixtures and sit in a sort of intellectual rapture24, mouth dropping, while Mr. Parham, sometimes cool but sometimes glowing, dealt with the fallacies, plain errors, misconceptions, and misinformation that had arisen. “Gaw!” Sir Bussy would whisper.
No support, no real adhesion, no discipleship25; only that colourless “Gaw.” Even after a quite brilliant display. It was discouraging. Never the obvious suggestion to give this fount of sound conviction and intellectual power its legitimate26 periodic form.
But the cumulative27 effect of these disputes upon Mr. Parham was not an agreeable one. He always managed to carry off these wrangles28 with his colours flying, for he had practised upon six generations of undergraduates; he knew exactly when to call authority to the aid of argument and, in the last resort, refer his antagonist29 back to his studies effectively and humiliatingly30, but at bottom, in its essence, Mr. Parham’s mental substance was delicate and fine, and this succession of unbelieving, interrogative, and sometimes even flatly contradictory people left their scars upon him — scars that rankled32. It was not that they produced the slightest effect upon his essential ideas of the Empire and its Necessary Predominance in World Affairs, of the Historical Task and Destiny of the English, of the R?les of Class and Law in the world and of his Loyalties33 and Institutions, but they gave him a sense of a vast, dangerous, gathering34 repudiation35 of these so carefully shaped and established verities37. The Americans, particularly since the war, seemed to have slipped away, mysteriously and unawares, from the commanding ideas of his world. They brought a horrible tacit suggestion to Sir Bussy’s table that these ideas were now queer and old-fashioned.
Renegades! What on earth had they better? What in the names of Queen Elizabeth, Shakespeare, Raleigh, the Mayflower, Tennyson, Nelson, and Queen Victoria had these people better? Nowadays more and more they seemed to be infected with an idea that they were off and away after some new and distinctive38 thing of their own.
There they were, and there were a hundred and twenty million of them with most of the gold in the world — out of hand. It was not that they had any ideas worth considering to put in the place of Mr. Parham’s well wrought39 and tested set. Positive suggestions he could deal with. One foolish visitor breathed the words “World State.” Mr. Parham smiled all his teeth at him and waved his fingers.
“My DEAR sir,” said Mr. Parham, with a kind of deep richness in his tone. And it sufficed.
Another said, “League of Nations.”
“Poor Wilson’s decaying memorial,” said Mr. Parham.
All the time, behind his valiant40 front this gnawing41 away of Mr. Parham’s confidence went on, his confidence that these ideas of his, right though they certainly were, would be honestly and properly endorsed42 and sustained, at home and abroad, when next they were put to the test. In 1914 they had been tested; had they been overstrained? Imperceptibly he drifted into that state of nervous uncertainty43 we have attempted to convey in our opening section. Was history keeping its grip? Would the game still be played? The world was going through a phase of moral and intellectual disintegration44; its bonds relaxed; its definite lines crumbled45. Suppose, for example, a crisis came in Europe and some strong man at Westminster flashed the sword of Britannia from the scabbard. Would the ties of Empire hold? Suppose the Dominions46 cabled “This is not our war. Tell us about it.” They had already done something of the sort when the Turks had returned to Constantinople. They might do it again and more completely. Suppose the Irish Free State at our backs found our spirited gesture the occasion for ungracious conduct. Suppose instead of the brotherly applause and envious47 sympathy of 1914, a noise like the noise of skinners sharpening their knives came from America. Suppose once again in our still unconscripted land Royal Proclamations called for men and that this time, in stead of another beautiful carnival48 of devotion like that of 1914 — how splendid that had been!— they preferred to remain interrogative. Suppose they asked, “Can’t it be stopped?” or, “Is the whole thing worth while?” The Labour Movement had always had a left wing nefariously49 active, undermining the nation’s forces, destroying confidence, destroying pride in service, willingness to do and die. Amazing how we tolerated it! Suppose, too, the business men proved even more wicked than they were in 1914.
For Mr. Parham knew. They had been wicked; they had driven a bargain. They were not the patriots50 they seemed.
An after-dinner conversation at Carfex House crystallized these floating doubts. When it took place Sir Bussy had already embarked51 upon those psychic52 experiments that were to revolutionize his relations to Mr. Parham. But this dinner was an interlude. The discussion centred upon and would not get away from the topic of the Next War. It was a man’s dinner, and the most loquacious53 guest was an official from Geneva, Sir Walter Atterbury, a figure of importance in the League of Nations Secretariat, an apparently54 unassuming but really very set and opinionated person. But there was also an American banker, Mr. Hamp, a gray-faced, elderly spectacled man, who said strange things in a solemn manner, and there was Austin Camelford, the industrial chemist, who was associated with Sir Bussy in all sorts of business enterprises and who linked with him the big combinations of Romer Steinhart Crest55 & Co. He it was who recalled to Mr. Parham’s mind the cynicism of the business men in 1914. He was a lank56 and lean creature with that modern trick of saying the wildest nonsense as though it was obvious and universally recognized fact. There was also a young American from one of these newfangled Western universities where they teach things like salesmanship and universal history. He was too young to say very much, but what he said was significant.
At first it was Atterbury did most of the talking and, he talked evidently with the approval of the others. Then Mr. Parham was moved to intervene and correct some of the man’s delusions57 — for delusions they plainly were. The talk became more general, and certain things that came from Camelford and Hamp brought home to Mr. Parham’s mind the widening estrangement58 of industry and finance from the guiding concepts of history. Towards the end Sir Bussy by some fragmentary comments of an entirely59 hostile sort, set the seal to a thoroughly60 disconcerting evening.
