Imaginary Toys (10 page)

Else a great prince in prison lies. And over the page, why, what do we have here?

‘Elaine, you haven’t turned over a page for the last quarter of an hour.’

‘Good morning, darling.’

Week-end with Delta. Offer no excuses, need none. The relationship, to recall
The
Ambassadors
again, was virtuous. Really. I had no idea that Delta was so rich. The Dorset aunt was a fabrication. Not to alarm me, perhaps. She turned out to be a father and mother, married elder sister and younger brother, latter not present (at school). We sailed in West Bay. Mercifully it was not at all rough, and for a change I enjoyed it. Small boats in calm weather strike me as much nicer than luxury yachts. Delta exactly the same at home as he is here: casual, kind, happy. Is that the kind of temperament one has to be born with? Or is it
something
that happens after an equable childhood? In any case, I am even fonder of Delta than I was, and even more uncertain about his own feelings. I am terrified that he may be perfectly innocent, which would be virtually castrating for me. I must be extremely careful. Careful? I talk like a middle-aged nanny. But I have to. Anyway, I was happy there, almost without qualification. Almost:
Decline
and
Fall
seemed unbearably cruel in that pastoral landscape. I read bits out loud to Delta, who smiled sadly. He has never read any Evelyn Waugh. What
do
the young read these days? Two
postcards
from Phi on return. One of a floral clock, the other of an elderly bathing-machine. He must carry those things round with him. Two messages. First:
I
am
making
up
my
mind
.
Second:
Whether
to
bathe
or
not.
I wonder if they were meant to arrive by separate posts. One of the cancelling marks is blurred, so I shall never know. On the whole I feel benevolent, and assume they were not.

*

From notes towards an essay on ‘The Function of Pornography in Twentieth Century European Culture’:

*

These faceless automata rut between the expensive green covers of the Olympia Press. Only Apollinaire achieved mastery in the genre.
The
Debauched
Hospidar
is a novel as successfully experimental as
Ulysses
,
and much shorter. Since his death there has been a poverty of imagination, a dwelling on sexual cliché, that signifies a decline in the sexual prowess of Western Europeans. The effects of two world wars should not be forgotten. With the economic exhaustion of Europe went a marked decline in the art of obscene photography. The cinematic medium, though popular, has never been used with the discrimination that is necessary for
pornography
to become art. We may hope, some of us, that the rise of Western Germany may mark a revival of this form, and a new creative outburst. This, however, is mere speculation. Meanwhile, we shall await developments with a jaundiced air.

One could almost make a book out of it. A little jargon from the sociologists, a few misappropriated statistics, and a Readership could be established. A pity that the best title,
The
Hidden
Persuaders
, has already been appropriated.

*

It was Delta who told Charles about me working so hard before my exams. They know each other vaguely through Charles’s younger brother. For a moment I was angry that my casual and intimate conversation should be reported. Then rather pleased. If Delta wanted to find out about me from Charles, though, he must have been sadly disappointed.

*

So little is sacred these days that it is almost impossible to be
profane
. Words like ‘Capitalist’ and ‘Communist’—economic, rather than religious, words—have replaced ‘devil’ and ‘witch’. Call someone a devil today, and he will feel flattered. Recognizing this, people assume too quickly that Communism and Capitalism are religions. They are not. Both set up images of an ideal society to be created by economic means. At least, can this be said of Capitalism? Does it have any ideal, beyond the furtherance of the present system? If so, one must ask oneself for whose benefit it should be furthered. It is the radical non-Communist’s duty to ask that question all the time. He is a self-appointed and unwelcome
conscience of Capitalist society. It is because he
is
self-appointed that he is useful. He cannot be dogmatic without ceasing to be genuinely enquiring. A good radical is always asking himself whether or not he is right to criticize. And sometimes he finds he is wrong. There are very few good radicals, as one might expect.

*

Jonathan Edwards, quoted by Perry Miller: ‘When we have the idea of another’s love to a thing, if it be the love of a man to a woman [whom] we are unconcerned about, in such cases we have not generally any further idea at all of his love, we only have an idea of his actions that are the effects of love, as we have found by experience, and of those external things which belong to love and which appear in case of love; or if we have any idea of it, it is either by forming our ideas so of persons and things as we suppose they appear to them that we have a faint vanishing notion of their affections, or—if the thing be a thing that we so hate that this can’t be—we have our love to something else faintly and least excited: and so in the mind, as it were, referred to this place, we think this is like that.’

