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The meridian demon was upon him； he was possessed by that bored and
hopeless post…prandial melancholy which the coenobites of old knew and
feared under the name of 〃accidie。〃 He felt； like Ernest Dowson； 〃a little
weary。〃 He was in the mood to write something rather exquisite and
gentle and quietist in tone； something a little droopy and at the same time…
…how should he put it？a little infinite。 He thought of Anne； of love
hopeless and unattainable。 Perhaps that was the ideal kind of love； the
hopeless kindthe quiet； theoretical kind of love。 In this sad mood of
repletion he could well believe it。 He began to write。 One elegant
quatrain had flowed from beneath his pen：
〃A brooding love which is at most The stealth of moonbeams when
they slide； Evoking colour's bloodless ghost； O'er some scarce…breathing
breast or side。。。〃
when his attention was attracted by a sound from outside。 He looked
down from his window； there they were； Anne and Gombauld； talking；
laughing together。 They crossed the courtyard in front； and passed out of
sight through the gate in the right…hand wall。 That was the way to the
green close and the granary； she was going to sit for him again。 His
pleasantly depressing melancholy was dissipated by a puff of violent
emotion； angrily he threw his quatrain into the waste…paper basket and ran
downstairs。 〃The stealth of moonbeams；〃 indeed！
In the hall he saw Mr。 Scogan； the man seemed to be lying in wait。
Denis tried to escape； but in vain。 Mr。 Scogan's eye glittered like the eye
of the Ancient Mariner。
〃Not so fast；〃 he said； stretching out a small saurian hand with pointed
nails〃not so fast。 I was just going down to the flower garden to take the
sun。 We'll go together。〃
Denis abandoned himself； Mr。 Scogan put on his hat and they went out
arm in arm。 On the shaven turf of the terrace Henry Wimbush and Mary
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were playing a solemn game of bowls。 They descended by the yew…tree
walk。 It was here； thought Denis； here that Anne had fallen； here that he
had kissed her； hereand he blushed with retrospective shame at the
memoryhere that he had tried to carry her and failed。 Life was awful！
〃Sanity！〃 said Mr。 Scogan； suddenly breaking a long silence。 〃Sanity
that's what's wrong with me and that's what will be wrong with you； my
dear Denis； when you're old enough to be sane or insane。 In a sane world
I should be a great man； as things are； in this curious establishment； I am
nothing at all； to all intents and purposes I don't exist。 I am just Vox et
praeterea nihil。〃
Denis made no response； he was thinking of other things。 〃After all；〃
he said to himself〃after all； Gombauld is better looking than I； more
entertaining； more confident； and； besides； he's already somebody and I'm
still only potential。。。〃
〃Everything that ever gets done in this world is done by madmen；〃 Mr。
Scogan went on。 Denis tried not to listen； but the tireless insistence of
Mr。 Scogan's discourse gradually compelled his attention。 〃Men such as
I am； such as you may possibly become； have never achieved anything。
We're too sane； we're merely reasonable。 We lack the human touch； the
compelling enthusiastic mania。 People are quite ready to listen to the
philosophers for a little amusement； just as they would listen to a fiddler or
a mountebank。 But as to acting on the advice of the men of reason
never。 Wherever the choice has had to be made between the man of
reason and the madman； the world has unhesitatingly followed the
madman。 For the madman appeals to what is fundamental； to passion
and the instincts； the philosophers to what is superficial and
supererogatoryreason。〃
They entered the garden； at the head of one of the alleys stood a green
wooden bench； embayed in the midst of a fragrant continent of lavender
bushes。 It was here； though the place was shadeless and one breathed hot；
dry perfume instead of airit was here that Mr。 Scogan elected to sit。 He
thrived on untempered sunlight。
〃Consider； for example； the case of Luther and Erasmus。〃 He took
out his pipe and began to fill it as he talked。 〃There was Erasmus； a man
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of reason if ever there was one。 People listened to him at firsta new
virtuoso performing on that elegant and resourceful instrument； the
intellect； they even admired and venerated him。 But did he move them to
behave as he wanted them to behavereasonably； decently； or at least a
little less porkishly than usual？ He did not。 And then Luther appears；
violent； passionate； a madman insanely convinced about matters in which
there can be no conviction。 He shouted； and men rushed to follow him。
Erasmus was no longer listened to； he was reviled for his reasonableness。
Luther was serious； Luther was reality like the Great War。 Erasmus
was only reason and decency； he lacked the power； being a sage； to move
men to action。 Europe followed Luther and embarked on a century and a
half of war and bloody persecution。 It's a melancholy story。〃 Mr。
Scogan lighted a match。 In the intense light the flame was all but
invisible。 The smell of burning tobacco began to mingle with the sweetly
acrid smell of the lavender。
〃If you want to get men to act reasonably； you must set about
persuading them in a maniacal manner。 The very sane precepts of the
founders of religions are only made infectious by means of enthusiasms
which to a sane man must appear deplorable。 It is humiliating to find
how impotent unadulterated sanity is。 Sanity； for example； informs us that
the only way in which we can preserve civilisation is by behaving decently
and intelligently。 Sanity appeals and argues； our rulers persevere in their
customary porkishness； while we acquiesce and obey。 The only hope is a
maniacal crusade； I am ready； when it comes； to beat a tambourine with
the loudest； but at the same time I shall feel a little ashamed of myself。
However〃Mr。 Scogan shrugged his shoulders and； pipe in hand； made a
gesture of resignation〃It's futile to complain that things are as they are。
The fact remains that sanity unassisted is useless。 What we want； then； is
a sane and reasonable exploitation of the forces of insanity。 We sane men
will have the power yet。〃 Mr。 Scogan's eyes shone with a more than
ordinary brightness； and； taking his pipe out of his mouth； he gave vent to
his loud； dry； and somehow rather fiendish laugh。
〃But I don't want power；〃 said Denis。 He was sitting in limp
discomfort at one end of the bench； shading his eyes from the intolerable
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light。 Mr。 Scogan； bolt upright at the other end； laughed again。
〃Everybody wants power；〃 he said。 〃Power in some form or other。
The sort of power you hanker for is literary power。 Some people want
power to persecute other human beings； you expend your lust for power in
persecuting words； twisting them； moulding them； torturing them to obey
you。 But I divagate。〃
〃Do you？〃 asked Denis faintly。
〃Yes；〃 Mr。 Scogan continued； unheeding； 〃the time will come。 We
men of intelligence will learn to harness the insanities to the service of
reason。 We can't leave the world any longer to the direction of chance。
We can't allow dangerous maniacs like Luther； mad about dogma； like
Napoleon； mad about himself； to go on casually appearing and tur