Sir Walter, trailing clouds of idealism from this Geneva of his, took it for granted that everyone present wanted to see war staved off forever from the world. Apparently he could conceive no other view as possible in intelligent company. And yet, oddly enough, he realized that the possibility of fresh wars was opening wider every year. He showed himself anxious and perplexed61, as well he might, distressed62 by a newborn sense of the inadequacy63 of his blessed League to ward20 off the storms he saw gathering about it. He complained of the British government and the French government, of schools and colleges and literature, of armaments and experts, of a world-wide indifference64 to the accumulating stresses that made for war. The Anglo–American naval65 clash had distressed him particularly. It was the “worst thing that had happened for a long time.” He was facty and explicit66 after the manner of his type. Four or five years ago one did not get these admissions of failure, these apprehensions67 and heart sinkings, from Geneva.
Mr. Parham let him run on. He was all for facts from well informed sources, and so far from wanting to suppress Sir Walter, his disposition was to give him all the rope he wanted. If that weekly had been in existence he would have asked him to write a couple of articles for it. At the normal rates. And then flicked68 aside his pacificist implications with a bantering69 editorial paragraph or so.
At this dinner he resorted to parallel tactics. For a time he posed as one under instruction, asking questions almost respectfully, and then his manner changed. His intelligent interrogations gave place to a note of rollicking common sense. He revealed that this official’s admissions of the impotence of the League had been meat and drink to him. He recalled one or two of Sir Walter’s phrases and laughed kindly70 with his head a little on one side. “But what did you EXPECT?” he said. “What DID you expect?”
And after all was said and done, asked Mr. Parham, was it so bad? Admittedly the extravagant hopes of some sort of permanent world peace, some world Utopia, that had run about like an epidemic71 in 1918, were, we realized now, mere15 fatigue72 phenomena73, with no force of will behind them. The French, the Italians, most lucid74 minded and realistic of peoples, had never entertained such dreams. Peace, now, as always, rested on an armed balance of power.
Sir Walter attempted contradiction. The Canadian boundary?
“The pressure in that case lies elsewhere,” said Mr. Parham, with a confidence that excluded discussion of what these words might mean.
“Your armed balance of power is steadily75 eating up every scrap76 of wealth industrial progress can produce,” said Sir Walter. “The military force of France at present is colossal77. All the European budgets show an increase in armaments, and people like Mussolini jeer78 at the Kellogg Pact79 even as they sign it. The very Americans make the clearest reservation that the Pact doesn’t mean anything that matters. They won’t fight for it. They won’t let it interfere80 with the Monroe Doctrine81. They sign the Pact and reserve their freedom of action and go on with the armament race. More and more the world drifts back to the state of affairs of 1913.
“The most serious thing,” Sir Walter went on, “is the increasing difficulty of keeping any counter movement going. It’s the obstinate82 steadiness of the drive that dismays me. It’s not only that the accumulation of wealth is being checked and any rise in the standard of living prevented by these immense preparations, but the intellectual and moral advance is also slowing down on account of it. Patriotism83 is killing84 mental freedom. France has ceased to think since 1919, and Italy is bound and gagged. Long before actual war returns, freedom of speech may be held up by the patriotic85 censorship in every country in Europe. What are we to do about it? What is there to do?”
“I suggest that there is nothing to do,” said Mr. Parham. “And I don’t in the least mind. May I speak with the utmost frankness — as one man to another — as a realist in a world of human beings, very human beings? Frankly86, I put it to you that we do not want this pacificist movement of yours. It is a dream. The stars in their courses fight against it. The armed man keepeth his house until a stronger cometh. Such is the course of history, my dear sir. So it has ever been. What is this free speech of yours but the liberty to talk nonsense and set mischief87 afoot? For my own part I would not hesitate for a moment in the choice between disorganizing babble88 and national necessity. Can you really mourn the return of discipline and order to countries that were in a fair way to complete social dissolution?”
He recalled one of those striking facts that drive reality home to the most obdurate89 minds. “In 1919, when my niece went to Italy for her honeymoon90, she had two handbags stolen from the train, and on her return her husband’s valise went astray from the booked luggage and never turned up again. That was the state of affairs before the strong hand took hold.
“NO,” said Mr. Parham in a clear, commanding tone, so as to keep the rostrum while he returned to the general question. “As to the facts I see eye to eye with you. Yet not in the same spirit. We enter upon a phase of armament mightier91 than that which preceded the Great War. Granted. But the broad lines of the struggle shape themselves, they shape themselves — rationally and logically. They are in the nature of things. They cannot be evaded92.”
Something almost confidential93 crept into his manner. He indicated regions of the tablecloth94 by gestures of his hands, and his voice sank. Sir Walter watched him, open eyed. His brows wrinkled with something like dismay.
“Here,” said Mr. Parham, “in the very centre of the Old World, illimitably vast, potentially more powerful than most of the rest of the world put together —” he paused as if fearing to be overheard —“is RUSSIA. It really does not matter in the least whether she is Czarist or Bolshevik. She is the final danger — the overwhelming enemy. Grow she must. She has space. She has immense resources. She strikes at us, through Turkey as always, through Afghanistan as always, and now through China. Instinctively95 she does that; necessarily. I do not blame her. But preserve ourselves we must. What will Germany do? Cleave97 to the East? Cleave to the West? Who can tell? A student nation, a secondary people, a disputed territory. We win her if we can but I do not count on her. The policy imposed upon the rest of the world is plain. WE MUST CIRCUMVENT98 RUSSIA; we must encircle this threat of the great plains before it overwhelms us. As we encircled the lesser99 threat of the Hohenzollerns. In time. On the West, here, we outflank her with our ally France and Poland her pupil; on the East with our ally Japan. We reach at her through India. We strive to point the spearhead of Afghanistan against her. We hold Gibraltar on her account; we watch Constantinople on her account. America is drawn100 in with us, necessarily our ally, willy-nilly, because she cannot let Russia strike through China to the sea. There you have the situation of the world. Broadly and boldly seen. Fraught101 with immense danger — yes. Tragic102 — if you will. But fraught also with limitless possibilities of devotion and courage.”
