Charles Snow - George Passant

Daphne, in fact, had not brought the diary only to ask about the case. I was not even certain what she inferred from the first entries she had pointed out. Sensibly, she had determined to reveal them to me as his lawyer. Whether she thought George guilty, I did not know. But she was obviously affected by other parts of his confessions.

She was deeply fond of him, and in a youthful, shrewd and managing way she was trying to plan their future life. She felt lost, as she read some passages which a more completely experienced woman might have found alien. Actually Daphne, though lively and sensual, was also sentimental and full of conventional dreams. In imagination, she was contriving a happy marriage with George.

I hesitated. Then I thought she had enough natural insight to stand something of the truth. I tried to explain some of the contradictions in his life as honestly as I could. I regretted it, for I hurt her; and she said goodbye, still convinced that she knew him better than I.

She left the entire diary with me, from 1922 to the month before the preliminary inquiries. I went on reading it for hours. To any intimate of George’s, who accepted by habit the strange appearance of his life, it would have been moving. To me, it carried the irretrievability of the past, along with a life close to one’s own in affection and pity — and so far away that it brought a desolation of loneliness.

I looked back for the first reference to the group, and read again the early ‘justification’ which he had shown me that night at the farm, in 1925. There was much more about the School and his friends in that tone, for years afterwards. In 1927, soon after his disappointment in the firm, he was writing:

The family have at last partially got rid of their conception of me as selfish — and he in particular appreciates my care and devotion, in his eagerness to give the world its due. Olive has gone, Mona has just become engaged, many of them have gone: but there are others, there are some closer to me than there have ever been. I find I have been writing of them all this holiday. If anything can be inferred from these expressions of my feelings, I have been useful to these people at the School. There are signs that freedom is life. And three years ago I was groaning inwardly at my distance from my friends. I was watching them from afar.

Then, still explaining to himself the divisions of his emotional life, he returned to the town, and for several weekends in Nottingham and London passed an ‘equinox’ of sensuality.

This randy fit is going on too long. Last night I could not resist taking the train to London. I was inflamed by the vision of one of our prettiest s — f—s, I found my little girl of 1921, older and more dilapidated, but with the same touching curve of the lips.

Tonight it was still on me. I took the familiar train to Nottingham. I found a pair of old friends in the first pub and spent a half-hour of pleasure looking at Pauline’s face; but they were booked, and I was not in a mood to award free sherry for ever, so I moved on. I have hazy recollections of hordes of women that I kissed. I finished up drunk in the train three or four hours ago. And as we came to the scattered lights outside the town, I thought that everything worthwhile in my life I had invested in this place.

It was in the following autumn that they bought the agency. George’s references to the group in the next two years became far more varied: at times impatient, moved by Jack, ‘urging me on to his own freedom. Wanting me to destroy the only thing I have ever made. Yet he is a lover of life, he has given me his warm companionship for years, he looks into the odd corners of living’ (17 November 1928).

During that autumn, also, a girl called Katherine Faulkner entered the society — usually referred to in the diary as K. For some time she was only mentioned casually.

A NEW VENTURE

16 OCTOBER 1928

CONTRACT SIGNED

Today Jack, Olive and I took over the agency, that curious stage in Martineau’s mad progress. It is to be hoped it does well. Money is a perpetual nuisance: why should I, who care so little for it, have it always dragging round my neck? I have hopes that Jack will win us new comforts. Of course, I am not as optimistic as they all think. I remember his bad luck and bad management with that absurd first attempt of his. But he is still capable of success: it is time we had the luck on our side.

2 DECEMBER 1928

JACK AGAIN

Jack is busy and active and full of ideas. A little money has come in already. Today it struck me as strange that Jack, of all my friends, should have been close at my side for the longest time. He was indulging in one of his new attacks on the group. ‘Why don’t you see what people really want?’

He does not trouble to conceal that he includes me among them. He does not pretend to share my hopes nowadays: he would like me to follow him with his suburban girls. Yet all this sadistic nonsense of his does not seem to interrupt our alliance.

4 DECEMBER 1928

ARGUMENT

Jack brought in a friend tonight who made a fierce emotional case for immortality. Lewis, in the old days, would have shrugged his shoulders, but I enjoyed the talk. On the train afterwards, going to this petty little case — I’m tired of being foisted off with Eden’s drudgery — I remember that it was the first argument with a stranger for many months.

The group is taking up all my energy — more even than it did in the first flush of youthful zeal, religious years that are not quite repeated now. If Jack were not obsessed with his own pleasures, he would see how that answers his attacks.

6 DECEMBER 1928

A FEW HOURS SNATCHED FOR MYSELF

I thought it was perhaps a mistake not to keep a tiny fraction of my interests away from the ‘little world’. I sometimes wish that Lewis were here for a day of two. So on the train I read some calculus with immense excitement. Why wasn’t I told about these things at school? Also ‘Clissold’; Wells is childish in politics, but there are moments when he feels for the whole common soul of man.

Yet I have found little time for anything outside the group now.

During the next few weeks, he wrote those entries about the circulation which Daphne had showed me at first. I put them aside to think over again.

22 FEBRUARY 1929

COLLAPSE

I appeared before the School Committee, asking for money for the brightest man since Lewis’ day. It was a horrible fiasco. Cameron was unnecessarily offensive. The cleric Martineau scored at my expense. I am not so effective as I used to be. I can still hear that grotesque display, and I feel like blinding all the damned night through.

1 MARCH 1929

I COME TO GRIPS AGAIN

TOO EASILY DOWNCAST

Things have not been perfect. I have not quite the usual satisfaction of work well done. The débâcle of my appearance before the committee, another storm of lust, Jack’s contempt for the ‘hole-and-corner’ way in which I indulge my passions, have all played their part. Jack hints also that Olive has begun an affair with Morcom of all people, to whom I have scarcely spoken a private word for months. It may take her away from our little business venture, and it’s a piece of wanton irritation. However, I ought to be able to ignore it.

The sight of K, smiling at the farm, a different person from what she was three months ago, is enough to remove any memories of Olive as anything more than a friendly, competent person, who is some help to Jack and myself.

After a walk in the beautiful rain-sodden evening, I have felt again the essential urge to live among these people. My course is set and my mind made up. Jack’s friendship is valuable, but his influence must be despised. I see it clearly now.

2 MARCH 1929