And who has reappeared.
A Man Could Stand Up (Parade’s End #3)
I gathered as much. Perhaps she did not have to trouble.
She could not say that she felt changed from what she had been--just before ten minutes ago, by the reappearance of a man she hoped she had put out of her mind. A man who had 'insulted' her. In one way or the other he had insulted her! But probably all her circumstances had changed. Before Edith Ethel had uttered her impossible sentence in that instrument her complete prospects had consisted of no more than the family picnic, under fig-trees, beside an unusually blue sea--and the prospect had seemed as near--as near as kiss your finger!
Mother in black and purple; mother's secretary in black without adornments. Oh, a romantic figure; slight, muscular, in white flannels with a Leghorn hat and--well, why not be romantic over one's brother--with a broad scarlet sash. One foot on shore and one Nice boy; nice little brother. Lately employed nautically, so up to managing a light skiff. They were going to-morrow The ships, Charing Cross to Vallombrosa, would no doubt run in a fortnight.
The men--the porters--would also be released. You can't travel in any comfort with mother, mother's secretary and brother--with your whole world and its baggage--without lots of porters Talk about rationed butter! What was that to trying to get on without porters? Once having begun it her mind went on singing the old eighteen-fiftyish, or seventyish, martial, British, anti-Russian patriotic song that one of her little friends had unearthed lately--to prove the historic ferocity of his countrymen:. She had been about to say: 'Oh, Hell!
You became again a Young Lady. Peace, too, has its Defence of the Realm Acts. Nevertheless, she has been thinking of the man who had once insulted her as the Bear, whom she would have to fight again! But with warm generosity she said:.
A Man Could Stand Up (Parade’s End #3)
Overwhelming, with rolling grey shoulders that with their intolerable problems pushed you and your own problems out of the road She had been thinking all that while still in the School Hall, before she had gone to see the Head: immediately after Edith Ethel, Lady Macmaster had uttered the intolerable sentence.
She formulated for herself summarily the first item of a period of nasty worries of a time she flattered herself she had nearly forgotten. Years ago, Edith Ethel, out of a clear sky, had accused her of having had a child by that man. But she hardly thought of him as a man. She thought of him as a ponderous, grey, intellectual mass who now, presumably, was mooning, obviously dotty, since he did not recognize the porter, behind the closed shutters of an empty house in Lincoln's Inn Nothing less, I assure you!
She had never been in that house, but she figured him, with cracks of light coming between the shutters, looking back over his shoulder at you in the doorway, grey, superursine Ready to envelop you in suffocating bothers! She wondered how long it had been since the egregious Edith Ethel had made that assertion Now she was trying to 'bring you together again' The Wife, presumably, did not go to Edith Ethel's tea-parties often enough, or was too brilliantly conspicuous when there. Probably the latter! How many years ago?
Not so much! Eighteen months, then? Surely more! When you thought of Time in those days your mind wavered impotently like eyes tired by reading too small print He went out surely in the autumn of No, it had been the first time he went that he went in the autumn. It was her brother's friend, Ted, that went in ' Or the other So many goings out and returnings: and goings out and perhaps not returning.
Or only in bits: the nose gone Or--or, Hell! You'd think it must be that from what Edith Ethel had said. He hadn't recognized the porter: he was reported to have no furniture. She remembered She was then--ten minutes before she interviewed Miss Wanostrocht; ten seconds after she had been blown out of the mouth of the telephone--sitting on a varnished pitch-pine bench that had black iron-clamped legs against the plaster wall, non-conformistically distempered in torpedo grey; and she had thought all that in ten seconds But that had been really how it had been!
It had naturally at the same moment flashed upon her that Edith Ethel had been giving her his news. He was in new troubles: broken down, broken up, broke to the wide Anything in the world but broken in But broken And alone And calling for her! She could not afford--she could not bear! His masculinity. Now, through Edith Ethel--you would have thought that even he would have found someone more appropriate--he was calling to her again to enter into the suffocating web of his imbroglios.