Mr. Parham paused. When it was evident he had fully36 paused Sir Bussy whispered his habitual103 monosyllable. Sir Walter cracked a nut and accepted port.
“There you are,” he said with a sigh in his voice, “if Mr.—?”
“Parham, sir.”
“If Mr. Parham said that in any European capital from Paris to Tokio, it would be taken quite seriously. Quite seriously. That’s where we are, ten years from the Armistice104.”
Camelford, who had been listening hitherto, now took up the discourse105. “That is perfectly106 true,” he said. “These governments of ours are like automata. They were evolved originally as fighting competitive things and they do not seem able to work in any other way. They prepare for war and they prepare war. It is like the instinctive96 hunting of a pet cat. However much you feed the beast, it still kills birds. It is made so. And they are made so. Until you destroy or efface107 them that is what they will do. When you went to Geneva, Sir Walter, I submit with all respect you thought they’d do better than they have done. A lot better?”
“I did,” said Sir Walter. “I confess I’ve had a lot of disillusionment — particularly in the last three or four years.”
“We live in a world of the wildest paradox108 today,” said Camelford. “It’s like an egg with an unbreakable shell, or a caterpillar109 that has got perplexed and is half a winged insect and the other half crawler. We can’t get out of our governments. We grow in patches and all wrong. Certain things become international — cosmopolitan110. Banking111, for instance,”— he turned to Hamp.
“Banking, sir, has made immense strides in that direction since the war,” said Hamp. “I say without exaggeration, immense strides. Yes. We have been learning to work together. As we never thought of doing in prewar days. But all the same, don’t you imagine we bankers think we can stop war. We know better than that. Don’t expect it of us. Don’t put too much on us. We can’t fight popular clamour, and we can’t fight a mischievous112 politician who stirs it up. Above all, we can’t fight the printing press. While these sovereign governments of yours can turn paper into money we can be put out of action with the utmost ease. Don’t imagine we are that mysterious unseen power, the Money Power, your parlour Bolsheviks talk about. We bankers are what conditions have made us and we are limited by our conditions.”
“OUR position is fantastic,” said Camelford. “When I say ‘our’ I mean the chemical industries of the world, my associates, that is, here and abroad. I’m glad to say I can count Sir Bussy now among them.”
Sir Bussy’s face was a mask.
“Take one instance to show what I mean by ‘fantastic,’” Camelford went on. “We in our various ramifications113, are the only people able to produce gas on the scale needed in modern war. Practically now all the chemical industries of the world are so linked that I can say ‘we.’ Well, we have perhaps a hundred things necessary for modern warfare114 more or less under our control, and gas is the most important. If these sovereign Powers which still divide the world up in such an inconvenient115 way, contrive116 another war, they will certainly have to use gas, whatever agreements they may have made about it beforehand. And we, our great network of interests, are seeing to it that they will have plenty of gas, good reliable gas at reasonable business rates, all and more than they need. We supply all of them now and probably if war comes we shall still supply all of them — both sides. We may break up our associations a bit for the actual war, but that will be a mere incidental necessity. And so far we haven’t been able to do anything else in our position than what we are doing. Just like you bankers, we are what circumstances have made us. There’s nothing sovereign about US. We aren’t governments with the power to declare war or make peace. Such influence as we have with governments and war offices is limited and indirect. Our position is that of dealers117 simply. We sell gas just as other people sell the Army meat or cabbages.
“But see how it works out. I was figuring at it the other day. Very roughly, of course. Suppose we put the casualties in the next big war at, say, five million and the gas ones at about three — that, I think, is a very moderate estimate, but then you see I’m convinced the next war will be a gas war — every man gassed will have paid us, on the average, anything between four-pence and three-and-tenpence, according to the Powers engaged, for the manufacture, storage, and delivery of the gas he gets. My estimate is naturally approximate. A greater number of casualties will, of course, reduce the cost to the individual. But each of these predestined gasees — if I may coin a word — is now paying something on that scale year by year in taxation118 — and we of the big chemical international are seeing that the supply won’t fail him. We’re a sort of gas club. Like a goose club. Raffle119 at the next great war. YOUR ticket’s death in agony, YOURS a wheezing120 painful lung and poverty, YOU’RE a blank, lucky chap! You won’t get any good out of it, but you won’t get any of the torture. It seems crazy to me, but it seems reasonable to everyone else, and what are we to fly in the face of the Instincts and Institutions of Mankind?”
Mr. Parham played with the nutcrackers and said nothing. This Camelford was an offensive cynic. He would rob even death in battle of its dignity. Gasees!
“The Gasees Club doesn’t begin to exhaust the absurdities121 of the present situation,” Camelford went on. “All these damned war offices, throughout the world have what they call secrets. Oh!— Their SECRETS! The fuss. The precautions. Our people in England, I mean our war-office people, have a gas, a wonderful gas — L. It’s General Gerson’s own pet child. His only child. Beastly filth122. Tortures you and then kills you. He gloats over it. It needs certain rare earths and minerals that we produce at Cayme in Cornwall. You’ve heard of our new works there — rather a wonderful place in its way. Some of our young men do astonishing work. We’ve got a whole string of compounds that might be used for the loveliest purposes. And in a way they are coming into use. Only unhappily you can also get this choke stink123 out of one of our products. Or THEY can — and we have to pretend we don’t know what they want it for. Secret, you know. Important military secret. The scientific industrial world is keeping secrets like that for half a dozen governments. . . . It’s childish. It’s insane.”
