the new machiavelli-第23部分

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athletic　side　of　Pinky　Dinkyism；　and　their　hostility　to　ideas　and　to　

the　expression　of　ideas　ceased　to　limit　and　trouble　me。　　The　

brighter　men　of　each　generation　stay　up；　these　others　go　down　to　

propagate　their　tradition；　as　the　fathers　of　families；　as　mediocre　

professional　men；　as　assistant　masters　in　schools。　　Cambridge　which　

perfects　them　is　by　the　nature　of　things　least　oppressed　by　them；

except　when　it　comes　to　a　vote　in　Convocation。



We　were　still　in　those　days　under　the　shadow　of　the　great　

Victorians。　　I　never　saw　Gladstone　（as　I　never　set　eyes　on　the　old　

Queen）；　but　he　had　resigned　office　only　a　year　before　I　went　up　to　

Trinity；　and　the　Combination　Rooms　were　full　of　personal　gossip　

about　him　and　Disraeli　and　the　other　big　figures　of　the　gladiatorial　

stage　of　Parlimentary　history；　talk　that　leaked　copiously　into　such　

sets　as　mine。　　The　ceiling　of　our　guest　chamber　at　Trinity　was　

glorious　with　the　arms　of　Sir　William　Harcourt；　whose　Death　Duties　

had　seemed　at　first　like　a　socialist　dawn。　　Mr。　Evesham　we　asked　to　

come　to　the　Union　every　year；　Masters；　Chamberlain　and　the　old　Duke　

of　Devonshire；　they　did　not　come　indeed；　but　their　polite　refusals　

brought　us　all；　as　it　were；　within　personal　touch　of　them。　　One　

heard　of　cabinet　councils　and　meetings　at　country　houses。　　Some　of　

us；　pursuing　such　interests；　went　so　far　as　to　read　political　

memoirs　and　the　novels　of　Disraeli　and　Mrs。　Humphry　Ward。　　From　

gossip；　example　and　the　illustrated　newspapers　one　learnt　something　

of　the　way　in　which　parties　were　split；　coalitions　formed；　how　

permanent　officials　worked　and　controlled　their　ministers；　how　

measures　were　brought　forward　and　projects　modified。



And　while　I　was　getting　the　great　leading　figures　on　the　political　

stage；　who　had　been　presented　to　me　in　my　schooldays　not　so　much　as　

men　as　the　pantomimic　monsters　of　political　caricature；　while　I　was　

getting　them　reduced　in　my　imagination　to　the　stature　of　humanity；　

and　their　motives　to　the　quality　of　impulses　like　my　own；　I　was　also　

acquiring　in　my　Tripos　work　a　constantly　developing　and　enriching　

conception　of　the　world　of　men　as　a　complex　of　economic；　

intellectual　and　moral　processes。　。　。　。







5





Socialism　is　an　intellectual　Proteus；　but　to　the　men　of　my　

generation　it　came　as　the　revolt　of　the　workers。　　Rodbertus　we　never　

heard　of　and　the　Fabian　Society　we　did　not　understand；　Marx　and　

Morris；　the　Chicago　Anarchists；　JUSTICE　and　Social　Democratic　

Federation　（as　it　was　then）　presented　socialism　to　our　minds。　　

Hatherleigh　was　the　leading　exponent　of　the　new　doctrines　in　

Trinity；　and　the　figure　upon　his　wall　of　a　huge…muscled；　black…

haired　toiler　swaggering　sledgehammer　in　hand　across　a　revolutionary　

barricade；　seemed　the　quintessence　of　what　he　had　to　expound。　　

Landlord　and　capitalist　had　robbed　and　enslaved　the　workers；　and　

were　driving　them　quite　automatically　to　inevitable　insurrection。　　

They　would　arise　and　the　capitalist　system　would　flee　and　vanish　

like　the　mists　before　the　morning；　like　the　dews　before　the　sunrise；　

giving　place　in　the　most　simple　and　obvious　manner　to　an　era　of　

Right　and　Justice　and　Virtue　and　Well　Being；　and　in　short　a　

Perfectly　Splendid　Time。



I　had　already　discussed　this　sort　of　socialism　under　the　guidance　of　

Britten；　before　I　went　up　to　Cambridge。　　It　was　all　mixed　up　with　

ideas　about　freedom　and　natural　virtue　and　a　great　scorn　for　kings；　

titles；　wealth　and　officials；　and　it　was　symbolised　by　the　red　ties　

we　wore。　　Our　simple　verdict　on　existing　arrangements　was　that　they　

were　〃all　wrong。〃　　The　rich　were　robbers　and　knew　it；　kings　and　

princes　were　usurpers　and　knew　it；　religious　teachers　were　impostors　

in　league　with　power；　the　economic　system　was　an　elaborate　plot　on　

the　part　of　the　few　to　expropriate　the　many。　　We　went　about　feeling　

scornful　of　all　the　current　forms　of　life；　forms　that　esteemed　

themselves　solid；　that　were；　we　knew；　no　more　than　shapes　painted　on　

a　curtain　that　was　presently　to　be　torn　aside。　。　。　。



It　was　Hatherleigh's　poster　and　his　capacity　for　overstating　things；　

I　think；　that　first　qualified　my　simple　revolutionary　enthusiasm。　　

Perhaps　also　I　had　met　with　Fabian　publications；　but　if　I　did　I　

forget　the　circumstances。　　And　no　doubt　my　innate　constructiveness　

with　its　practical　corollary　of　an　analytical　treatment　of　the　

