2. A Society

  2.ASociety

  Thisishowitallcameabout.Sixorsevenofusweresittingonedayaftertea.Someweregazingacrossthestreetintothewindowsofamilliner’sshopwherethelightstillshhtlyuponscarletfeathersandgoldenslippers.Otherswereidlyoccupiedinbuildinglittletowersofsugarupontheedgeoftheteatray.Afteratime,sofarasIremember,wedrewroundthefireandbeganasusualtopraisemen—h,hownoble,howbrilliant,howceous,howbeautifultheywere—howweehosewhobyhookorbyaogetattachedtooneforlife—whenPoll,whohadsaidnothing,burstintotears.Poll,Imusttellyou,hasalwaysbeenqueer.Forohiherwasastrangemaherafortuneinhiswill,butonditionthatshereadallthebooksintheLondonLibrary.Wefortedherasbestwecould;butweknewinourheartshowvainitwas.Forthoughwelikeher,Pollisy;leaveshershoelatied;andmusthavebeenthinking,whilewepraisedmen,thatnotohemwouldeverwishtomarryher.Atlastshedriedhertears.Forsometimeweakenothingofwhatshesaid.Strangeenoughitwasinallsce.Shetoldusthat,asweknew,shespentmostofhertimeintheLondonLibrary,reading.Shehadbegun,shesaid,withEnglishliteratureoopfloor;andwassteadilywherwaydowntotheTimesoom.Andnowhalf,orperhapsonlyaquarter,waythroughaterriblethinghadhappened.Shecouldreadnomore.Bookswerenotwhatwethoughtthem.“Books,”shecried,risingtoherfeetandspeakingwithayofdesolationwhichIshallneverfet,“areforthemostpartunutterablybad!”

  OfcoursewecriedoutthatShakespearewrotebooks,andMiltonandShelley.

  “Oh,yes,”sheinterruptedus.“You’vebeeaught,Isee.ButyouarenotmembersoftheLondonLibrary.”Herehersobsbrokeforthalength,recalittle,sheopenedohepileofbookswhichshealwayscarriedaboutwithher—“FromaWindow”or“InaGarden,”orsomesuameasthatitwascalled,anditwaswrittenbyamancalledBentonorHenson,orsomethingofthatkind.Shereadthefirstfewpages.Welistenedinsilence.“Butthat’snotabook,”someonesaid.Soshechoseahistimeitwasahistory,butIhavefotteer’sname.Ourtrepidationincreasedasshewenton.Notawordofitseemedtobetrue,ayleinwhichitwaswrittenwasexecrable.

  “Poetry!Poetry!”wecried,impatiently.

  “Readuspoetry!”Iotdescribethedesolationwhichfelluponusassheopenedalittlevolumeandmouthedouttheverbose,sealfoolerywhichittained.

  “Itmusthavebeenwrittenbyawoman,”oneofusurged.Butno.Shetoldusthatitwaswrittenbyayoungmahemostfamouspoetsoftheday.Ileaveyoutoimagitheshockofthediscoverywas.Thoughweallcriedandbeggedhertoreadnomore,shepersistedandreadusextractsfromtheLivesoftheLordcellors.Whenshehadfinished,Jaheeldestandwisestofus,rosetoherfeetandsaidthatsheforonewasnotvinced.

  “Why,”sheasked,“ifmenwritesuchrubbishasthis,shouldourmothershavewastedtheiryouthinbringiotheworld?”

  Wewereallsilent;and,inthesilence,poorPollcouldbeheardsobbingout,“Why,whydidmyfatherteachmetoread?”

  Clorindawasthefirsttoetohersenses.“It’sallourfault,”shesaid.“Everyoneofusknowshowtoread.Butnoone,savePoll,hasevertakeroubletodoit.I,forone,havetakenitfrahatitwasawoman’sdutytospendheryouthinbearingchildren.Iveedmymotherforbeariillmrandmotherforbearingfifteen;itwas,Ifess,myownambitiowenty.Wehavegoneonalltheseagessupposingthatmenwereequallyindustrious,andthattheirworkswereofequalmerit.Whilewehaveborhechildren,they,wesupposed,haveborhebooksaures.opulatedtheworld.Theyhavecivilizedit.Butnowthatweread,reventsusfromjudgingtheresults?Beforewebringanotherchildintotheworldwemustswearthatwewillfindoutwhattheworldislike.”

