Read Online The Quickening Maze by Adam Foulds - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Adam Foulds
Tags: Fiction, Historical fiction, General, Historical, History, England, London, Psychiatric hospitals, Mentally Ill, 19th century, London (England), Mental Health, Tennyson; Alfred Tennyson, London (England) - Social Conditions - 19th Century, Clare; John - Mental Health, Psychiatric Hospitals - England - London - History - 19th Century, Mentally Ill - Commitment and Detention - England - London - History - 19th Century, Commitment and Detention, Poets; English - 19th Century - Mental Health, Poets; English
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deploy.‘I shall give you a tour of the buildings, my alternative course, later before we install you in a room.’
Dr Allen savoured his time at the lectern during evening prayers as a period when he was unopposed, central and secure. He chose to read his brother’s expression - downcast eyes, thoughtfully lengthened lips - as simple absorption even though he knew he would not approve. Oswald’s face instead insisted on his own distinct piety. He did not hesitate to begin his criticism after the service was concluded. With patients still ambling out and George Laidlaw having offered again his heartfelt thanks, at which Oswald smiled, apparently bemused, he began: ‘It’s a long way from anything our father would recognise, Matthew.’
‘It is indeed. As I suppose we are, or I am.’
‘Hm.’ Oswald nodded. ‘Father would not have approved such Latitudinarianism.’
‘Of course. But you see, needs must. I’m preaching for a very mixed congregation, and not only denominationally, if it comes to that.’
‘He would maintain that there are differences between sects and that he’d brought us up in the true dogma. I mean to say, the point is simple. How can the truth be graspable by churches that we know to be in error?’
‘Oswald, even if I wanted to I could not make this institution Sandemanian. For one thing, our little church would require a great deal of explanation to those whose intellectual faculties are in many cases already strained to breaking point. And the need for the congregation’s unity of mind - it’s hardly a practicable aim with a congregation of the insane and the idiot.’
‘And indeed you yourself rarely managed it.’
‘Indeed.’ Matthew Allen looked down at his brother, some years older, some inches shorter, and still trying to rule in their father’s place. ‘I was excluded often enough. So there, you see,’ he attempted to laugh. ‘I was not a good enough Sandemanian to be worthy to attempt to create a community here.’
Oswald did not laugh. ‘You were always too soft in spirit and too distracted by the world. It didn’t suit you to be part of an isolated church, unknown to society, and lacking all ornament. You didn’t like the poverty, the hardship . . .’
‘Really, Oswald, must we discuss this? I thought we very much had some time ago.And I see enough hardship here among my patients, often without seeing to what end it serves.’
Oswald snorted. ‘A different meaning of hardship, surely. I remember your disgust at father’s funeral because of its simplicity.Yes, maybe simplicity is closer to my meaning.’
That was true enough. Matthew Allen remembered the scene with discomfort - the bare hills dotted all over with the little wet tubes of sheep turds, the animals’ loud bleats carried to the mourners on the slanting wind, the ugly, parted ground, and hardly a word said, and no headstone.‘It’s true, it always seemed to me to be . . . harsher than necessary. I would have paid for a headstone, at least for something to mark the place. To lie unmarked . . .’
‘God knows the place.’
‘I know He does. But men live among men. The social virtues are virtues.’
‘Worldly concerns.’
‘Yes, I know that’s what you think. I believe our positions are quite well established.’
‘Established, indeed. I know how you crave respectability. It is understandable, given what you’ve been, where you’ve been.’
‘What I have been has no place here . . .’ Matthew heard his own voice raised and stopped himself. It was so tiring talking to Oswald, who scoured Matthew’s words for weakness, for the double meanings that betrayed his sin. He was now, as always, seeking some kind of victory that Matthew had learned he could withhold from him simply by remaining genial, cheerful, apparently unconcerned. If he appeared not to be on the battlefield, how could he lose the battle? ‘Perhaps some other topic over dinner,’ he said, clapping his brother on the
Dr Allen savoured his time at the lectern during evening prayers as a period when he was unopposed, central and secure. He chose to read his brother’s expression - downcast eyes, thoughtfully lengthened lips - as simple absorption even though he knew he would not approve. Oswald’s face instead insisted on his own distinct piety. He did not hesitate to begin his criticism after the service was concluded. With patients still ambling out and George Laidlaw having offered again his heartfelt thanks, at which Oswald smiled, apparently bemused, he began: ‘It’s a long way from anything our father would recognise, Matthew.’
‘It is indeed. As I suppose we are, or I am.’
‘Hm.’ Oswald nodded. ‘Father would not have approved such Latitudinarianism.’
‘Of course. But you see, needs must. I’m preaching for a very mixed congregation, and not only denominationally, if it comes to that.’
‘He would maintain that there are differences between sects and that he’d brought us up in the true dogma. I mean to say, the point is simple. How can the truth be graspable by churches that we know to be in error?’
‘Oswald, even if I wanted to I could not make this institution Sandemanian. For one thing, our little church would require a great deal of explanation to those whose intellectual faculties are in many cases already strained to breaking point. And the need for the congregation’s unity of mind - it’s hardly a practicable aim with a congregation of the insane and the idiot.’
‘And indeed you yourself rarely managed it.’
‘Indeed.’ Matthew Allen looked down at his brother, some years older, some inches shorter, and still trying to rule in their father’s place. ‘I was excluded often enough. So there, you see,’ he attempted to laugh. ‘I was not a good enough Sandemanian to be worthy to attempt to create a community here.’
Oswald did not laugh. ‘You were always too soft in spirit and too distracted by the world. It didn’t suit you to be part of an isolated church, unknown to society, and lacking all ornament. You didn’t like the poverty, the hardship . . .’
‘Really, Oswald, must we discuss this? I thought we very much had some time ago.And I see enough hardship here among my patients, often without seeing to what end it serves.’
Oswald snorted. ‘A different meaning of hardship, surely. I remember your disgust at father’s funeral because of its simplicity.Yes, maybe simplicity is closer to my meaning.’
That was true enough. Matthew Allen remembered the scene with discomfort - the bare hills dotted all over with the little wet tubes of sheep turds, the animals’ loud bleats carried to the mourners on the slanting wind, the ugly, parted ground, and hardly a word said, and no headstone.‘It’s true, it always seemed to me to be . . . harsher than necessary. I would have paid for a headstone, at least for something to mark the place. To lie unmarked . . .’
‘God knows the place.’
‘I know He does. But men live among men. The social virtues are virtues.’
‘Worldly concerns.’
‘Yes, I know that’s what you think. I believe our positions are quite well established.’
‘Established, indeed. I know how you crave respectability. It is understandable, given what you’ve been, where you’ve been.’
‘What I have been has no place here . . .’ Matthew heard his own voice raised and stopped himself. It was so tiring talking to Oswald, who scoured Matthew’s words for weakness, for the double meanings that betrayed his sin. He was now, as always, seeking some kind of victory that Matthew had learned he could withhold from him simply by remaining genial, cheerful, apparently unconcerned. If he appeared not to be on the battlefield, how could he lose the battle? ‘Perhaps some other topic over dinner,’ he said, clapping his brother on the
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