Not even Edith Ethel would have dared to speak to her again of him without his having taken the first step It was unthinkable; it was intolerable; and it had been as if she had been lifted off her feet and deposited on that bench against the wall by the mere sound of the offer What was the offer? Intercede with that man, that grey mass, not to enforce the pecuniary claim that it had against Sir Vincent Mac-master.
No doubt she and Just like that! She was still breathless; the telephone continued to quack. She wished it would stop but she felt too weak to get up and hang the receiver on its hook. She wished it would stop; it gave her the feeling that a strand of Edith Ethel's hair, say, was penetrating nauseously to her torpedo grey cloister. Something like that!
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The grey mass never would enforce its pecuniary claim Those people had sponged mercilessly on him for years and years without ever knowing the kind of object upon which they sponged. It made them the more pitiful. For it was pitiful to clamour to be allowed to become a pimp in order to evade debts that would never be reclaimed Now, in the empty rooms at Lincoln's Inn--for that was probably what it came to! A grey problem! Calling to her! A hell of a lot Beg pardon, she meant a remarkably great deal! Eleven, by now, probably. Later she realized that that was what thought was. In ten minutes after large impassive arms had carried you away from a telephone and deposited you on a clamped bench against a wall of the peculiar coldness of torpedo-grey distempered plaster, the sort of thing rejoiced in by Great Public Girls' Schools Or it was not as long ago as that.
Perhaps that was not astonishing. If you had not thought about, say, washable distemper for two years and then thought about it for ten minutes you could think a hell of a lot about it in those ten minutes. Probably all there was to think. Still, of course, washable distemper was not like the poor--always with you. At least it always was in those cloisters, but not spiritually. On the other hand you always were with yourself! But perhaps you were not always with yourself spiritually; you went on explaining how to breathe without thinking of how the life you were leading was influencing your Immortal soul?
Well, for two years Oh, call it two years, for goodness' sake, and get it over! A sort of what they called inhibition. She had been inhibiting-- pro hibiting--herself from thinking about herself. Well, hadn't she been right? What had a by Pro-German to think about in an embattled, engrossed, clamouring nation: especially when she had not much liked her brother-Pro's! A solitary state, only to be dissolved by In suspension!
Be conscientious with yourself, my good girl! When that telephone blew you out of its mouth you knew really that for two years you had been avoiding wondering whether you had not been insulted! Avoiding wondering that. And nothing else! No other qualified thing. She had, of course, been, not in suspension, but in suspense. Because, if he made a sign--I understand,' Edith Ethel had said, 'that you have not been in correspondence' Well, they hadn't been either Anyhow, if that grey Problem, that ravelled ball of grey knitting worsted, had made a sign she would have known that she had not been insulted.
Or was there any sense in that? Was it really true that if a male and female of the same species were alone in a room together' and the male didn't That was an idea that did not exist in a girl's head without someone to put it there, but once it had been put there it became a luminous veracity! It had been put into her, Valentine Wannop's, head, naturally by Edith Ethel, who equally naturally said that she did not believe it, but that it was a tenet of Of the idle, surpassing-the-Lily-and-Solomontoo, surprisingly svelte, tall, clean-run creature who for ever on the shiny paper of illustrated journals advanced towards you with improbable strides along the railings of the Row, laughing, in company with the Honourable Somebody, second son of Lord Someone-or-other Edith Ethel was more refined.
She had a title, whereas the other hadn't, but she was pensive. She showed you that she had read Walter Savage Landor , and had only very lately given up wearing opaque amber beads, as affected by the later pre-Raphaelites. She was practically never in the illustrated papers, but she held more refined views. She was their Egeria!
A refining influence! The Husband of the Wife then? Once he had been allowed in Edith Ethel's drawing room: now he wasn't! Must have deteriorated! You're in love with a married man who's a Society wife and you're upset because the Titled Lady has put into your head the idea that you might "come together again". After ten years! It isn't that.
