the research magnificent-第61部分

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ays　been　bitter　experience。　　Most　of　it　was　better　forgotten。　　It　didn't　convince。　It　had　never　worked　things　out。　　In　this　matter　just　as　in　every　other　matter　that　really　signified　things　had　still　to　be　worked　out。　　Nothing　had　been　worked　out　hitherto。　　The　wisdom　of　the　ages　was　a　Cant。　　People　had　been　too　busy　quarrelling；　fighting　and　running　away。　　There　wasn't　any　digested　experience　of　the　ages　at　all。　　Only　the　mis…remembered　hankey…pankey　of　the　Dead　Old　Man。　〃Is　this　love…making　a　physical　necessity　for　most　men　and　women　or　isn't　it？〃　Prothero　demanded。　　〃There's　a　simple　question　enough；　and　is　there　anything　whatever　in　your　confounded　wisdom　of　the　ages　to　tell　me　yes　or　no？　　Can　an　ordinary　celibate　be　as　healthy　and　vigorous　as　a　mated　man？　　Is　a　spinster　of　thirty…eight　a　healthy　human　being？　　Can　she　be？　　I　don't　believe　so。　　Then　why　in　thunder　do　we　let　her　be？　　Here　am　I　at　a　centre　of　learning　and　wisdom　and　I　don't　believe　so；　and　there　is　nothing　in　all　our　colleges；　libraries　and　roomsfull　of　wiseacres　here；　to　settle　that　plain　question　for　me；　plainly　and　finally。　　My　life　is　a　grubby　torment　of　cravings　because　it　isn't　settled。　　If　sexual　activity　IS　a　part　of　the　balance　of　life；　if　it　IS　a　necessity；　well　let's　set　about　making　it　accessible　and　harmless　and　have　done　with　it。　　Swedish　exercises。　　That　sort　of　thing。　　If　it　isn't；　if　it　can　be　reduced　and　done　without；　then　let　us　set　about　teaching　people　HOW　to　control　themselves　and　reduce　and　get　rid　of　this　vehement　passion。　But　all　this　muffled　mystery；　this　pompous　sneak's　way　we　take　with　it！〃　〃But；　Billy！　　How　can　one　settle　these　things？　　It's　a　matter　of　idiosyncrasy。　　What　is　true　for　one　man　isn't　true　for　another。　There's　infinite　difference　of　temperaments！〃　〃Then　why　haven't　we　a　classification　of　temperaments　and　a　moral　code　for　each　sort？　　Why　am　I　ruled　by　the　way　of　life　that　is　convenient　for　Rigdon　the　vegetarian　and　fits　Bowler　the　saint　like　a　glove？　　It　isn't　convenient　for　me。　　It　fits　me　like　a　hair…shirt。　Of　course　there　are　temperaments；　but　why　can't　we　formulate　them　and　exercise　the　elementary　charity　of　recognizing　that　one　man's　health　in　these　matters　is　another　man's　death？　　Some　want　love　and　gratification　and　some　don't。　　There　are　people　who　want　children　and　people　who　don't　want　to　be　bothered　by　children　but　who　are　full　of　vivid　desires。　　There　are　people　whose　only　happiness　is　chastity；　and　women　who　would　rather　be　courtesans　than　mothers。　Some　of　us　would　concentrate　upon　a　single　passion　or　a　single　idea；　others　overflow　with　a　miscellaneoustenderness。　　Yes；and　you　smile！　　Why　spit　upon　and　insult　a　miscellaneous　tenderness；　Benham？　Why　grin　at　it？　　Why　try　every　one　by　the　standards　that　suit　oneself？　　We're　savages；　Benham；　shamefaced　savages；　still。　Shamefaced　and　persecuting。　〃I　was　angry　about　sex　by　seventeen；〃　he　went　on。　　〃Every　year　I　live　I　grow　angrier。〃　His　voice　rose　to　a　squeal　of　indignation　as　he　talked。　〃Think；〃　he　said；　〃of　the　amount　of　thinking　and　feeling　about　sex　that　is　going　on　in　Cambridge　this　morning。　　The　hundreds　out　of　these　thousands　full　of　it。　　A　vast　tank　of　cerebration。　　And　we　put　none　of　it　together；　we　work　nothing　out　from　that　but　poor　little　couplings　and　casual　stories；　patchings　up　of　situations；　misbehaviours；　blunders；　disease；　trouble；　escapes；　and　the　next　generation　will　start；　and　the　next　generation　after　that　will　start　with　nothing　but　your　wisdom　of　the　ages；　which　isn't　wisdom　at　all；　which　is　just　awe　and　funk；　taboos　and　mystery　and　the　secretive　cunning　of　the　savage。　。　。　。　〃What　I　really　want　to　do　is　my　work；〃　said　Prothero；　going　off　quite　unexpectedly　again。　　〃That　is　why　all　this　business；　this　incessant　craving　and　the　shame　of　it　and　all　makes　me　so　infernally　angry。　。　。　。〃