  Sowemadeourselvesintoasocietyforaskiions.Oneofuswastovisitaman–of–war;anotherwastohideherselfinascholar’sstudy;anotherwastoatteingofbusinessmen;whileallweretoreadbooks,lookatpictures,gotocerts,keepoureyesopenireets,andaskquestioually.Wewereveryyoung.YoujudgeofoursimplicitywhenItellyouthatbeforepartingthatnightweagreedthattheobjectsoflifeweretoproducegoodpeopleandgoodbooks.Ourquestioobedirectedtofindingouthowfartheseobjectswerenowattainedbymen.Wevowedsolemnlythatwewouldnotbearasinglechilduntilweweresatisfied.

  Offwewentthen,sometotheBritishMuseum;otherstotheKing’sNavy;sometoOxford;otherstoCambridge;wevisitedtheRoyalAcademyae;heardmodernmusicertrooms,wenttotheLawCourts,andsawnewplays.Noonediwithoutaskingherpartaiionsandcarefullynotinghisreplies.Atintervalswemettogetherandparedourobservations.Oh,thoseweremerrymeeting!NeverhaveIlaughedsomuchasIdidwhenRosereadhernotesupon“Honour”anddescribedhowshehaddressedherselfasahiopianPrindgoneaboardoneofHisMajesty’sships.Discthehoax,theCaptainvisitedher(nowdisguisedasaprivategentleman)anddemahathonourshouldbesatisfied.“Buthow?”sheasked.“How?”hebellowed.“Withtheeofcourse!”Seeingthathewasbesidehimselfwithrageandexpegthatherlastmomenthade,shebentoverandreceived,toheramazement,sixlighttapsuponthebehind.“ThehonouroftheBritishNavyisavenged!”hecried,and,raisingherself,shesawhimwiththesdownhisfaceholdingoutatremblingrighthand.“Away!”sheexclaimed,strikinganattitudeandimitatingtheferocityofhisownexpression,“Myhonourhasstilltobesatisfied!”“Spokenlikeagentlemaurned,andfellintoprofoundthought.“IfsixstrokesavehehonouroftheKing’sNavy,”hemused,“howmahehonourofaprivategentleman?”Hesaidhewouldprefertolaythecasebeforehisbrotherofficers.Sherepliedhaughtilythatshecouldnotwait.Hepraisedhersensibility.“Letmesee,”hecriedsuddenly,“didyourfatherkeepacarriage?”“No,”shesaid.“Oraridinghorse?”“Wehadadonkey,”shebethoughther,“whichdrewthemowingmae.”Atthishisfacelighted.“Mymother’sname—”sheadded.“Fod’ssake,man,doionyourmother’sname!”heshrieked,tremblinglikeanaspenandflushingtotherootsofhishair,anditwastenmileastbeforeshecouldioproceed.Atlengthhedecreedthatifshegavehimfourstrokesandahalfinthesmallofthebackataspotindicatedbyhimself(thehalfceded,hesaid,inreitionofthefactthathergreatgrandmother’sunclewaskilledatTrafalgar)itwashisopinionthatherhonourwouldbeasgoodashiswasdoheyretiredtoarestaurant;dranktwobottlesofwineforwhichheinsisteduponpaying;andpartedwithprotestatioernalfriendship.

  ThenwehadFanny’satofhervisittotheLawCourts.AtherfirstvisitshehadetotheclusionthattheJudgeswereeithermadeofwoodorwereimpersonatedbylargeanimalsresemblingmanwhohadbeentraiomovewithextremedignity,mumbleandnodtheirheads.Totesthertheoryshehadliberatedahandkerchiefofbluebottlesatthecritientofatrial,butwasuojudgewhetherthecreaturesgavesignsofhumanityforthebuzzingofthefliesinducedsosoundasleepthatsheonlywokeioseetheprisonersledintothecellsbelow.ButfromtheevidenceshebroughtwevotedthatitisunfairtosupposethattheJudgesaremen.

