At Lady Molly's - Anthony Powell [98]
‘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.’
‘Anyway,’ said the General, ‘keep an eye on not over-compensating. I’ve been glad to tell that story about Widmerpool to someone who can appreciate the circumstances. Haven’t made up my own mind about it yet. I’ve got a slow reactive rapidity. No doubt about that. Just as well to recognise your own limitations. Can’t help wondering about the inhibiting action of the incest barrier though—among other