Ten Degrees Backward

by Ellen Thorneycroft Fowler

As soon as Annabel left me I rushed across to the Rectory. Now that my sister had gone over to the beneficent enemy, and had joined forces against my struggle to do what I considered to be my duty at the cost of what I knew to be my happiness, there was no more fight left in me. I capitulated at once, and decided to follow Blathwayte's advice and leave the matter in my darling's hands. She was my queen, and it was for her to rule and order my fate.

I found her, as usual, lying on a chintz-covered sofa by the fire in the beautifully proportioned drawing-room.

"I am so glad you have come," said Fay, after I had greeted her and sat down beside her sofa. "You are one of the tiresome people who make things dreadfully dull by not being there."

"I'm sorry," I replied, "or rather, I'm glad."

"You have spoilt a lot of pleasure for me in that way," Fay continued, "and I find it rather hard to forgive you. I used to enjoy myself always, and now I only enjoy myself when you are about. It proves you have a rather narrowing influence, don't you think?"

"It does seem to point that way," I agreed.

"And not an influence that makes for universal happiness, either, Sir Reggie," Fay went on. "As you can only be in one place at once, there can only be one cheerful place in the world at a time, while the number of places you can't be at is unlimited, therefore the number of places you make miserable are unlimited. I've come to the conclusion that the really benevolent people are those who make a hell of whatever place they are in, and a heaven of every other place because they aren't in it. When you come to think of it, the amount of joy that these people scatter about is simply enormous. Think of the countless little heavens below that they create!"

"It is a beautiful thought, and shows how nous autres ought to follow their example. I say nous autres advisedly, as you are made on the same lines as I am—at least, as you say I am. In fact, I regret to state that I never met anybody who had the knack of creating—by your mere absence—such illimitable and chaotic blanks as you do."

I loved talking nonsense with Fay. As a matter of fact I have always loved talking nonsense. I belong to the generation to which nonsense appeals. The past generation is too serious for it, and the rising generation is too strenuous: it was the prerogative of the last quarter of the nineteenth century to bring nonsense to the level of a fine art. And of all kinds of nonsense, the nonsense which is at the same time a curtain and a channel for love-making is to me the most delightful.

When our parents made love, they discussed the intellectual questions of the day; when their grandchildren make love, they discuss the social problems of theirs; but in the middle ages that came between these two eras, love-making belonged neither to the realm of mind nor to the realm of morals, but rather to that of manners alone. Of course, love was and is the same in all ages—and in all centuries: it is eternal, and therefore has nothing to do with time. But the art of love-making varies with each generation, and every period has its own particular style. I am quite aware that by reason of her youth Fay had the right to a lover who would discuss with her the origin of Sex-antagonism or the economic relations of Capital and Labour; but Annabel and Arthur robbed her of that right when they overthrew my scruples and bade me go forth to woo the woman that I loved.