  HeleotheRoyalAcademy,butwheodeliverherreportupouresshebegaefromapalebluevolume,“O!forthetouchofavanishedhandandthesoundofavoicethatisstill.Homeisthehunter,homefromthehill.Hegavehisbridlereinsashake.Loveissweet,loveisbrief.Spring,thefairspring,istheyear’spleasantKing.O!tobeinEnglandnoril’sthere.Menmustworkandwomenmustweep.Thepathofdutyisthewaytoglory—”Wecouldlistentonomoreofthisgibberish.

  “Wewantnomorepoetry!”wecried.

  “DaughtersofEngland!”shebegan,butherewepulledherdown,avaseofwatergettingspiltoverherinthescuffle.

  “ThankGod!”sheexclaimed,shakingherselflikeadog.“NowI’llrollonthecarpetandseeifI’tbrushoffwhatremainsoftheUnionJack.Thenperhaps—”heresherolledeically.GettingupshebegantoexplaintouswhatmodernpicturesarelikewhenCastaliastoppedher.

  “Whatistheaveragesizeofapicture?”sheasked.“Perhapstwofeetbytwoandahalf,”shesaid.CastaliamadenoteswhileHelenspoke,andwhenshehaddone,andweweretryingnottomeeteachother’seyes,roseandsaid,“AtyourwishIspentlastweekate,disguisedasacharwoman.IthushadaccesstotheroomsofseveralProfessorsandwillnowattempttogiveyousomeidea—only,”shebrokeoff,“I’tthinkhowtodoit.It’sallsoqueer.TheseProfessors,”shewenton,“liveinlargehousesbuiltroundgrassplotseaakindofcellbyhimself.Yettheyhaveeveryveniendfort.Youhaveonlytopressabutthtalittlelamp.Theirspapersarebeautifullyfiled.Booksabound.Therearenochildrenoranimals,savehalfadozenstraycatsandoneagedbullfinch—acock.Iremember,”shebrokeoff,“anAuntofminewholivedatDulwidkeptcactuses.Youreachedtheservatorythroughthedoubledrawing–room,andthere,opipes,weredozensofthem,ugly,squat,bristlylittleplantseaaseparatepot.OnahundredyearstheAloeflowered,somyAuntsaid.Butshediedbeforethathappened—”Wetoldhertokeeptothepoint.“Well,”sheresumed,“whenProfessorHobkinwasout,Iexaminedhislifework,aionofSappho.It’saqueerlookingbook,sixorsevenihiotallbySappho.Oh,no.MostofitisadefenceofSappho’schastity,whieGermanhaddenied,addIassureyouthepassionwithwhichthesetwogentlemenargued,thelearningtheydisplayed,theprodigiousiywithwhichtheydisputedtheuseofsomeimplementwhichlookedtomeforalltheworldlikeahairpinastoundedme;especiallywhenthedooropenedandProfessorHobkinhimselfappeared.Averynice,mild,oldgentleman,butwhatcouldheknowaboutchastity?”Wemisuoodher.

  “No,no,”sheprotested,“he’sthesoulofhonourI’msure—notthatheresembledRose’sseacaptainintheleast.IwasthinkingratherofmyAunt’scactuses.Whatcouldtheyknowaboutchastity?”

  Agaioldhernottowanderfromthepoint,—didtheeprofessorshelptoproducegoodpeopleandgoodbooks?—theobjectsoflife.

  “There!”sheexclaimed.“Itruckmetoask.Itneveroccurredtomethattheycouldpossiblyproduything.”

  “Ibelieve,”saidSue,“thatyoumadesomemistake.ProbablyProfessorHobkinwasagynecologist.Ascholarisaverydifferentsortofman.Ascholarisoverflowingwithhumourandiion—perhapsaddictedtowiwhatofthat?—adelightfulpanion,generous,subtle,imaginative—asstandstoreason.Forhespendshislifeinpanywiththefihumanbeingsthathaveeverexisted.”

  “Hum,”saidCastalia.“PerhapsI’dbettergobadtryagain.”

  SomethreemonthslaterithappehatIwassittingalonewhenCastaliaentered.Idon’tknowwhatitwasinthelookofherthatsomovedme;butIcouldrainmyself,and,dashingacrosstheroom,Iclaspedherinmyarms.Notonlywassheverybeautiful;sheseemedalsointhehighestspirits.“Hoyyoulook!”Iexclaimed,asshesatdown.