It's all right the habit of putting things incisively, but it's misleading to put things too crudely. What was the coming together that was offered her? Nothing, on the face of it, but being dragged again into that man's intolerable worries as unfortunate machinists are dragged into wheels by belts--and all the flesh torn off their bones! Upon her word that had been her first thought.
She was afraid, afraid, afraid! She suddenly appreciated the advantages of nunlike seclusion. Besides she wanted to be bashing policemen with bladders in celebration of Eleven Eleven! That fellow--he had no furniture; he did not appear to recognize the hall porter Dotty and too morally deteriorated to be admitted to drawing-room of titled lady, the frequenters of which could be trusted not to make love to you on insufficient provocation, if left alone with you There were all sorts of sides to the unfairness.
Before this War, and, of course, before he had lent all his money to Vincent Macmaster that--that grey grizzly had been perfectly fit for the country-parsonage drawing-room of Edith Ethel Duchemin: he had been welcomed there with effusion! After the War and when his money was--presumably exhausted, and his mind exhausted, for he had no furniture and did not know the porter After the War, then, and when his money was exhausted he was not fit for the Salon of Lady Macmaster--the only Lady to have a Salon in London.
Obviously it had to be done. There were such a lot of these bothering War heroes that if you let them all into your Salon it would cease to be a Salon, particularly if you were under an obligation to them! That was already a pressing national problem: it was going to become an overwhelming one now--in twenty minutes' time; after those maroons. The impoverished War Heroes would all be coming back. You would have to tell your parlourmaid that you weren't at home to But she could not go on calling him just He like a school-girl of eighteen, thinking of her favourite actor What was she to call him?
She had never--even when they had known each other--called him anything other than Mr So and So She could not bring herself to let her mental lips frame his name She had never used anything but his surname to this grey thing, familiar object of her mother's study, seen frequently at tea-parties Once she had been out with it for a whole night in a dog-cart! Think of that! And they had spouted Tibullus one to another in moonlit mist. And she had certainly wanted it to kiss her--in the moonlit mists, a practically, a really completely strange bear!
It couldn't be done, of course, but she remembered still how she had shivered Godfather of the man's Society Wife, then taking the waters in Germany Or perhaps not her Godfather. The man's rather; but her especial champion, in shining armour. In these days they had worn broad red stripes down the outsides of their trousers, Generals. What a change! How significant of the times! That had been in Say the first of July; she could not remember exactly. Summer weather, anyhow, before haymaking or just about. The grass had been long in Hogg's Forty Acre, when they had walked through it, discussing Woman's Suffrage.
She had brushed the seed-tops of the heavy grass with her hands as they walked Six years ago! What changes in the world! What cataclysms! What Revolutions! She heard all the newspapers, all the halfpenny-paper journalists in creation crying in chorus! But hang it: it was true! If, six years ago, she had kissed the If, then, she did it to-day Not her sentiments those; quotations from Christina, sister of Lady Macmaster's favourite poet Or, perhaps, since she had had a title she would have found poets more The poet who was killed at Gallipoli Gerald Osborne, was it?
Couldn't remember the name! But for six years then she had been a member of that They hadn't lived together! They had dd near died together when the general's car hit their dog-cart! Dd near! You must not use those Wartime idioms. Do break yourself of it! Remember the maroons! An oafish thing to do! To take a school-girl, just You'd think any man who was a man would have avoided that! But they get it both ways At any rate, her husband was dead and she had just married that miserable little Mustn't use that word! She, Valentine Wannop, had been the only witness of the marriage--as of the previous, discreet, but so praiseworthy adultery!
