the research magnificent-第30部分

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　　It　seemed　to　him　that　London　was　a　desolate　and　inglorious　growth。　London　ten　years　ago　was　much　less　nocturnal　than　it　is　now。　　And　not　so　brightly　lit。　　Down　the　long　streets　came　no　traffic　but　an　occasional　hansom。　　Here　and　there　a　cat　halted　or　bolted　in　the　road。　　Near　Piccadilly　a　policeman　hovered　artfully　in　a　doorway；　and　then　came　a　few　belated　prostitutes　waylaying　the　passers…by；　and　a　few　youths　and　men；　wearily　lust　driven。　As　he　turned　up　New　Bond　Street　he　saw　a　figure　that　struck　him　as　familiar。　　Surely！it　was　Billy　Prothero！　　Or　at　any　rate　it　was　astonishingly　like　Billy　Prothero。　　He　glanced　again　and　the　likeness　was　more　doubtful。　　The　man　had　his　back　to　Benham；　he　was　halting　and　looking　back　at　a　woman。　By　some　queer　flash　of　intuition　it　came　to　Benham　that　even　if　this　was　not　Prothero；　still　Prothero　did　these　things。　　It　might　very　well　be　Prothero　even；　though；　as　he　now　saw；　it　wasn't。　　Everybody　did　these　things。　。　。　。　It　came　into　Benham's　head　for　the　first　time　that　life　could　be　tiresome。　This　Bond　Street　was　a　tiresome　place；　with　its　shops　all　shut　and　muffled；　its　shops　where　in　the　crowded　daytime　one　bought　costly　furniture；　costly　clothes；　costly　scent；　sweets；　bibelots；　pictures；　jewellery；　presents　of　all　sorts；　clothes　for　Mrs。　Skelmersdale；　sweets　for　Mrs。　Skelmersdale；　presents　for　Mrs。　Skelmersdale；　all　the　elaborate　fittings　and　equipage　ofTHAT！　〃Good　night；　dear；〃　a　woman　drifted　by　him。　〃I've　SAID　good　night；〃　he　cried；　〃I've　SAID　good　night；〃　and　so　went　on　to　his　flat。　　The　unquenchable　demand；　the　wearisome　insatiability　of　sex！　　When　everything　else　has　gone；　then　it　shows　itself　bare　in　the　bleak　small　hours。　　And　at　first　it　had　seemed　so　light　a　matter！　　He　went　to　bed；　feeling　dog…tired；　he　went　to　bed　at　an　hour　and　with　a　finished　completeness　that　Merkle　would　have　regarded　as　entirely　becoming　in　a　young　gentleman　of　his　position。　And　a　little　past　three　o'clock　in　the　morning　he　awoke　to　a　mood　of　indescribable　desolation。　　He　awoke　with　a　start　to　an　agony　of　remorse　and　self…reproach。

9

For　a　time　he　lay　quite　still　staring　at　the　darkness；　then　he　groaned　and　turned　over。　　Then；　suddenly；　like　one　who　fancies　he　hears　a　strange　noise；　he　sat　up　in　bed　and　listened。〃Oh；　God！〃　he　said　at　last。　And　then：　〃Oh！　　The　DIRTINESS　of　life！　　The　dirty　muddle　of　life！　〃What　are　we　doing　with　life？　　What　are　we　all　doing　with　life？　〃It　isn't　only　this　poor　Milly　business。　　This　only　brings　it　to　a　head。　　Of　course　she　wants　money。　。　。　。〃　His　thoughts　came　on　again。　〃But　the　ugliness！　〃Why　did　I　begin　it？〃　He　put　his　hands　upon　his　knees　and　pressed　his　eyes　against　the　backs　of　his　hands　and　so　remained　very　still；　a　blankness　beneath　his　own　question。　After　a　long　interval　his　mind　moved　again。　And　now　it　was　as　if　he　looked　upon　his　whole　existence；　he　seemed　to　see　in　a　large；　clear；　cold　comprehensiveness；　all　the　wasted　days；　the　fruitless　activities；　the　futilities；　the　perpetual　postponements　that　had　followed　his　coming　to　London。　　He　saw　it　all　as　a　joyless　indulgence；　as　a　confusion　of　playthings　and　undisciplined　desires；　as　a　succession　of　days　that　began　amiably　and　weakly；　that　became　steadily　more　crowded　with　ignoble　and　trivial　occupations；　that　had　sunken　now　to　indignity　and　uncleanness。　　He　was　overwhelmed　by　that　persuasion；　which　only　freshly　soiled　youth　can　feel　in　its　extreme　intensity；　that　life　was　slipping　away　from　him；　that　the　sands　were　running　out；　that　in　a　little　while　his　existence　would　be　irretrievably　lost。　By　some　trick　of　the　imagination　he　saw　life　as　an　interminable　Bond　Street；　lit　up　by　night　lamps；　desolate；　full　of　rubbish；　full　of　the　very　best　rubbish；　trappings；　temptations；　and　down　it　all　he　drove；　as　the　damned　drive；　wearily；　inexplicably。　WHAT　ARE　WE　UP　TO　WITH　LIFE！　　WHAT　ARE　WE　MAKING　OF　LIFE！　But　hadn't　he　intended　to　make　something　tremendous　of　life？　　Hadn't　he　come　to　London　trailing　a　glory？　。　。　。　He　began　to　remember　it　as　a　project。　　It　was　the　project　of　a　great　World…State　sustained　by　an　aristocracy　of　noble　men。　　He　was　to　have　been　one　of　those　men；　too　fine　and　far…reaching　for　the　dull　manoeuvers　of　such　politics　as　rule　the　world　to…day。　　The　project　seemed　still　large；　still　whitely　noble；　but　now　it　was　unlit　and　dead；　and　in　the　foreground　he　sat　in　the　flat　of　Mrs。　Skelmersdale；　feeling　dissipated　and　fumbling　with　his　white　tie。　　And　she　was　looking　tired。　　〃God！〃　he　said。　　〃How　did　I　get　there？〃　And　then　suddenly　he　reached　out　his　arms　in　the　darkness　and　prayed　aloud　to　the　silences。　〃Oh；　God！　　Give　me　back　my　visions！　　Give　me　back　my　visions！〃　He　could　have　imagined　he　heard　a　voice　calling　upon　him　to　come　out　into　life；　to　escape　from　the　body　of　this　death。　　But　it　was　his　own　voice　that　called　to　him。　。　。　。