  “I’vebeenate,”shesaid.

  “Askiions?”

  “Answeringthem,”shereplied.

  “Youhavenotbrokenourvows?”Isaidanxiously,notigsomethingaboutherfigure.

  “Oh,thevow,”shesaidcasually.“I’mgoingtohaveababy,ifthat’swhatyoumean.You’timagine,”sheburstout,“howexg,howbeautiful,howsatisfying—”

  “Whatis?”Iasked.

  “To—to—answerquestions,”sherepliedinsomefusion.Whereupooldmethewholeofherstory.ButinthemiddleofanatwhiterestedaedmemorethananythingIhadeverheard,shegavethestracry,halfwhoop,halfholloa—

  “Chastity!Chastity!Where’smychastity!”shecried.“HelpHo!Thestbottle!”

  Therewasnothingintheroombutacruettainingmustard,whichIwasabouttoadministerwhensherecoveredherposure.

  “Youshouldhavethoughtofthatthreemonthsago,”Isaidseverely.

  “True,”shereplied.“There’snotmuchgoodinthinkingofitnow.Itwasunfortuheway,thatmymotherhadmecalledCastalia.”

  “Oh,Castalia,yourmother—”Iwasbeginningwhenshereachedforthemustardpot.

  “No,no,no,”shesaid,shakingherhead.“Ifyou’dbeenachastewomanyourselfyouwouldhavescreamedatthesightofme—insteadofwhichyourushedacrosstheroomandtookmeinyourarms.No,Cassandra.Weareherofuschaste.”Sowewentontalking.

  Meanwhiletheroomwasfillingup,foritwasthedayappoiodiscusstheresultsofourobservations.Everyohought,feltasIdidaboutCastalia.Theykissedherandsaidhowgladtheyweretoseeheragain.Atlength,ereallassembled,Janeroseandsaidthatitwastimetobegin.Shebeganbysayingthatwehadnowaskedquestionsforoverfiveyears,andthatthoughtheresultswereboundtobeinclusive—hereCastalianudgedmeandwhisperedthatshewasnotsosureaboutthat.Theup,and,interruptingJahemiddleofasentence,said:

  “Beforeyousayanymore,Iwanttoknow—amItostayintheroom?Because,”sheadded,“IhavetofessthatIamanimpurewoman.”

  Everyonelookedatherinastonishment.

  “Yoingtohaveababy?”askedJane.

  Shenoddedherhead.

  Itwasextraordinarytoseethedifferentexpressionsontheirfaces.Asortofhumwentthroughtheroom,inwhichIcouldcatchthewords“impure,”“baby,”“Castalia,”andsoon.Jane,whowasherselfsiderablymoved,putittous:

  “Shallshego?Issheimpure?”

  Sucharoarfilledtheroomasmighthavebeenheardireetoutside.

  “No!No!herstay!Impure?Fiddlesticks!”YetIfahatsomeoftheyou,girlsofeenortwenty,heldbackasifoverewithshyhenweallcameaboutherandbeganaskiions,andatlastIsawoheyou,tinthebackground,approachshylyandsaytoher:

  “Whatischastitythen?Imeanisitgood,orisitbad,orisitnothingatall?”SherepliedsolowthatIcouldnotcatchwhatshesaid.

  “YouknowIwasshocked,”saidanother,“foratleasttenminutes.”

  “Inmyopinion,”saidPoll,whowasgrowingcrustyfromalwaysreadingintheLondonLibrary,“chastityisnothingbutignorance—amostdiscreditablestateofmind.Weshouldadmitonlytheunchastetooursociety.IvotethatCastaliashallbeourPresident.”

  Thiswasviolentlydisputed.

  “Itisasunfairtobrandwomenwithchastityaswithunchastity,”saidPoll.“Someofushaven’ttheopportuher.Moreover,Idon’tbelieveCassyherselfmaintainsthatsheactedasshedidfromapureloveofknowledge.”

  “Heisonlytwenty–oneanddivinelybeautiful,”saidCassy,witharavishiure.

  “Imove,”saidHelen,“thatnoonebeallowedtotalkofchastityorunchastitysavethosewhoareinlove.”

