it. I shouldn’t wonder if the entire human race isn’t tolerated simply for its innocent minority.’
‘What a sweet idea,’ said Lady Gifford.
He lowered his eyes for a moment and gave her a look. Then he raised them again and pursued the hare he had started. She was an intolerably stupid woman and could not understand a word he said. But he enjoyed the sound of his own voice, and nobody was likely to interrupt him.
‘I daresay,’ he said, ‘that mankind is protected and sustained by undeserved suffering; by all those millions of helpless people who pay for the evil we do and who shield us simply by being there, as Lot was in the doomed city. If any community of people were to be purely evil, were to have no element of innocence among them at all, the earth would probably open and swallow them up. Such a community would split the moral atom.’
He sat up straight and addressed his remarks to Paley, who might be able to follow them.
‘It’s the innocent who integrate the whole concern. Their agony is dreadful, but:
Their shoulders hold the sky suspended.
They stand, and earth’s foundations stay.
Why didn’t the earth open to swallow Belsen? Even in the bunkers of the Berlin Chancellery you might find the innocent children of Dr. Goebbels. Where you have the suffering innocent, the crucified victim, there you have the redeemer who secures for us all a continual reprieve. The oppressed preserve the oppressors. If the innocent did not suffer we should all go pop.’
Lady Gifford looked a little bewildered.
‘But surely,’ she said, ‘there were babies in Sodom, even after Lot went out.’
Siddal shook his head.
‘Weren’t there? Surely …’
‘Not one.’
‘Really? I never knew that. Does it say so?’
The door opened and Canon Wraxton stood upon the threshold. All conversation died down at once.
‘It’s insufferably hot in here,’ he announced.
‘I’m afraid that’s on my account,’ sighed Lady Gifford. ‘I have to be very careful not to catch a chill.’
‘To roast yourself will be the surest way to do it, Madam. If I’m to sit in here I really must ask for some of the windows to be opened.’
‘Then I can’t sit here,’ she pointed out.
‘You must judge for yourself about that,’ said the Canon.
He made a tour of the windows, opening them all, before he sat down at the other desk to write a letter. Lady Gifford was obliged to go back to bed, and departed on the arm of her husband.
9. In the Deep Night
The murmur of the sea came in through the opened windows. A breath of cool air fanned Christina Paley’s cheek. She looked out and saw a gull so high up in the sky that a beam from the sun, already set, caught its wings.
The heat and the darkness of the room were stifling her. She glanced at her husband. He was not reading. He was not thinking. She was sure that when he sat huddled up like this he was not thinking of anything at all; he was simply existing inside his shell. Of late he had seemed to shrink, as if the brain behind his skull was shrivelling.
She wished that somebody would say something, and peered through the stifling dusk at her companions. There were only four of them now. They were all withdrawn , all heavily silent. Mrs. Cove knitted in the firelight . Mr. Siddal stared at the chandelier. Canon Wraxton drew circles on his blotting paper. Miss Ellis seemed to be examining a hole in the carpet. She got the impression that none of them were thinking, that nothing was passing through their minds from the outer world. Each had retired, as an animal retires with a bone to the back of its cage, to chew over some single obsession. And this frightened her. She could no longer bear to be shut up in this murky den of strange beasts. She must get out, right out of the hotel, and away to the safety of the cliffs. She rose and slipped out of the room. Nobody noticed her departure.
Her panic did not subside till she was across the sands and halfway up to the
‘What a sweet idea,’ said Lady Gifford.
He lowered his eyes for a moment and gave her a look. Then he raised them again and pursued the hare he had started. She was an intolerably stupid woman and could not understand a word he said. But he enjoyed the sound of his own voice, and nobody was likely to interrupt him.
‘I daresay,’ he said, ‘that mankind is protected and sustained by undeserved suffering; by all those millions of helpless people who pay for the evil we do and who shield us simply by being there, as Lot was in the doomed city. If any community of people were to be purely evil, were to have no element of innocence among them at all, the earth would probably open and swallow them up. Such a community would split the moral atom.’
He sat up straight and addressed his remarks to Paley, who might be able to follow them.
‘It’s the innocent who integrate the whole concern. Their agony is dreadful, but:
Their shoulders hold the sky suspended.
They stand, and earth’s foundations stay.
Why didn’t the earth open to swallow Belsen? Even in the bunkers of the Berlin Chancellery you might find the innocent children of Dr. Goebbels. Where you have the suffering innocent, the crucified victim, there you have the redeemer who secures for us all a continual reprieve. The oppressed preserve the oppressors. If the innocent did not suffer we should all go pop.’
Lady Gifford looked a little bewildered.
‘But surely,’ she said, ‘there were babies in Sodom, even after Lot went out.’
Siddal shook his head.
‘Weren’t there? Surely …’
‘Not one.’
‘Really? I never knew that. Does it say so?’
The door opened and Canon Wraxton stood upon the threshold. All conversation died down at once.
‘It’s insufferably hot in here,’ he announced.
‘I’m afraid that’s on my account,’ sighed Lady Gifford. ‘I have to be very careful not to catch a chill.’
‘To roast yourself will be the surest way to do it, Madam. If I’m to sit in here I really must ask for some of the windows to be opened.’
‘Then I can’t sit here,’ she pointed out.
‘You must judge for yourself about that,’ said the Canon.
He made a tour of the windows, opening them all, before he sat down at the other desk to write a letter. Lady Gifford was obliged to go back to bed, and departed on the arm of her husband.
9. In the Deep Night
The murmur of the sea came in through the opened windows. A breath of cool air fanned Christina Paley’s cheek. She looked out and saw a gull so high up in the sky that a beam from the sun, already set, caught its wings.
The heat and the darkness of the room were stifling her. She glanced at her husband. He was not reading. He was not thinking. She was sure that when he sat huddled up like this he was not thinking of anything at all; he was simply existing inside his shell. Of late he had seemed to shrink, as if the brain behind his skull was shrivelling.
She wished that somebody would say something, and peered through the stifling dusk at her companions. There were only four of them now. They were all withdrawn , all heavily silent. Mrs. Cove knitted in the firelight . Mr. Siddal stared at the chandelier. Canon Wraxton drew circles on his blotting paper. Miss Ellis seemed to be examining a hole in the carpet. She got the impression that none of them were thinking, that nothing was passing through their minds from the outer world. Each had retired, as an animal retires with a bone to the back of its cage, to chew over some single obsession. And this frightened her. She could no longer bear to be shut up in this murky den of strange beasts. She must get out, right out of the hotel, and away to the safety of the cliffs. She rose and slipped out of the room. Nobody noticed her departure.
Her panic did not subside till she was across the sands and halfway up to the
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