English essays -- 20th century; English fiction -- 20th century; Short stories, English
For, after all, this deity of his, like the deity of every other man,
was but his temperament exaggerated beyond life-size and put in perfect
order--it was but the concretion of his constant feeling that nothing
could be trusted to behave, freed from the still, cold hands of Power.
He had never trusted himself to act save under the authority of this
peculiar deity, much less, then, could he feel that others could be
trusted. This lack of trust--which was only, perhaps, a natural desire
for putting everything and everybody in their proper places--had made
him from a child eligible for almost any post of trust. And Nature,
recognising this, had used him a hundred thousand times, weeding him out
from among his more irregular and trustful fellows, and piling him in
layers, one on another, till she had built out of him in every division
of the State, temples of Power. Two qualifications alone had she
exacted; that he should not be trustful, and that he should be content
to lie beneath the layer above him, until he should come in time to be
that upper layer himself. She had marked him down as quite a tiny boy,
walking with his governess, chopping the heads off thistles with his
stick, and ordering his brothers’ games precisely, so that they should
all know what they were playing at. She had seen him take his dog, and,
squatting on the floor, hold it close to the biscuit that it did not
want to eat; and she had marked the expression in his grey eyes, fixed
on that little white fox-terrier, trying so hard to back out through her
collar. She saw at once that he did not trust the little creature to
know whether it required to eat the biscuit; it was her proper time for
eating it, and even though by holding her nose close he could not make
her eat it, he could put her in the corner for not eating it. And having
in due course seen him do so, Nature had felt ever since that he would
keep himself apart, year by year and step by step, till he was safely
serving in the cold, still corridors of Power. She watched him, then,
with interest, throughout his school and university career, considering
what division of the State she had best build with him, though whether
he should work at feeding soldiers, at supervising education, or
organizing the incarceration of his fellows, did not seem to her to
matter much. In all these things order was essential, and the love of
placing the hand kindly but firmly on the public head, desirable;
further, these were all things that must be done, and with her unerring
instinct for economy, Nature saw that he should do them.
He had accordingly entered the State’s service at a proper age, and had
remained there, rising.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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