  “Oh,bother,”saidJudith,whohadbeenenquiringintostificmatters,“I’mnotinloveandI’mlongingtoexplainmymeasuresfordispensingwithprostitutesailizingvirginsbyActofParliament.”

  ShewentontotellusofaioobeerectedatTubestationsandotherpublicresorts,which,uponpaymentofasmallfee,wouldsafeguardthenatioh,aodateitssons,andrelieveitsdaughters.ThenshehadtrivedamethodofpreservinginsealedtubesthegermsoffutureLordcellors“orpoetsorpaintersormusis,”shewenton,“supposing,thatistosay,thatthesebreedsareindthatwomenstillwishtobearchildren—”

  “Ofcoursewewishtobearchildren!”criedCastalia,impatiently.Janerappedthetable.

  “Thatistheverypointwearemettosider,”shesaid.“Forfiveyearswehavebeentryingtofindoutwhetherwearejustifiedintinuingthehumanrace.Castaliahasanticipatedourdecision.Butitremainsfortherestofustomakeupourminds.”

  Hereoeranotherofourmessengersroseanddeliveredtheirreports.Themarvelsofcivilisationfarexceededourexpectations,and,aswelearntforthefirsttimehowmaheair,talksacrossspace,peestotheheartofanatom,andembracestheuniverseinhisspeculations,amurmurofadmirationburstfromourlips.

  “roud,”wecried,“thatourmotherssacrificedtheiryouthinsuchacauseasthis!”Castalia,whohadbeenlisteningily,lookedprouderthanalltherest.ThenJaneremihatwehadstillmuchtolearn,andCastaliabeggedustomakehaste.Ohroughavasttaatistics.WelearntthatEnglandhasapopulationofsomanymillions,andthatsudsuchaproportionofthemisstantlyhungryandinprison;thattheaveragesizeofawman’sfamilyissudthatsogreatapertageofwomendiefrommaladiesiochildbirth.Reportswerereadofvisitstofactories,shops,slums,anddockyards.DescriptionsweregivenoftheStockExge,ofagigantichouseofbusinessiy,andofaGoverOffice.TheBritishieswerenowdiscussed,andsomeatwasgivenofourruleinIndia,AfridIreland.IwassittingbyCastaliaandInoticedheruneasiness.

  “Weshallneveretoanyclusionatallatthisrate,”shesaid.“Asitappearsthatcivilisationissomuchmoreplexthanwehadanynotion,woulditertofineourselvestinalenquiry?Weagreedthatitwastheobjectoflifetoproducegoodpeopleandgoodbooks.Allthistimewehavebeentalkingofaeroplanes,factories,andmoney.Letustalkaboutmenthemselvesandtheirarts,forthatistheheartofthematter.”

  Sothedinersoutsteppedforwardwithlongslipsofpapertainingaotheirquestions.Thesehadbeenframedaftermusideration.Agoodman,wehadagreed,mustatanyratebeho,passionate,andunworldly.Butwhetherornotaparticularmanpossessedthosequalitiescouldonlybediscoveredbyaskiions,oftenbeginningataremotedistanthetre.IsKensingtonaniceplacetolivein?Whereisyoursonbeingeducated—andyhter?Nowpleasetellme,whatdoyoupayforyars?Bytheway,isSirJosephabarooronlyaknight?Oftenitseemedthatwelearntmorefromtrivialquestionsofthiskindthanfrommoredirees.“Iacceptedmypeerage,”saidLordBunkum,“becausemywifewishedit.”Ifethowmanytitlestedforthesamereason.“Wfifteenhoursoutofthetwenty–four,asIdo—”tenthousandprofessionalmenbegan.

  “No,no,ofcourseyoueitherreadnorwrite.Butwhydoyouworksohard?”“Mydearlady,withagrowingfamily—”“Butwhydoesyourfamilygrow?”Theirwiveswishedthattoo,orperhapsitwastheBritishEmpire.Butmnifitthantheanswersweretherefusalstoanswer.Veryfewwouldreplyatalltoquestionsaboutmoralityandreligion,andsuswersasweregiveserious.Questionsastothevalueofmoneyandpowerwerealmostinvariablybrushedaside,orpressedatextremerisktotheasker.“I’msure,”saidJill,“thatifSirHarleyTightbootshadn’tbeencarvionwhenIaskedhimaboutthecapitalistsystemhewouldhavecutmythroat.Theonlyreasonwhyweescapedwithourlivesoverandainisthatmeoncesohungryandsochivalrous.Theydespiseustoomuindwhatwesay.”