Mr. Parham shook his head privately125 as one who knows better.
“Do I understand,” said Hamp, feeling his way cautiously, “that you know of that new British gas — I’ve heard whispers —?”
He broke off interrogatively.
“We have to know more or less. We have to sit on one side and look on and pretend not to see or know while your spies and experts and our spies and experts poke126 about trying to turn pure science into pure foolery. . . . Boy scout127 spying and boy scout chemists. . . . It can’t go on. And yet it IS going on. That is the situation. That is where the world’s persistence128 in independent sovereign governments is taking us. What can we do? You say you can do nothing. I wonder. We might cut off the supply of this pet gas for the British; we might cut off certain high explosives and other material that are the darling secrets of the Germans and your people. There’d have to be a tussle129 with some of our own associates. But I think we could do it now. . . . Suppose we did make the attempt. Would it alter things much? Suppose they had the pluck to arrest us. The Common Fool would be against us.”
“The Common Fool!” cried Mr. Parham, roused at last. “By that, sir, you mean that the whole tenor130 of human experience would be against you. What else can there be but these governments at which you cavil131? What do they stand for? The common life and thought of mankind. And — forgive me if I put you in difficulties — who are YOU? Would you abolish government? Would you set up some extraordinary super-government, some freemasonry of bankers and scientific men to rule the world by conspiracy132?”
“AND scientific men! Bankers AND scientific men! Oh, we TRY to be scientific men in our way,” protested Hamp, seeking sympathy by beaming through his spectacles at Sir Bussy.
“I think I would look for some new way of managing human affairs,” said Camelford, answering Mr. Parham’s question. “I think sooner or later we shall have to try something of the sort. I think science will have to take control.”
“That is to say Treason and a new International,” flashed Mr. Parham. “Without even the social envy of the proletariat to support you!”
“Why not?” murmured Sir Bussy.
“And how are you superior people going to deal with the Common Fool — who is, after all, mankind?”
“You could educate him to support you,” said Atterbury. “He’s always been very docile133 when you’ve caught him young.”
“Something very like a fresh start,” said Camelford. “A new sort of world. It’s not so incredible. Modern political science is in its infancy134. It’s a century or so younger than chemistry or biology. I suppose that to begin with we should have a new sort of education, on quite other lines. Scrap all these poisonous national histories of yours, for example, and start people’s minds clean by telling them what the world might be for mankind.”
Sir Bussy nodded assent135. Mr. Parham found his nod faintly irritating. He restrained an outbreak.
“Unhappily for your idea of fresh starts,” he said, “the Days of Creation are over, and now one day follows another.”
He liked that. It was a good point to make.
In the pause Sir Walter addressed himself to Camelford. “That idea of yours about the gasees club is very vivid. I could have used that in a lecture I gave, a week ago.”
The young American, who had taken no part in the discussion hitherto, now ventured timidly: “I think perhaps you Europeans, if I might say so, are disposed to underestimate the sort of drive there was behind the Kellogg Pact. It may seem fruitless — who can tell yet?— but mind you there was something made that gun. It’s in evidence, even if it’s no more than evidence. The Kellogg Pact isn’t the last proposition of that sort you’ll get from America.”
He reddened as he said his piece, but clearly he had something definite behind what he said.
“I admit that,” said Sir Walter. “In America there is still an immense sentiment towards world peace, and you find something of the same sort in a less developed form everywhere. But it gets no organized expression, no effective development. It remains136 merely a sentiment. It isn’t moving on to directive action. That’s what’s worrying my mind more and more. Before we can give that peace feeling real effectiveness there has to be a tremendous readjustment of ideas.”
Mr. Parham nodded his assent with an air of indifference and consumed a few grapes.
And then it seemed to him that these other men began to talk with a deliberate disregard of what he had been saying. Or, to be more precise, with a deliberate disregard of the indisputable correctness of what he had been saying. It was not as if it had not been said, it was not as if it had been said and required answering, but it was as if a specimen137 had been laid upon the table.
In the later stages of Sir Bussy’s ample and varied138 dinners Mr. Parham was apt to experience fluctuations of mood. At one moment he would be solid and strong and lucidly139 expressive140, and then he would flush, and waves of anger and suspicion would wash through his mind. And now suddenly, as he listened to the talk — and for a while he did no more than listen — he had that feeling which for some time had been haunting him more and more frequently, that the world, with a sort of lax malice141, was slipping away from all that was sane124 and fine and enduring in human life. To put it plainly, these men were plotting openly and without any disguise, the subordination of patriotism, loyalty142, discipline, and all the laboured achievements of statecraft to some vague international commonweal, some fantastic organization of cosmopolitan finance and cosmopolitan industrialism. They were saying things every whit143 as outrageous144 as the stuff for which we sent the talkative Bolshevik spinning back to his beloved Russia. And they were going on with this after all he had said so plainly and clearly about political realities. Was it any good to speak further?
Yet could he afford to let it go unchallenged? There sat Sir Bussy, drinking it in!
They talked. They talked.
“When first I went to Geneva,” said Sir Walter, “I didn’t realize how little could be done there upon the basis of current mentality145. I didn’t know how definitely existing patriotisms were opposed to the beginnings of an international consciousness. I thought they might fade down in time to a generous rivalry146 in the service of mankind. But while we try to build up a permanent world peace away there in Geneva, every schoolmaster and every cadet corps147 in England and every school in France is training the next generation to smash anything of the sort, is doing everything possible to carry young and generous minds back to the exploded delusions of wartime patriotism. . . . All over the world it seems to be the same.”
