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qualifications。
5
My discontents with the Liberal party and my mental exploration of
the quality of party generally is curiously mixed up with certain
impressions of things and people in the National Liberal Club。 The
National Liberal Club is Liberalism made visible in the fleshand
Doultonware。 It is an extraordinary big club done in a bold；
wholesale； shiny； marbled style； richly furnished with numerous
paintings； steel engravings； busts； and full…length statues of the
late Mr。 Gladstone； and its spacious dining…rooms； its long； hazy；
crowded smoking…room with innumerable little tables and groups of
men in armchairs； its magazine room and library upstairs； have just
that undistinguished and unconcentrated diversity which is for me
the Liberal note。 The pensive member sits and hears perplexing
dialects and even fragments of foreign speech； and among the
clustering masses of less insistent whites his roving eye catches
profiles and complexions that send his mind afield to Calcutta or
Rangoon or the West Indies or Sierra Leone or the Cape。 。 。 。
I was not infrequently that pensive member。 I used to go to the
Club to doubt about Liberalism。
About two o'clock in the day the great smoking…room is crowded with
countless little groups。 They sit about small round tables； or in
circles of chairs； and the haze of tobacco seems to prolong the
great narrow place； with its pillars and bays； to infinity。 Some of
the groups are big； as many as a dozen men talk in loud tones； some
are duologues； and there is always a sprinkling of lonely；
dissociated men。 At first one gets an impression of men going from
group to group and as it were linking them； but as one watches
closely one finds that these men just visit three or four groups at
the outside； and know nothing of the others。 One begins to perceive
more and more distinctly that one is dealing with a sort of human
mosaic； that each patch in that great place is of a different
quality and colour from the next and never to be mixed with it。
Most clubs have a common link； a lowest common denominator in the
Club Bore； who spares no one； but even the National Liberal bores
are specialised and sectional。 As one looks round one sees here a
clump of men from the North Country or the Potteries； here an island
of South London politicians； here a couple of young Jews ascendant
from Whitechapel； here a circle of journalists and writers； here a
group of Irish politicians； here two East Indians； here a priest or
so； here a clump of old…fashioned Protestants； here a little knot of
eminent Rationalists indulging in a blasphemous story SOTTO VOCE。
Next them are a group of anglicised Germans and highly specialised
chess…players； and then two of the oddest…looking personsbulging
with documents and intent upon extraordinary business transactions
over long cigars。 。 。 。
I would listen to a stormy sea of babblement； and try to extract
some constructive intimations。 Every now and then I got a whiff of
politics。 It was clear they were against the Lordsagainst
plutocratsagainst Cossington's newspapersagainst the brewers。 。 。 。
It was tremendously clear what they were against。 The trouble
was to find out what on earth they were for！ 。 。 。
As I sat and thought； the streaked and mottled pillars and wall； the
various views； aspects； and portraits of Mr。 and Mrs。 Gladstone； the
partitions of polished mahogany； the yellow…vested waiters； would
dissolve and vanish； and I would have a vision of this sample of
miscellaneous men of limited； diverse interests and a universal
littleness of imagination enlarged； unlimited； no longer a sample
but a community； spreading； stretching out to infinityall in
little groups and duologues and circles； all with their special and
narrow concerns； all with their backs to most of the others。
What but a common antagonism would ever keep these multitudes
together？ I understood why modern electioneering is more than half
of it denunciation。 Let us condemn； if possible； let us obstruct
and deprive； but not let us do。 There is no real appeal to the
commonplace mind in 〃Let us do。〃 That calls for the creative
imagination； and few have been accustomed to respond to that call。
The other merely needs jealousy and bate； of which there are great
and easily accessible reservoirs in every human heart。 。 。 。
I remember that vision of endless； narrow； jealous individuality
very vividly。 A seething limitlessness it became at last； like a
waste place covered by crawling locusts that men sweep up by the
sackload and drown by the million in ditches。 。 。 。
Grotesquely against it came the lean features； the sidelong shy
movements of Edward Crampton； seated in a circle of talkers close at
hand。 I had a whiff of his strained； unmusical voice； and behold！
he was saying something about the 〃Will of the People。 。 。 。〃
The immense and wonderful disconnectednesses of human life！ I
forgot the smoke and jabber of the club altogether； I became a
lonely spirit flung aloft by some queer accident； a stone upon a
ledge in some high and rocky wilderness； and below as far as the eye
could reach stretched the swarming infinitesimals of humanity； like
grass upon the field； like pebbles upon unbounded beaches。 Was
there ever to be in human life more than that endless struggling
individualism？ Was there indeed some giantry； some immense valiant
synthesis； still to comeor present it might be and still unseen by
me； or was this the beginning and withal the last phase of
mankind？ 。 。 。
I glimpsed for a while the stupendous impudence of our ambitions；
the tremendous enterprise to which the modern statesman is
implicitly addressed。 I was as it were one of a little swarm of
would…be reef builders looking back at the teeming slime upon the
ocean floor。 All the history of mankind； all the history of life；
has been and will be the story of something struggling out of the
indiscriminated abyss； struggling to exist and prevail over and
comprehend individual livesan effort of insidious attraction； an
idea of invincible appeal。 That something greater than ourselves；
which does not so much exist as seek existence； palpitating between
being and not…being； how marvellous it is！ It has worn the form and
visage of ten thousand different gods； sought a shape for itself in
stone and ivory and music and wonderful words； spoken more and more
clearly of a mystery of love； a mystery of unity； dabbling meanwhile
in blood and cruelty beyond the common impulses of men。 It is
something that comes and goes； like a light that shines and is
withdrawn； withdrawn so completely that one doubts if it has ever
been。 。 。 。
6
I would mark with a curious interest the stray country member of the
club up in town for a night or so。 My mind would be busy with
speculations about him； about his home； his family； his reading； his
horizons； his innumerable fellows who didn't belong and never came
up。 I would fill in the outline of him with memories of my uncle
and his Staffordshire neighbours。 He was perhaps Alderman This or
Councillor That down there； a great man in his ward； J。 P。 within
seven miles of the boundary of the borough； and a God in his home。
Here he was nobody； and very shy； and either a little too arrogant
or a little too meek towards our very democratic mannered but still
livened waiters。 Was he perhaps the backbone of England？ He over…
ate himself lest he should appear mean； went through our Special
Dinner conscientiously； drank； unless he was teetotal； of unfamiliar
wines； and did his best； in spite of the rules； to tip。 Afterwards；
in a state of flushed repletion； he would have old brandy； black
coffee； and a banded cigar； or in the name of temperance omit the
brandy and have rather more