Anthony Powell - At Lady Molly's

The General said these things in a manner entirely free from any of those implied comments which might be thought inseparable from such a chronicle of events. That is to say he was neither shocked, facetious, nor caustic. It was evident that the situation interested, rather than surprised him. He was complete master of himself in allowing no trace of ribaldry or ill nature to colour his narrative. For my own part, I felt a twinge of compassion for Widmerpool in his disaster, even though I was unable to rise to the General’s heights of scientific detachment. I had known Widmerpool too long.

‘Mildred told me in so many words. Doesn’t care what she says, Mildred. That’s what young people are like nowadays. Of course, I don’t expect Mildred appears young to you, but I always think of her as a young woman.’

I did not know what comment to make. However, General Conyers did not require comment. He wished to elaborate his own conception of what had happened.

‘Widmerpool’s trouble is not as uncommon as you might think,’ he said. ‘I’ve known several cases. Last fellows in the world you’d suppose. I don’t expect the name Peploe-Gordon means anything to you?’

‘No.’

‘Dead now. Had a heart attack in the Lebanon. I remember it happened in the same week Queen Draga was murdered in Belgrade. At Sandhurst with me. Splendid rider. First-class shot. Led an expedition into Tibet. Married one of the prettiest girls I’ve ever seen. Used to see her out with the Quorn. He had the same trouble. Marriage annulled. Wife married again and had a string of children. This is the point I want to make. I saw Peploe-Gordon about eighteen months later at the yearling sales at Newmarket with another damned pretty girl on his arm. Do you know, he looked as pleased as Punch. Didn’t give a damn. Still, you don’t know what neuroses weren’t at work under the surface. That is what you have got to remember. Looking back in the light of what I have been reading, I can see the fellow had a touch of exaggerated narcissism. Is that Widmerpool’s trouble?’

‘It wouldn’t surprise me. As I said before, I’ve only dipped into these things.’

‘I don’t set up as an expert myself. Last thing in the world I’d pretend to do. But look here, something I want to ask — do you know anything of Widmerpool’s mother?’

‘I’ve met her.’

‘What is she like?’

I felt as usual some difficulty in answering directly the General’s enquiry, put in his most pragmatical manner.

‘Rather a trying woman, I thought.’

‘Domineering?’

‘In her way.’

‘Father?’

‘Dead.’

‘What did he do?’

‘Manufactured artificial manure, I believe.’

‘Did he …’ said the General. ‘Did he …’

There was a pause while he thought over this information. It was undeniable that he had been setting the pace. I felt that I must look to my psycho-analytical laurels, if I was not to be left far behind.

‘Do you think it was fear of castration?’ I asked.

The General shook his head slowly.

‘Possibly, possibly,’ he said. ‘Got to be cautious about that. You see this is how I should approach the business, with the greatest humility — with the greatest humility. Widmerpool strikes me as giving himself away all the time by his — well, to quote the text-book — purely objective orientation. If you are familiar with tactics, you know you can be up against just that sort of fellow in a battle. Always trying to get a move on, and bring off something definite. Quite right too, in a battle. But in ordinary life a fellow like that may be doing himself no good so far as his own subjective emotions are concerned. No good at all. Quite the reverse. Always leads to trouble. No use denying subjective emotions. Just as well to face the fact. All of us got a lot of egoism and infantilism to work off. I’d be the last to deny it. I can see now that was some of Peploe-Gordon’s trouble, when I look back.’

‘I’m sure Widmerpool thought a lot about this particular matter. Indeed, I know he did. He spoke to me about it quite soon after he became engaged to Mrs. Haycock.’

‘Probably thought about it a great deal too much. Doesn’t do to think about anything like that too much. Need a bit of relaxation from time to time. Everlastingly talks about his work too. Hasn’t he any hobbies?’

‘He used to knock golf balls into a net at Barnes. But he told me he had given that up.’

‘Pity, pity. Not surprised, though,’ said the General, ‘Nothing disturbs feeling so much as thinking. I’m only repeating what the book says, but I didn’t spend thirty odd years in the army without discovering that for myself. Got to have a plan, of course, but no use knotting yourself up in it too tight. Must have an instinct about the man on the other side — and the people on your own side too. What was it Foch said? War not an exact science, but a terrible and passionate drama? Something like that. Fact is, marriage is rather like that too.’

‘But surely that was what Widmerpool was trying to make it? To some extent he seems to have succeeded. What happened sounded terrible and dramatic enough in its own way.’

‘I’ll have to think about that,’ said the General. ‘I see what you mean. I’ll have to think about that.’

All the same, although I had raised this objection, I agreed with what he said. Marriage was a subject upon which it was hard to obtain accurate information. Its secrets, naturally, are those most jealously guarded; never more deeply concealed than when apparently most profusely exhibited in public. However true that might be, one could still be sure that even those marriages which seem outwardly dull enough are, at one time or another, full of the characteristics of which he spoke. Was it possible to guess, for example, what lay behind the curtain of his own experience? As I had never before conceived of exchanging such a conversation with General Conyers, I thought this an opportunity to enquire about a matter that had always played some part in my imagination since mentioned years earlier by Uncle Giles. The moment particularly recommended itself, because the General rarely spoke either of the practice or theory of war. Th. transient reference he had just made to Foch now caused the question I wanted to ask to sound less inept.

‘Talking of the army,’ I said. ‘What did it feel like when you were in the charge?’

‘In where?’

‘The charge — after French’s cavalry brigades crossed the Modder River.’

The General looked perplexed for a moment. Then his expression altered. He grasped the substance of my enquiry.

‘Ah, yes,’ he said. ‘When the whole cavalry division charged. Unusual operation. Doubted the wisdom of it at the time. However, it came off all right. Extraordinary that you should have known about it. That was the occasion you mean? Of course, of course. What was it like? Just have to think for a moment. Long time ago, you know. Have to collect my thoughts. Well, I think I can tell you exactly. The fact was there had been some difficulty in mounting me, as I wasn’t officially attached to the formation. Can’t remember why not at this length of time. Some technicality. Ride rather heavy, you know. As far as I can remember, I had the greatest difficulty in getting my pony out of a trot. I’m sure that was what happened. Later on in the day, I shot a Boer in the shin. But why do you ask?’

‘I don’t know. I’ve always wanted to ask, for some reason. Infantilism, perhaps. A primordial image.’

The General agreed, cordially.

‘You are an introvert, of course,’ he said.

‘I think undoubtedly.’

‘Introverted intuitive type, do you think? I shouldn’t wonder.’

‘Possibly.’