11

〃There　I'm　with　you；〃　cried　Benham；　struggling　out　of　the　thick　torrent　of　Prothero's　prepossessions。　　〃What　we　want　to　do　is　our　work。〃　He　clung　to　his　idea。　　He　raised　his　voice　to　prevent　Prothero　getting　the　word　again。　〃It's　this；　that　you　call　Work；　that　I　callwhat　do　I　call　it？　living　the　aristocratic　life；　which　takes　all　the　coarse　simplicity　out　of　this　business。　　If　it　was　only　submission。　。　。　。　　YOU　think　it　is　only　submissiongiving　way。　。　。　。　　It　isn't　only　submission。　We'd　manage　sex　all　right；　we'd　be　the　happy　swine　our　senses　would　make　us；　if　we　didn't　know　all　the　time　that　there　was　something　else　to　live　for；　something　far　more　important。　　And　different。　Absolutely　different　and　contradictory。　　So　different　that　it　cuts　right　across　all　these　considerations。　　It　won't　fit　in。　。　。　。　　I　don't　know　what　this　other　thing　is；　it's　what　I　want　to　talk　about　with　you。　　But　I　know　that　it　IS；　in　all　my　bones。　。　。　。　　YOU　know。　。　。　。　　It　demands　control；　it　demands　continence；　it　insists　upon　disregard。〃　But　the　ideas　of　continence　and　disregard　were　unpleasant　ideas　to　Prothero　that　day。　〃Mankind；〃　said　Benham；　〃is　overcharged　with　this　sex。　　It　suffocates　us。　　It　gives　life　only　to　consume　it。　　We　struggle　out　of　the　urgent　necessities　of　a　mere　animal　existence。　　We　are　not　so　much　living　as　being　married　and　given　in　marriage。　　All　life　is　swamped　in　the　love　story。　。　。　。〃　〃Man　is　only　overcharged　because　he　is　unsatisfied；〃　said　Prothero；　sticking　stoutly　to　his　own　view。

12

It　was　only　as　they　sat　at　a　little　table　in　the　orchard　at　Grantchester　after　their　lunch　that　Benham　could　make　head　against　Prothero　and　recover　that　largeness　of　outlook　which　had　so　easily　touched　the　imagination　of　Amanda。　　And　then　he　did　not　so　much　dispose　of　Prothero's　troubles　as　soar　over　them。　　It　is　the　last　triumph　of　the　human　understanding　to　sympathize　with　desires　we　do　not　share；　and　to　Benham　who　now　believed　himself　to　be　loved　beyond　the　chances　of　life；　who　was　satisfied　and　tranquil　and　austerely　content；　it　was　impossible　that　Prothero's　demands　should　seem　anything　more　than　the　grotesque　and　squalid　squealings　of　the　beast　that　has　to　be　overridden　and　rejected　altogether。　　It　is　a　freakish　fact　of　our　composition　that　these　most　intense　feelings　in　life　are　just　those　that　are　most　rapidly　and　completely　forgotten；　hate　one　may　recall　for　years；　but　the　magic　of　love　and　the　flame　of　desire　serve　their　purpose　in　our　lives　and　vanish；　leaving　no　trace；　like　the　snows　of　Venice。　　Benham　was　still　not　a　year　and　a　half　from　the　meretricious　delights　of　Mrs。　Skelmersdale；　and　he　looked　at　Prothero　as　a　marble　angel　might　look　at　a　swine　in　its　sty。　。　。　。　What　he　had　now　in　mind　was　an　expedition　to　Russia。　　When　at　last　he　could　sufficiently　release　Prothero's　attention；　he　unfolded　the　project　that　had　been　developing　steadily　in　him　since　his　honeymoon　experience。　He　had　discovered　a　new　reason　for　travelling。　　The　last　country　we　can　see　clearly；　he　had　discovered；　is　our　own　country。　　It　is　as　hard　to　see　one's　own　country　as　it　is　to　see　the　back　of　one's　head。　　It　is　too　much　behind　us；　too　much　ourselves。　　But　Russia　is　like　England　with　everything　larger；　more　vivid；　cruder；　one　felt　that　directly　one　walked　about　St。　Petersburg。　　St。　Petersburg　upon　its　Neva　was　like　a　savage　untamed　London　on　a　larger　Thames；　they　were　seagull…h