When, then, Edith Ethel had It must have been on the very day of the knighthood, because Edith Ethel made it an excuse not to ask her to the resultant Party Edith Ethel had accused her of having had a baby by And heaven was her, Valentine Wannop's, witness that, although Mr So and So was her mother's constant adviser, she, Valentine Wannop, was still in such a state of acquaintance with him that she still called him by his surname When Lady Macmaster, spitting like the South American beast of burden called a llama, had accused her of having had a baby by her mother's adviser--to her natural astonishment, but, of course, it had been the result of the dog-cart and the motor and the General, and the general's sister, Lady Pauline Something--or perhaps it was Claudine?
Yes, Lady Claudine! When she had been so accused out of the blue, her first thought--and, confound it, her enduring thought! That was the quality of his entanglements, their very essence. He got into appalling messes, unending and unravellable--no, she meant ununravellable! The General charging the dog-cart was symbolical of him. He was perfectly on his right side and all, but it was like him to be in a dog-cart when flagitious automobiles carrying Generals were running amuck!
She really did, in this case. It had been her mother's horse they had been driving and, although they had got damages out of the General, the costs were twice that And her, Valentine's, reputation had suffered from being in a dog-cart at dawn, alone with a man It made no odds that he had--or was it hadn't? She had to be said to have a baby by him, and then she had to be dreadfully worried about his poor old reputation Of course it would have been pretty rotten of him--she so young and innocent, daughter of so preposterously eminent, if so impoverished a man, his father's best friend and all.
She heard them all saying it, still! That magic night. It was just before dawn, the mists nearly up to their necks as they drove; the sky going pale in a sort of twilight. And one immense star! She remembered only one immense star, though, historically, there had been also a dilapidated sort of moon. But the star was her best boy--what her wagon was hitched on to And they had been quoting--quarrelling over, she remembered:. Fornicatrix is preferable!
Parade's End: Pt. 3 : A Man Could Stand Up: a Novel
Very preferable. Then why not adultrix? You couldn't: you had to be a 'cold-blooded adultress! Oh; but surely not cold-blooded! Deliberate, then! That wasn't, either, the word for the process. Of osculation! Comic things, words, as applied to states of feelings! But if she went now to Lincoln's Inn and the Problem held out its arms That would be 'Deliberate'. It would be asking for it in the fullest sense of the term. She had had an Affair with a man, she made her mind say to her, two years ago.
That was all right. There could not be a, say, a schoolmistress rising twenty-four or twenty-five, in the world who hadn't had some affair, even if it were no more than a gentleman in a tea-shop who every afternoon for a week had gazed at her disrespectfully over a slice of plum-cake And then disappeared But you had to have had at least a might-have-been or you couldn't go on being a schoolmistress or a girl in a ministry or a dactylographer of respectability. You packed that away in the bottom of your mind and on Sunday mornings before the perfectly insufficient Sunday dinner, you took it out and built castles in Spain in which you were a castanetted heroine turning on wonderful hips, but casting behind you inflaming glances Well, she had had an affair with this honest, simple creature!
So good! So unspeakably GOOD Like the late Albert, prince consort! The very, helpless, immobile sort of creature that she ought not to have tempted. It had been like shooting tame pigeons! Because he had had a Society wife always in the illustrated papers whilst he sat at home and evolved Statistics or came to tea with her dear, tremendous, distracted mother, whom he helped to get her articles accurate.
So a woman tempted him and he did No; he didn't quite eat! Or was it--that was the intolerable thought that she shut up within her along with the material for castles in the air! They had revolved round each other at tea-parties--or rather he had revolved around her, because at Edith Ethel's affairs she always sat, a fixed starlet, behind the tea-urn and dispensed cups. But he would moon round the room, looking at the backs of books; occasionally laying down the law to some guest; and always drifting in the end to her side where he would say a trifle or two And the beautiful--the quite excruciatingly beautiful wife--striding along the Row with the second son of the Earl of someone at her side Asking for it After that, things had become more rubbled--mixed up with alarums.
