2. A Society
t all came about. Six or seven of us ting one day after tea. Some reet into t still sly upon scarlet feattle toea tray. After a time, so far as I can remember, o praise men—rong, , iful to get attaco one for life—o tears. Poll, I must tell you, range man. une in on condition t sed y; leaves ied; and must not one of to marry last sears. For some time srange enoug , as of ime in terature on top floor; and eadily imes on ttom. And noerrible t to and speaking ensity of desolation part unutterably bad!”
Of course t Se books, and Milton and Shelley.
“Oerrupted us. “You’ve been aug you are not members of t lengttle, s it ten by a man called Benton or kind. S feened in silence. “But t’s not a book,” someone said. So sime it I ten ter’s name. Our trepidation increased as s on. Not a seemed to be true, and tyle in ten was execrable.
“Poetry! Poetry!” iently.
“Read us poetry!” I cannot describe tion timental foolery ained.
“It must ten by a no. Sold us t it ten by a young man, one of t famous poets of to imagine o read no more, sed and read us extracts from t and of us, rose to and said t s convinced.
“e suced to the world?”
e ; and, in t, “eaco read?”
Clorinda to come to ’s all our fault,” so read. But no one, save Poll, aken trouble to do it. I, for one, aken it for granted t it y to spend ed my moten; still more my grandmoteen; it ion to bear ty. e men rious, and t t. ures. e ed t. But no s us from judging ts? Before o t s he world is like.”
So o a society for asking questions. One of us o visit a man–of–o udy; anoto attend a meeting of business men; pictures, go to concerts, keep our eyes open in treets, and ask questions perpetually. e y before parting t nig ts of life o produce good people and good books. Our questions o be directed to finding out s tained by men. e vo bear a single cil isfied.
Off to tiso to Oxford; oto Cambridge; ed tate; rooms, to ts, and sa asking ner certain questions and carefully noting intervals togetions. Oing! Never es upon “y’s sain visited e gentleman) and demanded t isfied. “But ing t moment over and received, to , six ligaps upon tis pouring dorembling rigriking an attitude and imitating ty of ill to be satisfied!” “Spoken like a gentleman!” urned, and fell into profound t. “If six strokes avenge te gentleman?” o lay tily t s . y. “Let me see,” ted. “My mot mention your motrembling like an aspen and fluso ts of en minutes at least before so proceed. At lengt if srokes and a a spot indicated by ion of t t grandmot trafalgar) it o a restaurant; drank ttles of ed estations of eternal friendship.
t of to ts. At visit so t ted by large animals resembling man o move reme dignity, mumble and nod to test ed a tles at tical moment of a trial, but o judge sime to see to t from t ed t it is unfair to suppose t the Judges are men.
to t ures so recite from a pale blue volume, “O! for touc is still. er, , love is brief. Spring, t King. O! to be in England no April’s t y is to glory—” e could listen to no more of this gibberish.
“e no more poetry!” we cried.
“Daug er getting spilt over he scuffle.
“t and see if I can’t brus remains of tically. Getting up so explain to us ures are like opped her.
“ is ture?” s by tes to meet eac your Oxbridge, disguised as a co ttempt to give you some idea—only,” s to do it. It’s all so queer. t on, “live in large round grass plots eac t. You o press a button or ligtle lamp. tifully filed. Books abound. tray cats and one aged bullfinc of mine uses. You reacory t pipes, , bristly little plants eace pot. Once in a said. But s old o keep to t. “ell,” s, I examined ion of Sapp’s a queer looking book, six or seven inc all by Sapp of it is a defence of Sappity, lemen argued, ty ed t ounded me; especially y?” e misunderstood her.
“No, no,” sested, “ t ain in t. I ’s cactuses. could t city?”
Again old to ,—did to produce good people and good books?—ts of life.
“t never struck me to ask. It never occurred to me t thing.”
“I believe,” said Sue, “t you made some mistake. Probably Professor . A sc sort of man. A scion—pered to ?—a deligle, imaginative—as stands to reason. For ed.”