The young American, shy in the presence of his seniors, could but make a noise of protest like one who stirs in his sleep. Thereby148 he excepted his native land.
“Then,” said Mr. Parham, doing his smile but with a slight involuntary sneer149 of his left nostril150, “you’d begin this great new civilization that is to come, by shutting up our schools?”
“He’d CHANGE ’em,” corrected Sir Bussy.
“Scrap schools, colleges, churches, universities, armies, navies, flags, and honour, and start the millennium151 from the ground upwards,” derided152 Mr. Parham.
“Why not?” said Sir Bussy, with a sudden warning snarl153 in his voice.
“That,” said Hamp, with that profundity154 of manner, that air of marking an epoch155 by some simple remark, of which only Americans possess the secret, “is just what quite a lot of us are hesitating to say. WHY NOT? Sir Bussy, you got right down to the bottom of things with that ‘Why not?’”
The speaker’s large dark gray eyes strongly magnified by his spectacles went from face to face; his cheeks were flushed.
“We’ve scrapped156 carriages and horses, we’re scrapping157 coal fires and gas lighting158, we’ve done with the last big wooden ships, we can hear and see things now on the other side of the world and do a thousand — miracles, I call them — that would have been impossible a hundred years ago. What if frontiers too are out of date? What if countries and cultures have become too small? Why should we go on with the schools and universities that served the ends of our great-grandfathers, and with the governments that were the latest fashion in constitutions a century and a half ago?”
“I presume,” said Mr. Parham unheeded, addressing himself to the flowers on the table before him, “because the dealings of man with man are something entirely different from mechanical operations.”
“I see no reason why there shouldn’t be invention in psychology160, just as much as in chemistry or physics,” said Camelford.
“Your world peace, when you examine it,” said Mr. Parham, “flies in the face of the fundamental institutions — the ancient and tested institutions of mankind — the institutions that have made man what he is. That is the reason.”
“The institutions of mankind,” contradicted Camelford, with tranquil161 assurance, “are just as fundamental and no more fundamental than a pair of trousers. If the world grows out of them and they become inconvenient, it won’t kill anything essential in man to get others. That, I submit, is what he has to set about doing now. He grows more and more independent of the idea that his pants are him. If our rulers and teachers won’t attempt to let out or replace the old garments, so much the worse for them. In the long run. Though for a time, as Sir Walter seems to think, the tension may fall on us. In the long run we shall have to get a new sort of management for our affairs and a new sort of teacher for our sons — however tedious and troublesome it may be to get them — however long and bloody162 the time of change may be.”
“Big proposition,” said Mr. Hamp.
“Which ought to make it all the more attractive to a citizen of the land of big propositions,” said Camelford.
“Why should we be so confoundedly afraid of scrapping things?” said Sir Bussy. “If the schools do mischief and put back people’s children among the ideas that made the war, why not get rid of ’em? Scrap our stale schoolmasters. We’d get a new sort of school all right.”
“And the universities?” said Mr. Parham, amused, with his voice going high.
Sir Bussy turned on him and regarded him gravely.
“Parham,” he said slowly, “you’re infernally well satisfied with the world. I’m not. You’re afraid it may change into something else. You want to stop it right here and now. Or else you may have to learn something new and throw away the old bag of tricks. Yes — I know you. That’s your whole mind. You’re afraid that a time will come when all the important things of today will just not matter a rap; when what that chap Napoleon fancied was his Destiny or what old Richelieu imagined to be a fine forward foreign policy, will matter no more to intelligent people than —” he sought for an image and drew it slowly out of his mind —“the ideas of some old buck163 rabbit in the days of Queen Elizabeth.”
The attack was so direct, so deliberately164 offensive in its allusion165 to Mr. Parham’s masterly studies of Richelieu, that for the moment that gentleman had nothing to say.
“Gaw,” said Sir Bussy, “when I hear talk like this it seems to me that this Tradition of yours is only another word for Putrefaction166. The clean way with Nature is dying and being born. Same with human institutions — only more so. How can we live unless we scrap and abolish? How can a town be clean without a dust destructor? What’s your history really? Simply what’s been left over from the life of yesterday. Egg shells and old tin cans.”
“Now THAT’S a thought,” said Hamp and turned appreciative167 horn spectacles to Sir Bussy.
“The greatest of reformers, gentlemen,” said Hamp, with a quavering of the voice, “told the world it had to be born again. And that, as I read the instruction, covered everybody and everything in it.”
“It’s a big birth we want this time,” said Camelford.
“God grant it isn’t a miscarriage,” said Sir Walter.
He smiled at his own fancy. “If we WILL make the birth chamber168 an arsenal169, we may have the guns going off — just at the wrong moment.”
Mr. Parham, still and stiff, smoked his excellent cigar. He knocked off his ash into his ash tray with a firm hand. His face betrayed little of his resentment170 at Sir Bussy’s insult. Merely it insisted upon dignity. But behind that marble mask the thoughts stormed. Should he get up right there and depart? In silence? In contemptuous silence? Or perhaps with a brief bitter speech: “Gentlemen, I’ve heard enough folly171 for tonight. Perhaps you do not realize the incalculable mischief such talk as this can do. For me at least international affairs are grave realities.”
He raised his eyes and found Sir Bussy, profoundly pensive172 but in no way hostile, regarding him.
A moment — a queer moment, and something faded out in Mr. Parham.
“Have a little more of this old brandy,” said Sir Bussy in that persuasive173 voice of his.
