The Secret Places of the Heart. Герберт Уэллс

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СКАЧАТЬ the green umbrella like an animated halo around his large broad-minded face.

      Sir Richmond considered. “Desire has never been the chief incentive of my relations with women. Never. So far as I can analyze the thing, it has been a craving for a particular sort of life giving companionship.”

      “That I take it is Nature’s device to keep the lovers together in the interest of the more or less unpremeditated offspring.”

      “A poor device, if that is its end. It doesn’t keep parents together; more often it tears them apart. The wife or the mistress, so soon as she is encumbered with children, becomes all too manifestly not the companion goddess…”

      Sir Richmond brooded over his sculls and thought.

      “Throughout my life I have been an exceedingly busy man. I have done a lot of scientific work and some of it has been very good work. And very laborious work. I’ve travelled much. I’ve organized great business developments. You might think that my time has been fairly well filled without much philandering. And all the time, all the time, I’ve been – about women – like a thirsty beast looking for water… Always. Always. All through my life.”

      Dr. Martineau waited through another silence.

      “I was very grave about it at first. I married young. I married very simply and purely. I was not one of those young men who sow a large crop of wild oats. I was a fairly decent youth. It suddenly appeared to me that a certain smiling and dainty girl could make herself into all the goddesses of my dreams. I had but to win her and this miracle would occur. Of course I forget now the exact things I thought and felt then, but surely I had some such persuasion. Or why should I have married her? My wife was seven years younger than myself, – a girl of twenty. She was charming. She is charming. She is a wonderfully intelligent and understanding woman. She has made a home for me – a delightful home. I am one of those men who have no instinct for home making. I owe my home and all the comfort and dignity of my life to her ability. I have no excuse for any misbehaviour – so far as she is concerned. None at all. By all the rules I should have been completely happy. But instead of my marriage satisfying me, it presently released a storm of long-controlled desires and imprisoned cravings. A voice within me became more and more urgent. ‘This will not do. This is not love. Where are your goddesses? This is not love.’… And I was unfaithful to my wife within four years of my marriage. It was a sudden overpowering impulse. But I suppose the ground had been preparing for a long time. I forget now all the emotions of that adventure. I suppose at the time it seemed beautiful and wonderful… I do not excuse myself. Still less do I condemn myself. I put the facts before you. So it was.”

      “There were no children by your marriage?”

      “Your line of thought, doctor, is too philoprogenitive. We have had three. My daughter was married two years ago. She is in America. One little boy died when he was three. The other is in India, taking up the Mardipore power scheme again now that he is out of the army… No, it is simply that I was hopelessly disappointed with everything that a good woman and a decent marriage had to give me. Pure disappointment and vexation. The anti-climax to an immense expectation built up throughout an imaginative boyhood and youth and early manhood. I was shocked and ashamed at my own disappointment. I thought it mean and base. Nevertheless this orderly household into which I had placed my life, these almost methodical connubialities…”

      He broke off in mid-sentence.

      Dr. Martineau shook his head disapprovingly.

      “No,” he said, “it wasn’t fair to your wife.”

      “It was shockingly unfair. I have always realized that. I’ve done what I could to make things up to her… Heaven knows what counter disappointments she has concealed… But it is no good arguing about rights and wrongs now. This is not an apology for my life. I am telling you what happened.

      “Not for me to judge,” said Dr. Martineau. “Go on.”

      “By marrying I had got nothing that my soul craved for, I had satisfied none but the most transitory desires and I had incurred a tremendous obligation. That obligation didn’t restrain me from making desperate lunges at something vaguely beautiful that I felt was necessary to me; but it did cramp and limit these lunges. So my story flops down into the comedy of the lying, cramped intrigues of a respectable, married man…I was still driven by my dream of some extravagantly beautiful inspiration called love and I sought it like an area sneak. Gods! What a story it is when one brings it all together! I couldn’t believe that the glow and sweetness I dreamt of were not in the world – somewhere. Hidden away from me. I seemed to catch glimpses of the dear lost thing, now in the corners of a smiling mouth, now in dark eyes beneath a black smoke of hair, now in a slim form seen against the sky. Often I cared nothing for the woman I made love to. I cared for the thing she seemed to be hiding from me…”

      Sir Richmond’s voice altered.

      “I don’t see what possible good it can do to talk over these things.” He began to row and rowed perhaps a score of strokes. Then he stopped and the boat drove on with a whisper of water at the bow and over the outstretched oar blades.

      “What a muddle and mockery the whole thing is!” he cried. “What a fumbling old fool old Mother Nature has been! She drives us into indignity and dishonour: and she doesn’t even get the children which are her only excuse for her mischief. See what a fantastic thing I am when you take the machine to pieces! I have been a busy and responsible man throughout my life. I have handled complicated public and industrial affairs not unsuccessfully and discharged quite big obligations fully and faithfully. And all the time, hidden away from the public eye, my life has been laced by the thread of these – what can one call them? – love adventures. How many? you ask. I don’t know. Never have I been a whole-hearted lover; never have I been able to leave love alone… Never has love left me alone.

      “And as I am made,” said Sir Richmond with sudden insistence, “AS I AM MADE – I do not believe that I could go on without these affairs. I know that you will be disposed to dispute that.”

      Dr. Martineau made a reassuring noise.

      “These affairs are at once unsatisfying and vitally necessary. It is only latterly that I have begun to perceive this. Women MAKE life for me. Whatever they touch or see or desire becomes worth while and otherwise it is not worth while. Whatever is lovely in my world, whatever is delightful, has been so conveyed to me by some woman. Without the vision they give me, I should be a hard dry industry in the world, a worker ant, a soulless rage, making much, valuing nothing.”

      He paused.

      “You are, I think, abnormal,” considered the doctor.

      “Not abnormal. Excessive, if you like. Without women I am a wasting fever of distressful toil. Without them there is no kindness in existence, no rest, no sort of satisfaction. The world is a battlefield, trenches, barbed wire, rain, mud, logical necessity and utter desolation – with nothing whatever worth fighting for. Whatever justifies effort, whatever restores energy is hidden in women…”

      “An access of sex,” said Dr. Martineau. “This is a phase…”

      “It is how I am made,” said Sir Richmond.

      A brief silence fell upon that. Dr. Martineau persisted. “It isn’t how you are made. We are getting to something in all this. It is, I insist, a mood of how you are made. A distinctive and indicative mood.”

      Sir Richmond went on, almost as if he soliloquized.

      “I would go through it all again… There are times when the love of women seems the only real СКАЧАТЬ