the new machiavelli-第53部分

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little　set　was　much　in　evidence。　　Both　the　Cramptons　were　in；　Lewis；　

Bunting　Harblow。　　We　gave　brief　addresses　attuned　to　this　excitement　

and　the　late　hour；　amidst　much　enthusiasm。



Now　we　can　DO　things！〃　I　said　amidst　a　rapture　of　applause。　　Men　I　

did　not　know　from　Adam　held　up　glasses　and　nodded　to　me　in　solemn　

fuddled　approval　as　I　came　down　past　them　into　the　crowd　again。



Men　were　betting　whether　the　Unionists　would　lose　more　or　less　than　

two　hundred　seats。



〃I　wonder　just　what　we　shall　do　with　it　all；〃　I　heard　one　sceptic　

speculating。　。　。　。



After　these　orgies　I　would　get　home　very　tired　and　excited；　and　find　

it　difficult　to　get　to　sleep。　　I　would　lie　and　speculate　about　what　

it　was　we　WERE　going　to　do。　　One　hadn't　anticipated　quite　such　a　

tremendous　accession　to　power　for　one's　party。　　Liberalism　was　

swirling　in　like　a　flood。　。　。　。



I　found　the　next　few　weeks　very　unsatisfactory　and　distressing。　　I　

don't　clearly　remember　what　it　was　I　had　expected；　I　suppose　the　

fuss　and　strain　of　the　General　Election　had　built　up　a　feeling　that　

my　return　would　in　some　way　put　power　into　my　hands；　and　instead　I　

found　myself　a　mere　undistinguished　unit　in　a　vast　but　rather　vague　

majority。　　There　were　moments　when　I　felt　very　distinctly　that　a　

majority　could　be　too　big　a　crowd　altogether。　　I　had　all　my　work　

still　before　me；　I　had　achieved　nothing　as　yet　but　opportunity；　and　

a　very　crowded　opportunity　it　was　at　that。　　Everyone　about　me　was　

chatting　Parliament　and　appointments；　one　breathed　distracting　and　

irritating　speculations　as　to　what　would　be　done　and　who　would　be　

asked　to　do　it。　　I　was　chiefly　impressed　by　what　was　unlikely　to　be　

done　and　by　the　absence　of　any　general　plan　of　legislation　to　hold　

us　all　together。　　I　found　the　talk　about　Parliamentary　procedure　and　

etiquette　particularly　trying。　　We　dined　with　the　elder　Cramptons　

one　evening；　and　old　Sir　Edward　was　lengthily　sage　about　what　the　

House　liked；　what　it　didn't　like；　what　made　a　good　impression　and　

what　a　bad　one。　　〃A　man　shouldn't　speak　more　than　twice　in　his　first　

session；　and　not　at　first　on　too　contentious　a　topic；〃　said　Sir　

Edward。　　〃No。〃



〃Very　much　depends　on　manner。　　The　House　hates　a　lecturer。　　There's　

a　sort　of　airy　earnestness〃



He　waved　his　cigar　to　eke　out　his　words。



〃Little　peculiarities　of　costume　count　for　a　great　deal。　　I　could　

name　one　man　who　spent　three　years　living　down　a　pair　of　

spatterdashers。　　On　the　other　handa　thing　like　thatif　it　catches　

the　eye　of　the　PUNCH　man；　for　example；　may　be　your　making。〃



He　went　off　into　a　lengthy　speculation　of　why　the　House　had　come　to　

like　an　originally　unpopular　Irishman　named　Biggar。　。　。　。



The　opening　of　Parliament　gave　me　some　peculiar　moods。　　I　began　to　

feel　more　and　more　like　a　branded　sheep。　　We　were　sworn　in　in　

batches；　dozens　and　scores　of　fresh　men；　trying　not　to　look　too　

fresh　under　the　inspection　of　policemen　and　messengers；　all　of　us　

carrying　new　silk　hats　and　wearing　magisterial　coats。　　It　is　one　of　

my　vivid　memories　from　this　period；　the　sudden　outbreak　of　silk　hats　

in　the　smoking…room　of　the　National　Liberal　Club。　　At　first　I　

thought　there　must　have　been　a　funeral。　　Familiar　faces　that　one　had　

grown　to　know　under　soft　felt　hats；　under　bowlers；　under　liberal…

minded　wide　brims；　and　above　artistic　ties　and　tweed　jackets；　

suddenly　met　one；　staring　with　the　stern　gaze　of　self…consciousness；　

from　under　silk　hats　of　incredible　glossiness。　　There　was　a　

disposition　to　wear　the　hat　much　too　forward；　I　thought；　for　a　good　

Parliamentary　style。



There　was　much　play　with　the　hats　all　through；　a　tremendous　

competition　to　get　in　first　and　put　hats　on　coveted　seats。　　A　memory　

hangs　about　me　of　the　House　in　the　early　afternoon；　an　inhumane　

desolation　inhabited　almost　entirely　by　silk　hats。　　The　current　use　

of　cards　to　secure　seats　came　later。　　There　were　yards　and　yards　of　

empty　green　benches　with　hats　and　hats　and　hats　distributed　along　

them；　resolute…looking　top　hats；　lax　top　hats　with　a　kind　of　shadowy　

grin　under　them；　sensible　top　bats　brim　upward；　and　one　scandalous　

incontinent　that　had　rolled　from　the　front　Opposition　bench　right　to　

the　middle　of　the　floor。　　A　headless　hat　is　surely　the　most　soulless　

thing　in　the　world；　far　worse　even　than　a　skull。　。　。　。



At　last；　in　a　leisurely　muddled　manner　we　got　to　the　Address；　and　I　