Mr. Parham hesitated, nodded gravely — as it were forgivingly — seemed to wake up, smiled ambiguously, and took some more of the old brandy.
But the memory of that conversation was to rankle31 in Mr. Parham’s mind and inflame174 his imagination like a barbed and poisoned arrowhead that would not be removed. He would find himself reprobating its tendencies aloud as he walked about Oxford175, his habit of talking to himself was increased by it, and it broke his rest of nights and crept into his dreams. A deepening hatred176 of modern scientific influences that he had hitherto kept at the back of his mind, was now, in spite of his instinctive resistance, creeping into the foreground. One could deal with the financial if only the scientific would leave it alone. The banker and the merchant are as old as Rome and Babylon. One could deal with Sir Bussy if it were not for the insidious22 influence of such men as Camelford and their vast materialistic177 schemes. They were something new. He supplied force, but they engendered178 ideas. He could resist and deflect179, but they could change.
That story about an exclusive British gas . . . !
With Camelford overlooking it like a self-appointed God. Proposing to cut off the supply. Proposing in effect to stand out of war and make the game impossible. The strike, the treason, of the men of science and the modern men of enterprise. Could they work such a strike? The most fretting180 it was of all the riddles181 in our contemporary world. And while these signs of Anglo–Saxon decadence182 oppressed him, came Mussolini’s mighty183 discourse to the Italian Nation on the Eve of the General Elections of 1929. That ringing statement of Fascist184 aims, that assertion of the paramount185 need of a sense of the state, of discipline and energy, had a clarity, a nobility, a boldness and power altogether beyond the quality of anything one heard in English. Mr. Parham read it and re-read it. He translated it into Latin and it was even more splendid. He sought to translate it, but that was more difficult, into English prose. “This is a man,” said Mr. Parham. “Is there no other man of his kind?”
And late one evening he found himself in his bedroom in Pontingale Street before his mirror. For Mr. Parham possessed186 a cheval glass. He had gone far in his preparation for bed. He had put on his dressing159 gown, leaving one fine arm and shoulder free for gesticulation. And with appropriate movements of his hand, he was repeating these glorious words of the great dictator.
“Your Excellencies, Comrades, Gentlemen,” he was saying.
“Now do not think that I wish to commit the sin of immodesty in telling you that all this work, of which I have given a summarised and partial résumé, has been activated187 by my mind. The work of legislation, of putting schemes into action, of control and of the creation of new institutions, has formed only a part of my efforts. There is another part, not so well-known, but the existence of which will be manifest to you through the following figures which may be of interest: I have granted over 60,000 audiences; I have dealt with 1,887,112 cases of individual citizens, received directly by my Private Secretary. . . .
“In order to withstand this strain I have put my body in training; I have regulated my daily work; I have reduced to a minimum any loss of time and energy and I have adopted this rule, which I recommend to all Italians. The day’s work must be methodically and regularly completed within the day. No work must be left over. The ordinary work must proceed with an almost mechanical regularity188. My collaborators, whom I recall with pleasure and whom I wish to thank publicly, have imitated me. The hard work has appeared light to me, partly because it is varied, and I have resisted the strain because my will was sustained by my faith. I have assumed — as was my duty — both the small and the greater responsibilities.”
Mr. Parham ceased to quote. He stared at the not ungraceful figure in the mirror.
“Has Britain no such Man?”
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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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fluctuations
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| 波动，涨落，起伏( fluctuation的名词复数 ) | |
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skeptical
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| adj.怀疑的，多疑的 | |
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subduing
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| 征服( subdue的现在分词 )； 克制； 制服； 色变暗 | |
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intelligible
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| adj.可理解的，明白易懂的，清楚的 | |
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authoritative
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| adj.有权威的，可相信的；命令式的；官方的 | |
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abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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apropos
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| adv.恰好地；adj.恰当的；关于 | |
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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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scrutinize
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| n.详细检查，细读 | |
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harmonious
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| adj.和睦的，调和的，和谐的，协调的 | |
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lamentable
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| adj.令人惋惜的，悔恨的 | |
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acrimoniously
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| adv.毒辣地，尖刻地 | |
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undesirable
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| adj.不受欢迎的，不良的，不合意的，讨厌的；n.不受欢迎的人，不良分子 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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contradictory
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| adj.反驳的，反对的，抗辩的；n.正反对，矛盾对立 | |
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preposterous
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| adj.荒谬的，可笑的 | |
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eclecticism
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| n.折衷主义 | |
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extravagant
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| adj.奢侈的；过分的；(言行等)放肆的 | |
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ward
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| n.守卫，监护，病房，行政区，由监护人或法院保护的人（尤指儿童）；vt.守护，躲开 | |
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insidiously
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| 潜在地，隐伏地，阴险地 | |
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insidious
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| adj.阴险的，隐匿的，暗中为害的，（疾病）不知不觉之间加剧 | |
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discordant
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| adj.不调和的 | |
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rapture
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| n.狂喜；全神贯注；着迷；v.使狂喜 | |
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discipleship
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| n.做弟子的身份（期间） | |
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legitimate
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| adj.合法的，合理的，合乎逻辑的；v.使合法 | |
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cumulative
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| adj.累积的，渐增的 | |
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wrangles
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| n.（尤指长时间的）激烈争吵，口角，吵嘴( wrangle的名词复数 )v.争吵，争论，口角( wrangle的第三人称单数 ) | |
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antagonist
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| n.敌人，对抗者，对手 | |
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humiliatingly
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31
rankle
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| v.（怨恨，失望等）难以释怀 | |
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rankled
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| v.（使）痛苦不已，（使）怨恨不已( rankle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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33
loyalties
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| n.忠诚( loyalty的名词复数 )；忠心；忠于…感情；要忠于…的强烈感情 | |
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34
gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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35
repudiation
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| n.拒绝；否认；断绝关系；抛弃 | |
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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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verities
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| n.真实( verity的名词复数 )；事实；真理；真实的陈述 | |
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38
distinctive
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| adj.特别的，有特色的，与众不同的 | |
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39
wrought
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| v.引起；以…原料制作；运转；adj.制造的 | |
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valiant
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| adj.勇敢的，英勇的；n.勇士，勇敢的人 | |
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41
gnawing
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| a.痛苦的，折磨人的 | |
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42
endorsed
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| vt.& vi.endorse的过去式或过去分词形式v.赞同( endorse的过去式和过去分词 )；在（尤指支票的）背面签字；在（文件的）背面写评论；在广告上说本人使用并赞同某产品 | |
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43
uncertainty
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| n.易变，靠不住，不确知，不确定的事物 | |
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disintegration
