《星期一和星期二》第20章

aving　the　description　of　reality　more　and　more　out　of　their　stories；　taking　a　knowledge　of　it　for　granted；　as　the　greeks　did　and　shakespeare　perhaps—but　these　generalizations　are　very　worthless。　the　military　sound　of　the　word　is　enough。　it　recalls　leading　articles；　cabinet　ministers—a　whole　class　of　things　indeed　which　as　a　child　one　thought　the　thing　itself；　the　standard　thing；　the　real　thing；　from　which　one　could　not　depart　save　at　the　risk　of　nameless　damnation。　generalizations　bring　back　somehow　sunday　in　london；　sunday　afternoon　walks；　sunday　luncheons；　and　also　ways　of　speaking　of　the　dead；　clothes；　and　habits—like　the　habit　of　sitting　all　together　in　one　room　until　a　certain　hour；　although　nobody　liked　it。　there　was　a　rule　for　everything。　the　rule　for　tablecloths　at　that　particular　period　was　that　they　should　be　made　of　tapestry　with　little　yellow　partments　marked　upon　them；　such　as　you　may　see　in　photographs　of　the　carpets　in　the　corridors　of　the　royal　palaces。　tablecloths　of　a　different　kind　were　not　real　tablecloths。　how　shocking；　and　yet　how　wonderful　it　was　to　discover　that　these　real　things；　sunday　luncheons；　sunday　walks；　country　houses；　and　tablecloths　were　not　entirely　real；　were　indeed　half　phantoms；　and　the　damnation　which　visited　the　disbeliever　in　them　was　only　a　sense　of　illegitimate　freedom。　what　now　takes　the　place　of　those　things　i　wonder；　those　real　standard　things？　men　perhaps；　should　you　be　a　woman；　the　masculine　point　of　view　which　governs　our　lives；　which　sets　the　standard；　which　establishes　whitaker’s　table　of　precedency；　which　has　bee；　i　suppose；　since　the　war　half　a　phantom　to　many　men　and　women；　which　soon—one　may　hope；　will　be　laughed　into　the　dustbin　where　the　phantoms　go；　the　mahogany　sideboards　and　the　landseer　prints；　gods　and　devils；　hell　and　so　forth；　leaving　us　all　with　an　intoxicating　sense　of　illegitimate　freedom—if　freedom　exists。　。　。
in　certain　lights　that　mark　on　the　wall　seems　actually　to　project　from　the　wall。　nor　is　it　entirely　circular。　i　cannot　be　sure；　but　it　seems　to　cast　a　perceptible　shadow；　suggesting　that　if　i　ran　my　finger　down　that　strip　of　the　wall　it　would；　at　a　certain　point；　mount　and　descend　a　small　tumulus；　a　smooth　tumulus　like　those　barrows　on　the　south　downs　which　are；　they　say；　either　tombs　or　camps。　of　the　two　i　should　prefer　them　to　be　tombs；　desiring　melancholy　like　most　english　people；　and　finding　it　natural　at　the　end　of　a　walk　to　think　of　the　bones　stretched　beneath　the　turf。　。　。　there　must　be　some　book　about　it。　some　antiquary　must　have　dug　up　those　bones　and　given　them　a　name。　。　。　what　sort　of　a　man　is　an　antiquary；　i　wonder？　retired　colonels　for　the　most　part；　i　daresay；　leading　parties　of　aged　labourers　to　the　top　here；　examining　clods　of　earth　and　stone；　and　getting　into　correspondence　with　the　neighbouring　clergy；　which；　being　opened　at　breakfast　time；　gives　them　a　feeling　of　importance；　and　the　parison　of　arrow–heads　necessitates　cross–country　journeys　to　the　county　towns；　an　agreeable　necessity　both　to　them　and　to　their　elderly　wives；　who　wish　to　make　plum　jam　or　to　clean　out　the　study；　and　have　every　reason　for　keeping　that　great　question　of　the　camp　or　the　tomb　in　perpetual　suspension；　while　the　colonel　himself　feels　agreeably　philosophic　in　accumulating　evidence　on　both　sides　of　the　question。　it　is　true　that　he　does　finally　incline　to　believe　in　the　camp；　and；　being　opposed；　indites　a　pamphlet　which　he　is　about　to　read　at　the　quarterly　meeting　of　the　local　society　when　a　stroke　lays　him　low；　and　his　last　conscious　thoughts　are　not　of　wife　or　child；　but　of　the　camp　and　that　arrowhead　there；　which　is　now　in　the　case　at　the　local　museum；　together　with　the　foot　of　a　chinese　murderess；　a　handful　of　elizabethan　nails；　a　great　many　tudor　clay　pipes；　a　piece　of　roman　pottery；　and　the　wine–glass　that　nelson　drank　out　of—proving　i　really　don’t　know　what。
no；　no；　nothing　is　proved；　nothing　is　known。　and　if　i　were　to　get　up　at　this　very　moment　and　ascertain　that　the　mark　on　the　wall　is　really—what　shall　we　say？—the　head　of　a　gigantic　old　nail；　driven　in　two　hundred　years　ago；　which　has　now；　owing　to　the　patient　attrition　of　many　generations　of　housemaids；　revealed　its　head　above　the　coat　of　paint；　and　is　taking　its　first　view　of　modern　life　in　the　sight　of　a　white–walled　fire–lit　room；　what　should　i　gain？—knowledge？　matter　for　further　speculation？　i　can　think　sitting　still　as　well　as　standing　up。　and　what　is　knowledge？　what　are　our　learned　men　save　the　descendants　of　witches　and　hermits　who　crouched　in　caves　and　in　woods　brewing　herbs；　interrogating　shrew–mice　and　writing　down　the　language　of　the　stars？　and　the　less　we　honour　them　as　our　superstitions　dwindle　and　our　respect　for　beauty　and　health　of　mind　increases。　。　。　yes；　one　could　imagine　a　very　pleasant　world。　a　quiet；　spacious　world；　with　the　flowers　so　red　and　blue　in　the　open　fields。　a　world　without　professors　or　specialists　or　house–keepers　with　the　profiles　of　policemen；　a　world　which　one　could　slice　with　one’s　thought　as　a　fish　slices　the　water　with　his　fin；　grazing　the　stems　of　the　water–lilies；　hanging　suspended　over　nests　of　white　sea　eggs。　。　。　how　peaceful　it　is　drown　here；　rooted　in　the　centre　of　the　world　and　gazing　up　through　the　grey　waters；　with　their　sudden　gleams　of　light；　and　their　reflections—if　it　were　not　for　whitaker’s　almanack—if　it　were　not　for　the　table　of　precedency！
i　must　jump　up　and　see　for　myself　what　that　mark　on　the　wall　really　is—a　nail；　a　rose–leaf；　a　crack　in　the　wood？
here　is　nature　once　more　at　her　old　game　of　self–preservation。　this　train　of　thought；　she　perceives；　is　threatening　mere　waste　of　energy；　even　some　collision　with　reality；　for　who　will　ever　be　able　to　lift　a　finger　against　whitaker’s　table　of　precedency？　the　archbishop　of　canterbury　is　followed　by　the　lord　high　chancellor；　the　lord　high　chancellor　is　followed　by　the　archbishop　of　york。　everybody　follows　somebody；　such　is　the　philosophy　of　whitaker；　and　the　great　thing　is　to　know　who　follows　whom。　whitaker　knows；　and　let　that；　so　nature　counsels；　fort　you；　instead　of　enraging　you；　and　if　you　can’t　be　forted；　if　you　must　shatter　this　hour　of　peace；　think　of　the　ma