Very, very good. ‘We think this is like that.’ Precisely. How then to describe someone else in love? Or even oneself? ‘He blushed at her name, and showed obvious, indeed
overwhelming
, confidence in her qualities?’ ‘His heart was beating so painfully it was as though Vulcan’s anvil had taken its place, showered by the heavy rain of the god’s hammer?’ ‘When he took her in his arms everything became soft at the edges, where she had seen a window, and beyond it fields and trees, lay nothing but a burning, vibrant plain of purple smoke?’ No. Indeed not. No smoke without ashes of inaccuracy, gas-masks for the reader. Faint vanishing notions, those. How then? I have somehow to decide what is happening between Charles and Margaret, Elaine and Jack, myself and Delta. What are the similarities, what the differences? Is there no way that by comparison could reveal
something
of the common nature of lovers? Edwards seems to suggest, by implication, that being concerned makes one a more accurate commentator. (Or does he?) I don’t think this is so, anyway. I want to try and describe Charles and Margaret in terms of an official report. And Jack and Elaine. Remove all the personal. Prevent myself thinking ‘this is like that’ till I have examined all the
evidence. Various questions to be resolved: does a homosexual in love feel any differently, in essentials, from a heterosexual? Does one feel the same thing each time one is in love? Does one pair of lovers ever feel exactly what another pair feels? There is no hope of ever answering any of these questions satisfactorily. That is why they are worth asking. I do assume, though, that the main outlines are common to the genus, the framework of Romantic Love, for instance. Really, I am interested only in myself, I suppose, like everyone else.

*

C and M appear to be going through a period of tranquillity. This may be accurately attributed to the examination system of the University of Oxford. Six hours of writing each day are six hours well spent in achieving tranquillity for the remaining eighteen hours. That has long been an axiom of the committee.

The committee does not consider that the present period of tranquillity is either normal or lasting. It believes that a situation similar to that pertaining to the pair before the period of
examination
began will recur as soon as the examination is over. In the committee’s judgement it would be foolhardy to draw C’s
attention
to this likelihood, such humanitarian efforts on its part being liable to result in its physical injury or mental wounding. The committee has always had grave doubts about this pair. It has
from time to time stated its conclusion that a relationship based on heroine-worship and disdain can be possibly injurious to both parties. Its previous findings may be found
supra
passim.
Optimism at this stage is strongly disapproved. The committee is preparing for an emergency with such supplies as it is able to muster, but the niggardliness of government support is something which it has frequently criticized.

The report is signed by all the members of the committee.

*

That’s not right. Not what I was trying to do. All I have done there is to put ‘the committee’ where before I wrote ‘I’. What one needs is objective reporting, evidence, submissions. I haven’t had much evidence from Charles recently. Try and do better next time.

*

This morning the committee heard evidence from E, the female section of the second couple under investigation. J is the male section. The committee was having coffee in the Rawlinson Café, its usual official station. No stenographer was present, but the committee believes this to be an honest précis of the evidence submitted. E began by describing herself as ‘in love with’ J. The committee at once explained its interest in obtaining a definition of this phrase. E declined to help, saying that if the committee didn’t know it was high time it found out. Instead she volunteered the following reminiscence as being typical of the state of mind she undergoes when ‘in love with’ J. At one stage of his Oxford career J had undertaken to appear with seven other members of his college, plus an eighth member who steered the boat, but
otherwise
took no part in its propulsion, in some rowing races upon the river Isis. She did not attempt to describe the object of these races, social or economic or otherwise, assuming, correctly, that the committee was not unaware of them. She said she had given little thought to the possible effect on her mind of having her ‘lover’ as a competitor in this particular tributary of aquatic sports. Physical prowess of a sporting nature did not, she stated, stimulate her sexually as far as she was aware. She was little interested in the races as such, and wholly ignorant of the rules and methods of racing and rowing. She went on to describe her unwillingness to attend the actual races themselves, her reasons being the
inclemency
of the weather, the necessity of academic work, and a premonition that the races would prove unentertaining. She was obliged to withdraw this last reason for non-attendance after the possible excitements had been vividly described to her by J. She decided to attend the races, however, in order to please J. She went alone to the barge of his college at the appointed time for the race to begin, and stood on the top deck. She was there greeted by a friend who explained to her from which direction the racers might be expected to appear. It was, at the time, raining, she declared, and she was therefore wearing a raincoat, and, as an additional means of protection, carrying an umbrella. Nonetheless she felt unusually cold and wet and wished very much that she had not given in to the temptation to please J.