found　myself　packed　in　a　dense　elbowing　crowd　to　the　right　of　the　

Speaker's　chair；　while　the　attenuated　Opposition；　nearly　leaderless　

after　the　massacre；　tilted　its　brim　to　its　nose　and　sprawled　at　its　

ease　amidst　its　empty　benches。



There　was　a　tremendous　hullaboo　about　something；　and　I　craned　to　see　

over　the　shoulder　of　the　man　in　front。　　''Order；　order；　order！〃



〃What's　it　about？〃　I　asked。



The　man　in　front　of　me　was　clearly　no　better　informed；　and　then　I　

gathered　from　a　slightly　contemptuous　Scotchman　beside　me　that　it　

was　Chris　Robinson　had　walked　between　the　bonourable　member　in　

possession　of　the　house　and　the　Speaker。　　I　caught　a　glimpse　of　him　

blushingly　whispering　about　his　misadventure　to　a　colleague。　　He　was　

just　that　same　little　figure　I　had　once　assisted　to　entertain　at　

Cambridge；　but　grey…haired　now；　and　still　it　seemed　with　the　same　

knitted　muffler　he　had　discarded　for　a　reckless　half…hour　while　he　

talked　to　us　in　Hatherleigh's　rooms。



It　dawned　upon　me　that　I　wasn't　particularly　wanted　in　the　House；　

and　that　I　should　get　all　I　needed　of　the　opening　speeches　next　day　

from　the　TIMES。



I　made　my　way　out　and　was　presently　walking　rather　aimlessly　through　

the　outer　lobby。



I　caught　myself　regarding　the　shadow　that　spread　itself　out　before　

me；　multiplied　itself　in　blue　tints　of　various　intensity；　shuffled　

itself　like　a　pack　of　cards　under　the　many　lights；　the　square　

shoulders；　the　silk　hat；　already　worn　with　a　parliamentary　tilt　

backward；　I　found　I　was　surveying　this　statesmanlike　outline　with　a　

weak　approval。　　〃A　MEMBER！〃　I　felt　the　little　cluster　of　people　that　

were　scattered　about　the　lobby　must　be　saying。



〃Good　God！〃　I　said　in　hot　reaction；　〃what　am　I　doing　here？〃



It　was　one　of　those　moments　infinitely　trivial　in　themselves；　that　

yet　are　cardinal　in　a　man's　life。　　It　came　to　me　with　extreme　

vividness　that　it　wasn't　so　much　that　I　had　got　hold　of　something　as　

that　something　had　got　hold　of　me。　　I　distinctly　recall　the　rebound　

of　my　mind。　　Whatever　happened　in　this　Parliament；　I　at　least　would　

attempt　something。　　〃By　God！〃　I　said；　〃I　won't　be　overwhelmed。　　I　am　

here　to　do　something；　and　do　something　I　will！〃



But　I　felt　that　for　the　moment　I　could　not　remain　in　the　House。



I　went　out　by　myself　with　my　thoughts　into　the　night。　　It　was　a　

chilling　night；　and　rare　spots　of　rain　were　falling。　　I　glanced　over　

my　shoulder　at　the　lit　windows　of　the　Lords。　　I　walked；　I　remember；　

westward；　and　presently　came　to　the　Grosvenar　Embankment　and　

followed　it；　watching　the　glittering　black　rush　of　the　river　and　the　

dark；　dimly　lit　barges　round　which　the　water　swirled。　　Across　the　

river　was　the　hunched　sky…line　of　Doulton's　potteries；　and　a　kiln　

flared　redly。　　Dimly　luminous　trams　were　gliding　amidst　a　dotted　

line　of　lamps；　and　two　little　trains　crawled　into　Waterloo　station。　　

Mysterious　black　figures　came　by　me　and　were　suddenly　changed　to　the　

commonplace　at　the　touch　of　the　nearer　lamps。　　It　was　a　big　confused　

world；　I　felt；　for　a　man　to　lay　his　hands　upon。



I　remember　I　crossed　Vauxhall　Bridge　and　stood　for　a　time　watching　

the　huge　black　shapes　in　the　darkness　under　the　gas…works。　　A　shoal　

of　coal　barges　lay　indistinctly　on　the　darkly　shining　mud　and　water　

below；　and　a　colossal　crane　was　perpetually　hauling　up　coal　into　

mysterious　blacknesses　above；　and　dropping　the　empty　clutch　back　to　

the　barges。　　Just　one　or　two　minute　black　featureless　figures　of　men　

toiled　amidst　these　monster　shapes。　　They　did　not　seem　to　be　

controlling　them　but　only　moving　about　among　them。　　These　gas…works　

have　a　big　chimney　that　belches　a　lurid　flame　into　the　night；　a　

livid　shivering　bluish　flame；　shot　with　strange　crimson　streaks。　。　。　。



On　the　other　side　of　Lambeth　Bridge　broad　stairs　go　down　to　the　

lapping　water　of　the　river；　the　lower　steps　are　luminous　under　the　

lamps　and　one　treads　unwarned　into　thick　soft　Thames　mud。　　They　seem　

to　be　purely　architectural　steps；　they　lead　nowhere；　they　have　an　

air　of　absolute　indifference　to　mortal　ends。



Those　shapes　and　large　inhuman　placesfor　all　of　mankind　that　one　

sees　at　night　about　Lambeth　is　minute　and　pitiful　beside　the　

industrial　monsters　that　snort　and　toil　theremix　up　inextricably　

with　my　memories　of　my　first　days　as　a　legislator。　　Black　figures　

drift　by　me；　heavy　vans　clatter；　a　newspaper　rough　tears　by　on　a　

motor　bicycle；　and　presently；　on　the　Albert　Embankment；　every　seat　

has　its