Excursions on his part to unapproved places. And trouble. He was quite damnably in trouble. With his Superiors; with, so unnecessarily, Hun projectiles, wire, mud; over Money; politics; mooning on without a good word from anyone Unravellable muddles that never got unravelled but that somehow got you caught up in them Because he needed her moral support! When, during the late Hostilities, he hadn't been out there, he had drifted to the tea-table much earlier of an afternoon and stayed beside it much longer: till after everyone else had gone and they could go and sit on the tall fender side by side, and argue Because she was the only soul in the world with whom he could talk They had the same sort of good, bread-and-butter brains; without much of the romantic No doubt a touch Otherwise he would not have always been in these muddles.
He gave all he possessed to anyone who asked for it. But that those who sponged on him should also involve him in intolerable messes That was not proper. One ought to defend oneself against that! In this case it was she who was his Nearest and Dearest Or had been! At that her nerves suddenly got the better of her and her mind went mad Supposing that that fellow, from whom she had not heard for two years, hadn't now communicated with her Like an ass she had taken it for granted that he had asked Lady Blast her!
But she had nothing to go on Feeble, over-sexed ass that she was, she had let her mind jump at once to the conclusion, the moment the mere mention of him seemed implied--jump to the conclusion that he was asking her again to come and be his mistress Or nurse him through his present muddle till he should be fit to Mind, she did not say that she would have succumbed. But if she had not jumped at the idea that it was he, really, speaking through Edith Ethel, she would never have permitted her mind to dwell on Because she had taken it for granted that if he had had her rung up he would not have been monkeying with other girls during the two years he hadn't written to her Ah, but hadn't he?
Look here! Was it reasonable? Here was a fellow who had all but And not another word from him after that! It was all very well to say that he was portentous, looming, luminous, loony: John Peel with his coat so grey, the English Country Gentleman pur sang and then some; saintly; Godlike, Jesus-Christ-like He was all that. But you don't seduce, as near as can be, a young woman and then go off to Hell, leaving her, God knows, in Hell, and not so much as send her, in two years, a picture-postcard with MIZPAH on it.
You don't. You don't! Or if you do you have to have your character revised. You have to have it taken for granted that you were only monkeying with her and that you've been monkeying ever since with WAACS in Rouen or some other Base Of course, if you ring your young woman up when you come back That might restore you in the eyes of the world, or at least in the eyes of the young woman if she was a bit of a softie But had he?
Had he? It was absurd to think that Edith Ethel hadn't had the face to do it unasked! To save three thousand two hundred pounds, not to mention interest--which was what Vincent owed him! She was quite right. She had to save her man. You go to any depths of ignominy to save your man. She sprang off the bench; she clenched her nails into her palms; she stamped her thin-soled shoes into the coke-brize floor that was singularly unresilient. She exclaimed:. He didn't ask her. He didn't ask her to!
She marched straight at the telephone that was by now uttering long, tinny, night-jar's calls and, with one snap, pulled up the receiver right off the twisted green-blue cord Broke it! With incidental satisfaction! A fine regiment, the Buffs! Of course, if she had not broken the telephone she could have rung up Edith Ethel and have asked her whether he had or hadn't asked to It was like her, Valentine Wannop, to smash the only means of resolving a torturing doubt It wasn't, really, in the least like her. She was practical enough: none of the 'under the ban of fatality' business about her.
She had smashed the telephone because it had been like smashing a connection with Edith Ethel; or because she hated tinny night-jars; or because she had smashed it. For nothing in the world; for nothing, nothing, nothing in the world would she ever ring up Edith Ethel and ask her:. A subconscious volition was directing her feet towards the great doors at the end of the Hall, varnished, pitch-pine doors of Gothic architecture; economically decorated as if with straps and tin-lids of Brunswick-blacked cast iron.
They would have split But he does not hold with a man divorcing a woman, and she won't divorce. As she went through the sticky postern--all that woodwork seemed sticky on account of its varnish! The great thing was You had to settle the preliminaries. She said eventually to Miss Wanostrocht who had sat down at her table behind two pink carnations:.
