England -- Fiction; Experimental fiction; Psychological fiction; World War, 1914-1918 -- England -- Fiction; Young men -- Fiction
Jacob could not dance. He stood against the wall smoking a pipe.
"We think," said two of the dancers, breaking off from the rest, and
bowing profoundly before him, "that you are the most beautiful man we
have ever seen."
So they wreathed his head with paper flowers. Then somebody brought out
a white and gilt chair and made him sit on it. As they passed, people
hung glass grapes on his shoulders, until he looked like the figure-head
of a wrecked ship. Then Florinda got upon his knee and hid her face in
his waistcoat. With one hand he held her; with the other, his pipe.
"Now let us talk," said Jacob, as he walked down Haverstock Hill between
four and five o'clock in the morning of November the sixth arm-in-arm
with Timmy Durrant, "about something sensible."
The Greeks--yes, that was what they talked about--how when all's said
and done, when one's rinsed one's mouth with every literature in the
world, including Chinese and Russian (but these Slavs aren't civilized),
it's the flavour of Greek that remains. Durrant quoted Aeschylus--Jacob
Sophocles. It is true that no Greek could have understood or professor
refrained from pointing out--Never mind; what is Greek for if not to be
shouted on Haverstock Hill in the dawn? Moreover, Durrant never listened
to Sophocles, nor Jacob to Aeschylus. They were boastful, triumphant; it
seemed to both that they had read every book in the world; known every
sin, passion, and joy. Civilizations stood round them like flowers ready
for picking. Ages lapped at their feet like waves fit for sailing. And
surveying all this, looming through the fog, the lamplight, the shades
of London, the two young men decided in favour of Greece.
"Probably," said Jacob, "we are the only people in the world who know
what the Greeks meant."
They drank coffee at a stall where the urns were burnished and little
lamps burnt along the counter.
Taking Jacob for a military gentleman, the stall-keeper told him about
his boy at Gibraltar, and Jacob cursed the British army and praised the
Duke of Wellington. So on again they went down the hill talking about
the Greeks.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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