“alia. “Perter go back and try again.”
Some ter it I ting alone ered. I don’t kno so moved me; but I could not restrain myself, and, das only s. “ down.
“I’ve been at Oxbridge,” she said.
“Asking questions?”
“Anshem,” she replied.
“You broken our voicing somet her figure.
“Oo ’s imagine,” s out, “ing, iful, isfying—”
“ is?” I asked.
“to—to—ansions,” sold me tory. But in t ed and excited me more trangest cry, half whoop, half holloa—
“City! City! ity!” s bottle!”
t a cruet containing mustard, o administer when she recovered her composure.
“You s of t ths ago,” I said severely.
“true,” s muc no unate, by t my motalia.”
“Oalia, your motard pot.
“No, no, no,” se of me—instead of e.” So on talking.
Meaned to discuss ts of our observations. Everyone, I t, felt as I did about Castalia. to see lengt it ime to begin. S ts o be inconclusive—alia nudged me and t. t up, and, interrupting Jane in tence, said:
“Before you say any more, I to knoo stay in to confess t I am an impure woman.”
Everyone looked at onis.
“You are going to have a baby?” asked Jane.
She nodded her head.
It raordinary to see t expressions on t of tcalia,” and so on. Jane, to us:
“Shall she go? Is she impure?”
Suc reet outside.
“No! No! No! Let ay! Impure? Fiddlesticks!” Yet I fancied t some of t, girls of nineteen or ty, ions, and at last I sa, o her:
“ is city t good, or is it bad, or is it not all?” S I could not catc she said.
“You kno ten minutes.”
“In my opinion,” said Poll, ity is not ignorance—a most discreditable state of mind. e s only te to our society. I vote t Castalia s.”
tly disputed.
“It is as unfair to brand ity as ity,” said Poll. “Some of us tunity eit believe Cassy ains t sed as she did from a pure love of knowledge.”
“y–one and divinely beautiful,” said Cassy, ure.
“I move,” said no one be alloo talk of city or uncity save those who are in love.”
“Oo scientific matters, “I’m not in love and I’m longing to explain my measures for dispensing itutes and fertilizing virgins by Act of Parliament.”
S on to tell us of an invention of o be erected at tube stations and ots, ion’s e its sons, and relieve its daugrived a metubes ture Lord Cs or painters or musicians,” s on, “supposing, t is to say, t t extinct, and t ill wiso bear children—”
“Of course iently. Jane rapped table.
“t is t to consider,” srying to find out inuing talia icipated our decision. But it remains for t of us to make up our minds.”
er anots. tion far exceeded our expectations, and, as for t time alks across space, penetrates to t of an atom, and embraces tions, a murmur of admiration burst from our lips.
“e are proud,” our motalia, ently, looked prouder t. t alia begged us to make e. On t tangle of statistics. e learnt t England ion of so many millions, and t sucion of tantly t so great a percentage of to cs s to factories, sions ock Excic y, and of a Government Office. tis ting by Castalia and I noticed her uneasiness.
“e so any conclusion at all at te,” s appears t civilisation is so mucion, not be better to confine ourselves to our original enquiry? e agreed t it of life to produce good people and good books. All time ories, and money. Let us talk about men ts, for t is t of tter.”
So t stepped foraining anso tions. ter mucion. A good man, any rate be , passionate, and un icular man possessed ties could only be discovered by asking questions, often beginning at a remote distance from tre. Is Kensington a nice place to live in? ed—and your daugell me, or only a knigen it seemed t more from trivial questions of t ones. “I accepted my peerage,” said Lord Bunkum, “because my itles ed for teen of ty–four, as I do—” ten thousand professional men began.
“No, no, of course you can neite. But oo, or per is more significant to ans all to questions about morality and religion, and suc serious. Questions as to t invariably brus extreme risk to t if Sir igs been carving tton alist system my t. t men are at once so oo muco mind w we say.”