My Book Affair
That's Shelley, isn't it? And indeed a quite unconscious but shrewd mind had pointed out to her whilst still in the School Hall and even before she had broken the telephone, that Miss Wanostrocht very probably would be able to tell her what she wanted to know and that if she didn't hurry she might miss her, since the Head would probably go now the girls were gone.
So she had hurried through gauntish corridors whose Decorated Gothic windows positively had bits of pink glass here and there interspersed in their lattices. Nevertheless a nearly deserted, darkish, locker-lined dressing-room being a short cut, she had paused in it before the figure of a clumsyish girl, freckled, in black and, on a stool, desultorily lacing a dull black boot, an ankle on her knee. She felt an impulse to say: 'Good-bye, Pettigul! The clumsy, fifteenish, bumpy-faced girl was a symbol of that place--healthyish, but not over healthy; honestish but with no craving for intellectual honesty; big-boned in unexpected places It was in fact all 'ishes' about that Institution.
They were all healthyish, honestish, clumsyish, twelve-to-eighteenish and big-boned in unexpected places because of the late insufficient feeding Emotionalish, too; apt to blubber rather than to go into hysterics. After a period of youthful bloom, which would certainly come and as certainly go, this girl would, normally, find herself one of the Mothers of Europe, marriage being due to the period of youthful bloom Normally that is to say according to a normality that that day might restore.
Of course it mightn't! This becomes more urgently the case when Levin tells Tietjens that the woman in the general's car who is waiting to see him is Sylvia herself, who has pursued him across the Channel without passport or papers. But Tietjens privately rehearses for himself his relationship with Sylvia, trying to organize events as a military report so as to clarify everything precisely for himself. In writing out his recollections, he in effect gives a summary of events that took place in Some Do Not. This to Tietjens is a sign that she is putting an end to their marriage and that he is free to pursue Valentine, whom Sylvia has contrived to have meet him the night before he leaves for France.
Tietjens has time to reminisce on these matters because, although Sylvia had been waiting in the general's car to see him, she has had herself driven away without saying a word to her husband. Tietjens gets his Canadian soldiers bedded down for the night, feeling at the same time a strong passion for his girl and his country. Consequently, with troubles developing all round him, it becomes clear to Tietjens that even though he has done better work commanding his unit than any of his peers commanding theirs and even though he is ill with bad lungs, his being sent to the front to face almost certain death seems inevitable.
Part I, therefore, ends as it began: with the death of O Nine Morgan. Although she has made an appearance in I. Throughout the chapter Perowne is in her presence both urging Sylvia to leave her bedroom door open for him that night and fearing the appearance of Tietjens, whom he sees in a mirror, and who could easily, as Sylvia says, break his back over his knee.
Sylvia's supposed purpose in coming to Rouen is to have Christopher sign a document, which requires no signature, that gives her the legal right to live at Groby, his family's ancestral home in Yorkshire, and makes their son Michael successor to it. But her real purpose in coming to Rouen is to seduce Christopher with whom she has not slept in five years. Christopher's mind and heart have now settled on Valentine Wannop, who had agreed to be his lover at the end of Some Do Not.
Along with settling the Groby affair with Sylvia and with honoring Cowley's promotion, Tietjens is shown as having earlier in the day attended to pressing problems even as he now attends to a series of questions that others have failed to answer. Sylvia tries to make things worse for Christopher by telling Campion that her husband is a Socialist who wants to model his life on that of Jesus Christ, which leads Campion to say he will have Tietjens court-martialed—a decision that he later realizes is unwarranted.
Eliot as "the only good poem I have met with on the subject of the war". Available Formats. This book is in the public domain in Canada, and is made available to you DRM-free. You may do whatever you like with this book, but mostly we hope you will read it. Here at FadedPage and our companion site Distributed Proofreaders Canada , we pride ourselves on producing the best ebooks you can find.
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