10

The　need　for　action　became　so　urgent　in　him；　that　he　got　right　out　of　his　bed　and　sat　on　the　edge　of　it。　　Something　had　to　be　done　at　once。　　He　did　not　know　what　it　was　but　he　felt　that　there　could　be　no　more　sleep；　no　more　rest；　no　dressing　nor　eating　nor　going　forth　before　he　came　to　decisions。　　Christian　before　his　pilgrimage　began　was　not　more　certain　of　this　need　of　flight　from　the　life　of　routine　and　vanities。　What　was　to　be　done？　In　the　first　place　he　must　get　away　and　think　about　it　all；　think　himself　clear　of　all　thesethese　immediacies；　these　associations　and　relations　and　holds　and　habits。　　He　must　get　back　to　his　vision；　get　back　to　the　God　in　his　vision。　　And　to　do　that　he　must　go　alone。　He　was　clear　he　must　go　alone。　　It　was　useless　to　go　to　Prothero；　one　weak　man　going　to　a　weaker。　　Prothero　he　was　convinced　could　help　him　not　at　all；　and　the　strange　thing　is　that　this　conviction　had　come　to　him　and　had　established　itself　incontestably　because　of　that　figure　at　the　street　corner；　which　had　for　just　one　moment　resembled　Prothero。　　By　some　fantastic　intuition　Benham　knew　that　Prothero　would　not　only　participate　but　excuse。　　And　he　knew　that　he　himself　could　endure　no　excuses。　　He　must　cut　clear　of　any　possibility　of　qualification。　　This　thing　had　to　be　stopped。　　He　must　get　away；　he　must　get　free；　he　must　get　clean。　　In　the　extravagance　of　his　reaction　Benham　felt　that　he　could　endure　nothing　but　solitary　places　and　to　sleep　under　the　open　sky。　He　wanted　to　get　right　away　from　London　and　everybody　and　lie　in　the　quiet　darkness　and　stare　up　at　the　stars。　His　plans　grew　so　definite　that　presently　he　was　in　his　dressing…　gown　and　turning　out　the　maps　in　the　lower　drawer　of　his　study　bureau。　　He　would　go　down　into　Surrey　with　a　knapsack；　wander　along　the　North　Downs　until　the　Guildford　gap　was　reached；　strike　across　the　Weald　country　to　the　South　Downs　and　then　beat　eastward。　　The　very　thought　of　it　brought　a　coolness　to　his　mind。　　He　knew　that　over　those　southern　hills　one　could　be　as　lonely　as　in　the　wilderness　and　as　free　to　talk　to　God。　　And　there　he　would　settle　something。　　He　would　make　a　plan　for　his　life　and　end　this　torment。　When　Merkle　came　in　to　him　in　the　morning　he　was　fast　asleep。　The　familiar　curtain　rings　awakened　Benham。　　He　turned　his　head　over；　stared　for　a　moment　and　then　remembered。　〃Merkle；〃　he　said；　〃I　am　going　for　a　walking　tour。　　I　am　goi