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| n.分散，解体 | |
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crumbled
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| （把…）弄碎， （使）碎成细屑( crumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 衰落； 坍塌； 损坏 | |
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dominions
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| 统治权( dominion的名词复数 )； 领土； 疆土； 版图 | |
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envious
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| adj.嫉妒的，羡慕的 | |
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carnival
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| n.嘉年华会，狂欢，狂欢节，巡回表演 | |
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nefariously
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| adv.邪恶地，穷凶极恶地 | |
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patriots
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| 爱国者，爱国主义者( patriot的名词复数 ) | |
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51
embarked
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| 乘船( embark的过去式和过去分词 )； 装载； 从事 | |
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psychic
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| n.对超自然力敏感的人；adj.有超自然力的 | |
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53
loquacious
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| adj.多嘴的，饶舌的 | |
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54
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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55
crest
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| n.顶点；饰章；羽冠；vt.达到顶点；vi.形成浪尖 | |
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56
lank
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| adj.瘦削的；稀疏的 | |
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57
delusions
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| n.欺骗( delusion的名词复数 )；谬见；错觉；妄想 | |
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58
estrangement
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| n.疏远，失和，不和 | |
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59
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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61
perplexed
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| adj.不知所措的 | |
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distressed
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| 痛苦的 | |
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inadequacy
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| n.无法胜任，信心不足 | |
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indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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naval
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| adj.海军的，军舰的，船的 | |
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explicit
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| adj.详述的，明确的；坦率的；显然的 | |
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apprehensions
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| 疑惧 | |
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68
flicked
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| （尤指用手指或手快速地）轻击( flick的过去式和过去分词 )； （用…）轻挥； （快速地）按开关； 向…笑了一下（或瞥了一眼等） | |
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69
bantering
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| adj.嘲弄的v.开玩笑，说笑，逗乐( banter的现在分词 )；（善意地）取笑，逗弄 | |
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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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epidemic
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| n.流行病；盛行；adj.流行性的，流传极广的 | |
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fatigue
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| n.疲劳，劳累 | |
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phenomena
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| n.现象 | |
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lucid
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| adj.明白易懂的，清晰的，头脑清楚的 | |
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steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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scrap
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| n.碎片；废料；v.废弃，报废 | |
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colossal
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| adj.异常的，庞大的 | |
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jeer
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| vi.嘲弄，揶揄；vt.奚落；n.嘲笑，讥评 | |
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pact
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| n.合同，条约，公约，协定 | |
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interfere
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| v.(in)干涉，干预；(with)妨碍，打扰 | |
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doctrine
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| n.教义；主义；学说 | |
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obstinate
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| adj.顽固的，倔强的，不易屈服的，较难治愈的 | |
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patriotism
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| n.爱国精神，爱国心，爱国主义 | |
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84
killing
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| n.巨额利润；突然赚大钱，发大财 | |
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patriotic
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| adj.爱国的，有爱国心的 | |
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frankly
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| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
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mischief
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| n.损害，伤害，危害；恶作剧，捣蛋，胡闹 | |
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babble
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| v.含糊不清地说，胡言乱语地说，儿语 | |
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obdurate
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| adj.固执的，顽固的 | |
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honeymoon
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| n.蜜月（假期）；vi.度蜜月 | |
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mightier
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| adj. 强有力的，强大的，巨大的 adv. 很，极其 | |
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evaded
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| 逃避( evade的过去式和过去分词 )； 避开； 回避； 想不出 | |
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confidential
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| adj.秘（机）密的，表示信任的，担任机密工作的 | |
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tablecloth
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| n.桌布，台布 | |
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instinctively
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| adv.本能地 | |
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instinctive
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| adj.(出于)本能的；直觉的；(出于)天性的 | |
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cleave
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| v．(clave；cleaved)粘着，粘住；坚持；依恋 | |
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circumvent
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| vt.环绕，包围；对…用计取胜，智胜 | |
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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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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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fraught
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| adj.充满…的，伴有(危险等)的；忧虑的 | |
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tragic
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| adj.悲剧的，悲剧性的，悲惨的 | |
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103
habitual
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| adj.习惯性的；通常的，惯常的 | |
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104
armistice
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| n.休战，停战协定 | |
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105
discourse
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| n.论文，演说；谈话；话语；vi.讲述，著述 | |
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106
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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107
efface
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| v.擦掉，抹去 | |
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108
paradox
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| n.似乎矛盾却正确的说法；自相矛盾的人(物) | |
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109
caterpillar
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| n.毛虫，蝴蝶的幼虫 | |
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110
cosmopolitan
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| adj.世界性的，全世界的，四海为家的，全球的 | |
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111
banking
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| n.银行业，银行学，金融业 | |
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112
mischievous
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| adj.调皮的，恶作剧的，有害的，伤人的 | |
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113
ramifications
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| n.结果，后果( ramification的名词复数 ) | |
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114
warfare
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| n.战争(状态)；斗争；冲突 | |
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115
inconvenient
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| adj.不方便的，令人感到麻烦的 | |
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116
contrive
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| vt.谋划，策划；设法做到；设计，想出 | |
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117
dealers
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| n.商人( dealer的名词复数 )；贩毒者；毒品贩子；发牌者 | |