  “Ofcoursetheydespiseus,”saidEleanor.“Atthesametimehowdoyouatforthis—Imadeenquiriesamoists.Now,nowomanhaseverbeenanartist,hasshe,Polls?”

  “Jane—Austen—Charlotte—Bronte—Gee—Eliot,”criedPoll,likeamangmuffinsinabackstreet.

  “Damnthewoman!”someoneexclaimed.“Whataboresheis!”

  “SinceSapphotherehasbeennofemaleoffirstrate—”Eleanan,quotingfromaweeklyneer.

  “It’snowwellknophowasthesomewhatlewdiionofProfessorHobkin,”Ruthinterrupted.

  “Anyhow,thereisnoreasontosupposethatanywomaneverhasbeeowriteoreverwillbeabletowrite,”Eleanortinued.“A,wheneverIgoamongauthorstheyneverceasetotalktomeabouttheirbooks.Masterly!Isay,orShakespearehimself!(forosaysomething)andIassureyou,theybelieveme.”

  “Thatprovesnothing,”saidJaheyalldoit.Only,”shesighed,“itdoesohelpusmuch.Perhapswehadbetterexaminemoderure.Liz,it’syourturn.”

  Elizabethroseandsaidthatioprosecuteherenquiryshehaddressedasamanaakenforareviewer.

  “Ihavereadnewbooksprettysteadilyforthepastfiveyears,”saidshe.“Mr.Wellsisthemostpopularlivingwriter;thenr.ArnoldBehenMr.ptonMakenzie;Mr.MaandMr.olemaybebracketedtogether.”Shesatdown.

  “Butyou’vetoldusnothing!”weexpostulated.“OrdoyoumeanthatthesegentlemenhavegreatlysurpassedJane–ElliotandthatEnglishfiis—where’sthatreviewofyours?Oh,yes,‘safeintheirhands.’”

  “Safe,quitesafe,”shesaid,shiftinguneasilyfromfoottofoot.“AndI’msurethattheygiveawayevehantheyreceive.”

  Wewereallsureofthat.“But,”wepressedher,“dotheywritegoodbooks?”

  “Goodbooks?”shesaid,lookingattheceiling“Youmustremember,”shebegan,speakingwithextremerapidity,“thatfiisthemirroroflife.Andyou’tdenythateducationisofthehighestimportandthatitwouldbeextremelyannoying,ifyoufoundyourselfaloBrightonight,nottoknowwhichwasthebestbhousetostayat,andsupposeitpingSundayevening—wouldn’titbeogototheMovies?”

  “Butwhathasthatgottodowithit?”weasked.

  “Nothing—nothing—nothingwhatever,”shereplied.

  “Well,tellusthetruth,”webadeher.

  “Thetruth?Butisn’titwonderful,”shebrokeoff—“Mr.Chitterhaswrittenaweeklyarticleforthepastthirtyyearsuponloveorhotbutteredtoastandhassentallhissoon—”

  “Thetruth!”wedemanded.

  “Oh,thetruth,”shestammered,“thetruthhasnothingtodowithliterature,”andsittingdownsherefusedtosayanotherword.

  Itallseemedtousveryinclusive.

  “Ladies,wemusttrytosumuptheresults,”Janewasbeginning,whenahum,whichhadbeenheardforsometimethroughtheopenwindow,drownedhervoice.

  “ar!DeclarationofWar!”menwereshoutingireetbelow.

  Welookedateachotherinhorror.

  “Whatwar?”wecried.“Whatwar?”Weremembered,toolate,thatwehadhoughtofsendingaheHouseofons.Wehadfottenallaboutit.WeturoPoll,whohadreachedthehistoryshelvesintheLondonLibrary,andaskedhertoenlightenus.

  “Why,”wecried,“domengotowar?”

  “Sometimesforonereason,sometimesforanother,”sherepliedcalmly.“In1760,forexample—”Theshoutsoutsidedrownedherwords.“Againin1797—in1804—ItwastheAustriansin1866–1870wastheFranco–Prussian—In1900oherhand—”

  “Butit’snow1914!”wecuthershort.