material　supplied；　was　bound　to　push　me　on　beyond　this　melodramatic　

interpretation　of　human　affairs。



I　compared　that　Working　Man　of　the　poster　with　any　sort　of　working　

man　I　knew。　　I　perceived　that　the　latter　was　not　going　to　change；　

and　indeed　could　not　under　any　stimulus　whatever　be　expected　to　

change；　into　the　former。　　It　crept　into　my　mind　as　slowly　and　surely　

as　the　dawn　creeps　into　a　room　that　the　former　was　not；　as　I　had　at　

first　rather　glibly　assumed；　an　〃ideal；〃　but　a　complete　

misrepresentation　of　the　quality　and　possibilities　of　things。



I　do　not　know　now　whether　it　was　during　my　school…days　or　at　

Cambridge　that　I　first　began　not　merely　to　see　the　world　as　a　great　

contrast　of　rich　and　poor；　but　to　feel　the　massive　effect　of　that　

multitudinous　majority　of　people　who　toil　continually；　who　are　for　

ever　anxious　about　ways　and　means；　who　are　restricted；　ill　clothed；　

ill　fed　and　ill　housed；　who　have　limited　outlooks　and　continually　

suffer　misadventures；　hardships　and　distresses　through　the　want　of　

money。　　My　lot　had　fallen　upon　the　fringe　of　the　possessing　

minority；　if　I　did　not　know　the　want　of　necessities　I　knew　

shabbiness；　and　the　world　that　let　me　go　on　to　a　university　

education　intimated　very　plainly　that　there　was　not　a　thing　beyond　

the　primary　needs　that　my　stimulated　imagination　might　demand　that　

it　would　not　be　an　effort　for　me　to　secure。　　A　certain　aggressive　

radicalism　against　the　ruling　and　propertied　classes　followed　almost　

naturally　from　my　circumstances。　　It　did　not　at　first　connect　itself　

at　all　with　the　perception　of　a　planless　disorder　in　human　affairs　

that　had　been　forced　upon　me　by　the　atmosphere　of　my　upbringing；　nor　

did　it　link　me　in　sympathy　with　any　of　the　profounder　realities　of　

poverty。　　It　was　a　personal　independent　thing。　　The　dingier　people　

one　saw　in　the　back　streets　and　lower　quarters　of　Bromstead　and　

Penge；　the　drift　of　dirty　children；　ragged　old　women；　street　

loafers；　grimy　workers　that　made　the　social　background　of　London；　

the　stories　one　heard　of　privation　and　sweating；　only　joined　up　very　

slowly　with　the　general　propositions　I　was　making　about　life。　　We　

could　become　splendidly　eloquent　about　the　social　revolution　and　the　

triumph　of　the　Proletariat　after　the　Class　war；　and　it　was　only　by　a　

sort　of　inspiration　that　it　came　to　me　that　my　bedder；　a　garrulous　

old　thing　with　a　dusty　black　bonnet　over　one　eye　and　an　

ostentatiously　clean　apron　outside　the　dark　mysteries　that　clothed　

her；　or　the　cheeky　little　ruffians　who　yelled　papers　about　the　

streets；　were　really　material　to　such　questions。



Directly　any　of　us　young　socialists　of　Trinity　found　ourselves　in　

immediate　contact　with　servants　or　cadgers　or　gyps　or　bedders　or　

plumbers　or　navvies　or　cabmen　or　railway　porters　we　became　

unconsciously　and　unthinkingly　aristocrats。　　Our　voices　altered；　our　

gestures　altered。　　We　behaved　just　as　all　the　other　men；　rich　or　

poor；　swatters　or　sportsmen　or　Pinky　Dinkys；　behaved；　and　exactly　as　

we　were　expected　to　behave。　　On　the　whole　it　is　a　population　of　poor　

quality　round　about　Cambridge；　rather　stunted　and　spiritless　and　

very　difficult　to　idealise。　　That　theoretical　Working　Man　of　ours！

if　we　felt　the　clash　at　all　we　explained　it；　I　suppose；　by　assuming　

that　he　came　from　another　part　of　the　country；　Esmeer；　I　remember；　

who　lived　somewhere　in　the　Fens；　was　very　eloquent　about　the　Cornish　

fishermen；　and　Hatherleigh；　who　was　a　Hampshire　man；　assured　us　we　

ought　to　know　the　Scottish　miner。　　My　private　fancy　was　for　the　

Lancashire　operative　because　of　his　co…operative　societies；　and　

because　what　Lancashire　thinks　to…day　England　thinks　to…morrow。　。　。　。　　

And　also　I　had　never　been　in　Lancashire。



By　little　increments　of　realisation　it　was　that　the　profounder　

verities　of　the　problem　of　socialism　came　to　me。　　It　helped　me　very　

much　that　I　had　to　go　down　to　the　Potteries　several　times　to　discuss　

my　future　with　my　uncle　and　guardian；　I　walked　about　and　saw　Bursley　

Wakes　and　much　of　the　human　aspects　of　organised　industrialism　at　

close　quarters　for　the　first　time。　　The　picture　of　a　splendid　

Working　Man　cheated　out　of　his　innate　glorious　possibilities；　and　

presently　to　arise　and　dash　this　scoundrelly　and　scandalous　system　

of　private　ownership　to　fragments；　began　to　give　place　to　a　

limitless　spectacle　of　inefficiency；　to　a　conception　of　millions　of　

people　not　organised　as　they　should　be；　not　educated　as　they　should　

be；　not　simply　prevented　from　but　incapable　o