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118
taxation
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| n.征税，税收，税金 | |
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119
raffle
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| n.废物，垃圾，抽奖售卖；v.以抽彩出售 | |
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120
wheezing
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| v.喘息，发出呼哧呼哧的喘息声( wheeze的现在分词 )；哮鸣 | |
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121
absurdities
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| n.极端无理性( absurdity的名词复数 )；荒谬；谬论；荒谬的行为 | |
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122
filth
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| n.肮脏，污物，污秽；淫猥 | |
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123
stink
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| vi.发出恶臭；糟透，招人厌恶；n.恶臭 | |
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124
sane
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| adj.心智健全的，神志清醒的，明智的，稳健的 | |
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125
privately
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| adv.以私人的身份，悄悄地，私下地 | |
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126
poke
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| n.刺，戳，袋；vt.拨开，刺，戳；vi.戳，刺，捅，搜索，伸出，行动散慢 | |
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127
scout
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| n.童子军，侦察员；v.侦察，搜索 | |
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128
persistence
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| n.坚持，持续，存留 | |
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129
tussle
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| n.&v.扭打，搏斗，争辩 | |
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130
tenor
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| n.男高音（歌手），次中音（乐器），要旨，大意 | |
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131
cavil
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| v.挑毛病，吹毛求疵 | |
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132
conspiracy
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| n.阴谋，密谋，共谋 | |
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133
docile
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| adj.驯服的，易控制的，容易教的 | |
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134
infancy
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| n.婴儿期；幼年期；初期 | |
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135
assent
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| v.批准，认可；n.批准，认可 | |
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136
remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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137
specimen
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| n.样本，标本 | |
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138
varied
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| adj.多样的，多变化的 | |
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139
lucidly
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| adv.清透地，透明地 | |
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140
expressive
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| adj.表现的，表达…的，富于表情的 | |
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141
malice
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| n.恶意，怨恨，蓄意；[律]预谋 | |
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142
loyalty
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| n.忠诚，忠心 | |
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143
whit
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| n.一点，丝毫 | |
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144
outrageous
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| adj.无理的，令人不能容忍的 | |
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145
mentality
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| n.心理，思想，脑力 | |
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146
rivalry
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| n.竞争，竞赛，对抗 | |
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147
corps
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| n.(通信等兵种的)部队；(同类作的)一组 | |
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148
thereby
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| adv.因此，从而 | |
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149
sneer
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| v.轻蔑；嘲笑；n.嘲笑，讥讽的言语 | |
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150
nostril
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| n.鼻孔 | |
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151
millennium
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| n.一千年，千禧年；太平盛世 | |
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152
derided
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| v.取笑，嘲笑( deride的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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153
snarl
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| v.吼叫，怒骂，纠缠，混乱；n.混乱，缠结，咆哮 | |
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154
profundity
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| n.渊博；深奥，深刻 | |
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155
epoch
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| n.(新)时代；历元 | |
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156
scrapped
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| 废弃(scrap的过去式与过去分词)； 打架 | |
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157
scrapping
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| 刮，切除坯体余泥 | |
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158
lighting
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| n.照明，光线的明暗，舞台灯光 | |
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159
dressing
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| n.(食物)调料；包扎伤口的用品，敷料 | |
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160
psychology
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| n.心理，心理学，心理状态 | |
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161
tranquil
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| adj. 安静的, 宁静的, 稳定的, 不变的 | |
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162
bloody
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| adj.非常的的；流血的；残忍的；adv.很；vt.血染 | |
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163
buck
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| n.雄鹿，雄兔；v.马离地跳跃 | |
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164
deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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165
allusion
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| n.暗示，间接提示 | |
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166
putrefaction
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| n.腐坏，腐败 | |
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167
appreciative
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| adj.有鉴赏力的，有眼力的；感激的 | |
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168
chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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169
arsenal
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| n.兵工厂，军械库 | |
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170
resentment
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| n.怨愤，忿恨 | |
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171
folly
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| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
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172
pensive
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| a.沉思的,哀思的,忧沉的 | |
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173
persuasive
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| adj.有说服力的，能说得使人相信的 | |
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174
inflame
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| v.使燃烧；使极度激动；使发炎 | |
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175
Oxford
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| n.牛津（英国城市） | |
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176
hatred
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| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
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177
materialistic
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| a.唯物主义的，物质享乐主义的 | |
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178
engendered
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| v.产生（某形势或状况），造成，引起( engender的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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179
deflect
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| v.(使)偏斜，(使)偏离，(使)转向 | |
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180
fretting
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| n. 微振磨损 adj. 烦躁的, 焦虑的 | |
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181
riddles
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| n.谜（语）( riddle的名词复数 )；猜不透的难题，难解之谜 | |
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182
decadence
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| n.衰落，颓废 | |
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183
mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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184
fascist
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| adj.法西斯主义的；法西斯党的；n.法西斯主义者，法西斯分子 | |
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185
paramount
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| a.最重要的，最高权力的 | |
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186
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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187
activated
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| adj. 激活的 动词activate的过去式和过去分词 | |
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188
regularity
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| n.规律性，规则性；匀称，整齐 | |
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