At this point the committee interrupted to ask why she chose to use the word ‘temptation’. She said she did not know, but that in her opinion love was a series of minor temptations, almost all of which she gave in to. She explained this further by saying that, for her, giving pleasure was always a temptation. She then continued with her narrative. She watched dutifully the bend of the river round which the rowing-boats were supposed to come. When, after about five minutes, she could not say exactly, no boat had yet appeared, she asked her friend whether she had not perhaps missed the race by arriving too late. A comparison between their
wrist-watches
showed that on the contrary she was too early, her watch showing a time indubitably later than his. At that moment she heard the distant report of a gun, and was informed that this was the signal for the race to begin.

At this point the committee again interrupted to ask if she was sure this story would in fact shed any light on the definition of the phrase ‘in love with’, and whether it had any point at all. E replied that she was coming to the point, if the committee would only have patience.

The committee apologized and asked her to continue.

She again described the sound of the gun going off and the explanation of this phenomenon as given to her by her friend. It was at this point, she said, when she was aware that the race was, at last, in progress, that she became aware of a mounting excitement in herself that she could not at the time account for.

The committee suggested that her prolonged exposure to
inclement
weather might perhaps be resulting in the beginnings of a chill. This suggestion was ignored.

E stated that she found herself gripping the rail of the barge with a force that surprised her. She let go of the rail, only to clutch it again, feeling for a moment that she might faint. This feeling quickly passed, she said, and she looked down the river towards the bend, but no boat was yet in sight. When at last a boat did appear she was unable to tell whether or not it was the one which included J in its crew. She asked her friend whether or not it was that boat, but he expressed considerable doubt, saying that the College’s boat was ‘near the bottom of the division’. This phrase was not explained to the committee. More boats appeared at intervals, and the foremost boat continued its progress up the river towards the barge on which she was standing. The rain, she observed, continued to fall, and from the comments of those around her it was clear that the visibility prevented anyone from having an uncomplicated view as to how the race was developing. The excitement she had felt at the sound of the starting-gun had not in any way diminished, and she enquired frequently of her friend whether or not the boat containing J had yet appeared. The friend became impatient and said that he would inform her as soon as he was able to obtain accurate information, but that conditions were not ideal for commentating. The friend’s attitude she recognized to have been reasonable, but she admitted to a feeling that he was being unnecessarily rude and insensitive, if not actually provoking. At last he told her that it seemed unlikely that the boat containing J would appear, since the leading boats had already passed the barge, and boats lower in the division than the College’s had come into sight around the bend. Alarmed at this news she asked whether the College’s boat might not perhaps have sunk. But the friend said that this was most unlikely, though possible. He suggested that the College’s boat had probably ‘bumped’ the boat in front of it, or been ‘bumped’ by the boat behind. E asked whether such collision were dangerous to the participants. He explained that the phrase ‘bumping races’ referred to the method by which winners and losers might be identified. To ‘bump’ was a technical term meaning that one boat had merely touched lightly the boat in front. When such a ‘bump’ occurred, the boats concerned were obliged to withdraw from further participation in the race, and when the races were resumed next day would appear in an order opposite to the one in which they appeared that afternoon. That is to say, if the order was originally boat A boat B, and during the course of the race boat B ‘bumped’
boat A, then the next day the order of starting would be boat B boat A. E said that she listened to this very simple explanation of the rules of the sport without understanding it in the very least. The clearer her friend made it, the more impossible it became for her to understand. All she wished to know was whether the boat containing J had been a success or not. She expressed her thanks to her friend for his detailed and admirable explanation, and enquired whether J’s boat had ‘bumped’ or been ‘bumped’. There was still some confusion about this, the friend explained, but they would soon discover, since the victorious boat would undoubtedly row up the river and receive the plaudits of the spectators, few though there were. E explained that her continued excitement could not have been due to the adventures of the race itself, since it was by now clear that the race was over. Therefore she attributed her sense of heightened awareness of pulse, breathing, etc., to a desire to see J in a successful boat. When it became obvious that J’s boat had not been victorious she became deeply concerned for him, and left the barge, feeling that he would be ashamed to see her there after his remarkable, as it seemed to her, failure. Later she explained to J that such had been her feeling, and he said that he was amazed at her sensitivity, reminding her that he had told her that he was not expecting to be successful that afternoon.