I listened with intense interest; it grew in-tenser as he talked. You a failureheavens! What then may your little point happen to be?
Have I got to tell you, after all these years and labours? There was something in the friendly reproach of thisjocosely exaggeratedthat made me, as an ardent young seeker for truth, blush to the roots of my hair. Im as much in the dark as ever, though Ive grown used in a sense to my obtuseness; at that moment, however, Verekers happy accent made me appear to myself, and probably to him, a rare donkey. I was on the point of exclaiming, Ah, yes, dont tell me: for my honour, for that of the craft, dont! when he went on in a manner that showed he had read my thought and had his own idea of the probability of our some day redeeming ourselves. By my little point I meanwhat shall I call it?the particular thing Ive written my books most for. Isnt there for every writer a particular thing of that sort, the thing that most makes him apply himself, the thing without the effort to achieve which he wouldnt write at all, the very passion of his passion, the part of the business in which, for him, the flame of art burns most intensely? Well, its that!
I considered a moment. I was fascinatedeasily, youll say; but I wasnt going after all to be put off my guard. Your descriptions certainly beautiful, but it doesnt make what you describe very distinct.
I promise you it would be distinct if it should dawn on you at all. I saw that the charm of our topic overflowed for my companion into an emotion as lively as my own. At any rate, he went on, I can speak for myself: theres an idea in my work without which I wouldnt have given a straw for the whole job. Its the finest, fullest intention of the lot, and the application of it has been, I think, a triumph of patience, of ingenuity. I ought to leave that to somebody else to say; but that nobody does say it is precisely what were talking about. It stretches, this little trick of mine, from book to book, and everything else, comparatively, plays over the surface of it. The order, the form, the texture of my books will perhaps some day constitute for the initiated a complete representation of it. So its naturally the thing for the critic to look for. It strikes me, my visitor added, smiling, even as the thing for the critic to find.
This seemed a responsibility indeed. You call it a little trick?
Thats only my little modesty. Its really an exquisite scheme.
And you hold that youve carried the scheme out?
The way Ive carried it out is the thing in life I think a bit well of myself for.
I was silent a moment. Dont you think you oughtjust a trifleto assist the critic?
Assist him? What else have I done with every stroke of my pen? Ive shouted my intention in his great blank face! At this, laughing out again, Vereker laid his hand on my shoulder to show that the allusion was not to my personal appearance.
But you talk about the initiated. There must therefore, you see, be initiation.
What else in heavens name is criticism supposed to be? Im afraid I coloured at this too; but I took refuge in repeating that his account of his silver lining was poor in something or other that a plain man knows things by. Thats only because youve never had a glimpse of it, he replied. If you had had one the element in question would soon have become practically all youd see. To me its exactly as palpable as the marble of this chimney. Besides, the critic just isnt a plain man: if he were, pray, what would he be doing in his neighbours garden? Youre anything but a plain man yourself, and the very raison dêtre of you all is that youre little demons of subtlety. If my great affairs a secret, thats only because its a secret in spite of itselfthe amazing event has made it one. I not only never took the smallest precaution to do so, but never dreamed of any such accident. If I had I shouldnt in advance have had the heart to go on. As it was I only became aware little by little, and meanwhile I had done my work.
And now you quite like it? I risked.
My work?
Your secret. Its the same thing.
Your guessing that, Vereker replied, is a proof that youre as clever as I say! I was encouraged by this to remark that he would clearly be pained to part with it, and he confessed that it was indeed with him now the great amusement of life. I live almost to see if it will ever be detected. He looked at me for a jesting challenge; something at the back of his eyes seemed to peep out. But I neednt worryit wont!
You fire me as Ive never been fired, I returned; you make me determined to do or die. Then I asked: Is it a kind of esoteric message?
His countenance fell at thishe put out his hand as if to bid me good-night. Ah, my dear fellow, it cant be described in cheap journalese!
I knew of course he would be awfully fastidious, but our talk had made me feel how much his nerves were exposed. I was unsatisfiedI kept hold of his hand. I wont make use of the expression then, I said, in the article in which I shall eventually announce my discovery, though I daresay I shall have hard work to do without it. But meanwhile, just to hasten that difficult birth, cant you give a fellow a clue? I felt much more at my ease.
My whole lucid effort gives him a clueevery page and line and letter. The things as concrete there as a bird in a cage, a bait on a hook, a piece of cheese in a mouse-trap. Its stuck into every volume as your foot is stuck into your shoe. It governs every line, it chooses every word, it dots every i, it places every comma.
I scratched my head. Is it something in the style or something in the thought? An element of form or an element of feeling?
He indulgently shook my hand again, and I felt my questions to be crude and my distinctions pitiful. Good-night, my dear boydont bother about it. After all, you do like a fellow.
And a little intelligence might spoil it? I still detained him.
He hesitated. Well, youve got a heart in your body. Is that an element of form or an element of feeling? What I contend that nobody has ever mentioned in my work is the organ of life.
I seeits some idea about life, some sort of philosophy. Unless it be, I added with the eagerness of a thought perhaps still happier, some kind of game youre up to with your style, something youre after in the language. Perhaps its a preference for the letter P! I ventured profanely to break out. Papa, potatoes, prunesthat sort of thing? He was suitably indulgent: he only said I hadnt got the right letter. But his amusement was over; I could see he was bored. There was nevertheless something else I had absolutely to learn. Should you be able, pen in hand, to state it clearly yourselfto name it, phrase it, formulate it?
Oh, he almost passionately sighed, if I were only, pen in hand, one of you chaps!
That would be a great chance for you of course. But why should you despise us chaps for not doing what you cant do yourself?
Cant do? He opened his eyes. Havent I done it in twenty volumes? I do it in my way, he continued. You dont do it in yours.
Ours is so devilish difficult, I weakly observed.
So is mine. We each choose our own. Theres no compulsion. You wont come down and smoke?