“Of course t time for tists. No, has she, Polls?”
“Jane—Austen—Cte—Bronte—George—Eliot,” cried Poll, like a man crying muffins in a back street.
“Damn t a bore she is!”
“Since Sapp rate—” Eleanor began, quoting from a weekly newspaper.
“It’s no Sapp leion of Professor errupted.
“Anyo suppose t any e or ever o e,” Eleanor continued. “And yet, alk to me about terly! I say, or S say somethey believe me.”
“t proves not. Only,” s doesn’t seem to ter examine modern literature next. Liz, it’s your turn.”
Elizabet in order to prosecute aken for a reviewer.
“I ty steadily for t five years,” said s popular living er; tt; ton Makenzie; Mr. McKenna and Mr. alpole may be bracketed toget down.
“But you’ve told us notulated. “Or do you mean t tlemen ly surpassed Jane–Elliot and t Englision is—w review of yours? Oheir hands.’”
“Safe, quite safe,” sing uneasily from foot to foot. “And I’m sure t they receive.”
e . “But,” we pressed e good books?”
“Good books?” s t remember,” sreme rapidity, “t fiction is t deny t education is of t importance, and t it remely annoying, if you found yourself alone at Brige at nig to knoay at, and suppose it it be nice to go to the Movies?”
“But to do ?” we asked.
“Notever,” she replied.
“ell, tell us truth,” we bade her.
“trut isn’t it er ten a icle for t ty years upon love or buttered toast and all o Eton—”
“truth!” we demanded.
“Orutammered, “truto do erature,” and sitting doher word.
It all seemed to us very inconclusive.
“Ladies, try to sum up ts,” Jane he open window, drowned her voice.
“ar! ar! ar! Declaration of ar!” men reet below.
e looked at eacher in horror.
“ oo late, t o tten all about it. e turned to Poll, en us.
“o war?”
“Sometimes for one reason, sometimes for anots outside drorians in 1866–1870 her hand—”
“But it’s no .
“A knoo ed.
[1] * * * *
talia in tings used to be urning over te books. “Queer,” I mused, “to see alia quoted, reading over my s it is t of life to produce good people and good books.” e made no comment upon t. “A good man is at any rate , passionate and un ,” s on. “I believe on purpose—t ridiculous o read all t learnt to read,” sterly, “ life after all. I knoo say about our mot, and t complain. t read. I’ve done my best,” so prevent my little girl from learning to read, but Ann only yesterday o ask me if it rue.’ Next st is a good novelist, and finally o believe in nothing?” she demanded.
“Surely you could teaco believe t a man’s intellect is, and alally superior to a ed. Sened at to turn over our old minutes again. “Yes,” sics, to laug old on reading and laug se out, “Oorment me? Don’t you kno our belief in man’s intellect is test fallacy of t?” I exclaimed. “Ask any journalist, scer, politician or public ell you t men are muced it,” s? t since time so t t’s all our doing!” sed upon ellect and no it. And it’s intellect,” sinued, “t’s at ttom of it. could be more co cultivate ellect? iful to look at; ands t and literature instinctively; enjoying eaco cultivate ellect. er, a civil servant, a general, an auto an office. Every year ains a o a room making us all feel uncomfortable; o every tell truto ead of rejoicing our eyes o take rue, tars of all s o console us? t ime to spend a La t insect in Japan s body? O us devise a met is our only c occupation s of tivity; and not a o kno there once was Shakespeare!”
“It is too late,” I replied. “e cannot provide even for t we have.”
“And to believe in intellect,” she said.
reet, and, listening, reaty of Peace been signed. terfered no doubt he fireworks.
“My cook alia, “and Ann out over ea. I must go home.”
“It’s no good—not a bit of good,” I said. “Once so read teaco believe in—and t is herself.”
“ell, t would be a calia.
So up ty, and, t of t and told o be President of ty of ture—upon o tears, poor little girl.