  “Ah,Idon’tknowwhatthey’regoingtowarfornow,”sheadmitted.

  [1]****

  Thewarwasoverandpeacerocessofbeingsigned,whenIoncemorefoundmyselfwithCastaliaintheroomwhereourmeetingsusedtobeheld.Webeganidlyturnihepagesofouroldminutebooks.“Queer,”Imused,“toseeerethinkingfiveyearsago.”“Weareagreed,”Castaliaquoted,readingovermyshoulder,“thatitistheobjectoflifetoproducegoodpeopleandgoodbooks.”Wemadenoentuponthat.“Agoodmanisatanyrateho,passionateandunworldly.”“Whatawoman’slanguage!”Iobserved.“Oh,dear,”criedCastalia,pushingthebookawayfromher,“whatfoolswewere!Itoll’sfather’sfault,”shewenton.“Ibelievehediditonpurpose—thatridiculouswill,Imean,fPolltoreadallthebooksintheLondonLibrary.Ifwehadtoread,”shesaidbitterly,“wemightstillhavebeenbearingchildreninignorahatIbelievewasthehappiestlifeafterall.Iknowwhatyoingtosayaboutwar,”shecheckedme,“andthehorrorofbearingchildrehemkilled,butourmothersdidit,andtheirmothers,andtheirmothersbeforethem.Andtheydidn’tplain.Theycouldn’tread.I’vedonemybest,”shesighed,“topreventmylittlegirlfromlearningtoread,butwhat’stheuse?IcaughtAnnoerdaywithaneerinherhandandshewasbeginningtoaskmeifitwas‘true.’she’llaskmewhetherMr.LloydGeeisagoodman,theherMr.ArnoldBeisagood,andfinallywhetherIbelieveinGod.HowIbringmydaughteruptobelieveinnothing?”shedemanded.

  “Surelyyoucouldteachhertobelievethataman’sintellectis,andalwayswillbe,fuallysuperiortoawoman’s?”Isuggested.Shebrightehisaoturnoverouroldminutesagain.“Yes,”shesaid,“thinkoftheirdiscoveries,theirmathematics,theirsce,theirphilosophy,theirscholarship—”andthenshebegantolaugh,“IshallneverfetoldHobkinandthehairpin,”shesaid,aonreadingandlaughingandIthoughtshewasquitehappy,whensuddenlyshedrewthebookfromherandburstout,“Oh,Cassandra,whydoyoutormentme?Don’tyouknowthatourbeliefinman’sintellectisthegreatestfallacyofthemall?”“What?”Iexclaimed.“Askanyjournalist,saster,politiorpublichousekeeperinthelandandtheywillalltellyouthatmenaremuchclevererthanwomen.”“AsifIdoubtedit,”shesaidsfully.“Howcouldtheyhelpit?Haven’twebredthemandfedaheminfortsihebeginningoftimesothattheymaybecleverevenifthey’renothingelse?It’sallourdoing!”shecried.“Weinsisteduponhavingintellednowwe’vegotit.Andit’sintellect,”shetihat’satthebottomofit.Whatcouldbemorecharmingthanaboybeforehehasbeguntocultivatehisintellect?Heisbeautifultolookat;hegiveshimselfnoairs;heuandsthemeaningofartandliteratureinstinctively;hegoesaboutenjoyinghislifeandmakingotherpeopleenjoytheirs.Theeachhimtocultivatehisintellect.Hebeesabarrister,acivilservant,ageneral,anauthor,aprofessor.Everydayhegoestoanoffice.Everyyearheproducesabook.Hemaintainsawholefamilybytheproductsofhisbrain—poordevil!Soonheeintoaroomwithoutmakingusallfeelunfortable;hedesdstoeverywomas,anddareshetrutheventohisownwife;insteadofrejoigoureyeswehavetoshutthemifwearetotakehiminourarms.True,theysolethemselveswithstarsofallshapes,ribbonsofallshades,andinesofallsizes—butwhatistosoleus?Thatweshallbeableintenyears’timetospendaweekendatLahore?OrthattheleastiinJapanhasawicethelengthofitsb松语文学www.16sy.coM免费小说阅读

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