At Lady Molly's - Anthony Powell [97]
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